The Handler : A Dark Russian Mafia Romance (The Cells of Kalashov Book 2)

by Vi Carter

  She’s soaked within minutes, and she’s completely oblivious that she’s being watched. She isn’t street smart. The idea that she thinks she got away that easily is flabbergasting.

  She keeps to the same pace. A couple who moved past her, huddled under an umbrella, has me pausing. Will she ask them for help?

  I might have to kill them both. They don’t slow down or even notice Evie. How could they not notice her? Even soaking wet, she was still a rare beauty. The moment they pass her, she shoots out from under the awning and starts running, changing her earlier movements.

  I don’t jog but walk faster, the moment she turns a corner, I start to run, and when she’s back in my line of sight, I slow back down. We’ve cleared a few blocks when she finally stops. She looks over her shoulder, but I’m already in the shadows. Hope widens her eyes, and she’s running across the street.

  There is no way she saw me; yet, she’s nearly upon me. The moment she steps closer, I’ll grab her and end this escapade of hers. She moves past me and pulls open the door of a phone booth. She has to kick it a few times to get it closed behind her. I know she has no money. She doesn’t pick up the receiver, yet she stares at it long enough that I’m ready to step out of the shadows. She picks up the phone directory and flicks through it. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she tears a page out and folds it several times before stuffing it into her back pocket.

  I brush more rain off my face as she puts the phone book back and stares at the phone. She finally reaches out and lifts the receiver. She doesn’t touch the keypad but leans her head against the glass. Her shoulders shake.

  She jerks upright and slams the receiver down. The distress on her face is evident as she turns and leaves the phone booth and starts to walk into the rain. Her hand keeps patting her jeans pocket as if she’s trying to make sure the piece of paper is still there. She stops at the end of the road, ready to cross, but I’ve had enough.

  I step up beside her.

  Her shoulders stiffen before her gaze travels up to my face; Any color that had tainted her cheeks vanishes. Two guys are ready to cross the street, and before she can do anything, I pull Evie to the side and press her against a shop front.

  “Don’t draw attention, or I’ll kill them,” I whisper and press closer to her body. She smells of rain and something sweet. My lips linger close to her ear, her body is pressed against mine, and it feels fucking good to have her this close.

  She’s shaking under me, and when I press a kiss just below her earlobe, she freezes. The men have moved past. I know I can let her go, but I don’t. I press another kiss to her jawline, and she pulls away from me, ending my kisses. I have no fucking idea why I’m doing this. I step away and grip her hand. She doesn’t fight me as we walk in the downpour back to the penthouse. The moment we enter the lobby, I see our reflection in the elevator doors. We are both soaked, Evie’s gaze is on me, and I see the fear take over before she tries to pull away from my hand. The doors open, and the ding has her short-lived rebellion stopping. I pull her in and don’t release her hand.

  She doesn’t start to plead or explain herself, and I don’t ask. The more I think about what could have happened to her being on the streets alone, the angrier I become at her.

  I release her hand, not wanting to crush her delicate fingers. The moment we reach the penthouse, she’s out of the elevator like a bull let loose from a pen.

  “Come back, now, Evie!” My warning has her stalling. I remove my suit jacket, and it plops loudly on the ground beside me. She spins and faces me; her chest rises and falls rapidly.

  “Give me the paper.”

  Her lips drag down, and she doesn’t move for a moment. She raises her chin, and I know she’s going to lie. I pull off my tie and let it fall to the floor.

  “I don’t have anything.”

  Her lies have the darkness that is always there, rising in me. I open my shirt one button at a time. She’s trying to keep her gaze on my face, but her eyes drift lower with each button I open.

  “It’s sad, really.” I peel off the shirt and watch color enter her cheeks. “You forget who I am.” The shirt hits the ground, and I kick off my shoes.

  She doesn’t answer, but her lip trembled slightly as I walk toward her.

  “Take off your clothes, Evie.”

  She blinks like the words are hard to process. “You aren’t allowed to touch me.” She speaks with her head high, like that will remind me of who she is. She needs a reminder of who I am.

  I grip the blouse on both sides and tear it open. She screams and tries to pull the material back together, but it’s tattered.

  “I said take your clothes off.”

  Real fear enters her blue eyes, and she tugs off the damaged shirt with trembling fingers. Once it hits the floor, she looks up at me but doesn’t touch her trousers.

  Her defiance isn’t something I admire right now. She screams as I pick her up and carry her down the hallway.

  She doesn’t demand I put her down or strike me. She’s like a rag doll across my shoulder as I open my bedroom door and throw her on the bed. She’s moving, scrambling away from me. As she turns, I grab her by the waist and drag her body back to mine.

  Her heart beats wildly in her chest, her breathing is erratic. I place one arm across her chest to keep her still and use the other to open her trousers. She thrashes, and when I tighten my arm across her chest, she stops.

  Opening her trousers, I raise my arm to release her and drag them down her legs. She starts to crawl off the bed.

  Grabbing her ankles, I drag her back and climb further onto the bed.

  “NO! Please. I’m sorry.” Her pleading should make me pause, but she’s disobeyed me too many times.

