Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  The Promised Land, the regulars call it. One that comes with a hefty price tag. On paper, the rooms are deemed “private entertainment suites,” designated for lap dances, and if the girl is feeling generous, a cheap feel or two.

  In reality, Seven operates what some call a legal brothel. The dancers have the option to take certain vetted clients to themed rooms for anything from blowjobs to hardcore fucking.

  Each room is outfitted with closed circuit television. Mama insists on it. Protection in case a client takes more than a girl is willing to offer or talks to someone he shouldn’t.

  Film is a very effective blackmail tool.

  It’s also very effective in making a statement.

  It’s wrong, and I question my sanity. What I’m about to do could get both of us killed, but it’s an opportunity that won’t fall into my lap again.

  If I play this strategically, I could kill two birds with one stone. There’s an obvious threat against my family, and only one man holds the key. If I can get Mik into a compromising position, he’s more likely to slip up.

  I can get him to talk. I can save this family and prove myself.

  And as a bonus, I can give my father the payback he deserves for stealing my first kill.

  I drop both palms on the table in front of Mik, my low-cut shirt giving him a preview of what I plan to be one hell of a show. “You can hang out here, if you like, but I have a much more interesting way to pass the time.”

  5

  Mikhail

  I eye her cautiously. “What are you suggesting?”

  I am not stupid. I know exactly what she is suggesting. Being one of the Elite, I know the pole is not the path to wealth for Seven’s stage candy. That path leads upstairs to the VIP rooms. A hallway of iniquity littered with a dozen rooms designed to fulfill any debaucherous fantasy money can buy.

  A den I have never dared defile.

  Bebe tilts her head to the side and gives me a sinful smirk. “I’m going to make this simple for you, Mik. If you know my employers like you profess to, then you know the stage is just the pregame. Up there…” Her gaze shifts toward the top of the single staircase. “That’s where the real show starts.”

  “I do not pay for sex.”

  She blinks. “That’s direct.”

  “As you said, I do not believe in beating around the tree.”

  Her bottom teeth sink into that plump upper lip. “Bush.”

  I raise an eyebrow, my gaze traveling down her curvaceous body and settling on her tiny skirt. I prefer shaven, but admittedly, I would like to find out for myself. However, in my line of work, sex is more than an act. It can be used as a weapon.

  “Who said anything about sex?” Leaning even closer, she lowers her voice. “I offered to help pass the time, not suck your dick.”

  “Then what are you offering, lisichka?”

  “I’m a dancer, Mik. I can either get on stage and give Seth a public show”—smirking, she tilts her head back to the coked-up mudak who grabbed her ass—“or we can go upstairs, and I can give you a private one.”

  Her words are poison. Every muscle in my body tightens as an irrational surge of jealousy consumes me. The thought of that khuilo sukin syn seeing her…touching her… It pollutes my head with dangerous thoughts.

  “Just you and me.” A breathy promise lingers on those wicked lips as she touches my face, pushing boundaries no one has dared cross. “For your eyes only,” she whispers, one finger lightly tracing the jagged scar on my nose.

  I grab her wrist, my grip firm. “I do not pay to watch women undress either.”

  My bold lisichka lifts her heavy lashes, not one ounce of fear in them. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not charging.”

  “A lap dance…” I trail off, and she nods with a smile before I add, “For free?” I cannot help but laugh. This girl entranced me so deeply with her iron will, I allowed her young age to fade into the background. But with one word, the veil lifts, and her youth shines like…

  Like a diamond.

  “Nothing is ever free, lisichka,” I growl, jerking her against me. Most women would stutter at the warning in my voice. Not her. Not Bebe. She meets it head-on.

  “I prefer to call it pro bono.”

  Pro bono…

  My grip tightens at those familiar words. Ones spoken in a corrupt office and written in a father’s vengeful blood.

  “Unfortunately for you, Nort, I took this pro bono.”

