His to Protect: A Second Chance Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Vivien Vale

  “You vodka-chugging fuck! Let me go, you fucking dick. Do you know how much shit you are going to get for this? Do you?”

  I know it’s not worth screaming. The car is like a quiet bubble. It blocks out the street sounds.

  I’ve ridden in cars like this all my life, and I know they’re designed to keep the occupants separate from the masses of humanity outside. I also know those brain-dead masses won’t give a fuck if I start to scream.

  Even if I show my bound hands, they will likely think we’re on our wedding night and just read 50 Shades or something. The shit people get up to these days.

  Russian psycho is looking at me with a slightly down-trodden look, like a kicked puppy. I can’t help it, I start giggling. Did he really think I was going to sweetly thank him?

  “My sweet one, I want to do you no harm, but you must learn your place. The boys and I thought you were just a nice handy ticket. We needed a girl to send over and there you were. Like an angel sent from heaven. But once I let you go, I could not forget you.”

  Psycho Russian is handling the wheel, keeping one eye on me and one eye on the road. He keeps looking over, trying to stare deeply into my eyes, and I just give him a glare. My whole body is rigid, and I’m still wondering if I can get my legs up.

  Maybe I could open the door even with bound hands?

  “I searched for you krasivoya, I search the web for you. I find you, not just a model, but a princess—daughter of a billionaire! My love for you only grows from there. I try to forget. I take the drugs. I drink vodka. I quench myself in every Russian whore I can find, but you torture my dreams, krasivoya. All I see behind my eyes is you, dancing through my dreams.”

  “Listen, cunt, this all entertaining, and all that shit, but for a seduction, it fucking sucks! What the fuck is going on with you? Are you seriously deranged?”

  It’s not fear. Well, not all of it. I’ve never been angry in this way before.

  Okay, maybe once or twice but now I see the difference between a real problem and the latest shoes not being in the right color to match my dress.

  “Shut up!” he snaps. “You must learn your place! You are not some casual fuck, no. I don’t do this if I want to ravish you. If all I want is your cunt, then I can take that back at fancy apartment! I could fuck you right now if I wanted to.”

  We roll slowly to a stop at a light. When he leans over, I can smell the vodka on his breath and his warm, damp hand gripping my knee.

  He’s taking slow, even breaths and seems utterly calm. I have to say that wigs me out a bit, and the hand on my knee gives me a sick feeling in my guts.

  “I don’t want fucking, lovely one…Well, I do, but that comes after.”

  He moves back as the lights change. Fuck, I just missed a great chance to headbutt him or something.

  Actually, that’s a fucking laugh. Who the fuck do I think I am? Headbutting. For fuck’s sake.

  My face is my money-maker. I need to stop being ridiculous.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. After what?”

  “After wedding, my darling! You will be my lovely bride!”

  I can’t understand the words for a second. He’s grinning and looking between the road and me.

  Honestly, I think he’s actually waiting for my overjoyed reaction.

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

  The insulted look on his face! Oh, just like that idiot Paul Tucker at senior prom. May I have a kiss from the prom queen? Fuck no, you little perv!

  And once I start laughing, I can’t stop. His expression just makes me laugh harder.

  “Be quiet, krasivoya,” he growls. “This is first thing you must learn. You obey husband. Respect me. Good Russian wife does this.”

  I still can’t stop laughing.

  “You absolute dick,” I finally squeeze a word out through laughter. Oh shit, my eyes are watering, and I can’t wipe them with tied hands. “You do know that marriage—at least in this country—has to be consented to by both parties? How the fuck do you expect to get away with this?”

  “This is why I take you to Russia, sweet girl! I have cousin who marry us, no problem. He also get all papers you need to live in Russia as my wife. Then we go and we live, ja? We drink vodka, make the babies.”

  He has a dull, dreamy look on his face. All of that sounds quite scary, actually. Surely this can’t happen in this day and age…can it?

  “I’ll fight you.” I’m staring at him with the full impact of my rage. I can’t even raise my voice—I’m that angry. “I will fight you every single fucking day.”

  He pulls up at a red light and leans over to grip my knee again. He grips me fiercely, just a few fingers digging into my knee, but it really hurts. His hands are strong.

  He looks deep into my eyes, and I am intimidated—he is giving off one nasty vibe.

  “That is why I break you first, lovely creature,” he growls it through his teeth, and I can smell the vodka again. Oh, it’s disgusting. Horrid breath leering all over my face and cold, angry eyes.

  “I do not want to hurt you, sweet thing...” He moves back and starts moving forward again. “But I will break you. If you are too nasty, we have to go straight to hard break. Do you know what that means?”

  I shake my head, starting to feel tired and really fucking scared.

  “Most girls, soft break works fine. Bit of threat, intimidation, within a short time, they make good wives. Some girls, though, they won’t give up. Too much spirit. They have to be tied down at all times. If you cannot be trusted to move around while bound, then we have to tie you to bed.”

  He leers over, feral grin sneaking across his face as he thinks about it. “And then krasivoya, I fuck you silly. Every fucking hour, as hard as I can, until your spirit is gone. I can have my brothers help. We can sell rides on you to poor men on the street.

