by Nic Saint
It was hard to watch Jackie, and not experience a mixture of arousal and fear for her safety. And then there was the proprietary instinct. He didn’t like her to prance around so hot and sexy, all men watching her, devouring her with their eyes. He wanted to swoop down on every single male eating her up with his eyes, having wild fantasies at the sight of that delectable body.
He felt his fingers twitch and twist into fists as a fat father of three leered at her, even licking his lips when she passed, her hips swinging, her pert ass taut and tight, her tits jiggling as she walked, her whole body on display. Christ, he could even see her pussy straight through that tiny thong, her nipples clearly delineated against the stretchy fabric of her top. Emerging from the pool, the water had rendered her top see-through, and made her nipples pucker and tent the material, her dark areolae clearly visible. Dozens of eyes had undressed her, and he’d growled in despair as he watched her strut her stuff like a fucking model.
She was gorgeous, and the most attractive part was that she didn’t even know it. She was an innocent beauty, unlike Susan, who was a knockout but was keenly aware of the fact and enjoyed flaunting her assets in clear view of all. Jackie wasn’t like that. She was a bombshell, and she didn’t even know it, which made her all the more sexy in his book.
When he saw even Bruno gape at her, he ground his teeth, and muttered a silent oath. “If you look at her again, I’ll have to kill you,” he growled.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” Bruno grinned, not even pretending not to have his eyes wander freely all over Jackie’s trim frame. “It’s the Copacabana, bro. An all free buffet.”
“Not free for you, it ain’t,” he ground out dangerously. “And if you even so much as think of looking at her, I’m gonna pound you so hard you’ll wish your mama had closed her legs the day you were conceived.”
Bruno hitched up his shoulders. “Whatever you say, buddy. But you’ll have your work cut out for you. There’s dozens of guys out there thinking she’s the best thing since sliced bread. If you want to knock ‘em all out, you’re gonna be a busy man the next couple of hours.”
“Trust me, I will pound them all into the ground,” grunted Erik. At least, he wished he could. He’d never felt this possessive of a woman before. Had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Jackie. He wanted her now, wrapped tightly around his dick, her body moving in sync with his own, as he plundered that sweet pussy of hers over and over again, ravished that slim and tender frame with his hands while his mouth took possession of hers, that tart and tasty tongue darting into his mouth.
Christ, he was hard as a rock again—couldn’t even stand up without showing off his boner to the entire hotel population, and the day hadn’t even begun. What was happening to him? He’d never had so much trouble concentrating on a job before. He’d even forgotten all about these predators, Jackie the only thing on his mind. This was getting seriously ridiculous.
“I can see you’ve got it bad, bro,” muttered Bruno, in a bid to show him some companionable support. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
“In love my ass,” he rumbled. Erik Petrov didn’t fall in love. “I just like her a whole damn lot is all.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy,” replied Bruno philosophically. “I’m sure you might even start believing it after a while.”
In love? Was he in love with Jackie Bouchard? Of course he wasn’t. He’d never been in love his whole life. Petrovs didn’t fall in love. They were immune to the disease. Petrovs came, saw, and conquered. They took what they wanted when they wanted. And when they were sated, went on their merry way, riding off into the sunset. But then his eyes swiveled back to Jackie as she lay there and he heaved a deep sigh. Fuck, yeah. Maybe Bruno was right. Maybe he was in love. He heaved a deep groan. Jesus, what a mess.
At the edge of his field of vision he saw another guy ogling Jackie, and he ground his teeth again, this time fairly sure that if he didn’t escort her out of this cesspool of flesh and sweat and sex, he’d have a coronary. Then he noticed something familiar about the guy. He’d seen him before. And then their eyes locked, and the asshole gave him a sly grin, and he knew. It was the same guy from last night. The one who’d been checking out Jackie and Susan’s room and had fled before he could catch him.
