Just a Bit Wicked (Straight Guys Book 7)

by Alessandra Hazard

  The stupid shit really had a death wish.

  A blow to Sebastian’s stomach made him double over. Another to his ribs sent him to his knees, breathless and in pain.

  Vlad grabbed a fistful of black hair and yanked Sebastian’s face up. “I should fucking beat you to death for your big mouth.”

  Panting, Sebastian smiled up at him before croaking out, “Why don’t you put my big mouth to better use?” Before he could react, Sebastian pressed his parted lips against the outline of Vlad’s hard dick.

  Vlad’s muscles locked up. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but stare as Sebastian dragged his red lips over his clothed dick, all the while looking up at Vlad.

  “Stop that,” he heard himself say, his body vibrating with restrained tension, his cock so hard it was painful. Why was he so hard, dammit?

  Looking him in the eye, Sebastian rubbed his cheek against Vlad’s erection like an overgrown cat, murmuring, “How does it feel to know that a homo gave you a boner, straight guy?”

  And Vlad snapped. He yanked his zipper down, grabbed his cock and pushed it into the faggot’s mouth. Sebastian grunted, gagging on the thick length in his mouth, his eyes going comically wide. The sight was immensely satisfying. Clearly the guy had been bluffing. He expected Sebastian to struggle and free himself now that Vlad had called him out on his bluff, but Sebastian didn’t. He looked up at Vlad, tightened his lips around Vlad’s cock, and sucked.

  Vlad’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, a low groan slipping out of his mouth. The warmth, the wetness, the perfect amount of suction were too much, and suddenly it wasn’t about calling the faggot’s bluff out, but about a warm, wetwetwet mouth wrapped around his aching cock. Before Vlad could stop himself, his hips were thrusting in and out of the guy’s mouth, disgust and overwhelming need to fuck that mouth raging a war inside his body.

  He wanted to say, “Stop,” but nothing came out. He wanted to shove the faggot away, but his body didn’t obey. He could do nothing but ram his cock into the guy’s throat, growling lowly at the sensation as he fucked it for minutes, maybe for hours; he had no idea. Sebastian’s mouth was fucking perfect around Vlad’s dick, and Vlad was losing it, thrusting into it like a man possessed, cradling Sebastian’s face in his hands, needing—fuck—

  Before he knew it, he was groaning and coming down the guy’s throat.

  For a long moment, there was only silence and overwhelming pleasure.

  And then his brain kicked back into gear.

  “That didn’t happen,” he said hoarsely, wide-eyed and breathless.

  Sebastian wiped his mouth, watching him with a thoughtful look that would have made Vlad uneasy if he wasn’t already freaking out of his mind.

  “Sure,” Sebastian said amicably. He got to his feet and smiled. “Thanks for the visit. It was...interesting. You know where the door is.”

  Vlad didn’t need to be told twice. He was almost out of the room when Sebastian said, “I would apologize for giving your girlfriend an orgasm, but now she and you are even.”

  Vlad slammed the door shut.

  He made his way out of the building, nausea rolling in his stomach. His jaw clenched, he looked straight in front of him, avoiding meeting other people’s eyes. He’d never felt so self-conscious and sickened in his life. Could people look at him and see what had happened? Was it written on his face that he had fucked another man’s mouth? Did it make him a faggot, too?

  Pidoras, pidor, goluboy, pedik—familiar Russian equivalents for “faggot” echoed in his mind in a scathing, disgusted voice. It sounded a lot like his uncle’s, and it brought up half-forgotten memories of his childhood.

  Vlad had grown up in a small Russian village far from any major cities. The village was so old-fashioned it seemed stuck in the first half of the twentieth century in many ways. With only one black-and-white TV in the entire village, they all were basically cut off from the rest of the world. Vlad hadn’t been unhappy about it; he simply didn’t know better. He and his brothers spent their childhood working hard on their small farm under the stern, watchful eye of their uncle. A former Army sergeant, Uncle Stepan didn’t believe in “lazying around.”

