HIGHLANDER: The Highlander’s Surrender Bride (Scottish Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance)

by Tencia Winters

  The older man turned his eyes away from her for a moment and glimpsed out the window with its god-like view before looking back to her. “That is so… but I tried to instill in him Russian discipline.” He looked back at the tops of his knuckles. “I failed. Here in America, wealth does not mean the same thing it does back in Russia. Here… to be rich often means that one is spoiled… that the rules do not apply.” He gave a small grunt. “This cannot be permitted for my son any longer. Sometimes I think that I should have waited until he was born before my wife and I came here.”

  He began tapping his fingers together patiently, forming a small steeple with them. “That is why I sought you out. I need this problem corrected.”

  She could sense when he was leaning towards a point but didn’t care to share it unless prodded to do so. “Or…?” she prompted.

  “I have numerous investors that will withdraw their funding… the value of my stock will plummet… I’ll be moving back to Russia before next Christmas on a supply ship because I will not have enough to pay for an airline ticket.” He said it with such simplicity it was as if he’d already planned for it to happen and had already memorized the shipping schedule so he knew when to leave.

  She nodded. Now she knew the game and she knew the way to win and to lose. Although losing wasn’t really much of an option at this point; if she couldn’t finish the job then she wouldn’t get paid either.

  “Then tell me, Mr. Volkov, how exactly do you need me to shape up your son’s image? I’m guessing we’re not talking about into turning him into a choir boy?”

  The older man looked at her contemplatively. She knew that look as well. He was trying to determine if he could trust her enough with certain details to get the job done or if he should hold back.

  He sighed. She knew that discretion was right out of the window by this point. The man had too much to lose and too much money on the line to keep the details to himself. It would have to be all or nothing and he knew that.

  “Make him presentable,” the older man said. “I want to see no more photos of him throwing his wild parties. I don’t want to hear another word of his whores and debaucheries. I want him sober. I want him well dressed. I want his manners improved. I want him to be the goddamn spitting image of a man that statues are built for.”

  She arched an eyebrow. She’d thought as much. He’d hit all the high notes that she was usually called in to sing. “Is that all?”

  He leaned forward on his chair, as if he were daring her to defy him. “Can you make it happen?”

  She nodded. “I can, Mr. Volkov. But your son… he’s got an interesting history. And it won’t be easily overcome. I can do everything that you ask. But there will be a small catch.”

  He waited for her to make her terms.

  “In order to make this happen I’ll need to be attached to his every move. I will control his appearances. I will make sure that he’s dressed. I’ll see to it that he minds his manners. I’ll make sure that he dries out. And by the time I’m through the next time that he’s seen in public, no one will recognize him. And when they do, they’ll be blown away by the metamorphosis.

  “But in order to do so, I’ll need carte blanche. If you need him for any reason and I say he’s not available, then he’s not available until I say otherwise. If I need money, regardless of the amount, you pay it. If I need to take him somewhere in the mountains to have him locked in a dark closet for defying me so he can scream to his heart’s content, then you make it happen no questions asked. If I make a statement publicly or if I tell you to make one, even if you know it’s a lie, you confirm it. If I choose to fire his bodyguards and hire new ones, ones that you know nothing about, you’ll support me.” She paused. “Are these terms at all disagreeable?”

  She waited for him to digest that.

  He shut his eyes and once more she saw the pensive look on the man’s face. The scales of his mind were balancing, measuring what he might gain against what he had to lose. He was quiet for only a few moments before he made his decision.

  “When can you start?”

  Chapter 2

  Janice was introduced to her new client the same day that she had taken the meeting with his father. She had seen the photos of him – good and bad – and while she had enjoyed seeing them to a certain extent she had not been prepared to see the flesh and blood version of the man that she had been contracted to straighten out.

  Alexi Volkov.

