by Taylor Lee
The Volokov Affair
By
Taylor Lee
Praise for The Volkov Affair…
“A dangerously elegant man, a beautiful feisty young woman, take on the evils of the international sex trade while exploring a passionately erotic world of their own.”
J. Johnson
“From the Russian Mafia to the Human Trafficking Arena, this book captures the reader with the power and immediacy of today’s riveting headlines. Throw in a dynamite love story and you have Sizzling Romantic Suspense at its best.”
KDR
“A spellbinding suspense filled international adventure coupled with a sizzling SEXY romance. Yum!”
Sneaky Romance Reader
“Her father’s sins; her lover’s crime; their dangerous past comes back to threaten her. Only their cunning and bravery overcome the evil men out to wreak their revenge.”
Action Junkie
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Chapter 1
El Paso, Texas
June 2010
The roar of bikes cruising into the parking lot of the Broken Spoke competed with the raucous voices and shrieks of laughter from El Paso’s most famous biker bar. Rowdy dancers stamped out a drunken two-step to ZZ Top’s Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers blaring over the loudspeakers.
Nicki knew it was risky to lure the drunken man away from the safety of the crowd but she had to keep him from leaving. Ratcheting down her excitement at the information she’d enticed out of him, she brushed past her friend Serena and headed for the stairs in the back corner of the bar. Seeing Serena’s questioning frown, she stopped and shook her head.
“You don’t understand, Serena,” she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. “He’s our man. I know it. He as much as told me he knows where she is. I just have to make sure he doesn’t leave before Caleb gets here.”
The glassy-eyed man lurched forward, staggering against the wall. Nicki leaned a shoulder into his armpit, her slender frame doing its best to steady him. Grabbing a bottle of Jim Beam from the end of the bar, she hooked her arm around his fleshy middle and jerked him toward the stairs.
“C’mon, big guy. Let’s you and I get out of here, find a bit of privacy. Where it’s not so noisy. Where we can get to know each other better. Continue our little talk.”
Tossing her head dismissively at Serena’s whispered plea to wait for Caleb, Nicki half dragged, half shoved the lumbering man up the steps to the private rooms at the head of the stairs.
Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed them, Nicki angled the sweating man into the first room on the right. She swallowed hard. The stale 8 X 10 room was almost as disgusting as he was. The rumpled bedspread and stained sheets left little to the imagination. The drunken man didn’t seem to notice. He stumbled across the room making a wobbly beeline for the bed. Sinking down on the edge with a grunt, he pinned her with a lecherous glare.
In a voice slurred with booze and lust, he barked, “Get your ass over here, girl.”
Nicki tried to ignore the warning signals skittering across the back of her neck. Shoving down her fear, she did her best to plaster a grin on her face. “My, my. You’re sure in a hurry. I don’t even know your name, big guy.”
He growled then spit out, “Zeke Swenson. Junior.”
Taking a deep breath, Nicki released her stranglehold on the door knob and forced herself to move toward the enormous stranger. Her hands perched on her hips, she sidled up closer to the bed and winked at him.
“Honey, if you’re Junior, I can only imagine what Senior looks like. You are one big man. How much do you weigh, big guy? I bet you tip the scales at close to three hundred!”
He squinted up at her, scowling, as if she’d asked him to name the capitals of the five surrounding states. She dragged a small table next to the bed and put the bottle of whiskey beside two tumblers orphaned by some previous guests. Ignoring the filth in the bottom of the glasses, she pushed them toward him.
“Now, Zeke. You asked me up here for a drink, remember?” She flashed him a bright smile and winked at the bulge in his pants. Licking her lips, she added with a salacious grin, “And, big guy, I am one thirsty girl.”
Zeke flushed a dangerous purplish color.
“Here, Zeke, let me.” Nicki grabbed the bottle the big man clutched in his hand and filled his glass. Dropping the liquid roofie into the glass was simple. Damn, she could have dumped in a cup full. He wouldn’t have noticed. His eyes never left the meager scrap of material that did a piss poor job of covering her full breasts. She leaned over to give him an eyeful of bounteous flesh as she slipped in the rest of the drug from the vial. She poured an inch of whiskey in her glass and raised it in a toast.
