Russian Mobster's Stolen Wife

by Bella Rose

  “What happened to your face?” Anson cocked his head, approaching Grigori with a look of wonder. “Were there security guards?”

  “I wish that was the case, but no.” Grigori didn’t check his surly tone. “Just help me get her out of the van.”

  “No problem, boss.”

  “Anson,” Grigori warned.

  Anson frowned, and then realized what he’d done. “Oh, right. Sorry, boss. I’m not supposed to call you boss. Except you’re my boss.”

  “No.” Grigori ground his teeth together. “Yuri is your boss.”

  Anson grunted, obviously not convinced that Yuri Lagunov was worthy of being in charge of the local branch of the Russian mafia in the Richmond area. But there was no more arguing as Anson opened the sliding door of the van.

  Grigori braced himself when the door opened. He half expected Flynn to spring from the depths of the van and attack them with some weapon she’d fashioned from the trash in the back of the vehicle. But nothing happened, and he quickly felt stupid for being apprehensive.

  Anson whistled. “She’s beautiful, boss. You’re a lucky man.”

  “Thank you,” Flynn said primly. Then she glared at Grigori. “It’s nice to know that some of my future husband’s friends are not total assholes.”

  Grigori got the satisfaction of watching Anson blink in brief but total shock. Then Anson turned to Grigori and said in Russian, “She’s got quite a mouth on her, hmm?”

  “You know,” she said in a conversational tone. “It isn’t polite to speak in another language to purposefully exclude someone from a conversation, especially when you aren’t even certain that they don’t speak that language. And yes. I do have a mouth on me.”

  Now Grigori and Anson were both left staring in openmouthed shock.

  Grigori managed to recover his wits, but his mind was spinning. “You speak Russian?”

  Her shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “I do. Not well, and not what I would call fluently, but I do speak Russian. And I understand it far better than I speak it.”

  “Well damn,” Anson said. “You’re a lucky man, boss.”

  Grigori snorted. “That remains to be seen. Did you say that you convinced the minister to stick around?”

  “Oh yes.” Anson nodded.

  Grigori took Flynn’s arm and led her up the steps. He paused on the front porch of the country church. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he cut the zip ties binding her wrists. It probably wouldn’t score him any points with the minister if the bride arrived bound like a captive.

  “So do we have a deal?” she asked anxiously.

  Grigori wondered at the way her gaze was darting around. Was she expecting rescue, or was she worried it would come? “We have a deal.”

  “That’s good. We should hurry up then.” She put her hands out and shoved open the church doors, walking boldly inside.

  “Ah!” The minister jumped up from his place in the front pew. “Mr. Pasternak! You’ve arrived.” He threw a dark glance at Anson. “Finally.”

  “Thank you so much for waiting, Pastor,” Flynn said. “As you can see...” She gestured to hers and Grigori’s rough appearance. “...we had some car trouble along the way.”

  “Oh my dear, how awful!” The pastor was obviously charmed by Flynn’s manner.

  Grigori had to admit that the woman was good at putting people at ease. Hell, she’d pretty much done it with him. “If we could hurry up the proceedings, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. And we have honeymoon plans as well.”

  The pastor clapped his hands, his eyes opening wide. “Oh, how wonderful! Of course! Let’s begin.”

  “The short version, I think,” Flynn said. “I’m just so excited and nervous to be married to my wonderful...” Her voice hesitated only briefly over his name. “...Grigori.”

  “Oh of course, of course!” The pastor reached for the Bible he’d left on the pew. “Although we are missing a witness.”

  Grigori threw a glance over his shoulder at Anson. “Where is Igor?”

  “Coming.” Anson glanced at his phone. “He’s three minutes out, boss.”

  “Wonderful.” The pastor glanced hastily from the bride to the groom. “I suppose we’ll just get started then.”

  She reached out and gently touched the pastor’s wrist. “Wonderful!”

  The brief contact seemed to give the pastor the necessary courage to continue. Grigori was amazed. Flynn was a first rate scam artist. Which begged the question, was everything she was inferring about her father correct? Or was she scamming Grigori too?

  “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the pastor began.

  Grigori managed not to let his mind wander too far. He also managed to avoid snorting in amusement as the pastor droned on and on about love and respect. He’d met his bride less than two hours ago, and she’d tried to kill him twice. Although that did give him a sort of grudging respect for her, so maybe it was all in the eye of the beholder.

  FLYNN FIDGETED AND tried not to be too obvious about watching the exits. Despite what her husband-to-be might think, she wasn’t looking for escape. She was actually a little worried about rescue. Her father’s security detail was bound to have discovered her abandoned car by now.

  She might have welcomed that an hour ago. But now that she had a deal with Grigori to live her life interference free in exchange for her cooperation, she had no interest in returning to her father’s house.

  “…forsaking all others and clinging to one another in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?” The pastor finally got to the yes part.

  “Yes!” She nearly shouted. “I do. Yep. Very willingly in fact.” There. Nobody could argue her participation later. Not after that freakish answer.

  “And you, Grigori Pasternak,” the pastor said. “Do you take Flynn Callaghan to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and hold, forsaking all others and clinging to one another in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?”

