Grind

by Sybil Bartel

  Copyright © 2017 by Sybil Bartel

  Cover art by: CT Cover Creations

  Edited by: Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting by: Champagne Formats

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Warning: This book contains mature content, sexual situations, and alpha heroes. Mature audiences only. 18+

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Sybil Bartel

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Thank You

  Preview of André

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Sybil Bartel

  The Thrust Series

  THRUST

  ROUGH

  GRIND

  The Uncompromising Series

  TALON

  NEIL

  ANDRÉ

  The Unchecked Series

  IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE

  IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

  IMPOSSIBLE END

  The Rock Harder Series

  NO APOLOGIES

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  GRIND

  Dane

  I’m silent. I’m trained. I’m lethal.

  My hand skimming down your thigh, my gaze a weapon—I know more ways to kill you than please you.

  But you’re not paying for my aim. You’re paying for my control. Bringing you a breath away from ecstasy, watching you beg as I hold back your release, I’ll show you exactly what you’ve been missing. Your hunger is my currency, and five thousand is my price. I only have one rule—no repeats, because I’m not for keeps. I’m for sale.

  One slow grind and I’ll give you exactly what you paid for.

  To my husband, who hasn’t read any of my books yet—

  You should probably skip this one too.

  I gripped her hair with my good arm. “Take a breath.”

  She licked her lips and inhaled.

  I shoved my dick into her mouth.

  Naked, on her knees, she moaned as her fingers dug into my thighs.

  “Suck,” I demanded.

  Her cheeks hollowed, and I ignored the burn of pain in my side. A stitched-up knife wound and a bullet graze were child’s play compared to the number of times I’d been shot, stabbed, blown up and left for dead.

  I tightened my hold on her hair. “You wanna be fucked?”

  Her hands moved to my ass and she groaned around my cock.

  I knew what she wanted. It’s what all my clients wanted. To be fucked until she came so many times, her legs gave out. “Get up.”

  Her lips slid off my dick and she stood without a word. She wasn’t a talker, and neither was I, except to issue commands and bark out orders.

  “On the coffee table.” I wasn’t going to stay long enough to fuck her on the bed.

  She crawled on the table and got on her hands and knees.

  Too bad I didn’t do repeats. She was submissive as hell, and my dick was rock-hard. Pulling a condom out of my pocket, I tore the corner with my teeth and had to roll it on one-handed thanks to the fucking mark I’d taken out two hours ago. I’d stupidly let my guard down for one second, and the prick had made his last move. I gave zero fucks about ending that asshole’s life.

  I ran two fingers through her soaked cunt. “You ready?”

  “Wait.” It was the first time she’d spoken since I’d knocked on the hotel room door.

  My fingers on her clit, I stilled. “What?”

  She shivered, then looked over her shoulder at me. “Why only once?”

  Brown hair, brown eyes, she could have been any woman when she opened the door. But on her knees, her ass out, looking over shoulder at me like she couldn’t wait to be fucked, she was everything I stayed away from. “You know the rules. No repeats.” I warned every client before I took their money.

  “I’ll pay you again.”

  I stepped back and pulled the condom off. “No.” I didn’t fuck for money because I needed the cash. I charged women for sex because that’s how I liked it—no attachments.

  Her gaze cut to my dick. “What are you doing?”

  Not fucking her. “Get dressed.”

  Her face twisted with confusion. “Why?”

  “You’re going home.”

  She sat up. “Because I asked to see you again?”

  “Yes.” They usually waited until after I fucked them before they begged for a repeat. I yanked my zipper up.

  She slid off the coffee table, dropped to her knees and reached for my dick.

  Unspent adrenaline from tonight’s kill coursing through my veins, I reacted. My hand was on her throat and my thumb under her jawbone quicker than she could gasp. Applying pressure, I dropped my voice to a lethal warning. “You suicidal?”

  Fear widened her eyes and she swallowed. “What?”

  “Did I say you could touch me?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Did I tell you to get on your knees?” I was wound so fucking tight, I had no business taking her money. I should’ve been paying her to take the goddamn edge off, but my text had been clear. Hard cock, demanding orders, no repeats, five grand. She’d agreed. She should’ve stuck to the fucking script.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Right answer.” The line between my two jobs blurring, I dropped my hand. “Get out.” I didn’t deal with this kind of bullshit.

  She glanced toward the windows. “But a storm’s coming.”