  My hand comes down heavily on her perfect ass, cutting off her pleads. She’s frozen as I bring my hand down again; her soft, plump flesh turns red under the assault of my hand. I don’t stop but strike her a few more times until she’s shaking under me. Her cries have me completely stopping, my handprints on her ass have me dipping my head and pressing a kiss to her skin.

  “You need to understand that I have all the power here, Printsessa. And when I ask a question, I expect an answer.”

  She continues to cry, and I kiss the red skin.

  “What were you doing in the phone booth?” I ask and spin her around. Her eyes are red and swollen from her tears. But her hard nipples press against the flimsy material of her bra.

  Anger tightens her lips together, and I admire her. She’s protecting someone, someone who is very dear to her. Was it a friend like she had said it was? Male?

  That thought has my gaze roaming down her flat stomach to the black lacy material that covers her pussy.

  “Are you going to answer me?” I ask as I slip my fingers under the dark material.

  Her gasp has me looking back at her face, and she shifts.

  “I’d advise you not to move, or I’ll spank you again.”

  She’s rooted to the spot, and I let my finger slide over her swollen bud. She gasps again at the contact, her gaze pinned to the ceiling. I should stop, but I can’t.

  I slip my fingers lower until two of them press along her entrance. I want to slide my fingers inside her, but I also don’t want to tarnish her for when she is handed back to Igor. I slid my fingers back up and rubbed her clit.

  She tries to move again, her focus returning to me. “I’ll gladly spank you again.” I almost want her to move, and when she doesn’t, I continue my assault on her clit.

  Her hands reach out and clench the sheets under her, she’s fighting off the sensation, and I move my fingers quicker. My cock presses painfully against my trousers, and the thoughts of fucking her sweet, pure pussy have me spreading her further and running three fingers across the swollen bud.

  She gasps again and is ready to move away from me when she arches her back and moans. I want to taste it, I want to taste her juices, but I keep moving my fingers, thinking I’m the first man to make this beauty cu
m.

  She cums seconds later, her fingers tighten around the sheets, and she cries out. She continues to vibrate and shake under my hand in the aftermath of her orgasm. She’s staring at me like I just appeared, and when I remove my fingers from her panties, I place them in my mouth and taste some of the sweet nectar that I’m sure still flows from her.

  “You shouldn’t touch me.” Panic claws at her, and she’s pushing herself up, but I slowly push her back down and climb on top of her, pressing my hard cock against her pussy.

  “I can do what I want to you, Evie.” I grip her wrists and drag her arms above her head. She smells fucking delicious. “I could fuck you right here on this bed, and no one would do a thing about it.”

  Her breath brushes my neck as I lean in and press a kiss to her jawline. “I’d sink my cock into your virgin pussy. It wouldn’t be nice, Evie.” I let a laugh slip from my lips. “It would be very nice for me.” I lean out to look her in the eyes. “But not you. I’m sure you know a woman’s first time is painful.”

  A lone tear slips from the corner of her eye, and I’m ready to stop torturing her.

  “Who are you trying to ring?” I ask again and push my cock that throbs painfully in my trousers against her core. I want her to defy me. I want an excuse to allow my darker side take over.

  Would Igor demand the money, or would he punish me for my disobedience?

  “Lucca.” My name from her trembling lips has me tightening my hands around her wrist, but it’s made me pause.

  More tears leak from the corner of her blue eyes. I haven’t seen many women cry, not ones under me anyway. Any woman under me is normally moaning out my name, not shedding fucking tears.

  I release her wrists, but she doesn’t move, and her cries don’t stop.

  “I lost everything at ten.” Words babbled fall from her lips.

  I don’t blink as her confession fills me. Why should I care? She was here to help me solve this case.

  “I can’t lose any more.” Her lip continues to tremble.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Did she expect me to care?

  My words have her tears drying up and her sniveling stops, but that haunted look that I’ve seen before in the eyes of too many boys digs deep and manages to worm its way beyond my ribcage. It’s like a kick to my black heart.

  “I don’t know.” She tries to curl away from me, but the weight of my body prevents her escape.

  Grabbing her wrists, I pin them back above her head.

  “I don’t care what you lost or what you will lose. All I know is that you are here to help me solve this case. Then when I find the other girls, I will return you all to Igor.” I push down on her wrists like my words can be driven deep into her skull.

  I release her and get off. “Go to your room.” She stumbles from the bed but pauses and gathers her clothes. Her cries linger behind her for far too fucking long.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVIE

  There is this type of pain in my stomach that I’ve never experienced before. I manage to get the piece of paper out of my jeans pocket. It’s soaked, and I unfold it carefully. I’m searching for a radiator to place it on.

  My mind is foggy from Lucca’s touch, from Lucca’s harsh words, from my own outbursts. My gaze blurs, and the room tilts. I have to pause and close my eyes and try to find my center again. When I open my eyes, I feel more like myself.

  I find a hairdryer tucked away in one of the drawers and use it to dry the page.