“Bottoms up, Junior.”
Gratified when he emptied his glass, Nicki reached over and refilled it to the brim. Swatting his meathook hand off her butt, she backed away with a teasing grin.
“Now, Zeke,” she purred, “why don’t you haul yourself up on the bed? I just want make sure we have privacy.”
Fluffing the discolored pillows, she bent over to give him a full view of her backside. Whoever designed this outfit had one thing in mind. Even when she stood up straight, the skirt barely covered her ass. The huge man’s appreciative growl confirmed the scrap of red satin panties covering her firm cheeks made the intended impression. Sauntering across the room, she pretended to lock the door. Looking over her shoulder she saw Zeke struggling with his belt buckle.
Leaning against the door, Nicki crooned, “Make yourself comfortable, big guy. We have a long night ahead of us.” Choking back revulsion, she watched him hoist himself up on the bed. Grunting with the effort, his sausage fingers tugged at the zipper straining the front of his pants.
Nicki swallowed hard, anxiously waiting for the drug to take effect. Damn, the dose she gave him should have knocked him out. She didn’t want him unconscious, just contained. She was sure he was the key to the investigation. Her instincts hadn’t failed her yet. She knew they were close; close to the break they’d been searching for. As soon as Caleb got here, they would question him further. She didn’t kid herself—sweet talk and a curvy ass only went so far. She needed Caleb’s kind of muscular persuasion. The kind that made even a three-hundred-pound man beg for his mama right before spilling his guts. But something was wrong. The amount of roofie she put in his drink would’ve derailed a freight train. His eyes were glassy, but with lust.
Zeke grabbed the bottle off the table and drained it. His voice was harsh, slurred. “I told you, girl, get your skinny ass over here.”
For the first time since enticing him away from the crowd, Nicki questioned her judgment. She thought of Rafe, and his stern warning to not take chances, not go anywhere without Caleb, to stick… to… the… plan. Moving closer to the bed, she reassured herself that the 10-inch blade in her stiletto boot was just a quick move away.
When she flipped up the fringed leather skirt that barely covered her ass, the sweaty man leveraged himself up onto his bloated elbows.
His arm came out of nowhere. A huge hand grabbed her by the throat and yanked her back across the bed. For a split second, Nicki panicked. Oh, God. He was too big, too heavy. Lust made him ferocious. Clawing at her tank top, he ripped it down the middle. The rush of air against her bare breasts spurred her into action. Pretending to go limp, she marshaled her strength. Years of training kicked in: With a fierce spirit yell, Nicki drove her knee into his groin while shoving the pa
lm of her hand up hard under his nose. The resounding crack of splintering bone and spurts of blood confirmed she’d broken his nose. Howling like a gored bull, Zeke heaved up and backhanded Nicki across her face. Ignoring the acrid taste of blood in her mouth, she scrambled off the bed as Zeke lunged for her.
Nicki made a run for the door but he grabbed her hair in his meaty fist and dragged her back. His next blow knocked her down. She rose to her hands and knees as she heard the click. Fuck. She hadn’t planned on a gun. But there it was, the barrel inches from her eyes. But Nicki was armed, too; the steel in her hand was cool, strong, familiar. Knowing she had only one chance, she drove the blade up between his ribs, aiming for the heart. The roar of the gun blast shattered the air. The last thing she heard was a piercing scream. Hers.
Chapter 2
The bar was already crowded, and would get more so as hordes of bikers arrived to celebrate Texas’s answer to the world famous Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey and four glasses Abe shoved her way, Jenna grimaced. She could barely make her way from the bar to the tables as it was—and the crowd just kept thickening. Leave it to Texas to think they could supplant seventy-two years of motorcycle history. But, damn, if many more revelers fought their way in, the Long Horn powers that be may just have called it right. Maybe the cocky cowboys could give Sturgis a run for its money.
