HAN: Her Ruthless Mistake: 50 Loving States, Delaware (Ruthless Triad Book 4)

by Theodora Taylor

  The next thing she knew, The Russian Beast was standing in front of her, his huge chest heaving. He was breathing hard. But not with exertion.

  No, he looked nothing but angry. Nostrils flaring in and out as he held out his hand and said to her, “Come.”

  5

  “COME,” he said to her.

  And she found herself taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. In a daze, the siren followed the beast out to the street and into the back of a cab.

  Inside the car, she clung to his large hand with both of hers. But his face remained unreadable, no emotion to be found about what had just happened or what he had done. So she watched him watch nothing but the passing scenery as the cab took them through the congested streets of Athens, into the historical neighborhood of Plaka. Above them, the Acropolis was lit up like a shining beacon to tourists everywhere. A sure sign, even more than street’s strictly engineered switch to neoclassical design, that they were now in a neighborhood she couldn’t possibly afford.

  That had been one of the first things she’d learned when she’d finally used the passport she’d gotten after graduating from high school. When she’d finally followed through with her plans to get out of Greenlee County, spurred on by her brother’s tragic death. Anything too close to a tourist site or with a decent view was out of her price range.

  But apparently that wasn’t the case for The Russian Beast. Her mouth dropped open when the cab deposited them outside a hotel that looked like an ancient Greek palace made new. This definitely wasn’t any kind of student hostel situation. In fact, it boasted columns so high, she could barely see their tops, even when she bent her head all the way back.

  No, this place was definitely out of her price range. But she followed him through the middle set of columns anyway.

  Inside she could feel the stares of the other hotel guests, and couldn’t help but feel self-conscious in her skimpy ring girl outfit. She also became keenly aware of her face, which had to be sporting a black eye if the pulsing pain coming off of it was any indication.

  However the hotel employees were nothing but deferential to The Russian Beast, inclining their heads as they said, “Kalispéra, Mr. Rustanov.” Good evening, Mr. Rustanov. So she guessed Rustanov was his last name, not Beast. Though why he’d asked if she knew it, she had no idea. Was she supposed to know that name? Was he famous?

  She didn’t understand. Any of it.

  After a short elevator ride, they finally arrived at a door made of a rich, dark wood. She braced herself, but was still a little overcome with the opulence of the hotel room, which made her fully understand the term “presidential suite” for the first time. The room—which was more like a full-on apartment, in her opinion—had a living room fit for a statesman, with luxurious leather furniture, heavy carpets, and a dining area that could easily seat six. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a balcony with a hot tub and…

  Her eyes widened. Was that a private swimming pool? Yes, it was. And in the distance, the Acropolis shone like a nighttime portrait. Forget price range. This place was out of her imagination’s range.

  A low growl interrupted her blatant gaping. She looked across the huge room to see an insanely large dog with white and black fur standing outside a closed set of sliding doors like a canine sentry. It stared at her with demonic blue eyes, as if it were trying to decide whether or not to kill her.

  “That is Sascha. Siberian husky, wolf mix. Do not try to pet. Not safe.”

  The Russian said something to the huge hound in a strange language. She’d never heard the language before, but she was almost sure it wasn’t Russian. Whatever it was, it did the trick, because the growling stopped almost immediately. And it didn’t start up again when The Russian disappeared through the sliding doors, which apparently led into a bedroom.

  Still, Sascha continued to give her the evil eye until The Beast emerged a few moments later with a gray t-shirt.

  “Put this on,” he commanded, thrusting it at her. And to her surprise, he turned around to give her privacy.

  She did as instructed, and found that the t-shirt came all the way down to her knees without clinging to anything whatsoever. The night before, he’d all but ripped the ring girl outfit off of her, but tonight it seemed like he could barely look at her and wanted her completely covered up.

  “I’m done,” she told him.

  “What do you need to fix your face?” he asked, turning back around.

  Her face. She could feel it throbbing with the heat of damage done, and she wasn’t going to forget the way the other hotel guests had stared at her anytime soon. They’d probably thought he was the one who gave it to her.

  “I apologize if I embarrassed you down there,” she said, cringing at that thought.

  Something ticked in his jaw. “What do you need to fix your face?”

  “Um…just some ice and a towel,” she answered, pressing her fingertips into the large bruise. “Nothing feels broken.”

  He left the room without another word. Leaving her alone in the suite with the dog she wasn’t supposed to pet.

  “Are you really that dangerous?” she asked it.

  Sascha stared back at her. Eyes inscrutable.

  But she had a feeling about this one, so she sang to it. “Yellow,” by Coldplay. One of the songs she used to sing to Trevor to lull him to sleep. Sascha seemed like a Coldplay fan.

  As it turned out, she was right. By the time The Russian came back with the ice, she was sitting with her back to the sliding doors with Sascha’s head in her lap.

