Undercover Intentions

by Sapphire Knight

  “The lady she seemed upset when she left here. She was nice. I didn’t mean to make her sad, I promise.”

  Lightly, I place my hands on her shoulders, her striking eyes gazing at me, wide and hopeful. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She just worries when people get injured or don’t feel well. Are you hungry?”

  “A little, you mentioned a walk?”

  “Yes, we can do both if you have the energy. I don’t want you to overdo it; you need rest.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She lifts her arms, wincing as she reaches for the towel wrapped hair.

  “Woah.” I gently place her hands in her lap. “Let me help you.”

  Taking the towel out, I tug it free gently, not wanting to pull her hair. Wet and freshly showered she’s even more stunning. Her cheeks have a bit more color to them today as well. She’s not so pale. She’s also braless, and that has me clearing my throat and reciting misdemeanors and felonies in my mind to try and block out the arousing sight.

  “Hand me the brush.”

  She does so immediately, grabbing the silver clad brush from the vanity in front of her and handing it to me over her shoulder. I lay the damp locks against her back and begin brushing from the bottom up. My mother used to let me do this when I was a little boy. She says it always made her feel cherished, and I also learned that women with long hair usually like to start at the bottom and work their way up. If not, it’ll tangle up even more.

  I brush for what seems like an hour, and my wrist is beginning to feel heavy from the strange position. Her hair was brushed out impeccably long ago, but the way she watched me in the mirror spurred me to keep going. How could I stop when she watched me so aptly, her expression relaxed and her eyes dreamy? I would’ve kept going if she asked me to.

  “Ready?”

  She nods, her lips turned into a tiny smile.

  “Come on then.” I hold my free hand out while setting the brush back down on the vanity. She places her palm in mine, rising to her feet, appearing much better than she had yesterday.

  She stumbles just enough for me to wrap her in my arms securely. While her cheeks tint, part of me thinks it may have been on purpose. Could she have faked it so I’d hold her?

  Her lips part as she gazes up at me and I have to clear my throat to speak. Damn it…there’s that feeling from yesterday, again. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s not here for me. She was hurt and most likely sexually abused for God knows how long. That’s the real reason she’s here; it doesn’t matter if I want to kiss her. I can’t.

  “Are you okay? You’re up for a walk?”

  “Yes, thank you, Beau.” Her voice is quiet, her eyelashes fluttering. She’s beautiful and broken, and it’s going to be hard keeping away from her. “I’ve not had anyone brush my hair since I was a little girl.” Her gaze shoots to the floor, full of pain. Tenderly grabbing my hand, she leads the way toward the door.

  When was the last time I just held hands with someone like this? My life is dangerous; it’s not my place to drag a woman into it, so usually, I have some meaningless sex to scratch my itch. I can’t remember ever holding their hands and talking randomly with them like this.

  I don’t want to be that way with Sasha, though. I want to hear everything there is to know about her—good and bad. Especially the bad, because I know it’ll help fuel the burning rage festering inside and I’ll put an end to Yema once and for all.

  We stop by the dining room on our way out, and she tears up when she finds freshly made Syrniki with sliced strawberries on the buffet. Taking a few napkins, I load two for each of us on napkins so we can walk and snack. The sugar will help her with some energy. I want her to get some exercise but not overly exhaust herself. She’s still incredibly weak even though she’s too stubborn to admit it.

  “Good?” I ask as we walk along one of the pebble-lined paths of my father’s property, not wanting to bring up her reaction to the food. It’s expansive, acres upon acres of wooded and grassy land. It reminds me of Viktor’s, but without the small lake, he has behind his cabin.

  “Divine.”

  “That’s a strong word for a pastry.” I grin, and she nods, smiling. “Were you always not allowed to speak?”

  Her quietness has me intrigued and my mind going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what she’s thinking. Women are usually chatty, but Sasha’s quieter than some of the men I’ve been on missions with can be.

