Black Light: Rescued

by Livia Grant

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Black Light: Rescued

  Livia Grant

  Copyright © 2017 by Livia Grant

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Authors Note: This book is meant for adult audiences only. It contains explicit sexual encounters and adult themes.

  e-Book ISBN: 978-1-947559-91-2

  Print ISBN: 978-1-947559-98-1

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Black Light: Rescued

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Livia Grant

  Black Collar Press

  Thank you from Livia

  Black Light: Rescued

  By

  Livia Grant

  2017© Livia Grant

  Prologue

  Valentine’s Day – Washington, D.C. – Black Light Club

  Khloe fell onto her knees to steady herself before lunging forward to suck his wet cock into her mouth. For the first time in a long time, Ryder was truly caught off guard. He was no longer in control, and it rocked his world. The submissive in front of him got bolder, reaching around to grab his ass with both hands to help leverage her rocking up and down on his rod.

  With each thrust, she took him deeper until she was gagging on almost every insertion. Still, she didn't back down. It was when she returned her gaze to his from her knees, pausing with his manhood obscenely filling her wide mouth and throat that he had to reach out and steady himself with the tiled wall. He could swear the naughty submissive at his feet had tried to smile around his cock as she'd recognized her effect on him.

  "Christ, Khloe, baby. You feel so warm and wet." When he was close to spurting, he knew he needed to take back control. Ryder released the wall, wrapping his fingers through her wet mane to grab her in a headlock. He held her stationary and took over, thrusting his erection down her throat again and again until she sputtered. He watched her eyes carefully, knowing when she was panicking and needing air. He gave her a hit of oxygen, enough to take the edge off and then resumed his face-fucking of the gorgeous woman at his feet.

  He squirted the first shot of cum down her throat, holding them together until the second spurt filled her mouth and then finally pulling out to let her gasp while he deposited the rest of his load onto her chest. Each of them took deep breaths after their impromptu exertion. He could see the exhaustion returning to Khloe as she came down from the high their scene had given her.

  Ryder held out his hand and helped her to her feet. He pushed down the regret of their night coming to an end.

  Only after she was on her feet, she pulled her hand from his and took a step back, defiance in her eyes once more.

  "You know everything about me, but I know nothing about you except your name. It's not fair."

  He couldn't help but smile at her petulant tantrum. "Careful, Princess. I'd hate to end the night with you over my knee for your sass."

  She took it as a dare. "Fuck you. I'm not leaving until you tell me something. And not some bullshit. Something real." She folded her arms across her chest for good measure.

  "Baby, every minute of tonight, you had the real me."

  She didn't back down. "At least tell me where you live. What you do for a living."

  "Why, so you can schedule a visit? It doesn't work like that with me, Princess."

  "So how does it work? You fuck strangers, spend the night doing all kinds of intimate things with them and then you walk away, never to see each other again?" Tears floated in her eyes.

  He saw her struggle with her feelings. "Khloe, you've had an emotional night. You need a good night's rest."

  "Bullshit. I need you to level with me. Was tonight just a game? Something you do with a different woman every week?"

  Her inquisition pissed him off. This, right here, was why the Moscow subs were perfect for him. Not one of them expected anything emotional from him. He didn't have room for emotional attachments in his life. The worst part was that tonight he was already having to push down his own crazy inclination to drive her back to her hotel, and spend the next three days holed up, fucking like rabbits. He didn't need her tempting him further.

  He hardened his heart, knowing tonight was all they were meant to have. She had her glamorous, very public life to return to–and Ryder, well he had to stay in the shadows. He couldn't afford to be splashed all over newspapers and social media as the mysterious man in Khloe Monroe's life. He took a deep breath and said the words he needed to say, "Tonight was a game, Khloe. A game called Valentine Roulette. I'm sorry if you thought it was something more than that. Don't get me wrong. I had an amazing time, and I'll admit I hate to say goodbye too, but we each need to go our own way, baby. I don't have the kind of life you would fit into."

  His words hurt her. For once, the sadist in him hated to see the pain cross her face. He wanted to reach out and hold her to him and take back his harsh words, but he was too disciplined for that. He allowed himself one weakness. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a farewell kiss. He still felt the incredible electricity coursing between them. He luxuriated in sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting the toothpaste she'd used minutes before as they'd cleaned up together.

  In the end, Khloe was stronger than him. He felt her hands on his chest before she yanked back, pushing him away so hard he almost fell backwards.

