"And now I'm involved," she says. "What about the cops? What if they find him?"
I grit my teeth. Yeah, it'll be real bad fucking news if somebody finds that trashcan before I can get back to take care of it. Even with the gloves, my fingerprints are probably all over the place. The fucking pigs won't take long to root me out, and that could fracture the whole West Ark Bratva apparatus. But I have to get back to my place first, get the right tools to dispose of the body.
But I don't want Penny stressing out and getting any more emotional than she already is. "I'll take care of it as soon as I can," I say. "I've got to get you to a safe place first."
"Where is that?"
"My house."
"Why do you keep saying I'm in danger?"
Jesus Christ. I rack my brain, trying to come up with a cover story on the spot, but there are too many pieces. I need to think this through before I tell her anything.
"Look," I say, "I can't risk you going to the cops. You're a witness."
She glares at me, but doesn't press further. Instead, she says, "So I'm a prisoner?"
I almost object, but she's not wrong. "You don't leave until I decide it's safe."
"And when's that?"
"I don't know yet."
The rest of the car ride passes in silence.
We arrive at my house as the sun is setting. It's a contemporary home, glass-faced, cut into the side of a waterfall here in upstate New York. It was over budget even with the cash I bring in from my contracts, but I fell in love with the place the instant I saw it, and I had to have it.
It's hard for me to say no to things I really want.
Penny rises from the car slowly, gawking at the house. "I... How can you afford this?"
She's going to find a lot of things about me that don't add up.
"Come on," I say. "No more questions." I have to get back to the city as soon as possible. I can't remember if Fascinations has daytime or nighttime trash pickup, and I'm starting to fucking sweat about it. If someone finds that body…
She looks around in amazement as we walk up the curved, sloping stone pathway to the front entrance. But before we get to the door, my cellphone rings. It's Petrov.
"Talk to me," I say.
"Vlady. I need update on the girl."
Shit.
"It's not going to happen, Petrov. Things got... messy."
The phone's earpiece erupts in a stream of Russian curses. "Tell me Vlady, why you cannot manage to wrangle a single girl?"
"She left me no choice, Petrov."
More cursing. "I'll have new assignment soon. You better fucking hit home run this time." Then he hangs up the phone.
Penny stares at me with a worried look on her face, having only heard my side of the conversation.
I shrug it off. But fuck. This is getting complicated.
15
Penny
I only hear one side of the phone conversation, but I don't fucking like the sound of it.
It sounds like Havok's telling someone that he killed me. And he refuses to tell me why I'm in danger. There's so much about him that just doesn't add up. Something big is happening. I just don't know what it is yet.
I dip my hand into my purse and clutch my last pill bottle. I'm going to need lots of medication to get through this. I wish I had more, because I have no idea how I'm going to refill while I'm here.
Havok stuffs his phone back into his pocket. "Come on," he says.
I follow him to the front entrance, a set of wood double doors carved with an ornate classical scene. They look big and heavy, but as soon as he turns the key, he gives one door a push with his index finger and it swings open easily. "Balanced weight," he says.
The interior takes my breath away. There's no foyer; the house is just one big open room. The ceiling, constructed from logs, is high and pitched. An elevated loft encircles the room, and a beautiful, spacious kitchen spans the distant wall. The floors are natural stone slabs. But the most stunning feature of the house is the natural waterfall that's built right into it. One entire wall flows with water, the droplets cascading down the earth-cut stone.
If this is going to be my prison, I could do a lot worse. But this is just way off. It makes no sense for a bouncer to have a home like this.
I instantly think of all the Russian mafia men who patronize the club.
Could Havok be one of them? I never made the connection before, but what else could it be? I want to question him, but I don't dare. Not now.
Instead, I just whisper, "This is incredible."
Havok smirks. "Incredible doesn't begin to describe it. It's a masterpiece."
Then, my stomach suddenly rumbles and I realize that I'm starving. "Hey," I say. "Would you be mad if I eat something?"
Havok frowns. "Why would that make me mad?"
I instantly feel stupid, and hope I haven't offended him. "I'm sorry. I'm just… so used to Brock. Everything made him mad."
Havok crosses his arms. The muscles in his forearm bulge, the smooth but hard veins standing out from his tanned skin. It sends an electric buzz through my thighs, all the way to my nipples.
"I'm not him," Havok says. "And stop apologizing for everything."
I almost say "sorry" again, but catch myself just in time. I finally pry my eyes away from his sculpted arms.
No, Brock he is not.
"One more thing," he adds. "Don't ever say that name in my house again."
I swallow hard and nod.
"We'll go out for food tonight," he says. "Right now, I have to go back to West Ark. And while I'm gone, I have to make sure you don't go anywhere."
16
Havok
I lead her to the stairs, and we climb to the suspended loft that overlooks the interior of the house. I walk behind her, watching her ass in those tight blue jeans as she climbs. Fuck, it looks so tight and bubbly, and I have to fight myself not to reach out and grab her hips.
