The Russian: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Renee Rose

  His resting face always appeared angry, but now it screwed up with fury. “Yes it was,” he growled. “You did not like him touching you.”

  She’d swallowed, fighting against the swoon those words produced. She didn’t need a Russian mobster with serious anger management issues taking an interest in her protection, no matter how sexy she found him. “What do you care, anyway?”

  For the first time, that intense gaze of his faltered. He looked away, fists still clenching. “I don’t know.” He spoke through tight lips, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  Her belly had fluttered, a wash of warm tingles sweeping over her. Did Yuri the Fury have a reluctant crush on her? She’d thought it so highly unlikely it was laughable. No one had a crush on her. Guys wanted to fuck her, sure. Only because she looked fun and available. But no one cared about getting to know her. No one sat at their table drinking iced vodka staring at her for hours on end while she played.

  Except Yuri.

  So, as he led her through the parking lot like they were on a date, one part of her fear fluttered in a direction that almost resembled excitement.

  Until she saw the other two goons stalking toward them from separate directions, all converging on a shiny black Mercedes.

  Christ, she was being kidnapped by the mafia! She attempted to wrench her hand free from Yuri’s, turning to bolt back toward the club, but in just a half-second, he had her up off her feet, one strong arm around her waist.

  “Don’t fight me,” he ground out. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Yeah, right.” She struggled for all she was worth. She parted her lips to scream, but he anticipated her move and clapped one hand over her mouth, carrying her quickly the rest of the way to the Mercedes.

  One of the guys opened the back door and Yuri forced her through, keeping tight hold of her wrist as he climbed in beside her. A guy sandwiched her from the other side. “We’re in.”

  The car lunged forward with a screech, tearing out of the parking lot and making Lucy shriek. Her breath came in audible pants, almost cries.

  “Where are you taking me?” She cursed her voice for sounding so high.

  “We’re holding you until your brother delivers the money he owes,” Yuri said. “Be good and no harm will come to you. I promise.”

  Be good.

  Now there were conditions attached to her safety. So much for his vow. She should’ve known not to trust a tattooed Russian mobster. Who does that, anyway?

  Holy mother of God, what was going to happen to her? To Jake? This was right out of a movie, and she knew how every movie ended—with people either dead, or in the hospital. An angry tear worked its way out of the inside corner of one eye. She clamped her teeth together, willing the rest of them back.

  But the Russian saw.

  Alarm flashed across his face, followed by anger. His hands curled into fists on his lap and he looked away from her, out the window. “Stop. Crying,” he grated through clenched teeth.

  His tone was angry, but what would he be angry about? Shouldn’t asshole mobsters be happy when they’ve scared a girl to tears?

  “Fuck you,” she shot back.

  He gave her a quick sidelong glance, then looked back out the window. “That’s good,” he muttered, more to himself than her.

  Chapter Two

  Yuri couldn’t stand seeing her cry. He wanted to pull her up onto his lap and—well, from there, his mind went from comforting to sexually pleasing her. Slipping one hand between her legs to test her responsiveness, letting the other explore her breasts. He wanted to change her fear into desire, wanted her breath quick from passion, not terror.

  Maybe it was wrong to think of soothing her through sex, but Lucy wasn’t the type of girl to be cuddled or stroked. He didn’t know what kind of girl she was exactly, and that enigma fed his fascination. Everything about her did.

  When he first saw her in the club, he’d been drawn to her quirky beauty—the exquisite bone structure, flawless skin, and wide brown eyes that were only highlighted by her fluffy mop of what had been pink hair at that time. He’d been charmed by her wide smile, which always seemed so genuine, and the enthusiasm she brought to the dance crowd. He’d assumed her joy was chemically enhanced.

  No one is that genuinely happy about making people dance.

  But over time he noted that she never drank. Not a drop. Bottles of water were the only liquid that ever touched her hand. Which probably meant she was rolling with the rest of the crowd—on E.