  In my eagerness to ring home, I forgot to add the prefix that allows me to ring another country. It hit me last night that If I found a phone book, I could ring home and maybe someone would answer. 011 353 is what I needed to put in front of my parents’ phone number. I’m staring at the page as I continue to dry it. I don’t need it anymore, I realize. That number will be forever branded into my memory. I turn off the hairdryer and take the piece of paper into the bathroom. I’m surprised he let me keep it. I’m surprised he let me leave that room.

  His threat of having me had elated me and caused a ripple of fear through my system. I’m trying not to think about his hands on me as I crumple up the page and drop it into the toilet. I flush and watch it disappear.

  He had touched me, and I didn’t want him to stop. There were moments where my brain kicked in, and I half tried to leave, but his touch gave me release from the situation. His silver eyes had soaked up arousal, and his own had pressed so heavily against me.

  Even when he was threatening to take me fully, with his groin pressed against me, fear should have been all I felt, but I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt towards Lucca.

  His body was defined perfectly—the outline of his muscles, like gorges in the landscape.

  I flush the toilet one more final time before leaving the bathroom and making my way into the bedroom, where I put on dry clothes. I find the darkest ones, which this time are gray. The skirt is very dark, but it touches the floor, and the top has a small red and yellow beaded design along the arms.

  It’s pretty, not as pretty as what I have grown up accustomed to.

  I hate the thought that settles in my mind. I might have gotten the full number for my parents’ home, but I could never risk ringing them now. I could never risk Lucca tracing their number. He still might. My only hope is that he forgets about it.

  I fall asleep on top of the covers after a few hours of twisting and turning. When I wake, it’s odd not to hear the girls’ chatter or feel the heat from the sun that always shone directly on my lower calves. I sit up and take in my surroundings. I’m in the Handler’s home. Something told me he didn’t live here full time because there is nothing personal in the penthouse, and it just has the feel of a hotel. I get off the bed and go to the bathroom. Each time I think of last night, my buttocks clench at the memory of each slap. The pain had frozen me for a moment. But it was the heat of his hand, the feel of skin on mine, that made a completely different reaction in my body. Embarrassment had torn through me by the thought of being spanked turning me on. My mind wanders a little further to how he touched me, how I had wanted him to touch me.

  I wash my face and pause. There’s something different. When I look up and meet Lucca’s gaze in the mirror, my heart stalls, and a half scream lodges itself in my throat. My heartbeat picks up a new beat that’s wild and unwilling to slow.

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  The silver shirt that covers his wide shoulders is nearly the same color as his unusual eyes.

  I hold my head high, hoping he can’t see how flustered I am. “Thank you.”

  He doesn’t leave, and my stomach hollows out the longer he’s looking at me. I can’t hold his gaze, so I look away and place the towel back on the rack. When I look around, I’m alone again.

  Breakfast is fresh fruit and cereal. He’s set the breakfast up at the breakfast bar. Straight away, all I can think about is how unladylike it is to climb up on a high stool. I have to lift the gray skirt to get up. Lucca is already seated and doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching me.

  He eats his cereal slowly. Once I’m up, I feel slightly accomplished and pour out some cereal before adding some strawberries and honey. Without asking, Lucca pours me some orange juice.

  “Thank you.” I pick up the glass and take a drink.

  He doesn’t speak through breakfast but eats while looking at his phone. For the first time, I wonder about him. How did he end up as the Handler? Did he have a family? Did he ever get sick of it? Did he have a girlfriend? The last thought has my face flaming because I don’t like the idea of him having a girlfriend. If he did, I highly doubt he would spank her as he had done to me last night.

  Silver eyes cut across to me, and I immediately look away. We finish eating in silence, and once we are done, Lucca tells me to get some footwear on because we are going out.

  On the way down in the elevator, I attempt to ask him three times where we are going, but fear clogs my throat. Was he returning me to Igor? What would Igor
do to me?

  I can’t stay quiet any longer once we are in the limo.

  “Where are we going?”

  Lucca once again is on his device. “To the ship.” He doesn’t look up at me as he answers.

  A new wave of fear and a longing for what has become of my home has me looking out the window as I try to move all the parts inside me around like I can make them fall into place.

  I can’t.

  Home. Home was a boat, home was a large house, home was a cell in the lower deck of a ship once. Home was County Clare.

  That final thought has me squeezing my eyes from the burn in the back of my throat.

  “Did you always want to be the Handler?” I need a distraction from my morbid thoughts. I don’t look at Lucca because I don’t really think he will answer.

  “Yes.”

  Now he has my attention. He’s staring at me, and my stomach squirms.

  Him answering me is a surprise, and now I want to know it all. But I also remember that I need to be very careful with my questions.

  “Why?” I ask something I didn’t intend to ask. I wanted to ask what his parents thought of their son being the handler, but maybe they were high up in the mafia, that this was a role he had always known he would fill, so therefore he always wanted it.

  His silver eyes narrow slightly. “I just did, Evie.”

  My name on his lips has me wanting to squirm. It’s too personal, and his gaze drags down my front like he can see through the material. Like he can see my nipples that are hardening in my bra. I fold my arms across my chest, and the grin on his face has me uncrossing them. The limo slows as we approach the ship. I don’t know any of the security that is here. They are all new. As we board the ship, I feel the press of the ghosts, and my legs refuse to move any further.