  Grigori was staring at her. Flynn tried to meet his dark gaze, but it was incredibly intense. She was blushing. Great. At least it completed the whole blushing bride image she was trying to project.

  “I do,” Grigori said in his gritty, sexy voice.

  Wait. She wasn’t supposed to think of him as sexy. Except now, she was going to have to kiss him. Shit.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” the pastor said joyfully.

  Behind her, Flynn heard the man named Anson talking to another guy—presumably their missing witness—while she held her breath and waited for the world to end.

  Grigori cupped her cheeks and leaned down. She had expected to feel repulsed, but there was nothing but gentleness in his touch. He smelled amazing. How was that even possible after their crazy night? But he did. She inhaled in sharp surprise and got a stronger whiff of spicy male musk and sandalwood.

  He placed his lips on hers, and the kiss seared her on the inside. She couldn’t help it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair as their mouths meshed together and he loved her almost tenderly with his mouth.

  Then it was over, and Flynn was left with weak knees and stars in her eyes. What. The. Hell?

  “Oh you two are just the most beautiful couple!” The pastor seemed bizarrely happy, given the weird circumstances of their hurried wedding.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  The witnesses came forward and signed the marriage certificate with a flourish. They were bickering back and forth in choppy Russian, their dialect so muddled that she couldn’t really make out much of what they were saying.

  “Your turn to sign.” Grigori handed her the pen.

  Taking a deep breath, Flynn put her signature to the document, sealing her fate and making her basically a criminal in her father’s eyes.

  The pastor had just taken another breath to
speak when his eyes opened wide and he began opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He was facing the front doors of the church, the opposite direction that she and Grigori were facing. It took less than a millisecond for Grigori to clue in to what was happening.

  He grabbed Flynn and ducked left behind the pews just as the first shots were fired. She grunted in pain as her shoulder hit the hard wood floor. She rolled, and Grigori lunged for her.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she told him. “I’m not running away from you. There’s an exit over here. Let’s try to get out through there!”

  Grigori nodded then glanced around. “Anson, Igor! Where are you?” he called in Russian.

  “Over here, boss,” came Anson’s voice. “There are six of them, and they’re armed to the teeth!”

  “Work your way to the backup point,” Grigori told them. After belatedly discovering that Flynn spoke Russian, he apparently wasn’t taking it for granted anymore that her father’s men didn’t. Which was good, because there were at least two of them that did speak Russian a lot more fluently than she did.

  Flynn was already army crawling in front of the pew, headed for the exit. Unfortunately, the heavy boots of their pursuers were headed in their direction. Her heart pounded as she anticipated the moment she’d get caught and dragged home. Then someone grabbed her leg. She swung around, prepared to fight, but it was Grigori. He pointed beneath the pews.

  “Scoot underneath,” he whispered. “Go out the front while I draw them back here. Meet me in the woods behind the church.”

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t argue, but she couldn’t imagine how he expected to escape. She was going to be a widow before she got her freedom, dammit!

  Twisting her body, she rolled onto her back and grabbed the underside of the pew. She scooted herself underneath and began working her way toward the church’s front entrance. She could hear Grigori as she maneuvered herself away from the action.

  Grigori shouted something in Russian, and then there was a crash. The pastor shrieked and began screaming obscenities at her father’s men. If the situation hadn’t been such a vital one, she would have laughed. As it was, she only needed to get two feet farther before she was home free.

  Laboriously using her arms to squeeze her body out from under the pews, she rolled to her tummy and lay still for a moment. She could hear nothing over the cacophony going on at the front of the church. Grigori was apparently an expert at diversionary tactics because there was no way anyone wouldn’t be drawn to whatever was happening.

  She didn’t see a nearby threat, so she got to her knees and then into a crouch. Using the pews as cover, she bolted toward the front doors of the church and out onto the porch. Unfortunately, she ran right into the arms of her father’s head security man, Teller.

  Chapter Five

  Grigori held the plain wood podium like a battering ram and used it to cut a swath through the men attempting to take him down. He’d already knocked two of their guns right out of their hands, sending the weapons spinning uselessly across the room. Two men were lying senseless on the ground. He had bashed their heads together when the brawl began.

  “Grigori!” Anson called out. “Behind you!”

  Grigori spun around, letting his momentum pull the podium with him until the thing was whizzing through the air like a giant club. The impact of his weapon on the beefy security man sent a jolt up Grigori’s arm. His hand went numb. But it didn’t matter. Nothing did. These guys were trying to catch him alive for some reason. That couldn’t be a good thing.

  The man he hit flew backwards, flipping over a pew and knocking it sideways. The pastor shouted so loudly and in such a high pitched voice that Grigori’s eardrums crackled.

  “Stop!” the pastor cried. And the guy was actually crying. He dropped to the floor and covered his head with his arms. “This is a house of God! You can’t fight in here!”

  “Sorry, Pastor,” Grigori said with a grunt as he knocked over yet another flunky. “These guys don’t seem to follow that rule.”

  “Get. Out! All of you, get out!” the pastor squawked.