  “None of that matter at all, because you rise from bed a new woman. My bride. Old bitch Stella gone. Dead. Nice, quiet wife. You see?”

  Okay. Now I’m not laughing anymore.

  Now, I’m fucking crying, I can’t help it, tears are pouring down my face.

  Not because I’m sad or scared.

  No, right now I’m so fucking enraged, I can’t see straight.

  “You just try it,” I snarl. “You just fucking try it! The guy who bought me? He’s ex-military, black ops-trained. He will find me! He will! He will fuck you up, you psycho prick!”

  He laughs, “And where is he now, sweet thing? Where is this military man? If he that good, how come he not track us down yet? Huh? I think you lie, pretty one.”

  “Think what you like,” I hiss at him, “He will come for me. If I’m not harmed, he may even let you go. If anything happens to me, he will kill you.”

  Psycho grunts and starts whistling.

  I glare out the window. I haven’t even spoken to Michael in nearly a whole day. I don’t even know where he went.

  My chest feels empty and sharp, as I think of how everything that happened between us might have meant nothing to him. The thought of never seeing him again is almost as bad as the thought that he won’t come for me.

  That he won’t even notice I’m gone.

  19

  Michael

  The engine has barely started to cool as I slam into my car and get her revving up again. As I push my foot hard to the floor and peel out of the underground, I slap my phone into the cradle and wake the screen.

  “You hear me, chief?”

  The phone flashes obligingly, “I hear you, doc. Any favor under the sun for you. I almost bought my ticket that night, but I’m out here catching crime because of you.”

  I can’t stifle my laugh. “Yeah, well, I think you do better at this than as target practice. Where are they?”

  “We have units closing in. I’ll send it to your GPS. The roads are blocked, thanks to our pal, the mayor.”

  Another laugh from me. Quite a bit harder this time. “Yeah, well, he owes me. His wang was six different colors after Ba
ngkok.”

  My pal the police chief guffaws back at me. “Yet another story that we can’t share. Well, not outside the poker ring anyway.”

  “I told you I’ll take your money anytime you want to give it to me. You got those details?”

  “Sending it now, doc.”

  My phone flashes, and as I tear the car around the turns in the almost deserted streets, I take in the flashing display. The map shows a helpful green line…from me to Stella.

  I push the car even harder, roaring through the streets.

  I only feel like this in surgery. Like the world is in my hands, and I’m going to remake it. There is literally nothing I can’t do.

  I am going to punish this fucker.

  One eye on the phone screen and one on the road, I push the car. I am now within the road block, and the streets are empty. My phone crackles.

  “You there, doc?”

  I smile. “I never thought I’d hear that voice again. Didn’t you become a mercenary?”

  “Not on a public channel, anyway. I’m in sniping position. The old lady’s doing fine, by the way.”

  This old war dog is a softie little momma’s boy, not that he would let his buddies know that. They guy cried like a child when I came out of surgery and told him his mom would be fine.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “I’m above the police road block. I can see you on the scope. You’re almost behind him. Take the next right.”

  “On it.” I swerve the car as my GPS pings.

  “I can’t fire. There’s no clear shot. He’s driving like a wild man. I might hit her.”

  “You can see her? Is she okay?” I hear the edge in my own voice.

  Terror. Heard it so many times in the hospital. Never understood it.

  Until now.

  “She seems fine. Even if I can get a clear shot at him, he might spin the car. Catch up to them. Squeeze him in. The road block is right in front of you.”

  “I see it.”

  I do. I can see the whirling red and blue out ahead. Not far in front of me is the car.

  Hot little sports car, very fast, but it doesn’t have the power to compete with my car, which I prove by slamming my foot down again, the car growling as the nose comes up level with the bumper.

  “Can you hear me, chief?” I stab the phone, switching channels.

  “I hear you, doc.”

  “He’s not slowing down.”

  “I can see that. We aren’t going anywhere, doc. We have heavy vehicles and spikes down. He’s fucked.”

  “But what if—”

  Just then, the psycho floors it, pointing the nose of his shitty little car to the left. I swerve, trying to get my own car under control, but she’s somewhat heavier than psycho kidnapper’s piece of crap.

  Just as I start to even out, the fucker pulls his car the opposite direction. I hear the hum of the sissy little engine as he floors it. Shit!

  The piece of shit little car goes straight over the spikes and swerves madly around the road block. I follow, recklessly pushing the car and hitting a few spikes as I follow him around the road block.

  The bridge! Fuck!

  He loses control of the car, and I can see him fighting against it as I do the same. I put my foot down as the motherfucker comes out of serious spin and floors it.

  Right at the bridge rail.

  Stella must be screaming. All I can discern of her through the window of the car is a flash of frightened eyes and a sweep of gold hair.

  But then her voice rings out across the night, and I feel an utter calm slide over me as I feel the wheel slip between my fingers and as I, with complete satisfaction, slam my foot to the floor.