  “Don’t be such faggots and get your asses to work,” Uncle Stepan would yell at them when the boys tired out and wanted to play for a change. “Faggot” had been a synonym of “weakling” for as long as Vlad could remember. None of the boys had known what exactly the word originally meant, but they all knew they didn’t want to be faggots. When the boys complained about being cold or hungry, Uncle Stepan would bark at them to stop being little faggots and start being real men. Faggots weren’t real men as far as Uncle Stepan was concerned, and the boys had never questioned their uncle’s authority or knowledge.

  When Vlad turned eleven, the word got another meaning.

  There was a new family in the village, something almost unheard of. The newcomers had moved from Moscow and they had a teenage boy several years older than Vlad. The boy’s name was Philip and he was unlike any other boy Vlad had seen in his life: soft-skinned, doe-eyed, and pretty useless at farming; or at anything, for that matter. And yet, Vlad couldn’t quite bring himself to despise him. The boy was nice. He had a nice smile and a lot of funny stories to tell. Vlad liked watching him. That was how one day he caught Philip kissing Sergei, another boy from their village. Vlad was utterly flabbergasted. Having lived in a very sheltered, old-fashioned village all his life, Vlad hadn’t even known boys could kiss boys. Confused, he went to his uncle and asked him about it.

  The fallout was nothing short of explosive.

  Vlad got the whipping of his life for asking “such a stupid, freaky question.” Philip and his family hastily left the village the same night. Sergei, the boy Philip had kissed, was beaten to death by his own father.

  “Serves that faggot right,” Uncle Stepan had said with grim approval. “Abominations, all of them. They shouldn’t be allowed to mix with normal people.”

  Vlad’s brothers had murmured their assent while an eleven-year-old Vlad just sat there, feeling sick to his stomach. Was Sergei’s death his fault for telling his uncle about what he’d seen? He had known Sergei. The boy had been strong and capable and didn’t seem like an abomination or a weakling. Or had he been corrupted by Philip? Was it really contagious?

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it, kid,” Uncle Stepan said gruffly, patting Vlad on the head. “Those freaks are nothing like you and your brothers. They’re a disgrace to men and should be hunted down and killed like rabid dogs so they don’t spread their disease.”

  More than twenty years later, as Vlad walked out of the hotel in which he’d fucked another man’s mouth, he thought of his uncle’s words and felt nausea roll in his stomach. No, he was no longer a sheltered eleven-year-old. He knew homosexuality wasn’t actually a disease. His uncle was long dead, and by now Vlad knew Uncle Stepan’s hate for gay men had been…rather radical. But it was impossible to completely eradicate everything he had been raised to believe.

  He wasn’t a faggot. He was normal.

  What had happened back at the hotel was a fluke; it would never happen again.

  Never.

  Chapter 2

  Five months later

  The phone call came while Vlad was lounging in front of the TV with a beer in hand. Chelsea had just scored against Liverpool, to Vlad’s annoyance and disappointment. He had put a bet on Liverpool, but the goddamn Gabriel DuVal just had to score and ruin it.

  His phone went off again and Vlad looked blearily at the caller ID, squinting at it to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

  They weren’t. It really was Roman Demidov, his former boss, and one ungrateful son of a bitch—the man Vlad had respected and foolishly considered a friend of sorts before Roman had fired him over nothing five months ago. Fine, maybe not nothing, Vlad conceded grudgingly, but still. Weren’t fifteen years of loyalty worth more than the fucktoy Roman had been obsessed with?

  Vla
d stared at his phone before sighing and swiping the screen to answer the call. He didn’t bother with small talk and said, “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after you told me to fuck off and never come back.” Or something along those lines. Vlad didn’t remember all that well because he had been too busy being choked by Roman, but the gist of the message had been pretty clear. Frankly, he had been lucky to leave with his life. Roman could be absolutely ruthless when he was angry and Vlad had known better than to defend himself.

  “The circumstances have changed,” Roman said. “Have you found another job?”

  “You know I haven’t,” Vlad said, his lips twisting. He had no delusions: Roman wouldn’t be calling if he hadn’t thoroughly checked to make sure that Vlad hadn’t accepted one of the numerous jobs he had been offered by Roman’s enemies.

  “Yes, I know,” Roman said. “Why?”

  That was a fair question. Vlad might have been fired from his previous job, but he was good at what he did and didn’t exactly lack job offers. Normally he wouldn’t still be unemployed. He had simply been waiting for the right offer. He could afford being temporarily unemployed.