  Except he’d bumped into her when she’d been on break. Well, maybe he’d orchestrated their meeting a bit by blocking her way when she tried to come out of the DJ booth. Her pupils had been normal, cognition perfect. She’d been suitably wary of him, which meant she was smart enough to know trouble when she saw it. There’d been no evidence of drug use.

  So that fascinated him even more.

  What made a girl so happy? Her seeming joy became a conundrum that kept him up at night. There was a purity to it, but she wasn’t innocent. She worked in a fucking nightclub. Her friends and acquaintances were often drunk or drugged off their asses. Her brother had a growing cocaine habit and he’d started selling on the side. So she wasn’t pure. Not untouched. Yet still… so fucking light.

  He didn’t know what to make of her. Somehow, the more he studied her, the more she broke open some chasm in his soul. He grew emptier and emptier, wanting what she had. What she knew. Who she was.

  Or maybe he just wanted her.

  Wanted that sexy little teasing body underneath him, white-knuckling the headboard. Wanted those lean, muscular thighs parted around his hips, those ankles hooked behind his back, pulling him in, even as she gasped with the pain of how hard he fucked her. He wanted to drill into her with every bit of his strength, until he infused the very essence of his being into her. No, that wasn’t right. That was completely wrong. He never wanted to infect her with his darkness.

  “So…” Lucy sniffed after a moment, chin lifting.

  Good girl. She had unbelievable resiliency, this one. She must have.

  “Who’s going to make the introductions? Yuri, the Fury, right?”

  She looked at him, but he didn’t want to turn. Sitting so damn close to her, breathing in her cherry vanilla scent made it hard for him not to scoop her up in his arms, open the door and bail. Which would probably kill them both.

  Freddo and Tommy ignored her.

  “Don’t say my name in vain,” he growled.

  She choked on a laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. Somewhere in between. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. No more questions.”

  She blew out her breath in a huff, and he lost his fight not to look.

  Fucking gorgeous girl. He stared at the piercing on her cheekbone, debating whether the diamond was real. If it wasn’t, he was going to buy her a real one, as soon as possible. He wondered where else she was pierced.

  That thought made his cock lengthen against his thigh so he had to shift in his seat to rearrange himself. Did those little tits sport diamond studs, too? What about that clit?

  He nearly groaned out loud just picturing how her pussy must look. It would be a beauty, he knew that for sure. Shaking himself back to reality, Yuri dug her cell phone out of her purse and pulled up her brother’s number. Jake didn’t answer.

  “We have your sister. Produce the money you owe in twenty-four hours or you’re both dead,” he left as a message. “Say something, Lucy.” He held the mouthpiece up to her face.

  “Fuck you,” she snapped.

  “Good.” He hung up.

  Freddo pulled up in the back of Hotel DeAngelo, an upscale hotel owned by a friend of the don’s. They’d already booked a room.

  Yuri and Tommy sprang their doors at the same time, but Tommy grabbed her upper arm and hauled her out in his direction, a gun pointed in her face.

  Yuri gritted his teeth, wanting to snarl at Tommy, but he didn’t dare. If he showed how much this girl meant to him, he
risked everything—the case, his job, and most importantly, her life.

  By the way Tommy’s fingers clamped around her arm and the wince on her face, he could tell his compare was bruising her. He wanted to knock out a few teeth for that. Instead, he bunched his shoulders up, tough-guy style, and led the way in through the back door to the elevator.

  Lucy’s nostrils flared with fear as Tommy jerked her into the elevator car with him and Freddo and jabbed the button.

  “Not a fucking word. Not a fucking sound, you hear me? Or I blow your head off. Someone else gets on this elevator, you keep your fucking mouth shut. Got it?” Tommy instructed her.

  She didn’t answer.

  He jabbed her ribs with the muzzle of the gun through his jacket pocket. “I said, got it?”

  “Got it, yeah,” she huffed, but the quaver in her voice gave away her fear.

  Hang in there, baby.

  When they got into the suite, Tommy duct taped her to a chair, taping her wrists together, then winding a length around her torso to attach to the chair.