  I didn’t give a fuck what the weather was doing. “Then you stay.” My hand itching to wrap around my gun, I walked the fuck out, leaving her money behind.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’d picked my dog up from the kennel and I was standing in my driveway, staring at lights I didn’t leave on in my house.

  I called the person responsible.

&
nbsp; Alex Vega, a Marine I’d served with, had hit me up and asked to use my place when I was in the middle of my last job. Distracted, I’d agreed.

  Vega picked up on the second ring. He didn’t bother with a greeting. “Where are you?”

  The wind kicked up and I scanned the tree line. “All the lights are on in my house.”

  “You said I could use it for three days,” he reminded me. “What are you doing, standing outside?”

  I was going to take another job right after the one today, but getting fucking shot and stabbed threw me off schedule. “In the driveway.” I couldn’t see shit inside my house because all the storm shutters were down, but light filtered through the cracks at the edges. “Who is it?”

  “Irina,” he clipped.

  Vega had turned to escorting after we’d gotten out of the Marines. For the past three years, he and Jared Brandt, another one of our Marine buddies he’d recruited into escorting, had been making bank. So much so that they’d been giving me their overflow. Vega made the contacts, Brandt took the ones who wanted to play rough, and I handled the ones they were too busy to fit into their schedules. I used the women to unwind after my other jobs, and the money I charged let them know I wasn’t for keeps. We all made out.

  “The client,” I confirmed what he’d said when he’d called earlier.

  He hesitated, then bit out a response. “I’m out.”

  I read between the lines. “You quit?”

  “Yeah.”

  Damn. Alex Vega lived for the money he made escorting. “Because of the woman in my house?” I couldn’t think of a reason he’d quit besides a woman or a legal problem.

  “Unrelated.”

  The air snapped with the electricity of an impending storm. “Another woman.” It had to be. He was being cagey as fuck, and if it was a legal issue, he would’ve said first thing.

  He didn’t confirm or deny it. “I thought you were out of town for a few days.”

  I counted the different tire tracks leading up my driveway. “Plans changed.”

  “She’s on the other line. What do you want me to tell her?”

  I was over dealing with women clients today, and I sure as hell didn’t want to deal with his fucking castoff. But the lights on in my house said I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to sleep in my own bed. “She stable?” I didn’t do crazy.

  “Yeah. Just spoiled as fuck. You deal with this, I’ll owe you.”

  “You already owe me.” I didn’t like women at my house. I didn’t like anyone at my house except my dog. It was my fucking sanctuary.

  “I’ll tell her she has twenty-four hours.”

  “Copy. Parameters?” Normally I didn’t ask when I took the overflow clients from him or Brandt, because I could handle my own shit. But I was too damn tired to guess at what I was dealing with.

  “None,” Vega clipped.

  “Tell her I’m coming in through the garage.” I didn’t want to get fucking shot twice today.

  “Done. Thanks.” Vega hung up.

  With one last look around my property, I got back in my truck, and Hunter whined. “Yeah, I know.” I scratched his ears. “We got company and a storm’s coming. It’s gonna be a long night.” He put his head on my leg as I pulled into the garage and cut the engine. I took a few seconds to scan the security feeds of the surveillance system on my house from my cell phone app, but I didn’t see anything other than Vega dropping her off earlier.

  I glanced at Hunter as I shoved my cell in my pocket and gave him a warning. “Behave.” Then I walked into my house with a German shepherd on my heels.

  I didn’t know what the fuck I was expecting, but it wasn’t a stunning blonde.

  With pale blue eyes and the face of an angel, she stood at the kitchen counter and did to me what no woman had done since I was eighteen—she made me pause.

  She was fucking beautiful.

  Hunter growled low and quiet, kicking my ass out of my stupor.

  Mentally shaking myself, I did what I was trained to do. I cataloged. I scanned the room and her in under a second. No weapon, no bra, coffee had been made in the last hour, the door to the linen closet was open and she was fucking young. Memories of my past mistakes came at me like a goddamn blast wave.

  Her phone to her ear, she glared at me. “Who are you?”

  Accent, twenties, attitude, inherent fear—I guessed Russian.

  My stare intent, I zeroed in on her. “Dane. Tell Vega all clear.”

  Her shoulders turned and she looked away. “Alex,” she whined in a quiet panic.

  “Hang up,” I demanded.

  Her eyes cut to Hunter and she did as I said. “Who is that?”

  Hunter growled louder.

  I snapped my fingers and he quieted. “Hunter, go lie down.”

  She tracked my hundred-and-twenty-pound canine as he went to his bed against the far wall. “He looks like a hunter.”