  Vlad smiled. “They all wanted me to sell you out.”

  There was silence on the line. They both knew that Vlad knew too much about Roman’s business dealings—both legal and illegal. He could have made a fucking fortune on selling Roman out.

  “Why haven’t you?” Roman said, sounding unconcerned, as if he hadn’t doubted for a moment that Vlad wouldn’t do it.

  Vlad scowled and took a gulp of beer. “Because apparently I’m an idiot.” He really was an idiot to stay loyal to the man who had kicked him out over a fucktoy.

  “Good,” Roman said curtly. “I have a job for you.”

  Vlad tipped his head back, frowning at the dimly lit ceiling. “A job?” It wasn’t like Roman to forgive someone who had wronged him.

  “Look,” Roman said in a clipped voice. “Don’t think for a moment that I have forgotten what you did, but I know that you—mistakenly—thought you were acting in my best interests. I’m giving you a second chance. Your last chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “What, exactly, is the job?” Vlad said, suspicious but curious. “What happened?” Roman was a proud, stubborn man who rarely changed his decisions. He wouldn’t be offering Vlad a second chance if he genuinely didn’t need him.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but I’ve moved the headquarters from Switzerland to London.” Roman’s voice was cool and calm, but Vlad could sense tension in it.

  Vlad said, “And?”

  “I need to leave London for a month, but there’s a...situation here, and I can’t leave Luke unprotected.”

  Vlad sneered. Of course. He should have known. He should have known only that English brat had the power to make Roman change his mind. It was kind of ironic that Luke Whitford was the reason Vlad had lost his job and was the reason he was getting it back. Or was he?

  “What sort of situation?” he said gruffly. He still didn’t understand. Roman had hundreds of people in his employ.

  “It’s all over the news,” Roman said with a sigh, impatience creeping into his voice. “Three gay men have been beaten to death. All of them were publicly out, and all of them were influential one way or another, advancing LGBT causes. The authorities believe it’s the work of some anti-gay cult.”

  Vlad rubbed at his temple. “And you think your boy is targeted?”

  A pause.

  “I don’t know,” Roman said. “But Luke is publicly out and has been all over the news since the beginning of the summer as the sole heir of Whitford’s business empire. He’s an obvious target.” His voice acquired a steely edge. “Even if he’s not targeted, I’m not going to risk it.”

  “Why me?” Vlad said. “You have other people. You have Anna.”

  “Anya will be accompanying me,” Roman said. “I need her with me in Peru. She can’t be in two places at once.” He paused. “I didn’t fire you because I doubted your professional abilities, Vlad. I fired you because I didn’t. I know how good you are and that’s why I didn’t believe that you had nothing to do with Luke’s disappearance while you were responsible for him.”

  Vlad took another sip from his bottle and decided he hated Roman Demidov. Roman knew all too well how to manipulate people into doing what he wanted. But even knowing that Roman was manipulating him, it was still working, dammit. Roman wasn’t one to give compliments lightly.

  “And you would trust me with the boy’s safety after I got rid of him last time?” Vlad said. “After I roughed him up a little that other time?” He knew Roman hadn’t forgotten it. Roman never forgot anything.

  Roman didn’t reply immediately.

  “I wouldn’t if I had another choice,” he said, his voice like ice. “I don’t trust you with him, but I trust you to keep him safe.” A pause. “The murders aren’t the only reason why I need you to bodyguard Luke. Charves has been a nuisance lately. Some of his people were seen in London.”

  Vlad frowned. Charves was a Peruvian gangster with a personal vendetta against Roman. He was also ape-shit crazy and therefore unpredictable.

  “You and Anna are the only ones who know how his mind operates,” Roman said. “I’m going to Peru to deal with him and I can’t afford to be distracted. And I will be if I’m worrying about Luke’s safety.”

  Fucking hell. That English kid had Roman completely whipped. Who would have thought?

  “Fine,” Vlad said. “But I’ll need a visa.”

  “It was already taken care of.”

  Vlad laughed hoarsely. “You’re such a smug asshole.” Of course Roman couldn’t even imagine anyone saying no to him.

