I flip open my laptop and open up the tracking app I'd hidden on Kat's phone. Within seconds I have a map of her location; the blinking green circle shows me she's on the Upper East Side. Thank Christ. Markov didn't like Manhattan, and he sure as hell wasn't going above 14th Street if he could help it.
But if she's safe, why isn't she returning my calls?
I call her one more time. The phone rings and rings, until voicemail picks up. She hasn't customized the message yet, so it's just a generic female robot voice. I hang up, enraged that I can't even hear her voice. I know I'm losing it over a girl—but all I care about right now is seeing her. Making sure she's safe.
Making sure she knows she's mine.
I click on the pulsing green circle, expecting the address to be a bar. I'd sent her and Elle to a spa all day. Maybe they went out for dinner and drinks afterward. Maybe it was loud, crowded, too chaotic for her to hear me.
Maybe she's ignoring me.
Fuck.
But no, Kat's not at a bar. The map says she's at Giselle's Boutique. I look at the clock. It's fucking 10 p.m. Wouldn't a fancy-ass boutique be closed by now? I grab a black jacket and pull it on over my jeans and t-shirt. If she's at some upscale store—and ignoring me—she'd better be busy buying herself the wardrobe of a lifetime.
The image of my Kat in a dress that shows off all her considerable assets appears before me—as pissed and worried as I am, dammit, now I'm hard.
I stop and look in the mirror. Probably should've shaved, and I always look about three sizes too big to fit into any fancy New York place, but, fuck it. Hopefully Kat doesn't mind that I'm a big fucking guy.
I think of her, coming apart in my arms this morning. And the night before.
She didn't seem to have a problem with it.
Great, now my pants feel way too fucking tight.
I text Chase on the way to the underground parking garage, giving him the address and telling him I'm on my way.
You still want me to go there?, he messages me.
Yes, I reply.
It sounds crazy, but I have this fear she'll run from me—even though I'd been the one to run from her for seven long years. If Chase can get to the store first, great. He can keep on eye on my woman until I arrive.
Because now that Viktor and Markov had seen my true feelings, she isn't safe. Markov would slice my neck as soon as look at me. And Viktor knows I lied to him, saying I barely remembered the girl and just wanted the bar, and the money-laundering profits.
So why was I holding back?
I fucking want her. I didn't want her in my world, I didn't want to ruin her. But now she's here, and those other men will try to ruin her—and me. I can feel it, in my gut, like a sucker-punch.
Can they feel me? Do the animals inside them run in wild circles, because they sense I'm about to light their world on fire?
And does Kat sense me, coming to get her?
Because the animal in me is going to take her.
Tonight.
29
Kat
Mandy has opened our third bottle of champagne—and she's chugging it directly from the cool, green glass.
"Go Mandy, go Mandy, go Mandy!" Elle and I shout.
The store is technically closed, but Elle basically shoved Gray's credit card into Mandy's bra and told her to keep the clothing—and the booze—flowing.
Mandy started drinking maybe an hour ago?
And I must be drunk because they got me in the tiny pink handkerchiefs—okay, the gorgeous, delicate bra and matching panties. They're softer than soft, and I fear they might melt if somebody breathed on them.
"It's gorgeous," I'd said. "But this bra is like the opposite of supportive."
"Honey, it's not made to support you," Mandy had giggled, tightening the delicate strap that was no wider than a strand of spaghetti. "It's made to be ripped off by your lover."
I'm sure I'd blushed a fiery red, but the other girls had been too drunk and happy to pay much attention. Now I'm wearing a sleek, fitted black cocktail dress. It's off-the-shoulder (though I have a wickedly sexy and entirely unpractical strapless bra on underneath), features a plunging neckline which honestly makes my cleavage look better than I've ever thought possible, and it hugs all my other curves. Like, every single one.
"It's gorgeous, Mandy," I say. "But I could never wear this in public! It's so tight. And clingy."
"And hottth," Mandy slurs.
Elle rolls her eyes. She's still got her kitten tights on, though now she's wearing a studded bustier that Madonna circa 1985 would envy. Her long, blonde hair is wild, and she's somehow come into possession of a princess crown that I'm pretty sure has real diamonds in it.