In a flash, he was on his feet. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew he was going to do something. All the anger he’d been harboring about these creeps leching after his woman was coming to a boil, all his attention now focused on this single guy. The moment the thug saw him splitting the crowd like Moses did the Red Sea, eyes narrowed into murderous slits and shooting sheets of flame that would have killed a lesser man on sight, the creep was on his feet and hauling ass.
When he arrived at the other side of the pool, the guy was long gone, and he dove inside, in hot pursuit. He didn’t care that he couldn’t simply grapple with a guy in front of all the guests. He wanted his fists to pound something, to pound some guy who’d had the sheer nerve to put his nasty eyes on Jackie, and he was gonna do it now.
As he stepped inside the hotel spa, his face working, his fists clenched, he muttered, “You’re a dead man, asshole. A fucking dead man.”
CHAPTER 18
Throwing caution to the wind, Erik stepped inside the spa area, then waited a beat, allowing his eyes to adjust to the relative obscurity of the vast space. The spa was deserted now, the sun outside providing plenty of heat for the heat lovers. Once the sun had set, the fires were lit, and the saunas filled up quickly. For people eager to avoid the parties, or who couldn’t get enough of simmering in their own perspiration, the area provided an alternative to the Copacabana’s engaging nightlife.
And then there were the massages, of course, which were rightly famous, the masseurs amongst the best in the business and providing an array of bodywork from relaxing to invigorating to healing.
The massage cabins located near the far wall, beyond the cold pool, were empty now, as were the array of sauna cabins.
Stealthily, Erik proceeded, wondering where the guy had disappeared to. He walked around the pool, its surface pristine, and approached the wall of wood-paneled saunas. He passed the dry sauna, and quickly yanked open the door, ready for action. Nothing. He moved from the infrared to the smoke sauna, the Turkish steam bath, and the wood burning room, and wondered why the heck there were so many.
Treading carefully, he moved over to the dressing rooms. Nothing. Not a trace of the guy. He passed a short corridor and stepped into the massage area. Beyond the waiting room, five massage parlors awaited, and he approached the first one wearily. They were curtained off from the main room, and reaching the first booth, he flipped the curtain aside. Nothing but a stool and a massage table, covered with a thin mattress.
Cursing under his breath, he quickly moved to the second one, the third… Still no trace of the guy. And he’d finally reached the fifth and last booth, certain the guy had fled, when a blood-curdling scream assaulted his eardrums and his quarry came barreling at him, a knife in his hand, jumping him from atop the massage table.
It was all he could do to deflect the knife with one swift move of his arm. The guy was caught in midair, and went sailing to the floor. Like a coiled spring, he was on his feet and coming at him again, that knife still flashing dangerously.
He was short, like the other one had been, but wiry and surprisingly strong and agile. His black hair was disheveled, and gray eyes seemed to penetrate Erik’s soul, burning with a searing menace. The guy obviously hated his guts.
Christ, had he known his attacker would be armed, he’d have brought his own weapon along. Now, only dressed in his trunks, no place for concealed weapons, he wished he hadn’t approached this thing half-cocked.
They circled each other, eyeing one another like wolves poised for the attack, and as he danced the deadly dance, the thought occurred to him that this guy might know who he was. Why else would he have been waiting for him? As far as he knew, none
of these suckers had ever attacked a male guest before, hell-bent on harassing women guests instead.
Then he heard soft sounds behind him, and when he wheeled around, he found that he was surrounded, four more men creeping up on him, eyes feral.
Dammit. It was a trap, and like an idiot, he’d fallen for it. One guy had lured him away, and now it was five against one. He did not like those odds one bit.
“What did you do to Pablo?” the first thug asked in a surprisingly quiet voice.
“Pablo? Don't know what the hell you’re talking about,” he shot back, his eyes darting from one to the other. They were moving in on him, cornering him against the far wall.
“You know,” the guy grunted, throwing his knife from one hand to the other. “You were last seen with him, you and that fat friend of yours, so I know you had something to do with his disappearance.”