  However, both she and the dog stood up somewhat guiltily when he came back into the suite.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He just grunted and pushed the ice bucket into her hands. He pointed at the sliding door, “You can sleep in there. I am going out.”

  “Okay, thank you—”

  He was heading back to the door before the words were even out of her mouth. And this time he slammed it behind him.

  So apparently he wasn’t completely unaffected by what had happened that night, she thought in the wake of his departure. He’d come to the basement, probably looking for another hook up, and had found her in need of saving instead. Total mood killer. And now not only did he not want a repeat of last night, he was also plainly struggling with the decision to let her stay here in his beyond-grand hotel room. She totally got that.

  But she must have had a little more pride left than originally thought, because for a moment she considered leaving. Disappearing back into one of the poorer parts of the city and getting out of his obviously annoyed hair.

  But it was four in the morning. All she had in the world now was the waist pack with the little money she’d made working for Cyrus. And her head was swimming—she could only hope not with a concussion. Sure there was her pride, but she was also the daughter of a nurse. She knew she needed to ice her face. And sleep.

  Deciding to do at least that for herself, she opened the sliding doors and entered a sophisticated bedroom done up in deep browns and fine white linens. Another entry in the “this is how you do rich-ass hotel rooms” catalog, and her heart nearly cried out a happy gospel song when she saw what looked like the softest bed ever. When she woke up, she’d figure out a new plan, she promised herself. Or just start wandering the streets of Greece again until she found another place to land.

  She found a hand towel in the small alcove that sat between the bedroom and the bathroom, and made herself a decent enough ice pack. Then, pressing it to her face, she climbed into the huge bed and let herself sink into it with a sigh. Only to find she couldn’t sleep.

  Funny that unlike her reluctant host, she wasn’t remotely bothered that he’d so ruthlessly shot Cyrus and his goons. But the fact that he wasn’t sleeping beside her, making her feel the things he’d made her feel last night when he’d taken her again and again like he couldn’t get enough…that bothered her.

  And though this was the most comfortable bed she
’d lain in like, ever, it took her a long while to fall asleep.

  Which was why she was shocked to wake up to the sight of The Russian Beast. But not so beast-like anymore. He was clean-shaven now, and had replaced last night’s black track suit with a pair of gray wool trousers and a black sweater, which made his eyes look even darker. And instead of a knot, his long hair fell in a silken, jet-black waterfall past his shoulders.

  “Hi,” she said, sitting up on her forearm. She could only wonder what she looked liked. Dressed in his bulky t-shirt, wild curls in a frizzy tumble on top of her head—since she hadn’t tied it up last night.

  “What’s up?” she asked, trying not to feel self-conscious.

  “I come back to room last night. No Sascha. I look for him on balcony, in other bathroom, and then I find him in here. My guard dog curled up beside your bed.”

  Oh, so Sascha was a boy. She hadn’t bothered to check last night.

  “Sorry,” she said with a chagrined smile. “I kind of have a way with animals—especially if they’re male. My mom says my grandma on my father’s side was a siren.”

  He stared at her for a long black-eyed second and then said, “Or maybe he recognizes kin. He is dog. You live like dog. He comes in here with you.”

  She tilted her head. Okay, this guy…he had a way of insulting her, so brazenly, it was hard for her to actually feel insulted. Just bewildered. “So you came in here to compare me to your dog?”

  Another dark look, and despite the much more sophisticated clothes, he put her in mind of a frustrated beast. Nostrils flaring in and out as he glared at her.

  “You are quarter siren, but you live like dog in that basement. Do you know about men like Cyrus? What they do to siren girls like you?”

  She shook her head, once again not knowing whether to feel insulted or bewildered by his obvious anger.

  “They give you drugs. Then they give you to somebody who breaks girls like you as job. Rape you over and over and keep you on drugs until you are addicted and will do whatever they say for next hit. What did you think happened to girls who came before you?”

  “They quit because of the obviously shitty working conditions?” she answered, truthfully.

  “No, they do not quit,” he answered, tone scathing as acid. “They were broken. Cyrus lets men use them after fighting is done. That way all money comes back to him, even if house loses on fights. He lets men use them until they are too old or too far gone. Then he gets new girl. You were new girl.”

  She expelled a breath, strangely more upset for the women who’d come before her than herself. “Those poor girls. Is there any way to help them?” she asked him.

  He flinched. Almost like her question had taken him by complete surprise. “No, there is no way to help them.”

  “Oh,” her shoulders sank. More souls to add to the list of people she couldn’t help.

  The memory of Trevor’s broken body lying in the road came back to her on a flash then. Along with the image of her sobbing. Begging him and anybody else who would listen not to go, to stay here with her, not to die—

  She broke out of the memory, clinging to her numbness like a lifeline.

  “Okay, well, thank you for the advice,” she said to the intense man sitting in front of her.