  “Careful, Vlad.”

  Vlad rolled his eyes. Roman firmly believed that familiarity bred contempt and usually distanced himself from his employees. The problem was, he and Roman had known each other for half of their lives and knew each other too well for a strict boss-employee relationship. On the other hand, they also weren’t close enough to be true friends. It was always a struggle for Vlad to find the right balance.

  Vlad said gruffly, “Fuck off, I don’t have to be respectful until I sign the contract. Send it to me now. When do you need me in London?”

  “By the end of the week.” Roman went silent for a short while. “Don’t disappoint me again,” he said at last, his voice deceptively soft. “If anything happens to him while I’m gone, losing your job is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. I’ll find you.”

  Vlad smiled. He didn’t have any delusions about that. Roman rarely got his hands dirty these days, but when he did, it wasn’t pretty.

  “I know,” he said. “I don’t repeat my mistakes twice. You know that.”

  “I do,” Roman said and hung up.

  Vlad heaved a sigh and stared at his phone, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He had his pride and didn’t really want to bodyguard Whitford’s brat. But on the other hand, he did owe Roman. If Roman hadn’t taken him under his wing all those years ago, who knew which jail’s cot he’d be warming today? He’d saved Roman’s life plenty of times since then, but he had never really felt like he’d repaid his debt. The truth was, until he’d met Roman Demidov, his life had been a shithole. He had been a nobody from some godforsaken village, with no education, no prospects, huge debts, and a penchant for violence and expensive drugs. Even after fifteen years of loyal service, Vlad still felt like he owed Roman something.

  Maybe this job would finally do the trick and he’d be finally free.

  Ignoring the knot of unease that had appeared in his stomach at the thought of going to London, Vlad went to his laptop to book a flight.

  London was a huge city. The odds of running into someone he’d rather not see were very slim. He had nothing to worry about.

  Chapter 3

  London greeted him with fog and heavy rain.

  The cab dropped him in front of Luke Whitford’s building, but Vlad was still soaked
by the time he got inside. All he wanted was a cup of hot tea and a change of clothes, but the extensive security screening by the private lift leading to Luke’s penthouse took almost fifteen minutes. Although the security measures satisfied him, the long wait in soaked clothes didn’t exactly put him in a good mood. By the time he was approved and the private lift doors slid open to reveal Luke Whitford’s spacious penthouse, Vlad wasn’t in the mood to wait until its owner made an appearance. Silently, he moved toward the kitchen where he could hear familiar voices.

  “...I still don’t understand why it has to be him,” Luke Whitford was saying. “He hates me. I don’t trust him.”

  “Then trust me,” Roman said. “Vlad is the best at what he does. In the decade he was responsible for my security, no attempt on my life was successful.” Roman’s voice softened a little. “If things were different, I wouldn’t have chosen him to bodyguard you, but...”

  Luke sighed. “I know. Soon, yeah?”

  “Yes,” Roman said. “Vlad, you can stop snooping.”

  Vlad stepped into the kitchen, schooling his face into indifference at the sight that greeted him.

  Luke’s head was resting on Roman’s chest, Roman’s fingers running through the boy’s golden curls. Roman’s ice blue eyes fixed on Vlad over Luke’s shoulder, losing the softness they held just a moment ago. Now there was only the hard, calculating edge Vlad was so familiar with.

  “Hi, Vlad,” Luke said unenthusiastically without looking at him.

  “I have to leave earlier than anticipated,” Roman said, without bothering with social niceties. “I’ll be gone for a month, maybe more.”

  Luke sighed, burrowing his face into Roman’s neck. “I hate it.”

  “I know,” Roman said, his arm tightening around the boy for a moment.

  Vlad shifted from one foot to the other, deeply uncomfortable.

  “Be safe, yeah?” Luke murmured so softly Vlad could barely hear it.

  Something flickered in Roman’s eyes as they met Vlad’s. They both knew there was no such thing as safe when your name was Roman Demidov. Roman was a dangerous and powerful man, but there were other dangerous and powerful men. Back in Moscow, Vlad had heard through the grapevine that Roman wanted to get rid of the criminal aspects of his business and was doing a major cleanup. It made quite a few of his former business associates unhappy.