  “You know you’re just going to have to take that off the first time she has to use the bathroom, don’t you?” Yuri asked, trying to sound casual.

  Her eyes followed him and he saw her mind working, trying to figure out a way out of her dilemma.

  He willed her to let it go, to trust him to handle things. Any trouble she gave them could get her hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted. But she lurched against the bonds, tipping the chair forward. When Tommy shoved it back down, tears popped into her eyes, though her face appeared mutinous.

  Just the sight of those tears made his blood pressure spike. “Don’t. Cry,” Yuri spat.

  “Fuck you,” she repeated.

  Tommy slapped her with an open hand before Yuri even had a chance to move.

  “Don’t,” he snapped, too loudly. Get a grip, Yuri. His breath came too fast, fingers tightening into fists at his sides.

  “Why not?” Tommy asked.

  “Because, she has pretty face.” It was hard to make his lips open enough to speak, his mouth was so fucking tight. “I want to keep looking at it. You put bruises on her, I have to look at ugly face.” He adopted what he hoped was a casual stroll over to her and stroked away the red spot on her cheek with his thumb.

  Looking into the depths of her furious brown eyes nearly killed him.

  Tommy snorted but seemed to accept that. Yuri had played the part of the crazy Russian for so long they accepted all kinds of quirks from him, mostly because they respected the level of violence he could bring.

  “So where do you want me to hit her?”

  He had to force himself to remove his hand from her and turn away, to speak casually. “I don’t care. Not the face.”

  Freddo cocked his head, peering at Lucy. “Yeah, I guess I see what you mean. I wouldn’t have called her pretty, but it’s there.”

  Jesus! Fuck, these guys are such idiots. Did they only think a girl with long hair and a skirt fit the definition of pretty?

  “So that’s your type, huh?” Freddo asked. “You like the piercings and pigtails?”

  Do not engage with the idiots.

  “Yeah.” He returned to Lucy. “You want something to eat, baby?”

  She glared at him and shook her head, which made Tommy laugh some more. “I don’t think she wants to be your baby, Russian.”

  ***

  She definitely didn’t want to be Yuri’s baby. Except for the fact that she still believed she might hold some kind of sway over him. She’d seen the way his fists tightened and nostrils flared when Tommy hit her. It was almost as if he’d been trying to hide how much it bothered him. Was he playing the other two? He had promised her he’d keep her safe. Was this his way of ensuring her safety? Keeping close to step in when they got too physical?

  How much good his real or imagined affection for her would do her in a situation like this was debatable. He might be willing to order her a hamburger from room service, but that didn’t mean he’d let her or her brother off the hook if the don said to shoot them.

  She supposed she had to decide whether she was willing to work the small favor angle in hopes it led somewhere, or just give him the middle finger.

  She studied the impressive figure he made, standing with his back to her, fiddling with the television. His expensive button-down short-sleeved shirt did nothing to camouflage the latent power of his shoulders and arms. His muscled ass filled out his slacks. His golden-blond hair didn’t soften the tough-guy look in the slightest. In fact, his Slavic good looks made the whole package even more frightening. Next to the two guidos he was with, he definitely looked like the one who made grown men scream in terror. But the bad boy thing, coupled with his apparent interest in her, made him more than a little attractive.

  In fact, the idea of using Yuri to make her horrible predicament more bearable held some appeal. Though she’d never considered herself a cock-tease, the idea of slowly peeling down her tank top to show her tits, squeezing them and rubbing them as she slid down to her knees in front of the bulge in his crotch flitted through her mind.

  What would the Russian do? Clench those tattooed knuckles? Sit back to see what she’d do? No. He wasn’t the restrained at a strip club type. He’d be more the kind to grab her by the hair and force her down on his cock. Or to pin her wrists above her head and fuck her hard against the wall.

  And that idea appealed way too much to her.

  Well, if she decided it was worth it, seducing him might not be a hardship, but she was reserving judgement on that one.