"Girl, own your curves." Elle stands behind me, her hands on my hips, and turns me this way and that in the mirror. "They're gorgeous. You're gorgeous. But you're right. You never will wear this in public, because as soon as Gray sees you in it, he's going to throw you down on the nearest surface and screw your brains out. How is he in bed, anyway?"
I fidget with the garter belt and silken garters Mandy made me buy. They feel like a ghostly caress all over my legs, and it—everything—makes me think of Gray.
Maybe I should have answered my phone.
"I don't know if I should kiss and tell," I say.
"Lame!" Mandy shouts.
"What!" Elle chimes in. "You married a giant Russian sex monster! We want details!"
I laugh. "Okay, well, you said it: I married a giant Russian sex monster!"
I throw a pile of lace panties at the girls' heads; they're sitting on the velvet poufs in the luxurious, circular dressing room. There are mirrors on all sides of the place, and tufted, golden couches that look like they came straight from a Russian czar's palace.
"I forgot to text him back. He might be worried—"
I'm interrupted by the violent shaking of the front doors.
"Um, I'll be right back," Mandy says, struggling to stand up quickly.
"We'll go with you!" I say. Whoever's outside sounds like they want in, and they'll tear the place to the ground to get in.
We run to the front of the store. A tall, dark-haired man is banging on the glass and trying to basically pull the door off the hinges. It hits me that he may actually just be trying to open the door, but he's so big that even his smallest movements make it look like the Incredible Hulk is trying to get inside.
"Is that him? Your husband?" Mandy gasps.
"No," I say in wonder.
"Let him in," Elle says appreciatively.
"What if he's a robber?" Mandy asks.
At that point, the tall, dark-haired man looks up and sees up. He points directly at me and says, "Kat, open the door."
Then he glances at Elle and his gaze stays there.
Elle's breathing is fast; I can tell since she's wearing a frickin' bustier. "Do you know him, Kat?"
"No," I say.
And then I see a real storm approaching. From behind the tall, dark and handsome man at the door comes Gray—taller, badder, and pissed-the-hell-off.
"Oh God," I say. Mandy clutches my arm, and I realize she looks truly frightened.
"Don’t worry." Elle lays a comforting hand on Mandy's arm. "He's not a homicidal maniac, he just looks like it."
I gulp. "Yeah, he's not a maniac. He's my husband."
Mandy opens the front doors with shaking hands, and I admit, even I'm becoming a little bit frightened of Gray.
He's immense. It's like, I leave him for a few hours and I forget how truly enormous he is, from his thighs that are basically tree trunks, to his massive arms, to—don't look at his pants, even though you're thinking it, don't look at the bulge between his legs.
I peek anyway, then glance up to see his slate eyes on me, his jaw locked, his chest heaving. Holy shit, he looks big, bad and…really, really good. His hair is slicked back, a dark gold. He's wearing all black, and he looks like a sharply dressed avenging angel.
He takes a deep breath, h
olding my gaze the entire time. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, but there's no part of me that wants to run away. Not at this moment.
Am I happy to see him?
Then he's on me.
"Why the fuck haven't you answered my calls?" But instead of throttling me—which is seriously what he looks like he wants to do—he touches me.
He can't stop touching me.
He grabs my shoulders, my arms, my hands. He takes me face between his palms and just stares at me, and I see the worry, the stress.
"Answer me, Katya." There's that trace of an accent, one of the only things he inherited from his father. And then his eyes travel downwards, and I see him see what I'm wearing.
"Holy fucking shit." He exhales, slowly releasing me.
"I've been shopping," I say. Then I hiccup. "And drinking."
I bite my lip to stop from grinning. Gray can't tear his eyes off my cleavage, then my waist, then my ass, then my feet—really, my bare feet?—then back up again.
"I'm sorry I didn't call you," I say, surprised that I mean it. "I wasn't checking my phone, and then I…got distracted." He looks up at me, and for a split-second I see pure anguish in his eyes, before he masks himself.