  Fuck, she looked like my ex-wife. “He is. What are you doing here?” She had white-blonde hair, and ice-blue eyes that were almost colorless. She was too thin but she was so damn beautiful she took my breath away. The sight of her standing in my house fucked with my head, and memories of a life I used to have surfaced.

  She inhaled and fear crossed her features before she covered it with attitude. “Alex said I could be here.”

  I buried my past and studied her. “This is my house.”

  Her arms crossed. “What? You want me to ask nicely?” She bit out nicely.

  I rephrased. She didn’t look spoiled, she looked afraid. “Why are you here?” Expensive clothes, delicate features, she wasn’t a woman who had nowhere to go.

  “Because Alex decided to play house with someone else.”

  I looked for telltale signs of jealousy. “You in love with him?”

  Her attitude morphed into defiance and her accent disappeared as she spat an explanation out. “He’s a manwhore. I fucked him for three years because my husband paid for it. Only stupid women fall for unavailable men. Anything else you want to know?”

  My dick stirred and I picked up on the important part of her info dump. “You fuck your husband?” I’d ask what happened to her accent later.

  A faint blush hit her cheeks. “No.”

  Calculated, slow, I moved toward the kitchen island separating us. Right-handed, I pulled my 9mm out of the holster at my back, set it on the counter and lowered my voice. “Why are you lying?”

  She eyed the gun, but she didn’t back up. “I don’t fuck him. His dick is useless.”

  I didn’t take my hand off my piece. “There’s more than one way to fuck a woman.”

  Her chest rose with an inhale, her face went blank and her accent showed back up. “I am tired with these questions. You want to shoot me? Shoot. You can’t make this day any worse.” She smirked. “Unless you want to fuck me.”

  I dropped my gaze to her small, but perfect breasts. “I don’t fuck for free.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “Of course you don’t.”

  “I also don’t fuck used merchandise.” It was a lie. I didn’t give a fuck, but I threw it out there in hopes that my brain would pick up on it and listen to reason, because my dick sure as hell wasn’t.

  This time her cheeks went red. “You’re an asshole. No wonder you’re Alex’s friend.”

  “And you’re his client.”

  She scoffed. “Was. Past tense.”

  “You still belong to someone.” She hadn’t used past tense when she’d mentioned her husband.

  She didn’t deny it. “That’s not a question.”

  “How long has your husband owned you?” She was cover-model gorgeous and she was all attitude. She was someone’s toy.

  “He doesn’t own me.”

  Bullshit. “He paid for you.” One way or another.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  He did, and she didn’t look like property a man would easily part with. “He know where you are?”

  “He kicked me out. He doesn’t care
where I am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “What’s yours?” she countered.

  “You know what it is.”

  “Dane what?”

  I eyed her, wondering why she was being cagey. “You first.”

  Her shoulders squared, but not with pride. “Irina Tsarko Fedorov.” She bit out the last word with defiance and I stilled.

  Fedorov.

  Viktor Fedorov. The Russian mafia’s biggest arms dealer in the States. Viktor Fedorov, the gun runner who rumor had it was fucking impotent from a deranged sex slave who’d broken his dick as revenge.

  That Viktor Fedorov. And his wife was standing in my kitchen.

  Jesus Christ.

  I stared, but every sense I had went on high alert. I listened. I smelled her perfume. I cataloged everything in my peripheral vision as I went through a mental checklist. Exterior lights not tripped, outer perimeter breached twice, Vega’s McLaren on the video feed both times, back property not breached, interior motion sensors deactivated, the access road’s only recorded traffic was me and Vega.

  I scanned the living room then I looked at her, really looked, because Fedorov had a reputation for being a sick fuck.

  No bruising, no nervous glancing, no blood.

  My gaze cut to the cell phone in her hand.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  “Give me your phone,” I demanded.

  She pulled it closer. “No.”

  “How long ago did you leave your husband?” How long had he been tracking her to my goddamn house?

  “I told you, he kicked me out.”

  If I were him, I’d retrieve her before the worst of the storm hit. One, maybe two hours, then the roads wouldn’t be passable. He’d have to wait until tomorrow. Goddamn it.

  My jaw ticked and I fought to keep from ripping the cell from her hands. “Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once.” I leveled her with a deadly look. “If you’re married to Viktor Fedorov, give me your phone right fucking now or walk out of my house.”

  She slid her phone across the counter.

  I grabbed it, turned off the Wi-Fi and pulled the back off to look for a physical tracker. Nothing. I powered it down then pulled out the SIM card.