  Christ, she was amazing. Not a stitch of makeup. Her hair still wet, hanging down the back of the oversized robe. Yet she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She reached up to touch her swollen lips as a tear spilled down her cheek. When he reached out to swipe it away, she flinched away from him.

  She fought for control of her voice, quietly whispering, "Goodbye, Ryder."

  Chapter 1

  Fuck it was cold for April. Ryder pulled the wool collar of his coat up around his neck in an attempt to block out the frigid Moscow night. It didn't help that his ride was thirty minutes late.

  I hate waiting.

  The extra time spent milling about in the parking lot of the all-night sex club only jacked up his already frayed nerves. If he thought it would help relieve h
is stress, he'd head inside to warm up with a double shot followed by a hard ride on a nameless whore who wouldn't mind him banging out his frustrations on her already bruised body.

  Unfortunately, the booze would dull his reactions and he needed to stay sharp if he had a hope of getting out of his next meeting alive. Ryder Helms was not an alarmist. He'd honed his nerves of steel in dozens of close calls over the years. The fact that he was nervous was a sign of how fucked up his current mission had turned. If it weren’t for the fact that he'd spent years building his badass reputation with the Volkov Bratva, he'd pull out of tonight's meeting. But when Viktor Volkov wants to do business, you show up to the meet or you have a hit on your head the next day.

  A drunk couple ambled out the side door of the club. They barely stayed on their feet as they slipped on the perpetual sheet of ice that might melt by June if the weather held. He allowed himself to be distracted by the perfect curves of the woman in the skin-tight dress. Her waist-length sandy-blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and from the back, she reminded him of...

  Fuck. Get the hell out of my head. I'm on the job.

  The flashbacks were coming more frequently now, and he seriously needed to get them under control before he got himself dead. There was no room in his life for softness. Life was too hard for that. Memories of a princess who'd been his for three short hours pierced his thoughts when he least wanted them. If he thought it would rid himself of the memories, he would gladly bang every woman in the city to work Khloe Monroe out of his system, but he'd already tried that tactic and knew it wasn't going to work like that–at least not this time.

  As much as he dreaded the upcoming meeting, he was relieved when he saw the high-end Ferrari with the neon racing lights on the undercarriage rounding the corner at too high of a speed. It screeched to a halt in front of Ryder.

  Everyone drove like shit in Moscow, but it was always a toss up if the Bratva's henchmen or Alexi Ivanov's driving would kill him first. Hoping this wouldn't be his last ride, Ryder opened the door and slid into the heated leather seat. He hadn't even got the door closed yet when Alexi floored it, slipping on a patch of ice in the street, ass end of the sports car slip-sliding several dozen feet before he got it under control. Alexi managed to flick the ashes of his almost spent cigarette into the too-full ashtray even while wrangling the vehicle.

  "You're a fucking lunatic, the way you drive, you know that?" Ryder accused.

  Alexi grinned, obviously proud that he could get a rise out of the normally unflappable man sitting in the passenger seat. To Alexi, he was Nicolai Romanovski, arms dealer and all-round bad-ass who'd somehow managed to break into the inner circle of one of the world's most sophisticated crime families. He didn't want to think about the fucked up tests he'd had to pass to prove his loyalty to the family.

  He needed to get his head in the game. Slipping into his deep-cover persona, Ryder conversed with the closest thing he had to a friend in Moscow in his flawless Russian, accent and all.

  "You're late," he accused in Russian.

  "Sasha came home drunk after work." Alexi grinned before adding a sly, "I needed to take care of her."

  Ryder grunted, "Yeah, I bet you did."

  Alexi took another drag on his cancer stick before flipping the butt out the cracked window. "You're just jealous. You haven't had a nice piece of ass like Sasha in months."

  Ryder had met Sasha and didn't know what was more surprising. That she was Alexi's gold-standard in women or that a few months ago, he might have agreed with him. The scale of which every woman he'd ever meet for the rest of his life would be measured and forever be skewed by one A-list actress named Khloe Monroe.

  She'd ruined him.

  When he didn't rise to Alexi's bait, the driver added, "And anyway, I'll make up time on the drive out to Barvikha."

  Yet another reason for Ryder to be on edge. The meeting location had changed, and he didn't like it. He had access to additional friendly assets in the city if he ran into trouble. He also had hidden weapons and ammo in the Bratva's compound in town.

  He lost access to all of those benefits with the location change of tonight's meeting. He'd been to the luxurious estate in the upscale suburb several times, but had never been able to fortify his position on his visits. He was going in cold. No wire. No backup. Not even a real grasp of why the family had called the last minute emergency meeting.