“Nope,” he persisted. “Sorry, fellas. Haven’t seen your guy. But hey, I’m sure he’ll turn up once he’s slept off his bender.” He gave them a wide grin, his eyes not missing a trick as he tried desperately to think of a way out.
“Don’t mess with us, Petrov,” one of the other guys bit.
So they knew who he was, huh? Too bad.
“Yeah, we own this hotel,” a thug vociferated. “This is our place so you have no business here.”
“I beg to differ, boys. This is still a Gornakov hotel, and I don’t think the owner much cares for scummy little rapists like you.”
“Shut the hell up, pendejo!” one thug cried.
“Yeah, you’re a dead man now, cabrón.”
He grinned. “You want some? Come and get it.”
It didn’t look like they were going to give him much of a chance, the cold steel of knives flashing everywhere. They were going to turn him into a pincushion if he let them. He just hoped Bruno would get off his lazy butt and give him a hand. The guy was probably too busy checking out Susan right now.
Steadily approaching, the men had their knives poised for the attack. In a surprise countermove, he darted into the booth the first guy had popped out of. He needed a weapon, and if all he could lay his hands on was a massage table, then that was how it was gonna be. Before he could pick up the sturdy table, however, one of his attackers lunged at him, slashing with his knife. In response, he shot out his bare foot, landing a vicious kick to the guy’s solar plexus.
With a satisfying woofle, he went down. It was the sign for the others to engage, crowding him into the booth. Before they had the chance to use him for jousting practice, he came out swinging the table, using it as a shield to ward off the attack. With a mighty grunt, he swatted one guy, then hurled the table at the next, then used the hole in their defense to make a run for it.
He didn’t stand a chance against five armed bandits, he knew. Better to cut his losses and make a break for it now, than be dead in a pool of his own blood and of no use to anyone, least of all Jackie or her friend. At least now he knew who they were. He'd seen their hideous faces, and would be able to pick them off one by one.
But before he’d reached the door, two more guys waylaid him, this time with dangerous-looking guns in their hands, trained on him. What the hell? Two more? Looked like his intel was seriously flawed.
“Not so quick, Mr. Petrov,” the first one called out. He had a scar running the length of his face, ratty black hair matted to his skull, his upper lip curled up into a snarl. “First you tell us what you did to Pablo.”
“Not again with the Pablo thing,” he groaned. “This is seriously getting old, buddy. Like I told your guys over there already, I have no idea what happened to your friend, all right?”
The man tsk-tsked quietly, and gestured with his gun. “Over there. Now! And no sudden moves.”
He held up his hands, and backed up slowly, knowing they were going to end him. Not on his life. He wasn’t going out without a fight, and most definitely not when these assholes had Jackie on their radar. Not happening.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out, and his heart sank. God, no!
“Erik?” Jackie called out in that lovely musical voice of hers. “Erik, are you in here? Oh!”
The moment she came upon them, she clamped a hand over her mouth and halted in her tracks. Seven pairs of eyes instantly swiveled to her, and he could read the desire in them, like he’d seen the desire in every single male in the pool area. As he read the carnal intent in the men’s eyes, his anger was flaring up again.
Jackie stumbled back, trying to make a run for it, but then Scarface trained his gun on her. “Join us, Miss Bouchard. We were just having a little chat with your friend over here.”
Defeated at the sight of two guns and seven adversaries bearing down on her, Jackie’s escape attempt faltered, and then she was grabbed by one of the guys, and Erik bellowed, “Don’t lay a hand on her, you sons of bitches!”
The only response was a direct hit to his temple, and then it was lights out.
CHAPTER 19
Jackie stared at the unconscious form of Erik at her feet, and knew this was the end. Blood pooled around him, oozing from a nasty head wound. They’d hit him hard and viciously, perhaps even killed him with a single blow.