I'm always horny as fuck after a hit. I think it's all the adrenaline. But now is really not the time. And the truth is, I still have all the same reservations I did before. This is already way more than I bargained for, and if we get involved, I'm afraid now more than ever that she'll end up like Irina. I don't know if I'll be able to fucking resist her, with her under the same roof as me, but I have to try.
The loft is a giant U-shape, with the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, and the guest room on the opposite side of the U. The open wall is where the waterfall is.
"You get the guest room," I say.
"Oh." She seems surprised that a guy like me has a guest room.
We enter it, and I flip on the lights. It's small but modern, decorated with blonde oak furniture imported from Copenhagen.
"Oh my gosh," she says, taking it in. "This is… nothing like my old place."
"Bathroom is equipped," I say. "Use what you need and get cleaned up. Get comfortable. Come out when you're done."
"Okay," she says, apprehensive. I know what she's thinking. She's wondering what happens after that. She's not going to like it.
She enters the bathroom, and I step out of the guest room, latching the door behind me. I exhale hard and rest my elbows on the loft railing, overlooking my home. I take a minute to appreciate everything I've earned while working for the Bratva.
It would be so easy to grab her, stuff her in my trunk, and deliver her to Petrov. I'd get my bonus, she'd be off my plate, and I'd be back in Petrov and Grigory's good graces. I wouldn't have to risk losing everything. And I wouldn't have to experience these fucked up emotions anymore.
But I can't do it. I can't betray her like that. No. I'm going to keep her safe from those animals. Keep her here, in secret, until this whole episode is a forgotten footnote in Bratva history. As long as I deliver on my next few missions, all will be forgotten, and I'll find a way to get her out of here eventually. Get her a new start in life.
Right now, though, I can't take the risk that she'll run.
When she eme
rges from the guest room, her hair is ruffled and she's changed into tiny gym shorts and a t-shirt. I must be gawking, because she says, "Sorry. This is all I had in my locker."
I want to tear those clothes off her gorgeous body. I want to make her mine, all of her. Every hole. That body I've seen so many times, but never had for myself. It's driving me wild.
But I need to focus. "Back in the bedroom," I say, and I follow her inside.
I point to the bed. "Get in." I stare at the wall as I speak, not making eye contact, but I can see the questioning expression on her face in my peripheral vision. I don't like what I have to do, but there's no choice. She doesn't argue. She sits down on the edge of the bed, kicks off her socks, and lays back.
God, I want to jump in there with her.
I reach into my back pocket, and pull out a pair of steel handcuffs. I grabbed them downstairs when she wasn't paying attention.
Penny's eyes widen. "Hey, wh—"
I cut her off. "I can't risk you running off."
She looks at me with sad eyes. "I'm not going to. I promise."
"Can't chance it. Sorry. Put your hand up by the bedframe."
She reluctantly complies. I put one cuff into a metal loop on the frame where it can't be removed. I put the other cuff on her wrist, tightening it enough that she won't be able to get free, but not tight enough that it hurts her.
When I'm satisfied that she's not going anywhere, I stand back from the bed. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Then I add, "Do you need anything?" Catering to women is one thing that I am not used to.
"Water would be nice," she says sullenly.
I go downstairs and grab a CamelBak backpack from the closet, the kind with a long, flexible straw. I fill it with purified water, then return to the guest room and set it on the bed.
"Anything else?" I say.
"My purse. It's still in the bathroom."
I fetch it for her, and put it within reach of her free hand.
"What if I need to use the bathroom?" she says.
"Hold it."
She doesn't respond. She just breaks eye contact and stares at the ceiling.
"I'll be back," I say. I exit the room, flipping off the light switch on my way.
The night is clear and cool, and I drive with my windows down. In the back of my Tesla sits a 35-gallon tub of hydrofluoric acid, which should be more than enough to dissolve the body into nothingness.
Nothingness, like what I feel in my heart.
Except with Penny. And that's scaring the fuck out of me. I need to get back to the comfort of what I know. And there's no way to clear your head like watching a body dissolve in a vat of hydrofluoric.
When I finally get back to West Ark, I park next to the alley and haul the tub of acid out of my trunk. Thank God, the body is still in the trashcan, undisturbed. The smell doesn't hit me until I open the lid. Good thing it wasn't a hot day today.
I start by filling the trashcan halfway. It bubbles and reacts, and within five minutes the body starts to slip down, dissolving. I pour in more acid and repeat the process.
Nobody bothers me in the dark alley, and within a half hour, there's nothing left but a trashcan full of reddish, clear liquid.
Tipping the trashcan, I let the mixture run out and down into the sewer grates, employing the utmost caution not to let any splash onto me. This stuff isn't approved for sewer disposal. Fuck no. It probably degrades the pipes something fierce. But I don't really give a fuck.
As the last of the liquid splashes down below ground, I think of Penny.
How I'm going to get any sleep with her in my house, I don't know.
17
Penny
Handcuffed to the bed, I lie there staring at the rough, textured ceiling in the dark, my mind searching for recognizable shapes. I'm trying to find something to hold on to, to restore some sense of normalcy and order to my fractured world.