  She swung her feet around so she could get out of the bed. “No more taking jobs at underground fighting rings. Message received. Thank you. Sincerely, thank you for all you did. I’ll be getting out of your hair now.”

  But as soon as she stood up, so did he, effectively blocking her exit with one move of his giant body.

  “You are scared of me now,” he said, bending his head to look down at her. “After you saw the real me. Who I really am.”

  It was statement not a question, but her answer would have been the same either way. “No, I’m not scared,” she told him. “Just grateful. And sad for those other girls. And I don’t want to overstay my welcome here, so I’ll just be going.”

  But instead of stepping out of the way for her to leave, he stepped even closer. Towering over her as he said, “You should be.”

  “Sad?” she asked.

  “Scared. You should be scared of me. After last night.”

  She smiled then, broken and wry. Yeah, she supposed she should be. But…

  “I’m not,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze. Bold as she used to be. Before Trevor. “I don’t care how many dudes you kill. I ain’t going to be scared of you.”

  A few dangerous seconds ticked by, and then he sneered, “You are stupid girl. But you make my dick hard.”

  Her eyes widened. “Okay, well, I guess that’s supposed to be some kind of compliment.”

  “I will make you offer,” he continued, still sneering. “Instead of dying like dog in some Greek’s basement, you will become my pet.”

  “Your pet?” she repeated, looking down at Sascha.

  “No, Sascha is guard dog. Not pet. The men in my family…” He sliced his eyes to the side as if trying to figure how to explain this to her, even though English wasn’t his first language. “The men in my family. We are known for keeping a certain type of woman. A woman we take care of, who in return takes care of the needs every man has. We give this woman many things, and she gives us whatever we want from her, anytime we want it. Do you understand my meaning, Siren?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I think I do. You all have a whore on the side,” she summarized, voice blunt. “It’s like a family tradition, and you want me to be your whore.”

  “No, Siren, let me make this clear. Not my whore. My pet. If you are to sell yourself, I would have you sell yourself to me. But I do not pay for sex. I pay for ownership.”

  Ready to finish this dark, psycho sexy story?

  Click here to read the rest!

  Also by Theodora Taylor

  RUTHLESS TRIAD

  VICTOR: Her Ruthless Crush

  VICTOR: Her Ruthless Owner

  VICTOR: Her Ruthless Husband

  HAN: Her Ruthless Mistake

  PHANTOM: Her Ruthless Villain

  RUTHLESS TYCOONS

  HOLT: Her Ruthless Billionaire

  ZAHIR: Her Ruthless Sheikh

  LUCA: Her Ruthless Don

  AMBER: His to Reclaim

  RUTHLESS FAIRYTALES

  Cynda and the City Doctor

  Billie and the Russian Beast

  Goldie and the Three Bears

  Reina and the Heavy Metal Prince

  (newsletter exclusive)

  THE VERY BAD FAIRGOODS

  His for Keeps

  His Forbidden Bride

  His to Own

  RUTHLESS BOSSES

  His Pretend Baby

  His Revenge Baby

  His Enduring Love

  His Everlasting Love

  RUTHLESS BUSINESS

  Her Ruthless Tycoon

  Her Ruthless Cowboy

  Her Ruthless Possessor

  Her Ruthless Bully

  BROKEN AND RUTHLESS

  KEANE: Her Ruthless Ex

  STONE: Her Ruthless Enforcer

  RASHID: Her Ruthless Boss

  RUTHLESS RUSSIANS

  Her Russian Billionaire

  Her Russian Surrender

  Her Russian Beast

  Her Russian Brute

  HOT HARLEQUINS WITH HEART

  Vegas Baby

  Love’s Gamble

  ALPHA KINGS

  Her Viking Wolf

  Wolf and Punishment

  Wolf and Prejudice

  Wolf and Soul

  Her Viking Wolves

  ALPHA FUTURE

  Her Dragon Everlasting

  NAGO: Her Forever Wolf

  KNUD: Her Big Bad Wolf

  RAFES: Her Fated Wolf

  Her Dragon Captor

  Her Dragon King

  ALIEN OVERLORDS (as Taylor Vaughn)

  His to Claim

  His to Steal

  His to Keep

  THE SCOTTISH WOLVES

  Her
Scottish Wolf

  Her Scottish King

  Her Scottish Warrior

  About the Author

  Theodora Taylor writes hot books with heart. When not reading, writing, or reviewing, she enjoys spending time with her amazing family, going on date nights with her wonderful husband, and attending parties thrown by others. She also LOVES to hear from readers. So….

  Friend Theodora on Facebook

  https://www.facebook.com/theodorawrites

  Follow Theodora on Instagram

  https://www.instagram.com/taylor.theodora/

  Sign for up for Theodora’s Newsletter

  http://theodorataylor.com/sign-up/