  It has to be a coincidence. No one knows about my connection to the scathing headlines saturating every network and newsfeed. Especially a stripper dancing around a pole a thousand miles south of D.C.

  My sudden shift in demeanor sinks a deep vertical line between her eyebrows, so I quickly vault from killer to customer, keeping her off balance. “For the public good, huh?” I settle my gaze on the perfect view she is offering.

  Round, full breasts my tongue aches to tease.

  A low chuckle rumbles in her throat. “Russian, English, and Latin. You’re quite the catch, Mikhail.”

  I freeze, years of instinct dousing the flame. Lifting my chin, I lock those cunning eyes in a hardened stare. “I never said my name was Mikhail.”

  I expect trembling lips and a pathetic backtrack. What I get is a lifted chin and a straight shot of confidence. “I assumed. The only other option is Michael, and with an accent like that, I played the odds.”

  “Why me?”

  Bebe lets out a frustrated growl. “You know, most men wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. They’d just take the reins and run.”

  I have no fucking idea what the hell she just said. “I am looking at you, lisichka, not a horse.”

  She presses her lips together. “Uh, yeah, it’s an expression.”

  “About a horse?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, forget the horse.” Wrenching her arm from my grip, she crosses another line and places both hands on my shoulders. My traitorous skin burns under her touch. “You want to know why I’m offering? From the moment you walked into this club, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I’m a realist, Mik. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in lust at first glance. Humans pride themselves on being the most intelligent life force, but at our most basic level, we’re all animals. We see. We want.” She closes the final few inches of distance between us, her lips a whisper away from mine. “We take.”

  My black heart thumps against my chest as my hard cock throbs in my pants.

  This is a bad idea.

  Twenty-five years as a gun-for-hire has taught me no act is ever selfless, and nothing is ever free. But I cannot leave without speaking with Niko or Ava. Sitting at this table for another hour will do nothing but raise suspicion. I may be part of the Elite, but that Tag asshole has been watching me since I sat down.

  Or maybe he is watching Bebe. Judging by the scowl painted across his face, he has a hard-on for her as well.

  Fuck it.

  If some over-friendly stripper wants to shove her tits in my face while grinding on my dick, who the hell am I to say no?

  Besides, I need to see her.

  All of her.

  Everything about this woman has turned my cock to stone. It is more than her striking beauty that sends my pulse racing. It is her boldness. Her indifference at my confession about Colombia. How I speak of death and murder with such ease would horrify most girls. However, Bebe never flinched. In fact, I could have sworn her eyes dilated at the thought.

  Suddenly, it makes sense.

  My lisichka gets off on danger—a woman who needs a cock owning her pussy while a blade bites her neck.

  “Bad boys turn me on.”

  Her taunting words ring in my ears, solidifying my decision.

  I have time to kill. She can rub that sweet little pussy all over me, but that is as far as it will go. If I have to jerk off in my hand, so be it, but I am not fucking at Seven.

  A man does not shit where his comrade sleeps.

  “All right, Bebe. Y
ou want to dance for me? You have thirty minutes.” I want to bite the victorious smile spreading across her face at my concession. “But use them wisely, lisichka. I am not a man easily impressed. I have met and fucked many women in my life. Extraordinarily talented woman. Do not bore me.”

  I expect her to back down. Instead, she takes my hand. “Thirty minutes, huh? Oh, Iceman,” snaking her other hand between us, she cups my straining cock. “I only need five.”

  My lisichka is a woman of her word.

  Five minutes into her performance and I am making desperate deals with my dick. I am about to come so hard I do not know if I have enough breath in my lungs to survive it.

  “The red room?” I ask, fighting for control as this woman—this temptress—grinds against my cock while her bare breasts bounce in my face.

  I am sitting on a blood red velvet couch, trying to focus on the sin dripping from every crevice of the room. Red tinted lights. Red painted walls.

  Red. Red. Red.

  The color of blood. The hue of hate and shade of solitude.