Holding her tray high over her head to protect the booze, Jenna wiggled her way to the table where her four customers were eyeing her in anticipation. Smiling broadly at their suggestive comments and lewd stares, she made a point of bending over the table to hand them each a glass. Four groans confirmed that her lacy tank top had slipped to a risky level.
Jenna caught Serena’s warning glance from across the room. She saw the concern in Serena’s eyes. Turning back to the gaping men, she leaned over and said in a husky voice, “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t you guys go anywhere, you hear?” With a saucy wink over her shoulder she switched her curvy ass from side to side as she flounced across the room toward her friend.
Serena flicked away a biker’s grasping fingers tugging at the back of her short leather skirt. Throwing him a teasing grin, she said, “Not now, cowboy. Maybe later.”
He growled, his ruddy face flaming to dark red. “Count on it, pussy cat.”
Sidling up close to Jenna, Serena reached inside the top of one knee-high stiletto boot and pulled out a roll of bills. Pretending to exchange money with her busty blond friend, she whispered, “Nicki went upstairs twenty minutes ago.” A frown creased her brow as she jerked her head toward the curved staircase leading to the private rooms at the top of the stairs.
Jenna pasted a false smile on her face, but nodded to Serena, to confirm she understood. “She was supposed to wait for Caleb. And by the way,” she murmured, “where the hell is Caleb?”
Serena grinned, as though they were exchanging a bawdy joke, not life and death information. “Now isn’t that the question of the hour?”
At that moment, a gunshot followed by a woman’s scream rang out, echoing down the stairs. The four men at Jenna’s table leapt up, heading toward the stairs. Serena whirled on her customer, who’d taken advantage of the chaos to stick his hand up her skirt. With a practiced turn she drove her knee into his groin. His agonized shriek was lost in the crash of the whiskey bottle Serena smashed across his crown.
The bar erupted. Screams of “Fight! Bar Fight!” filled the air as dozens of men high on booze and testosterone jumped in to join the fracas. Jenna and Serena spun, kicked and slammed their way to the stairs, leaving a trail of drunken bloodied bikers staggering in their wake.
They pulled up hard when they reached the bottom of the stairs and came face to face with Cesar Del Castillo, the owner of the Broken Spoke. Cesar was the meanest, most brutal son of a bitch on the Texas side of the border. If the cold rage darkening his pock-marked face wasn’t enough to stop them, the brawl-busting bat over his shoulder and extended Glock 9 mm pointed at Jenna’s face did the trick.
~~~
Caleb rode his Harley-Davidson Fatboy like the crotch rocket it was, barreling down the gravel road to the Broken Spoke. Swerving to avoid the crush of fellow bikers battling to run each other off the narrow road, he cranked the volume on his Blue Tooth, begging Rafe to answer.
Rafe’s voice was cool, authoritative, as always. “Yes?”
Shouting over the din, Caleb did his best to control his panic, but he couldn’t keep fear from spiking his voice.
“Rafe, there’s a problem. It’s…it’s bad.”
“Nicki?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what… Jenna called. She…she….Nicki took a guy upstairs. Serena said Nicki told her the guy said he was supposed to guard the “package” tonight. There were gunshots, and Nicki doesn’t carry a piece. Goddammit, Rafe. I know I was late. But, hell, I was with the Senator. And, Christ, she coulda waited. Why the hell didn’t she wait…?”
“How bad?”
“Christ, man. I dunno. I’m still five minutes out. Oh…oh shit. There’s sirens and a damn ambulance. Look, I…I’ll call you…as soon as I get there”
“You do that.”
Caleb stared at the silent phone. With a grimace he shoved it in his pocket. Tromping down hard on the accelerator, he sped off leaving a trail of angry bikers shouting curses at his back.
~~~
Rafe drew a cigarette from his embossed silver case. Flicking the matching lighter, he blew a stream of fragrant smoke in the air. He looked down to see that his hands were shaking. He didn’t know which was stronger, his fury or his fear. Goddamn her. He wasn’t surprised. Of course, it would be Nicki who disobeyed orders, who went out on her own, regardless of danger. He chided himself. He would never have given her a chance if she weren’t Yuri Petrakov’s daughter. When Yuri sent her to him, he warned Rafe. She’s irrepressible, disrespectful, and headstrong. Christ, those were her father’s words. But Nicki was also one of the most talented fighters he’d encountered, and coincidentally the most exotically beautiful women he’d ever met.
