Scarred_A Russian Mob Romance_Anosov Family Mafia

by Vivian Gray

  The game went on long enough that I began to tune it out. No matter how closely I paid attention, Brendan refused to acknowledge my concerns, so there was no sense stressing out about it. On the bright side, if Brendan gambled away all of his money, I would no longer have a reason to stay with him. My silver linings were hardly silver at all.

  The men at the table were quiet, and that paired with my hunger left me feeling drowsy. I propped my elbow on the lip of the table and rested my head on my fist, all thoughts of money and Anton replaced with images of a double-decker sandwich and my bed.

  “You have nothing left to bet?”

  My head shot up, surprised by the voice. It was Anton’s. He had a slight Russian accent, his vowels coming out long and rounded. Then, I realized what he had said and who he’d said it to. I looked over at Brendan and the empty table in front of him.

  “You have nothing?” I hissed out, eyes wide. How much had he spent? I hadn’t been paying attention. I looked around for a clock to see how long we’d been in the back room of the club, but I didn’t see one.

  Brendan glared at me, then looked at the men sitting around the table. They were looking at him expectantly, and I saw flashes of anger in a few of the faces. How much money did Brendan owe?

  “No, I can keep playing,” Brendan said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a hurry.

  “Not without money,” Anton said, his mouth a hard line. I thought I noticed his eyes flick to me, but it happened so quick I couldn’t be sure. He bore down on Brendan. “You owe me enough as it is.”

  Brendan squirmed in his seat, and I was reminded of a worm on a hook. “I can make it right.”

  “You have no money.” Anton paused between each word to make his point.

  “What if I don’t need money?” Brendan asked, glancing over at me, eyes wide and hopeful. He had an idea, though I couldn’t have said what. We barely had money, let alone anything else of value.

  The men around the table looked at one another and then to Anton. It was clear Anton was in charge. He had the final say about what could and could not be used to play, and I could tell he was thinking it over. His blue eyes looked stormy gray under the fluorescent light. After a few moments, they narrowed.

  “Whatever you have better be worth a lot if you want to use it to square your debts.”

  Brendan smiled and stood up. He moved behind me, placed his hands on my hips, and pulled me to standing.

  “A night with my girl,” Brendan said proudly, his voice echoing off the cement walls.

  I heard him, but words failed me. Surely, I’d misunderstood. He couldn’t be betting me, right? That wasn’t legal. A free person can’t be exchanged for money. What was I, a slave? I waited for the men at the table to laugh at Brendan, to tell him to find some cash or get lost. Instead, their heads swiveled to Anton.

  A strand of dark hair had escaped the gel in his hair and was flopping on his forehead in an Elvis Presley-style curl. His blue eyes ran over me one more time, so aggressive-like that I could almost feel them. He seemed to be appraising my worth. Then, his frown twisted into the smallest of smirks.

  “Let’s play.”

  Chapter Two

  Anton

  She glanced around the table, her eyebrows drawn together, apparent rage and hopelessness pooling behind her green eyes. She clearly couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and honestly, neither could I. How could Brendan offer up his girlfriend as though she were a commodity? Was she worth less than money to him? And had I really won her from him?

  Brendan had done his best to put on a neutral mask, but I knew his tells. His shoulders slumped forward as the fourth and fifth cards were played, and he bit his lip, glancing at Bailey from the corner of his eyes. I had won the game and a night with Bailey.

  I’d noticed her as soon as she walked through the door. She hadn’t seen me standing in the corner, or if she did, she didn’t pay me any mind, so I watched her take in the room and its inhabitants. It was an underground poker game, so I knew it wasn’t the nicest of places, but she looked like she expected to be murdered at any second. She ran nervous fingers through her red hair and hung close to her boyfriend.

  But could he really be her boyfriend? I’d known Brendan only as long as he’d been coming to the games, which had been for a few months. I had no idea where he came up with the cash to play because he drove a disgusting car and consistently looked like he’d just rolled out of a clothing donation box, but I had no interest in learning more about his life, so I didn’t ask.

  In stark contrast to Brendan was Bailey – Brendan had mentioned her name several times over the short time I’d known him, and I never once imagined he could be dating anyone close to her caliber. She looked incredible. Her dress gaped in places it shouldn’t, and her shoes were scuffed, but even with inexpensive clothing, she knew how to accentuate her curves.

  The women who usually came to the club were dancers or angry wives there to drag their husbands out by their ears. Definitely not anyone I’d ever consider taking home. Bailey was different.

  I tried to keep my distance though. I showed up every Friday to play poker, not to take home women. I didn’t need the money, of course. High-stakes poker isn’t very high-stakes when you’re a billionaire, but it was a nice release and holding the games in the back of my brother Sacha’s nightclub helped bring in more foot traffic, so it felt like a win-win.