  “It’s not so much as we can’t speak, but that we must be spoken to first. We must always be respectful and mindful of the men.”

  I grunt. Such horseshit these unrealistic expectations some of these dickhead men put on these women. “So there were more of you? The women from the events, they were there with you too?”

  “Do I not please you?”

  “Yes, of course, you do. That’s not what I meant.” She twists my words, taking them personally. It’s not about not being happy with her; she’d intrigued me from the get-go. And then when she showed signs of possessiveness toward me at the auction, I was damn near hooked. Normally that sort of display turns me off in a woman, but after seeing her so tiny and no doubt broken, it was like watching a lion trapped inside a kitten ready to claw its way free.

  “The other woman you bought is already gone, and you’ve asked Mr. Capelloni for a group of women. I have been unwell, but once I’m better, I can please you better than any of the others.”

  “You misunderstand my intentions, Sasha. Willow, the woman who left with me last weekend, has gone to my cousins to get well and be safe. Viktor, my cousin, has updated me, telling me that Willow is doing better and fitting in there nicely. I wasn’t interested in her.”

  “You weren’t? Then why spend so much money?” She continues to avoid my question about the other women. I need to find out if he always has a large group of women on hand. What he does to them and where he steals them from. I need to find Niko’s sister and seek some sort of vengeance for all these women he’s mistreated.

  “Because the men in that place were making me sick. I had to save at least one woman that night and offer her a better life. Yema wouldn’t give me you, so I took Willow.”

  “So, she is not yours then? Even with you giving her a name?”

  “No.” How can she not understand that I don’t own women? She had to be around them for a long period of time to believe that idea is even acceptable. It’s fucking ludicrous. “She’s not mine, she never was. She’s a free woman.”

  “Free…” It’s whispered in awe. “Would the group of woman you buy be yours, then?”

  “No. They would be free as well.”

  “And me?” She turns to me, stopping in the middle of the worn-down dirt pathway, eyes wide.

  “You are free, too, Sasha. No one owns you.” I expect happiness, joy, smiles, a hug, an excited yell—something to do with being happy over the fact she’s no longer caged like a bird.

  Tears begin to flow over her cheeks, her eyes sharp, staring at me full of betrayal. Only, I haven’t betrayed her; I’ve rescued her. “How can you do this to me?” She cries, her bottom lip trembling and that move alone crushes my chest. I feel guilty, and I haven’t harmed her at all, yet in her eyes I have.

  “Baby?” I pull her to my chest, and she weeps into my shirt. She’s so broken. I don’t understand her question; it was spoken as an accusation. I didn’t do anything to her but offer her freedom and a chance to be happy. “Why are you so sad?”

  “I don’t want to be free. I want to be yours.” It’s spoken so truthfully, yet so naïve. She has no idea what those words really mean, especially to a man like me. I may not be your average alpha that needs to beat on his chest to prove my worth, but if she were mine, she’d never belong to another, and I can’t do that to her. She deserves to live a life and discover things outside of me.

  “But you don’t even know me, why would you want to belong to a man who you don’t even know?”

  “Because you were my one. The Master said s
omeone would come for me, that it would be my turn, and then there you were. You were supposed to be him. What good am I if no one wants me?”

  My body grows stiff, but I don’t release her, offering her what comfort I can. The Master, whoever he is, is one fucked-up individual. It doesn’t escape my notice that his name matches my last name. Would she freak out if I told her that little tidbit? I hate that I share anything with this menace of a being. And how can she possibly believe that no one wants her, that I don’t want her? She’s fucking beautiful. Even in this state, she’s stunning. Everything she’s been through, yet she’s still so innocent inside, warped and bent to the will of a man who had no right to shape her in any way.

  “Sasha, it’s not that I don’t want you, trust me. I’ve thought of kissing your lips several times in the past two days alone.”