Just being in the same room with her stirred a mix of conflicting emotions. Her untamed fire-red curls, and her pale skin touched with a natural rosy tint, were equally striking. Her lips were full, sensuous. She had a distracting habit of gnawing on her bottom lip with sharp white teeth, and licking the puffy flesh when she was nervous. That moist pink tongue spoke volumes about what she could do to a man crazy enough to concede an inch of power to her. Dark brows and thick lashes highlighted the unusual tilt to her eyes, which were by far her most arresting feature. They were yellow. A stark narrow band of black circled the gleaming topaz. Rafe had never seen a she-wolf in the wild. He was confident if he did, she would look like Nicki.
It didn’t help that her body was as hypnotic as her face. Taller than most women he knew, her long slim legs put Vegas showgirls to shame. As if legs that didn’t quit weren’t enough, her curvy hips and ass drew at least a gaping stare from every man who saw her. Having worked their way up the yellow brick road their eyes would lock on the money ball—a pair of tits as high, full and proud as the woman who flaunted them. Rafe smothered a grin at the response whenever she entered a room. Hard bitten men who chomped bullets for breakfast regressed into blushing teenagers hitching up their pants and dragging their tongues back in their mouths. Rafe didn’t blame them. Hell, a man would have to be a eunuch not to respond to a body like hers. Fortunately for him, Nicki was completely, irreversibly off limits. Yuri Petrakov wasn’t a man one toyed with. Not only had Yuri saved his life, he had trusted Rafe with his most treasured possession: his beautiful daughter.
Nikita Petrakov, who went by Nicki Powers, was Rafe’s Kryptonite. It helped that although she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever known, she also was a pain in the ass. Smart mouthed, sassy and uncontrollable, she was as annoying as she was intriguing. The trick was not to let her get behind the personal iron curtain he’d spent a lifetime constructing. It was a barrier that no o
ne, even the tempting Ms. Powers, could breach. It allowed him to meet the world with a steely eye, an insouciant elegance, and an irreverent tongue. The world saw what he allowed it to see: an urbane literate man as untouchable as a sleek prowling panther. And as dangerous.
Rafe had always planned to add women to the high-octane men who staffed his enterprise. In the few short years since he founded it, International Security Associates had become a whispered word among the powerful and the wealthy. Known for their skill and utmost secrecy, as well as their exorbitant fees, ISA was regularly sought out by influential men in trouble. A beautiful young woman, who happened to be a trained fighter, could be an asset in the sophisticated circles Rafe traveled in.
He’d thought the incident at the Texas border would be a perfect test for Nicki. The thirteen-year-old daughter of a state senator had been kidnapped. Her terrified father refused to contact the police, believing the kidnapper’s threats that if he did, his daughter would be killed…after they brutally gang raped her. Senator Walton was a strident arch- conservative law and order legislator. He’d made his reputation pushing the hardest anti-illegal immigrant, anti-gang and drug legislation in the country. The Senator was convinced that the gangs had Cynthia. All the signs pointed to that conclusion. Snatched on her way home from school, her seventh grade friends told the frightening tale of Spanish speaking men with gang tats and bandanas over their faces throwing the screaming girl in the back of a van and speeding off.
Rafe’s men tracked the girl to a suburb of El Paso, just across the border from Juarez, the Mexican town fast becoming the murder capital of the Northern hemisphere. Using his connections at the sprawling Army post that consumed most of the El Paso geography, Rafe concluded the kidnappers had taken advantage of the biker rally mayhem to hide their victim. He inserted his team at one of the seedy motels next to the Broken Spoke bar. Caleb, one of his longest serving associates, and as fierce a fighter as he was a smooth-talking, golden-haired ladies’ man, headed the team. Questioning his judgment, Rafe had taken a deep breath and added Nicki to the team along with two young women his contract employees in Texas recommended.