  However, when I noticed the bruises on Bailey’s legs and the way she flinched away from Brendan when he spoke to her, I no longer cared about decorum. I wanted to strangle him. Any man who hurt a woman was no man. Then, he’d offered her up.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have had him beaten and permanently barred from the premises, but the idea seemed appealing. I could take Bailey from him on his own terms. I’d teach Brendan a valuable less in never betting more than he was willing to lose and I’d get to know Bailey in the process.

  “You can’t be serious,” Bailey said, looking me in the eye for the first time since she’d walked in. “This can’t be legal.”

  “None of this is legal,” I said, pointing to the table and the dealer. “The law is of no consequence in this particular exchange.”

  She moved to stand up, but immediately two of my bodyguards moved in to stop her, placing one hand each on her shoulder and pushing her back down into her chair. Bailey glared at Brendan and then back at me, but her anger faded to despair. She was beginning to realize she would receive no assistance from anyone.

  As the game went on, she watched Brendan closely and eventually, turned her attention to me. She had come to the same conclusion I had. She knew Brendan would lose and that I, as I had done for most of the night, would win. She knew she would be going home with me. So, when Brendan revealed his losing hand, she didn’t bat an eyelash. She simply stood up and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “I’m not going with you. I’m not a chip he can bet,” she snarled out, pointing at Brendan.

  “I’m afraid that isn’t for you to decide.” I gestured to the guards. “Put her in my limo.”

  “Let me play again.” Brendan’s eyes were directed down at the losing cards sitting in front of him. “If I lose, I’ll owe you double what I do already.”

  I laughed. “You can’t afford that, and even if you could, I’m not interested.”

  “Triple.” Brendan stood up and reached a hand out towards Bailey.

  She pulled away from him, unwilling to go to him even as she was about to be led away by my bodyguards.

  “As I already said, I’m not interested. A night with your girl is more appealing than any amount of money.”

  Steam was practically pouring from Bailey’s ears, but my smile didn’t waver. I wanted Brendan to think I was going to take her home and fuck her. I wanted him to think about all the dirty things I could be doing to her while he drove home, while he sat in whatever rat’s nest he called a home, while he rolled around in his unlaundered sheets and ached for sleep.


  “Put her in the limo,” I repeated, looking over Brendan’s shoulder to talk to the guards. They grabbed her arms and pulled her through the back door and into the alley where my driver would be waiting.

  “You can’t keep her prisoner,” Brendan shouted.

  “What do you care? You’re the one who put her on the table. Besides, she isn’t my prisoner. After tonight, she’ll be free to leave.” The dealer had dropped my winnings on the table, so I pocketed the wad of cash with a smile. “However, after the night we spend together, I doubt she’ll want to leave.”

  Brendan’s face turned a sickly shade of green, and I winked at him before going to meet Bailey in the limo.

  Chapter Three

  Bailey

  I wanted to stand up and pace. Well, really, I wanted to run away, but that plan was also foiled by the locked limo door and the two bodyguards standing watch outside. Nervousness coursed through my body, making my fingers and toes tingle. What would happen to me? I’d seen things like this happen in movies, but never real life. Had I become involved in a human trafficking ring? Would I be forced to live with Anton as his personal sex slave? I hated myself for ever finding him attractive.

  I could trash the limo. It wouldn’t improve my circumstances, but it seemed to be the only tangible way I could fight back. I wasn’t strong enough to take on the guards, and based on Anton’s muscly frame, I wouldn’t be able to fight him off, either. However, I could destroy his car. But was it his car? Or had he rented it from an agency? Did that matter?

  The leather squeaked as I leaned back into the seat and sighed. I needed to breathe and think. I needed to find a way out of the situation Brendan had put me in.

  Brendan.

  Just his name made me angry. I’d always known he didn’t really care about me. Brendan only ever cared about keeping his dick wet and having control over me. He liked that he could raise a fist and scare me into doing what he asked. Even knowing all of that, I never would have guessed I meant so little to him that he’d bet me in a poker game. I swore right then and there that if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him. The satisfaction of watching him take his last breath would be worth a life in prison.

  As I imagined the many different ways I could murder Brendan, the limo door opened and Anton slid in. He’d just “won me” in a poker game, and I still couldn’t help but marvel at the symmetry of his face, the thickness of his dark hair. The moment was fleeting though. The warmth in my lower half moved up my body until it lodged in my chest, a giant ball of raging hatred.

  “Let me go,” I growled out, though the words were weak even in my own ears. My voice was too high, Anton’s body too tall, too broad, too muscular… I could never run past him or force him to do anything he didn’t want to.

  Anton smiled as he slid into the seat next to me and pulled the door shut. The small space filled with the scent of his cologne. Woodsy and warm like a pine tree in the sun. I hated how good it smelled.

  “I want to leave,” I repeated, digging invisible holes into the side of his face.

  “I won you fair and square,” he said, still smiling.

  I wanted the smile to fall. I wanted him to reveal himself to be the evil man I knew he was. No good person would “win” a human being in a card game. A good person would have beaten Brendan to a pulp and let me go.