  Understanding causality, cause, and effect, as well as an ability to follow events through to a natural conclusion make me an excellent surgeon. These intellectual skills also tell me that I am going to hit that shitty little sports car right on the driver’s side.

  He can’t see it—he can’t even see the fucking rail he’s about to drive over. My engine roars as I bear down on them. I see his eyes whip towards me as he suddenly realizes his predicament.

  I watch as my beast absolutely wrecks the fuck out of the other car. The impact is hell, but I’m braced for it, foot down, hands gripping the wheel. I keep shoving until my car finally revs out and clunks, smoke pouring from under the hood.

  I push out my mangled door and run around the other car. I grabbing the twisted metal on the passenger’s side and tear it open with all my strength.

  All this, and now, I’m afraid to look.

  “Michael!” she gasps.

  Then her arms are around my neck, the sweet skin of her neck against my lips, her hair flowing all around me.

  “Stella.” It comes out like a prayer.

  Then my arms around her, cradling her, stroking her.

  “I thought I would never see you again!” she sobs into my neck. I push her back, look into her eyes, wipe a tear with my thumb.

  “Baby, I’m always gonna come for you. I’m never gonna leave you alone ever again.”

  Tearful, fierce Stella touches my face. “I love you, Michael. I really fucking do, you know that?”

  The sirens and the lights draw near. All the good fellas of the city are here to clean up the mess. I’m looking into her eyes, and I know it’s true.

  A massive smile breaks over my face. I have never felt so free.

  “Stella… I love you, too.”

  She sinks in to me, and I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her scent. “And I always will.”

  20

  Stella

  We come to a stop outside of the hotel. It’s the nicest Michael could find on such short notice—complimentary robes but no slippers.

  Admittedly, I was a little worried about it, but it looks great from where I’m sitting.

  Which, of course, is as close to Michael as I can possibly get.

  I haven’t been able to stop touching him since he saved me.

  I might never be able to stop touching him again.

  He saved me.

  I’m already trying to figure out ways that I can be near him for the rest of our lives. Maybe I’ll just become a doctor. No, scratch that, a surgeon. That way I can be with him even when he’s operating.

  Michael moves to get out of the car, and I realize for the first time that I’ve been holding onto him a bit too hard. My nails have left imprints in his arm.

  I love him even more for not saying anything about it.

  I reach for my door handle, and he shoots me one of his serious looks.

  “Don’t move.” he says, getting out and shutting his door behind him.

  In a flash, he’s on my side of the car, opening the door and smiling down at me.

  “You’ve done enough for one day,” he says.

  “Me? You saved me!” I reply as he scoops me into his arms.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Michael,” I use my most serious voice, driving him to look me fully in my eyes, “you fucking saved me. It was not nothing.”

  I swear I can almost see him blush.

  Almost.

  He carries me through the massive doors to the hotel, careful not to bump my head. I feel like a princess. Not that I’d tell him that.

  He certainly doesn’t need any more reasons to call me princess.

  I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, for the moment just content to be held by him.

  The clerk at the counter probably thinks we’re newlyweds.

  Is that really so far from the truth, though?

  I mean, unofficially, I am 0his bride. Just of the mail order variety, is all.

  I decide to keep those thoughts to myself.

  “Checking in?” the clerk asks, customer service smile firmly in place.

  “Yes. Michael Kirkwood.”

  “Okay,” he replies, typing incredibly fast into his computer, “and this is Mrs. Kirkwood?”

  “Yes.” Michael says, without
missing a beat.

  I smile broadly against his neck.

  I never thought of myself as the type to take a man’s last name. I mean, my name’s pretty fucking great, why would I ever change it?

  Now, though, I’m really liking the sound of it.

  Mrs. Kirkwood.

  I could get used to that.

  I try it out in my head the entire elevator ride,

  Dr. and Mrs. Kirkwood. Or, if my plan from earlier works out, Dr. and Dr. Kirkwood.

  That last one makes me laugh.

  Michael carries me all the way to the room, even opening the door one-handed. My feet don’t touch the floor until we’re safely in front of the bed.

  Even then, I hesitate to let go, somehow afraid that if I do, I’ll realize that this was all my imagination. That I’m really still in that car. Still with him.

  Michael gently unhooks my arms from his neck, guiding me into a sitting position on the bed.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He kneels in front of me and brushes his hand softly across my temple, over the cut that I got in the crash.

  “You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, leaning forward to claim my mouth with his own.

  His kiss is softer than I’ve ever felt from him, and yet somehow still more.

  It’s a kiss full of relief and promise.

  And love.

  I kiss him back, my own promise.

  He half-stands, leaning into me so that I lie on my back, him above me.

  His kiss travels from my lips, making its way down my neck, past the torn silk of my dress.

  Another one-of-a-kind garment ruined. At this rate, I’ll never be allowed to wear luxury designer again.

  But considering the state of undress I’m planning on being in for as long as Michael will have me…maybe I won’t even mind.

  I feel his hand on my breast, his thumb rubbing against my nipple.

  His other hand finds the hem of my dress, slowly sliding it up and over my thighs.