Gray leans in, kisses me cheek, then whispers in my ear, "I was worried out of my mind. But now I'm distracted, too."
He trails a hand over the smooth fabric of the dress, before resting it on my ass. He holds me there, then turns toward the man he arrived with.
The man who's staring hungrily at my best friend.
What in the what?!
"Chase, we're good here," Gray says, gripping me even tighter.
"Chase" is, um, about the most gorgeous man I've ever seen, second only to Gray. Chase is just an inch or two shy of Gray's massive height, and I can tell this man is strong, probably deadly. He's wearing all black: black jeans, black boots, a black t-shirt. His hair is a dark chestnut, and his eyes are bright blue.
And aimed right at my best friend.
"What about her?" Chase says, never taking his eyes off Elle.
Mandy's standing between all of us, looking giddily from Chase and Elle to Gray and me. She catches my eye and asks, "Is there another guy coming in? Because hot damn."
A nervous laugh escapes me, but I'm quickly sobering up.
"Gray, Chase—this is Elle. My oldest friend." Gray looks reflexively at me, and I know he's thinking: except me. Because I'm thinking that, too. The only person who's been in my life longer than Elle is Gray.
But he left, I remind myself.
But he's back.
"Pleased to meet you." Chase extends his hand and takes Elle's small hand in his. Elle blushes like wildfire, and makes a move to cover up her chest. Chase doesn't seem to mind the bustier or the kitten leggings. He reaches out one long arm and gently rights Elle's tiara, which had fallen to the side.
"Elle," my best friend whispers. She looks like she's been hit by a truck. A big, bad, crystal blue-eyed, Chase-shaped truck.
"Elle and Mandy and I were just finishing up," I say.
"You're finished now," Gray says. "How much do I owe you?" He hands Mandy what looks like a business card. "Pack it all up and ship it to this address."
"But Gray, I haven't actually finished picking a few things out." I move toward the dressing rooms. "Let me just make my final choices, and I'll get dressed and we can go."
Gray grabs my hand, stopping me in my tracks. He gives Mandy a look that has her shivering in her shoes, though I'm not sure it's entirely unpleasant shivers.
"We'll take it all. Anything she tried on." Gray turns toward Chase and Elle. "You got her?"
"I've got her," Chase says. He still hasn't stopped staring at my girl, which makes me nervous. Then again, Elle can't seem to stop looking at him.
"Actually," I say. "Elle and I were going to go get dinner." For some reason, leaving Elle alone with Chase feels like leaving Little Red Riding Hood alone with the Big Bad Wolf. I raise my eyebrows and give Elle a look: Are you okay?
She grins and gives me an it's-okay shake of the head, a slight blush train her cheeks a lovely shade of rose.
"I think I'll just go home and get dinner, Kat." Elle takes off the tiara and turns to Mandy. "It was so nice meeting you. Let me just get changed—"
Chase gently takes the tiara from her hand, turns to Mandy, and says, "Anything she tried on, bill to me. Chase Masters." He nods his head toward Gray. "You can send the invoice to his place, but put my name on it."
He delicately places the tiara back on Elle's head. "Keep it on. It goes with the kitten tights."
I've never seen my best friend speechless before, but she just gapes at him, her hand trailing up to the crown on her head.
"C'mon," Chase says, grabbing her hand. "I'll get her home safe, Kat."
And with that, they're out the door!
"Elle!" I cry. "Wait, are you sure about this—"
"He's got her," Gray growls.
"That's what I'm afraid of!"
Gray gives me a wolfish grin. "Chase is one of only three people I trust in the world. Your friend will be all right."
I'm scared to ask who the third person is. It can't be me, can it? He's giving me a meaningful look, like I should know what he's talking about. Ask him, some part of me says. But then Gray leans down, picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder, Tarzan-style. My dress is so tight and slick I almost slide right off, but his large hands hold me tight.
"I've got you," Grays says. I can feel his large hand caressing my ass through the skintight fabric, and I'm embarrassed that it goes straight to my core, molten heat flooding my mind and heart and center.