  “Brendan did not have the right to bet me. I did not and do not belong to him.”

  His lips pulled upwards in a half-smile. “I know. You belong to me.”

  I wanted to reach out and slap him, but fear held me back. What would he do if I struck him? I didn’t know what Anton was capable of.

  Before I could find the words to tell Anton I didn’t belong to anyone, he spoke again. “Why were you with Brendan?”

  “He told me we were going to dinner.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean why were you with him at all? You can do better than Brendan. I saw your bruises.” His eyes scanned my legs, and I pulled the hem of my dress down as far as I could, trying to cover myself.

  “I don’t need to justify my life choices to you,” I snapped. “My life is my choice.”

  The limo lurched forward, throwing me back into the seat and Brendan smiled. “Not right now it isn’t.”

  We didn’t talk as the limo moved in and out of the Manhattan traffic. I wanted to bang on the glass and beg someone to help me, but I saw how darkly tinted the windows were when the guards threw me in the limo. No one would be able to see me.

  I tried to covertly study Anton, determine whether he had a weakness I could exploit. He sat next to me, legs crossed at the knees with his hands folded on top of them. I could picture him in a boardroom or behind a large executive desk. He didn’t fit the archetypal image I had in my mind of what a criminal should look like. His face was clean-shaven and smooth, skin tone tan and even, hair full and dark. He looked more like a model than a career criminal.

  “It’s rude to stare.”

  His voice surprised me, and I jumped before turning to stare out the window, watching the stone and glass buildings blur by and wondering what the next few hours would hold. I guessed Anton had the money right away, but it wasn’t until we were pulling up in front of the most luxurious apartment buildings on the island that I realized exactly how much money he had. The iron details were plated in gold, and the stonework was done in an art deco style, everything geometric and modern. Two sets of revolving doors led in and out of the lobby, each one manned by a doorman.

  “You live here?” I asked, leaning forward so I could look up at the full height of the building. The top looked like it was lost in the clouds.

  Anton smiled and slid out of the car, opening the door for me. “Please don’t make a scene.”

  I looked up and down the block. I could make a run for it. I still had my high heels on, which would certainly make escape difficult, but a few people were milling around the dark street. Plus, the doormen would certainly help, right?

  Anton patted his jacket pocket, and I saw the outline of something beneath the fabric. A gun? Would he shoot me? Surely someone with as much money as Anton could afford to pay for the best lawyers. Even if he did shoot me in front of witnesses, he could probably get off with a fine and house arrest. Plus, I would feel okay taking a risk with my own safety, but what if Anton chose to shoot an innocent passerby? I would never forgive myself.

  I took a deep breath and followed him quietly into the building. The lobby had the same art deco style as the façade of the building, though more modernized. Geometric chandeliers dotted the ceiling at equal intervals, leading to a bank of gold elevators on the back wall. The ceiling was a series of hexagons set inside one another with lights emanating from behind.

  My heels clacked against the marble floor as Anton and I made our way through the lobby. The only person in the room – a dark-haired receptionist – didn’t look up from her phone once as we passed. We made it to the elevators, and when the doors slid closed, my heart sank. It took a surprisingly long time for the elevator to stop, but when it did, I was ready.

  The doors parted, and before they were even wide enough to walk through normally, I slipped sideways and slid my body through the small crack, sprinting as hard as I could. I’d decided on the ride up that I would run down the first hallway I came to, search for a stairwell, and get away from Anton. If he shot me, so be it.

  Except, I wasn’t in a hallway. I was standing in a lavish living room.

  Anton chuckled behind me, and I heard the elevator doors slide closed. I turned just in time to see him place a key into a gold-panel in the wall and turn it.

  “Did I forget to mention I live in the penthouse?” he asked. He tilted his head towards the elevator. “The key locks the doors so they can’t be opened. I can’t have just anyone wandering up to my house. Or leaving, for that matter.”

  I was trapped. I didn’t see any obvious signs of stairs anywhere, and unless I had the key to the elevator, there was no other way out.

 
Anton brushed past me, slipping out of his suit jacket and dropping it over the back of a low, white chair. “Hungry?”

  My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. I’d been hungry for hours, and I felt lightheaded from hunger and the excitement of the last few hours, but I didn’t want to give Anton the satisfaction.

  “No.” The word came out like a bark, sudden and harsh, but Anton didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’ll heat up something for you just in case you change your mind.”

  “I won’t eat it.”

  He shrugged. “That’s your choice.”

  I turned away from him to explore the rest of the house. The kitchen and entryway had dark wood floors, but the living room was sunken in and covered with a plush white carpet. I kicked my heels off – my aching feet thanked me immediately – and let my toes curl around the carpet. The back wall was entirely made of windows, and I didn’t even want to guess how much Anton paid to live there. With a view that incredible, it had to cost a fortune.