  She glances quickly over her shoulder, a conspiratorial smile tipping the corner of her mouth. “You don’t like it?”

  “No, that is not it.” My words are harsh from my determination not to give her the satisfaction of coming in my pants. “From what I am told, this room is off limits.”

  That is an understatement. This room—the red room—is sacred to Niko and Ava. While it is designed to cultivate anything but love, it is their private sanctuary of sin.

  The queen proclaimed it off limits, and twelve VIP rooms became eleven.

  Bebe’s heavy-lidded stare settles back on me. “A lot of things have changed.”

  Her words are not hollow. Thirteen years ago, I would be in control. I would not dig my nails into the plastic red couch to stop myself from shoving my hand up her skirt.

  One dance.

  A naked woman is not a novel concept. While I appreciate the female form, no pussy is worth risking my life. However, my tongue keeps licking my bottom lip, begging my body to tip forward so it can taste the hard nipple taunting it.

  “Lisichka…”

  “No talking,” she commands, pressing a finger to my lips. “You seem to know a lot about Seven’s secret rules, Iceman. Should I be jealous?”

  “I have visited no women here, if that is what you are asking.”

  “I said no talking.”

  “Then how you expect me to answer—” My challenge is silenced as she stands on the couch, one high heel on either side of me, and unzips her skirt. I watch, mesmerized, as it falls to my lap.

  I cannot fucking breathe.

  She might as well be naked. The black G-string she is wearing is so tiny and sheer, it leaves nothing to the imagination. I cannot take my eyes off the pussy hiding behind it.

  Bare.

  I knew it.

  Working at Seven, I know she is no virgin, but still she smells of innocence. The notion should shame me, but I cannot seem to quiet the voice in my head demanding that I take her.

  Defile her.

  Claim her.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a stranger,” she taunts. Stepping off the cushions, she grabs the back of the couch and leans over me. “I’m always here, and I give special treatment to special people.”

  Dangerous words, lisichka. Take them back.

  “I do not live in Miami.”

  “That’s right. You’re Russian. Moscow? St. Petersburg?” Those wicked hands trail down my chest, stopping only inches above the one place begging for her touch. “Here for business or pleasure?”

  “Business,” I groan.

  Spinning around, she sits on my lap, wrapping an arm around my neck while working my cock into an inferno of lust. “Of course, my employers. You implied they’re in danger. Should I be worried, too?”

  “No, lisichka.” Breaking my own rule, I close my eyes, ignoring my surroundings and soaking in the feel of her as my tongue disobeys me. “This problem has nothing to do with the club. It is personal.”

  “You asked about Zasha Gaheris…”

  “You said you do not know her,” I groan, her milky white ass inches away from my face as she plants her heels and bends over. “Did you lie to me?”

  Popping her head up, she cuts her eyes over her shoulder. “I didn’t say I don’t know her. I said her name sounded familiar.” Spinning around, she straddles my legs, her delicate fingers sinking into my hair before winding a handful around her fist and tugging. “I know who I work for, Mik. Do you think I’m so stupid as to give out that kind of information without getting the same in return?”

  I am seeing so many colors, I cannot name them all. Red. White. Black. So much black, courtesy of the demons simmering below the surface. My reservations were not unfounded. This girl is not who she seems. Whether loyal to my friends or a poison inside their ranks, she knows more than she is portraying.

  But I do not play games. I end them.

  “Where is she?” My hands tighten around her waist, and she gasps.

  Her gaze drifts upward again. “Safe.”

  “She is not. I must find her. Tell me!”

  A subtle smile tips her lips as she unfastens the button on my jeans and drags my zipper down. “Make me.”

  I have never used Ava Chernova’s club in this way, but something about this girl overpowers me. I know I cannot touch her. While I never frequented the upstairs rooms, five years spent at Seven taught me nothing is more important to the Bratva queen than the safety of her girls.