  He needed information.

  "So what's this get-together about anyway?" he prodded, hoping to get Alexi talking.

  Alexi was already lighting his next cigarette, filling the small interior with stagnant puffs of smoke before answering. "I'm not sure."

  Ryder knew him well. He was lying.

  Interrogation time.

  "Viktor better not pressure me for another load of SVK semi-automatics. I told him I won't be able to get another batch for at least six weeks." Ryder left out the critical information that it would take his CIA handlers that long to locate the weapons and put the undetectable tracers inside them so the US could keep track of them wherever they ended up around the globe. The last load had already led Navy SEALS to two previously unknown terrorist hideouts. Remembering the good that came out of his sanctioned crime was the only thing that helped him sleep at night.

  Alexi waited until he'd navigated a tight turn in the road to answer. "Naw, I think he has a favor to ask of you."

  "A favor? Fuck." The last favor Viktor had asked of him had ended with him getting shot.

  "Da. Artel called me himself."

  Double fuck.

  The aging Viktor might be the head of the family, but his oldest son, Artel, was one ruthless sonofabitch. If he was involved, the favor would be costly for Ryder. Not financially, but to his soul. He'd already done unspeakable crimes against humanity in the name of the greater good, but the tests were getting harder–taking a bigger toll on his body and his character.

  Maybe his boss, Webster, had been right. Maybe it was time for him to retire before he got himself dead.

  And maybe you should get your head out of your ass and into the game, Helms.

  He was surprised when Alexi offered up more information. "He told me the family had made their move." At Ryder's sideways glance in his direction, the Russian added, "Something about going on offense."

  Ryder nodded a stiff acknowledgment of the comment as Alexi reached out to turn on the radio, filling the car with a pulsating song that sufficiently covered the thump of Ryder's pounding heart. He'd had a bad feeling about the meeting before, but now every ounce of his fiber knew he was walking into a trap. He hadn't been a deep cover CIA agent for over thirteen years by ignoring his gut. Sometimes his gut was the only thing that got him home at the end of the day.

  Maybe he should go on a little offense himself.

  As the ass-end of the car spun out of control banking around a pin-turn corner in the dark road, he spoke louder to be heard over the loud song. "Remind me again why I couldn't just drive myself to the meet? You're gonna kill me before I even get to the compound."

  Alexi grinned, openly showing his pleasure that his driving was bothering his passenger.

  "They limit access in and out. That piece of shit you drive isn't authorized for entrance."

  Ryder scoffed at having his high-end Mercedes-Benz referred to as a piece of shit. It was one of his favorite perks of his job.

  "I get the need for security, but shouldn't they trust me by now?"

  He was fishing. Alexi was a bad actor. If the family suspected Nicolai was anything but what he portrayed of himself, Alexi wouldn't be able to keep that to himself. His lack of concern was comforting.

  "What's your last name again?" his friend inquired. When Ryder sat silently, he added, "Unless it's Volkov, you aren't part of the family."

  He pushed on that point for a bit. "That's bullshit. You've been in the family your whole life."

  "My mother was a Volkov but she married outside of the Bratva. That makes me a second-class member. I'
ll know I'm really in when they ask me to change my name to Volkov."

  Ryder didn't argue because he knew his friend was right.

  Alexi was just slowing down as they approached the outskirts of the upscale suburb when the song on the radio abruptly ended. A radio announcer broke in to the programming with a breaking story.

  Ryder only believed about half of what he heard coming out of the government controlled public broadcasting station, but his ears pricked just the same. A big part of his job on the ground in Moscow was relaying news being reported locally to his handlers back in Langley, whether it was true or not.

  "The prominent businessman's family was kidnapped outside of the ballet studio as they exited. Dead on the scene was one armed guard they'd hired as protection while in Russia. Mr. Marshall is offering the generous reward of three million rubles for information that leads to the safe return of his family. Anyone with information is asked to contact 112."

  Marshall. That name sounded familiar. An American?

  He didn't have time to worry about that poor bastard's problems. He had his own to worry about. He needed to pay attention as they wound through the labyrinth of streets, always plotting out an escape route.

  As they approached the fortified iron driveway gates of the Volkov estate, Ryder fought the urge to open the car door and disappear into the night. Every alarm bell he'd honed in his years of active duty was sounding, but he pushed the snooze button, silencing them. No way, he couldn't wimp out. He'd invested too many years in his cover to walk away now.