When you first stay in a new house, it takes time to learn all the sounds. What the garage door opening sounds like. What the front door creaking open sounds like. I don't know any of the sounds of Havok's house, and so I lie there listening intently for every creak and bump, wondering if it's him coming back.
And what's more, a dark sexual energy rolls through me. I should feel mourning for Brock, but instead I feel powerful arousal at the way Havok ended his life.
Havok was ruthless. Intense. And he did what I couldn't—ended my five-year long nightmare with Brock.
With no remorse.
Now I'm a prisoner here, but hell. It's hard to say that I'm any worse off now than I was before. And there's no way I'm making it to work tomorrow, so I guess this marks the end of my stripping career, too.
Maybe Havok is good for me after all.
I want him to take me, to ravage me, to release all of his rage and tension inside me. To give me what I've wanted for so long.
Eventually, my exhaustion begins to overtake me as I wait for Havok to return. I reach for my purse, grab my pill bottle, and take a couple. Then, I carefully hide the bottle in a secret zipper pocket at the bottom of my purse. I don't want Havok finding these.
When I finally run out of pills, I don't know what I'm going to do.
The opiates start to swirl in my bloodstream, and I fall into sleep. I dream about Havok crushing his lips against mine.
"Penny."
I wake to the sound of his voice, my eyes opening slowly. When the room comes into focus, he's standing over me, looking down at me with his gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that I could get lost in.
"Yeah?"
"Wake up. Dinner."
I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and it's only 9:30 p.m. My nap wasn't as long as it felt. I rub my eyes with my free hand.
"You like Chinese?" he says.
The Chinese restaurant is a surprisingly short drive from Havok's house. The scenery changes from natural to man-made very quickly, and before I know it, we're driving through the quaint one-way streets of a small downtown.
Most of the restaurants are closed already, but the Chinese place, a small family-looking restaurant, has a glowing sign that says "Open until midnight."
We park, and I marvel at the small-town feel of the area as Havok opens the passenger door for me. "It's been forever since I had a nice sit-down meal," I say. "This isn't what I expected my first night as a prisoner."
"Come on," he says, rolling his eyes. I notice him looking up and down the small streets. He seems surprisingly stressed out for such a low-key evening. Like he's looking for someone.
Or watching out for them.
Inside, the restaurant is simple but lovely. It's decorated with the usual Chinese decor: a big carved red archway at the entrance, smiling ivory cats, and lots of gold accents. I like it. It reminds me of a restaurant my dad used to take me to when I was little. We always went on Christmas, when everything else was closed.
We're seated, me across from Havok in a secluded booth. It's nice.
This is about the last thing I ever expected to happen. Especially on a day like today.
Brock seems strangely in the past already. I almost feel like there's something wrong with me for not being more upset. But after my cry in the car this afternoon, I haven't felt much. And not in a numb way either. I just feel indifferent to his passing. Maybe a little sad. But only on a human-to-human level.
A waitress comes to take our order after a few minutes.
"For you, sir?"
"Sesame beef, broccoli in garlic sauce, and hot and sour soup to start," says Havok.
"Yes, sir. For you, miss?" She turns to me and smiles.
"Just a cup of wonton soup, please."
Havok gives me an odd look. "You said you were hungry."
"I am," I say nervously. "I just don't want to put you out." I'm so used to Brock's abuse that I'm practically trained to order the cheapest thing on the menu.
He shakes his head. "That piece of shit really did a number on you, didn't he?"
The waitre
ss blushes, and looks away, not knowing how to react.
I look down in shame. "I guess so."
Havok watches me for a moment, then turns back to the waitress. "Just double my order."
"Yes, sir," she says, and shuffles away in a hurry.
"So," I say quietly, "Did you take care of… you know?"
I watch his eyes as he answers, and notice that they dart around the room before he answers. "Yeah."
"Should we... I don't know. Light a candle for him or something?" No matter how bad he was to me, something feels wrong about letting any human die like that.
Havok looks disgusted. "I said not to bring him up again. He doesn't deserve a damn thing."
18
Havok
All through dinner, I can't help staring at Penny's gorgeous body and her glowing, beautiful face. I want to take her so bad, hard and fast. I want her ass, her lips, her everything.
But I don't like how her emotions affect me. When she's sad, I feel some alien urge to comfort her. It's dangerous. And I hate hearing talk about her ex-boyfriend. He's nothing but a stain in the sewer now, and that's the only way he should be remembered.
After our meal, I take her back home. I let her grab a shower, then put her to bed, one hand cuffed tightly.
I toss and turn all night, thinking of her just a few steps away. It takes all my self-discipline not to slip into her room and have my way with her. I know she'd fuck me just as hard as I'd fuck her.
But I can't.
I won't.
I'm afraid of what it would mean.
19
Penny
"Wake up, Penny. Rise and shine."
I force my eyes open, and the morning sunlight stings my eyes. I've been here for almost three weeks now, and we're falling into a routine. Today is a Saturday, which means housework.
Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 6