  I cannot see them, but I have no doubt cameras are recording our every move. While Niko would never begrudge me a lap dance from one of his wife’s employees, he would consider fucking one to be a blatant act of disrespect.

  I cannot stop the growl of pleasure as she reaches inside my boxers and pulls my cock out. This has gone too fucking far. This is not what I bargained for.

  I may be one of the Elite, but there is an unwritten set of rules for me. The other nine men never sat at Niko and Ava’s table. They never swore to uphold their darkest secrets.

  And they sure as hell never agreed to be their daughter’s godfather.

  Her nails trail down my stiff shaft, and my vision blurs. All I see and feel is her.

  Stop this, my brain warns, but it is too late. I have already slipped under the surface of restraint. My balls tighten as she takes a tight hold and strokes. At the low rumble in my throat, she releases my cock. Taking my hand in hers, she guides it between her legs. Neither of us breathes as she curls my fingers under the edge of her G-string.

  My protective barrier.

  Gone.

  I grit my teeth, fighting my way through this haze of drunk lust.

  I cannot. I am stronger than this.

  She is too young. I am too rough.

  But then she brushes my hand against her pussy, dragging my finger toward her slick heat. I can already feel her. Taste her. But in a brief moment of clarity, I force myself to pull back.

  Goddamn it.

  God fucking damn it.

  I am no stranger to being with expendable women, but unearthed memories of this day have dragged me to a dark place.

  “Mik?” she moans.

  “Da.”

  “Touch me.”

  Permission. It is more than a word. It is a deadly lie.

  But she has pushed me too far. My soul is too dark, my mind too broken. The self-control I pride myself on evaporates, leaving only the starving animal.

  6

  Zasha

  I told Mik at our most basic level, all humans are animals. It was a line crafted to break through his defenses and taunt the man behind the mask.

  I never anticipated how prophetic my words would become.

  “How old are you?” The pale blue of his eyes has all but disappeared, swallowed by volatile darkness.

  “Twenty-one.” It’s a lie, but I want to push him. To find out his secrets and prove I am more than a possession of the world that
surrounds me.

  I may belong to it, but I am not a slave to it.

  I own this motherfucker.

  But in this moment, all that strength and confidence evaporates. The promise to protect my family and punish my father fades away at the current of lust and danger filling the room.

  Mik was right. The red room is sacred.

  My father sank to his knees and proposed to my mother in this room.

  Among other things.

  I brought him here on purpose. The ultimate fuck you to a father who still sees me as a little girl instead of accepting the woman I’ve become.

  This was my ticket. My show. My seduction.

  But his eyes…

  Run, Zasha.

  Yet again, I don’t. I can’t. I want him too much. I need him. This was supposed to be a game to derail him, but the rules have changed.

  Roles have changed. I’m no longer in control.

  “Be sure, lisichka,” he demands. “Once I touch, I take.”

  His tone is different now. No longer cold and mechanical, it drips with heat and possession. Dominance waiting to be unleashed.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “No. It is a warning. One that smart girls take seriously.” Without another word, he shoves two fingers inside me, my walls molding around them as if they’re the prelude to my destruction.

  I gasp at the invasion. He’s not gentle. His hand is an extension of the aggression bottled deep within him, and it mercilessly drives into me.

  “Mik!”

  Before I can breathe, he adds a third thick finger. Crying out, I throw my head back, my vision blurring.

  “A warning, lisichka,” he repeats. “If you cannot take my hand, you cannot take my cock. You may dance in the dark, but you cannot accept the reality of it.”

  I still, his words becoming the Molotov Cocktail to an already simmering fire.

  I am fucking Zasha Gaheris. A Chernov. Bratva royalty.

  How dare he…

  “Maybe it’s you who can’t accept reality, Mikhail,” I hiss. At my use of his full name, his fingers dive deeper into me, and I bite back a groan. “Maybe you’ve been fucking weak women so long, you forgot a real one doesn’t just dance in the dark. She claims it.”