“Not so tough now, is he, your hero,” Scarface muttered with a leering grin. He’d taken a hold of her wrist and was propelling her to one of the booths. Her heart thudding in her throat, she knew what they were going to do to her, and it terrified her. Seven men gathered around, their faces grim and their eyes pinpricks of dark lust. She’d never seen them before but still recognized the expression of sheer lechery and intense hatred. They were going to do unspeakable things to her, and there was no one to stop them.
She whimpered as one of the men threw her down on the massage table, and placed a hand on her throat, bringing his face level with hers.
“We’re going to have so much fun with you, Miss Bouchard, and then when we’re all through, and you think this is over, we’re going to start all over again. Then we’re going to slice that pretty little throat of yours and throw your body into a ditch. How about that for a Mexican welcome, huh? Some fun in the sun, hija de puta?”
He laughed at his own joke and she gathered all her strength, then spat in his face. In response, he merely grinned, reveling in her rage and the smell of her fear.
He’d put his gun away and was hoisting up his pants in a gesture of male dominance that disgusted her. Her eyes swiveled to the curtain, the other men crowding into the small booth. Smart move, she realized. Even if someone came along, they would only see the men’s backs, the sight of her obscured. The only thing left for her to do was scream, so she opened her lungs and let out the loudest cry for help she’d ever produced. But before she had a chance to really put her whole being into it, the man clamped his hand over her mouth.
She closed her eyes in disgust, willing her mind to drift away from this moment, her body lax and her terrified senses numb. When he backhanded her, she gritted her teeth, and then her hands were pinned over her head and she took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.
As she waited for the inevitable, a soft thud sounded somewhere nearby, then another one, and then the sounds of a scuffle, men’s guttural cries, and harsh yells and groans. Then the hands that were holding her down lifted away, and she quickly rolled from the table and scampered beneath the massage table in a bid to escape. All she found was solid drywall where she’d hoped to find an opening to escape into the next booth, and she curled up into a ball, her back pressed up against the wall.
Whatever was going on, the fight was fierce and bloody, for she saw one of the men fall to the floor, his eyes closed, his nose a scarlet mess, and then there was a loud thud as someone struck the wall of the booth, and bits of plaster showered her.
Knives clattered to the floor, and a gun skittered toward her. She made a grab for it, and took a firm two-handed grip on the handle. She’d never used a gun before, but she would do so now, to protect herself. She aimed it away from her. Her hands was sha
king so violently she would have had a hard time shooting anyone, but then a face suddenly appeared and eyes scanned her and she yelped in horrified fear and jerked the gun up, squeezing the trigger in a reflex action. Nothing. No shot rang out, no bullet tore through flesh and bone. Only that dull click. She flinched.
Then the gun was wrenched away, and a hand took her and she was dragged from beneath the massage table, strong arms enveloping her and pressing her against a massive chest. Only when her attacker spoke, did she finally realize, tears shooting into her eyes, that her ordeal was over at last. “Jackie! Thank God!”
“Erik!” she whimpered, and flung her arms around his sturdy frame and hugged him close. “Erik,” she repeated, softer now. She thought she’d never been happier to see him than she was right now.
He held her at arm’s length, studying her for a moment, and she saw that blood covered half his face, the powerful column of his neck and his bulging chest. “Erik, you’re hurt!” she cried.
“Just a flesh wound,” he assured her with a grin. “I’ve got a hard head.”
She laughed and cried at the same time, and he shook her, a worried frown on his face. “What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
“They never had the chance.” She looked around and saw bodies of men everywhere, all bloodied and knocked out. Or dead, even. Shivering violently, she allowed him to wrap her in his arms again. “I was so scared.”
He shook his head. “I should never have allowed this to happen, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry, Erik. You saved me.”
“Only barely,” he grunted, and she could sense the impotent rage still burning inside him. She placed her hands on the sides of his face, gazing into those emerald eyes of his. Emphatically, she repeated, “You saved my life, Erik. If not for you…” She shivered again, not wanting to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up. “Oh, Erik,” she murmured against his chest, and reveled in the warmth of his embrace.