  He was built like most of the other celebrity men that she had worked with in her time that needed to have their images tweaked. He had all of the usual features: a washboard belly and well-developed pectoral muscles and arms that looked like they could have crushed bowling balls. Those muscles looked good and well kept. She noted that that had mean that he at least had enough motivation to take care of himself, but that in itself was not enough.

  His hair was long and ragged, matted together as if he hadn’t taken a shower or at least run a comb through his scalp in weeks. His beard was thin, growing almost in the fashion of a chin-strap, and his eyes were a deep hazel. Taken together his scalp and beard reminded her of a surf bum mixed with a classic stoner that one might have been inclined to see quite regularly in the 80’s.

  His chest, part of his belly, and his entire right arm was covered in the kinds of tattoos that looked more like they had been attained in a drunken or even a drug-induced stupor than by choice. The ink on his skin was so badly mangled together she couldn’t even tell what all of the shapes or pictures were. So much of his skin was covered in the ink it was as if he was wearing a shirt that had been ripped, leaving only a small portion of his belly uncovered.

  Janice could only wonder what the rest of him must have looked like. Though she recalled from the tabloids that there were certainly more tattoos on his legs… and possibly even other parts of his body.

  Can’t wait to find out, she thought happily.

  Janice stood side-by-side with Mr. Volkov in the bedroom of Alexi’s penthouse suite. The penthouse, like its occupant, was a mess. It was littered with the remains of one of the parties that Alexi had thrown the night before… or maybe even from parties before that. The place was cluttered with pizza boxes, some of them empty and others not and insects had been swarming around them in small clouds in some places. Mr. Volkov had told her that he’d attempted to tame his son’s parties by advising him that housekeeping would no longer clean up his messes. It had been a sound tactic, the desired aim to be that sooner or later Alexi would grow tired of living in filth. But so far, the result had not come.

  There were cartons of Chinese food left to rot on table tops or on chairs and couches where they had been left. Empty cases of beer sat idly in the halls and in some places that she saw empty cans of beer had literally carpeted the floor so that the expensive marble floors could not be seen. She found piles of shattered glass in which laid bowling balls and from the shards the scent of whiskey and vodka wafted. She could tell that the liquor bottles had been set up like bowling pins and then smashed.

  She saw a large salt water fish tank on the opposite side of the room in which she saw a woman’s complete bikini floating idly inside with oblivious fish. She found more assortments of clothing along the bannisters of the stairs or even hanging from some of the potted trees like flags on a pole. Among such things were women’s bras and panties, some of them were pairs of jeans or plain shirts. She wondered briefly how the women that had worn them had managed to get home without too much difficulty in being so unclad.

  After seeing all of that Mr. Volkov brought her to the bedroom of the man that was her new client. The bedroom, like every other room that she had glimpsed, was also a wreck. The drapes were wide open and she saw that the floor was littered with dirty clothes, muddied boots, plates of food that had been unfinished, half-full bottles of beer or liquor, and even a few garments that she knew couldn’t belong to the room’s owner. The place smelled of cigar smoke and stale beer as well as other assorted substance
s. Some of which she couldn’t identify.

  And sitting on the bed, which was a four-poster with its expensive drapes pulled open and its blankets and sheets twisted and matted was Alexi Volkov. He sat on the foot of the bed; his clothes reeking of filth as he listened to his father introduce her to him and explain what it was that she was here to do.

  Got my work cut out for me, she thought.

  “This is a joke, isn’t it?” Alexi said to his father, his accent only slightly less noticeable than his father’s. “You’re giving me a babysitter?” the youth asked, puffing on a cigarette and taking a hit from a beer bottle, then resting his elbows on his knees.

  “I am,” Mr. Volkov said with finality. “She will be with you at all times. You’ve made a mockery of my – of your – company. You’ve disgraced me and your forebears long enough, Alexi. The time for your childish antics is over. It’s time for you to be as a man and learn to earn your birthright!”

  Alexi blew out a puff of smoke in Janice’s direction. “And she is going to make me do so?”

  “I am,” she said resolutely. This was all a natural part of the process.