  Yuri ordered food anyway, glancing at her as he placed the order, as if he might read by her blank face what she liked to eat.

  Freddo and Tommy pulled the desk out and arranged chairs around it. A deck of cards appeared. “Yuri, you in?”

  His eyes flicked to their table, then to her. His face was unreadable. “Yeah, I’m in.” He strolled past her. Though he never looked, the air between them crackled as he went by, sending tingles up her bare legs.

  Crazy Russian. No man had ever had her even thinking about seduction before. Sex was something she did for fun. Or for entertainment. To feel good. She hadn’t met anyone yet she wanted to lock in for a lifetime of the same. Funny how the Russian filled her brain with all kinds of errant thoughts. Like what it would be like to lick a line down his abs to his happy trail.

  She cursed the thoughts. Right now she needed to think about how to get the hell out of here. And her best chance lay with alerting the guy coming for room service. They wouldn’t let him enter with her duct taped to a chair, would they?

  Presumably, they’d just take the food at the door. She was surprised but pleased they hadn’t taped her mouth shut, because it would give her a chance to scream. Of course they may just shoot her right there, but she didn’t think so. Chances were good they’d take her somewhere more secluded to kill her.

  Her sense of timing might be off, but she waited until she thought the food might be coming soon. “I need to use the bathroom,” she announced.

  She’d been hoping for Yuri, but Tommy was up first, making an impatient sound in his throat as he pulled out a knife. He slashed her bound arms free from the chair, making her scream at how close he came to cutting her skin with the knife.

  He pulled her to her feet roughly and hauled her into the bedroom, where the bathroom was. Butterflies winged around in her chest but she forced herself to be calm, saying a silent prayer that some golden opportunity might present itself.

  In the bathroom, he refused to leave or shut the door. Determined not to show intimidation, she lifted her chin as she attempted to pull up her skirt with her taped wrists and somehow shimmy her panties down enough to sit on the toilet.

  He didn’t offer any help—not that she wanted it.

  She peed. Then she sat there, stalling for time.

  “Let’s go,” Tommy growled.

  “I have to poo,” she said with exaggerated innocence.

  Hi
s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit,” he said, but he didn’t move to pull her off, because, yeah. Who wanted to make that mistake?

  She pretended to strain and nodded at him.

  He rolled his eyes and backed out of the bathroom, standing in the open doorway.

  Okay. Time bought. Now what? His gun was strapped on his back, not in his hand. She didn’t know how much more time that gave her—one or two more seconds, maybe? So when the room service guy came, she could try to shove the door into him and run past, screaming her lungs out.

  Ugh. God. Was that really the best she could come up with?

  Tommy drummed his fingers against the wooden door. “Come on, let’s hurry up.”

  “Not done yet,” she sang out sweetly.

  He blew out his breath across his lips, making a pshaw sound.

  A tap sounded on the door of the suite.

  She bolted off the toilet. When Tommy also lurched toward her, she turned her back, pretending to fuss about toilet paper but actually using her legs to shove the panties off and over her strappy sandals before they hindered her flight.

  She waited until he came close. Then she clocked him in the nose with her forehead.

  He bellowed in pain as she rushed past, through the bedroom, toward the door to the hallway.

  Yuri leaped like a freaking billy goat, launching one foot off the double bed to land the next on the second bed, and then drop right in front of her.

  She slammed into the solid wall of muscle that made up his body.

  His hand clapped over her mouth before she’d even drawn a breath to scream for help.

  “Don’t make a fucking sound, Lucya.” He growled her name with an extra syllable, pronouncing it Lu-see-ya. His head bent toward hers and despite the threat, the position was intimate, the same way he’d spoken to her in the club. It was sexy and seductive and threatening all at once.

  Her heart rattled hard against her ribs.

  For a moment, no one moved. Yuri listened to the conversation with the bellboy in the other room, Tommy stifled his groan from the bathroom door.

  As soon as the door in the living room suite shut, Tommy came barreling toward her. “I am going to fuck that bitch up.”