  That does it. She leans away from my chest, and then she’s on her tippy-toes, her mouth meeting mine. It completely takes me off guard, and I fumble for a moment to return the kiss. Her lips are soft and timid, but she still pushes forward, being brave in her own way, initiating our kiss.

  She sucks my bottom lip between hers, and I pull back. This can’t happen. I have to be the strong one. I’m met with more tears, falling from her eyes like raindrops.

  “I can’t, Sasha. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  “Why not? You said there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “There isn’t. Damn it; you’re perfect. It’s me, okay?”

  “You?” She sucks in a deep breath and my thumbs wipe away the wetness under her eyes.

  Ugh, my proclamation seems so stupid and cliché. I sound like a few of my buddy’s on the force, never letting anyone too close, because of our line of work. I wish that were the only thing holding me back from her, but it isn’t that simple. I hate this. In a different time, in a different world, perhaps she could be with me.

  “Yes. I can’t own you. I can’t own anyone.”

  “Why? Please tell me why.”

  Maybe it’s the way she asks so desolately, with her sweet voice. Maybe it’s the guilt building inside of me. I don’t know, but something sets it free. “Because…” I take a deep breath and release the truth, “…I’m a cop.”

  It comes out, and I can’t believe I actually said the words. I’ve been around hardened criminals nearly my entire life and then going undercover, and I’ve never admitted anything. I’ve been beaten several times, in fights and around paranoid criminals seeking the truth, dying to know if I’m a cop. I lie and omit until it becomes my truth and whoever’s around believes it. But put one petite and shattered woman in front of me with a few tears, and I cave, admitting my biggest secret.

  What do I say to that? How do I respond to him? He’s a police officer. How is it even possible? His family is the Russian Mafiya. They would never let their soldiers go, let alone Mafiya royalty. I’ve been around the Master long enough to hear him speak about the loyalty of the Mafia man. That’s exactly what Beau is when it’s broken down—he’s royalty. His family isn’t just in the Mafiya; they run it. It’s their blood that carries the name. Maybe he is a corrupt officer like the ones Yema and the Master bring to visit us sometimes. That would make sense. Maybe it’s a part of their plan? It’s hard to think of anything bad when it comes to Beau, though. He doesn’t fit the part from what he’s shown me so far.

  “I know a few officers,” I admit reluctantly. I’m not supposed to ever speak of the men I’ve met before. There’s something about Beau that makes me want to share everything with him. I want to make him like me, and if this is the only way, then I’m not above spilling my secrets if it brings him to me. He did, after all, admit to me his own secret. That has to mean something, right?

  “You know them how?” he asks, leading me back toward the large estate. It’s even bigger than the Master’s home. People are nice here, though, which makes a huge difference.

  My forehead scrunches. I don’t think he really wants the answer to that question. He may not look at me so kindly if I tell him. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth closed about it. I just want his attention on me and no one else. Who cares about the other officers or the other women.

  My stomach’s still fluttering from the kiss. I can’t believe I did it and he didn’t punish me. Maybe he likes the more forward women? If he gives me a little time, I’ll learn what he likes, and I’ll do everything I can to become it. I know he said he couldn't own me, but that’s never stopped men before. I can see the kindness in his gaze, and I want that for myself. So many of the others have gone to men that are full of hate and violence. Beau isn’t that man, and I want him to keep me. I want to be the lucky woman who captures him in my own way.

  “We shouldn’t speak about this anymore.”

  “Don’t clam up on me now. You admitted that you know a few cops. I want to know how and who they are.”

  “Th-they visited the Master’s home a few times,” I admit, not wanting to go into further detail, but Beau’s not one to give up so easily when it comes to information I’ve discovered.

  “To arrest him?”

  “No.” I shake my head, hoping it’ll be the end of the questioning as we take the steps to enter the house.

  “They were acquaintances?”

  Why must he be so persistent? “They were there to see a few of the women.”

  “You included?”