  Alexi shook his head. “I’m too old to have a babysitter, papa. And this one… she couldn’t keep up with me if I gave her a Ferrari to drive.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Mr. Volkov said, taking a step towards his son with an extra spring in his step. “Because from this moment onward, Ms. Roe will be the only one who has access to all of the cars that you enjoy… and even the ones that you don’t. So if a car is needed only she will be able to get one for you.”

  Alexi paused at that.

  “And it does not end there, boy.” Janice watched as Mr. Volkov’s spine straightened with pride, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to give this speech. In a sense he wasn’t wrong… though he’d been waiting all of Alexi’s life to do so. “Your fingerprint key to the elevator and all of your electric keys that would get you in and out of the building have been disabled… you cannot go anywhere outside of this cesspool that you call your room and you can let no one in, unless Ms. Roe allows it.”

  Alexi was silent, his cigarette burning away slowly in his hand as though this new information didn’t faze him in the least.

  “All of the staff?” his father asked, as though he could read his son’s mind, “they have been advised not to obey a single one of your orders. Should you ask one of them to light your cigarette or make you a sandwich, they will ignore you under the penalty of dismissal.”

  Still, the youth didn’t move, but Janice could see that his chest was beginning to move with deeper breaths. She could sense his anxiety growing.

  “Your schedule, whatever it was, is now void. Your sluts and your parties have all been cancelled. Also, I’ve had your email accounts shut down. Your social networks have all been invalidated. Your phone has been deactivated. Your laptop has been confiscated. All of your remaining alcohol has been poured down the drain. Your cigarettes have been discarded.” Something that looked like a vindictive smile crossed the elder man’s face. “In short, my son, you have been cut off from the outside world.”

  The youth’s eyes looked determined, as if he were trying to show that none of this bothered him in the least of ways. But she could see a small glimmer of fear in his eyes. His hands began to lightly shake but he covered it by bringing his cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag.

  It’ll be your last, she thought with an early sense of satisfaction.

  “You cannot do this to me,” Alexi said matter-of-factly to his father. He did well to hide any fear that he felt, as if he were telling his father something as factual as the color of the sky. “Someone is certain to know that I am missing.”

  “Unless you break a window and scream for help, no one will care. And I doubt that anyone will hear your cries from up here,” his father said dismissively. “Besides… I have already issued a statement to the press.”

  “A statement?”

  “Yes… that you have chosen to enter rehab at an undisclosed location.”

  Alexi did not show any hint of fear, but his frustration looked real enough. “You cannot do this to me, papa,” he repeated just as matter-of-factly as before.

  “I can and I have,” his father replied. “Ms. Roe will keep me apprised of your progress, boy. If you fail to please her, then your existence will become all the more miserable.”

  Alexi blew out a cloud of smoke and dropped his cigarette onto the overly expensive marble floor of his bedroom. And with the blinding speed of an Olympic athlete he made a mad dash for the door behind her.

  Janice smiled. She had encountered this kind of reaction plenty of times before. Fresh Prisoner Syndrome, she called it. Someone who’d had the freedom to go anywhere and do anything that they liked that suddenly found themselves shut in and locked away from the rest of the world tended to react badly. Especially when they believed that they could still do otherwise.

  She was glad she had negotiated the terms of her contact upfront.

  She stretched back her right arm and shot it forward, her fist colliding with the unsuspecting jaw of Alexi Volkov. For a brief moment fire bit at her knuckles, the physics of his sprint for the door as it combined with her opposite moving fist was enough to make her hand hurt. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh was loud in the quiet room and without even breaking her stance Alexi Volkov fell to the ground as if an invisible chain had yanked him off his feet unsuspectedly.

  As Alexi hit the ground he moaned and despite the pain in her hand she saw a small bit of blood in the man’s mouth as he rolled onto his side, dazed but not seriously hurt. His eyes were shut and the sound of his pain was genuine. She knew that to mean that he’d never been struck like that before in his life.