  Grigori waved Anson on, hoping the man would follow Igor. He needed them outside to make sure that Flynn didn’t run into any trouble while she was attempting to escape out the front exit.

  A splinter from the podium worked its way into Grigori’s finger. Funny how that hurt far more than the scratch he’d received from the initial gunfire. Abruptly deciding he’d had enough, he took the podium and used it to clear a path to the door. He should have given the others plenty of time to get clear of the building by now.

  Grigori threw the podium at the final remaining flunky. The guy’s eyes went wide as he tried to deflect the heavy missile. He missed, catching it inside and falling hard on his backside. His groan went right along with the pastor’s silent weeping.

  Seeing the marriage license on the floor, Grigori swiped it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he headed for the side door. It opened into an office. Papers fluttered to the floor as he slammed the door closed and locked it. Seeing a back entrance, Grigori grabbed the desk and pulled it over to block the doorway. Papers and pens fell to the floor along with a flat screen computer monitor.

  “Oops,” he muttered. “I suppose I’ll burn in hell for that.”

  Something heavy hit the door, causing the desk to shiver and shake. It was time to get out.

  Grigori bounded through the outer entrance, spilling into the bushes at the side of the building. He could hear someone trying to get into the pastor’s office on the inside, and also men yelling in the main part of the church. What he didn’t hear was a woman.

  Grigori whistled, trying to hail Anson and Igor. He got no response. Running around the front of the building, he quickly discovered why.

  “Don’t move.”

  The man holding a gun on Anson, Igor, and now Grigori was a tall, thin fellow with a shaved head and bulging eyes. He stood beneath a light, holding Flynn in front of him like a shield. Grigori put his hands out to his sides, feeling the knife strapped to his wrist begin to slide down into position.

  Flynn seemed very calm, all things considered. She also looked annoyed. “Teller, just go home. This is bullshit. I’m here of my own free will. Go back and tell my father that.”

  “No thank you, Miss Callaghan.” The man named Teller did not look particularly happy. “I don’t care to reap the consequences of your actions.”

  “It’s not my fault that my asshole father would rather shoot the messenger than deal with the problem.” Flynn was staring right at Grigori.

  If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was trying to signal him or something. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she was trying to convey. He inched closer, trying to get the perfect angle. With Teller’s gun hand outstretched and his finger on the trigger, there was only going to be one opportunity to get this right.

  “I’m sorry,” Teller said to Anson and Igor. “The two of you are just going to have to die. Three to one is not a set of odds I like.”

  It all happened in slow motion. Teller began to pull the trigger at the same moment Grigori let fly with his throwing knife. The blade sliced right into his hand and stuck tight. Teller gave an agonized cry that ended in a grunt as Flynn buried her elbow in his gut. Then she spun on her heel and executed a neat front snap kick that caught Teller right between the legs.

  Grigori, Anson, and Igor all cringed at the sound of her foot hitting the man’s balls. Then Teller collapsed to the ground. Flynn wasted no time. She smashed her foot into Teller’s throat then went running past Grigori.

  “Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t have good shoes on for actually crushing a windpipe!”

  Grigori stared at his men. “What did I marry?”

  Anson shrugged. “I think she’s hot.”

  Igor was already running after her. Grigori had no choice but to turn and follow wit
h Anson on his tail. Stretching his longer legs, Grigori caught up to Flynn and took her hand in his. The warm tingle from their contact was a surprise, as was her willingness to follow his lead through the trees.

  FLYNN HAD NO clue where they were going. She only knew she had to get away from her father’s men as fast as possible. If that meant Grigori was her new best friend, then so be it. It was pitch black and they were dashing through a knot of trees with nothing but the light of a low hanging moon to see by.

  “Quietly,” he ordered the other two men in Russian. “We’re close.”

  “I left the car over here.” Igor gestured vaguely to a spot in the darkness.

  Anson grunted. “We can’t see, you moron. Where is it?”

  “It was right here.” Igor was pointing, but there was no car.

  “Are we lost?” Flynn asked Grigori. “Because we really need to get out of here before Teller gets up off the ground.”

  “We’re not lost.” Grigori spoke in English while he turned in a circle, glancing up and then turning his attention to a point somewhere to their left. “It’s right over here. See that irregular blob?”

  “A blob. Great.” Anson did not sound thrilled. “We are going to die because Igor lost the fucking car.”

  “Your negativity is wearing on my nerves,” Flynn told him. “Shut up or I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

  Flynn wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Grigori chuckle. Then he started walking energetically in the opposite direction, tugging her along with him. She saw his blob and realized that he was right. It was a vehicle.

  “Is there a road?” she asked dubiously. “How stupid to get caught because we’re lost. Did you guys plan this at all?”

  “Next time we’ll let you do the planning,” Grigori told her. “You seem very adept at this sort of thing. I’m starting to think you’ve got more up your sleeve than you’re telling.”

  “What woman doesn’t?” she suggested vaguely. There was no way she was telling him everything. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “Just get in the car,” Grigori told her. He opened the passenger door. “And keep your head down. You’re useless if you get it blown off.”