I feel more than see Gray turn to Mandy. "Take a break," he orders. "A long one. Lock the front doors."
I hear a breathless "yes, Sir!" and then the front door opens and shuts. All I can see is Gray's ass—and what a nice fucking specimen it is—even hanging upside down.
"Put me down." I try to make my voice as controlled and angry as I can. I will not squirm with excitement. I will not!
Gray carries me to the back of the store. "Gladly. But I want to see what you've been spending all my hard-earned money on, first."
I shriek and start banging on his ass. Dammit, why does it have to be hard as a rock and so perfect?
"Babes, you can cut the foreplay. I'm a sure thing."
Suddenly I'm back on my feet, his hands steadying me at my waist, and then he's kissing me senseless.
"Gray—" I say, pulling back to take a breath. He kisses me again, taking control. He's so big and tall and overwhelming in every way. Gray's tongue slips inside my mouth, wars with me, makes peace with me, then takes over. He makes me feel giddier and higher than champagne bubbles.
He sits back on one of the golden couches, looking like a king on his throne, and I stand between his legs. He leans forward and kisses me one more time, hot and wet and insistent.
"You look gorgeous," he whispers into my mouth. I can feel the heat from his exhalations, and it's driving me mad. I move to step closer, between his spread legs, but he stops me, his hands on my hips. "This dress is amazing. You're amazing."
I don't know how to handle his compliments. No one's really ever told me I'm beautiful, besides Elle. But she's my best friend, so she has to say stuff like that.
But…Gray can't keep his hands off me.
He keeps kissing the edge of my lips, his hands moving restlessly over and over the fabric clinging to my hips.
"How much did this dress cost?" Gray continues, his smooth, dark voice whispering in my ear. I realize he's slowly pulling up the skintight dress. He pauses and whistles when he sees the garter and stockings.
"Fuck, that's distracting," he says. He pulls back and looks me in the eye, letting my dress fall.
"Um, I'm not sure." I know I'm blushing. "I didn't buy it yet. I won't buy it. It's ridiculously expensive."
"How much is 'ridiculously expensive?'"
I groan. "It's like three-thousand dolla
rs."
He leans in and gives me one more sweet, soft kiss on my lips.
"I just wanted to know how much it would cost me."
"Cost you? I said I wouldn't get it." I'm distracted by his kisses, by the way Gray's lightly calloused hands travel up my bare arms, a barely-there touch that makes me shiver.
"Cost me," Gray whispers. "For when I do this."
Then he grabs the front of my dress, where the bodice has been carefully stitched together—and he rips the damn thing straight in half!
"Gray!" I shriek. "Oh my God, what are you doing!"
"Getting my money's worth," Gray grins.
The ruined dress falls to the floor, and I'm left standing there in lace scraps that are passing for a bra and panties, and my garter belt and hosiery.
"Shit, Kat." His slight accent is back. "I'll always remember how you look right now. Always."
"Right back at you," I whisper.
Because I will.
I'm standing upright between Gray's legs. God, he's so gorgeous. His eyes are intense, a smoky blue-gray in the low dressing-room lights. His hair looks like hammered gold, and out from under his black shirt, I see the tail of his immense, intricate snake tattoo.
"Feel what you do to me." Gray takes my hand and places it between his legs, over his pants. He's huge, and hard.
All for me.
I lick my lips. Suddenly I want to do something I've never done before. I watch myself like in a dream. I bend forward at the waist, meeting his eager lips, but I dance just out of his hands.
"Lean back," I whisper against his lips. His huge body moves back immediately. I can't help but revel in the power. He moves for me. He gets hard for me.
He wants me.
I slide my body down his massive one. I've always been a bigger, curvier girl—but next to Gray I feel positively miniature. Well, not exactly miniature. Gray cops a feel of what's overflowing from my lace bra. He groans in appreciation.
I drop to my knees and bite my lip.
Gray watches me, his eyes on fire, as I unbutton and slowly unzip his pants. Jesus, he's not wearing any underwear, and his cock is so big and hard that as soon as it's free, it juts proudly forward, reaching up and beyond his navel.
Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 17