  Mr. Volkov walked over slowly to where she stood and Alexi now lay on the floor. He stopped and looked down on his son, measuring the damage. Then he looked up to her. For a moment, she thought that he might disapprove. She knew that he might have thought that she had acted rashly, but she’d been doing this business far too long to know that she had to lay down the law at the first opportunity. If Alexi was aware of the consequences then he’d be less inclined to cause problems. It was an abject lesson, but a necessary one.

  Mr. Volkov smiled and gave an approving nod. “Perhaps you are more familiar with Russian discipline than even I had given you credit for, Ms. Roe.” He stood up straighter. “I shall leave you to your work now.”

  And with that, Mr. Volkov slowly walked out of the room with a contented smile on his face that was punctuated by a satisfied chuckle.

  Chapter 3

  Janice sat across from Alexi on the only clean seat she could find, an old armchair that looked fitting for someone study circa 18th century. That it would be in a pigsty like this baffled her.

  Daddy’s money, she thought.

  She watched her new client in the dirtied living room of the suite. In which someone had found it amusing to build a miniature pyramid of old delivery containers on the overlarge coffee table in the center of the room. She felt somewhat soiled by simply sitting there in such filth. She’d seen bad living conditions in her clients before but this one definitely made the Top 5 list. She felt like some of the insect life in the suite was attempting to nest in her dark hair just by sitting there.

  She did her best to ignore it. She had already asserted herself as the dominant personality between her and her new client, she needed to let him see that there was nothing that bothered her. If he sensed weakness he would do whatever he could to exploit it. She’d made that mistake after her first client and she wasn’t interested in repeating the experience.

  Alexi sat on the floor, his back against the foot of the leather sofa across from her on the other side of the take-out pyramid with an icepack on his jaw. The blood she had seen in his smile had subsided and he sat with his eyes shut, his neck tilted back and aimed towards the ceiling, resting his head on the sofa cushion like a pillow. He had not ma
de a sound in nearly an hour, apart from the occasional moan of pain in his jaw.

  She knew this part of the process well.

  He’d reacted just as she had thought he would, trying to run away like that. She had also shown him that his thumbprint – which was supposed to open the doors to the elevator of his suite – had been disabled. And the keys he was supposed to have on hand to allow him to traverse the stairs had also been confiscated and she now had them hidden in the last place he would ever think to look for them. And he’d also taken the time to make sure that his phone, laptop, and any other means of communication that he’d had before was just as his father had said: gone.

  Once he’d realized that he was indeed cut off from the rest of the world and alone, he’d gone looking for the next best thing: drugs and alcohol. Mr. Volkov had already taken the liberty of stripping the apartment of any substances that would have inhibited his son’s “recovery”.

  “He’s never thought that I would go so far as to make him a prisoner in his own house,” his father had said with a pleased smile. “He doesn’t bother to hide any of his substances from me… not even the illegal ones. He’ll have no secret stashes that could hinder your work.”

  It turned out that Mr. Volkov had been correct in that fact. Alexi had gone looking all across his suite for anything that could dull his pain, chemically or otherwise. But as she followed him, watching for the slightest hint that he might have a stash somewhere despite his father’s thoughts, she found that Alexi had hidden nothing.

  And with no source of comfort, he gathered up an icepack and settled on the floor, grumbling all the while. It was a hard thing to realize; being a prisoner in his own home. To make it worse he was coming to grips with the fact that his father had regulated himself to the part of the warden. And she, for want of a better definition, was his new cellmate.

  At least she was after a fashion.

  It would take some time to get used to, she knew. But she didn’t have the luxury of time on her side to do things the proper way. There wasn’t time to allow him to acclimate to his new settings. Normally she would allow him to come to terms with his situation gradually. But Christmas was fast approaching and she had less than thirty days to get Alexi straightened out. She had to play hardball with this kid and shove him face-first into the clean-up portion of his life. And she knew that he wasn’t going to go willingly.