  My gaze shoots to the ground as I nod my head again. I don’t want to see his look of disgust when I admit the truth to him. The officers weren’t so kind, threatening horrible things if we didn’t obey them.

  His hand goes to my cheek, pulling my face toward him. “You did nothing wrong, Sasha. I need you to tell me everything you remember though. You don’t have to do it right this very moment, but eventually, I need to know. And any names you can recall would be really helpful, locations too.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know.” But not what they did.

  We’re interrupted by his father. He’s scary, but still handsome like his son and appears much more serious. He has some graying at his temples and a clean-shaven face. He’s a very well put together man.

  “There you two are.” His eyebrows rise at Beau’s hand still on my cheek, a look of intrigue crossing his face.

  “Victor.” He acknowledges and drops his hand to envelope mine. “Come on, Sasha, we’ll finish that conversation a little later, okay?”

  “Okay.” I send a small smile toward his father. “Mr. Masterson.”

  He chuckles, amused. “Oh no, young lady. I don’t use that fake name. I stick to my Russian roots. I’m too proud for that nonsense. Besides, Beau answers to Masters anyhow. You may call me Victor.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  Masters?

  “It’s to help keep my identity safe since I’m a cop,” Beau interrupts, catching my surprise and shooting a scowl at his father.

  “Beau Masters?” I ask, rolling the name over my tongue and deciding I like the way it sounds. It’s strong, like the man himself. I don’t so much care for the last name, but I know he’s nothing like the man who tormented me.

  “Yes. Although that’s not even close to his real last name. You go to Russia; men would tremble if they heard his true name.” Victor shakes his head and leads his way inside.

  I can imagine if his father has been the one to name him and spread the word. I love my country, but many of the men from there are merciless, hardened beings. Not sure I can really compare them to the Sicilians that had kept me for so many years though. They’ll always be terrifying to me after making my mother disappear.

  “This isn’t Russia. This is America, and my name is Beau Masters. I haven’t answered to anything else since I was a child.” It’s spoken with a touch of venom and finality, and I can’t help but wonder why he speaks to Victor with such hostility and disrespect.

  Men are confusing. If I were to speak to him like that, I’d most likely end up buried or burned in some field. I don’t get it why you’d want to tr
eat your parents like that anyhow. My mother was everything to me. She was so beautiful and kind; I’d do anything to be able to tell her I love her.

  “What are you thinking, little dove?” Beau gives my hand a brief squeeze.

  “That I wish I could tell my mother that I love her.”

  Victor’s step falters, and Beau’s gaze grows stunned. “You have a family?” He asks like the thought never even flitted through his mind. I’m an auctioned woman, a nothing. Why would anyone expect me to have family—a sister, a mother, a father, or anyone for that matter, who’d love or want me? Men are selfish beings.

  “Yes, of course, my mother. Only I’m confident she’s dead. I think she died the day I was taken.”

  “And when was that, young lady? Do you remember?” Victor stares at me with kindness and curiosity, shedding the scariness from before as we come to the plush sitting room. Rich men and their fancy rooms. I’m sure he has a spotless bar around here somewhere too. It’s not a bad thing, but not only are men selfish, but they’re creatures of habit too.

  “I was only a girl. Probably six years or around there, I cannot be sure. I can’t remember it all; it’s a bit fuzzy.”

  Beau sucks in a quick breath, letting it back out through his clenched teeth, his hands clamped in tight fists. I don’t know why he’d be upset about it, though. I can’t remember, that should be a good thing, I think?

  “They had you for that long? The Master or whatever the fuck his name is?” Ah, I understand his anger. If he only knew just how many children get taken, it’s much more than he’d expect.

  “The Master, again?” Victor grumbles, familiar with the name.

  Beau nods shortly.

  “My dear, you don’t mean Don Franchetti, do you? There are rumors that’s what his girls call him. Forgive me; it’s been a while since I’ve been around any of them.”