Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC

by Claire St. Rose

  Pavlichenko headed for the plain metal door. He held it open, ushering the two of them inside.

  “Boris, you’ll be coming with me.”

  Claudia swiveled to look at both of them. “And where am I going?”

  “Oh, we have a space reserved just for you,” Pavlichenko said, that sneer returning. He signaled to a guard just inside the entrance of the doorway and pointed to Claudia. “Take her to the cell.”

  Boris stepped forward. “Let me take her.”

  “Nyet, lover boy.” Pavlichenko scoffed. “You and I need to have a chat.” Glancing at Claudia, he said, “Don’t worry, they’ll take extra good care of her.”

  The tone in his voice set his blood pumping. “I insist.”

  Pavlichenko narrowed his eyes. “Denied, and that’s an order.”

  Boris turned to watch the guard lead her away, down a narrow hallway. “Claudia, I’ll come check on you as soon as I can!”

  She didn’t respond—not that he expected her to—and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Getting awfully close to the devushka, aren’t we?” Pavlichenko lifted a brow, jerking his head in the opposite direction from where Claudia went. “Come to my office. We have some things to sort out.”

  Boris steeled himself, furtively scoping the surroundings as Pavlichenko led him through a hallway comprised of scaffolding. The majority of this warehouse was empty, or littered with scraps of cranes and cars. Cavernous ceilings yawned open and upward, tiny birds nests dotting the dark steel beams crisscrossing the open air.

  As with all things involved with the organization, the warehouse was a front, simply a holding bay for whatever was needed according to the ongoing arrangements. Drug deals, arms deals, trafficking—all the shady underworld source of money for the FSB. Boris knew little beyond the scope of his immediate assignments; and usually, he preferred it that way.

  Until the past week, at least.

  Pavlichenko crossed a threshold, into a real cement-block hallway. At the end of the hallway, he pushed into a small office. A simple desk was pushed against the far wall, a swivel chair in front of it. A filing cabinet and a closed laptop. Nothing else.

  Pavlichenko shut the door behind Boris and locked it. He reached behind him and pulled out a gun, cocking it as he brought it up to Boris’s temple.

  Boris stiffened. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to know who you work for.” The cold barrel of the gun pressed against Boris’s temple and sweat prickled across his shoulders.

  “I work for you.” He scoffed. “Who the fuck else would I work for?”

  “Don’t lie to me.” Pavlichenko pressed the gun harder against his head. “Why do you have the girl?”

  “It was a last-minute tactical shift,” he said, his words tumbling out clipped and forced. “I’d been having trouble locating the King. His security was tighter than I bargained for. So when news broke that his daughter had been kidnapped here in Croatia, I jumped at the chance to track her down. With her as a bargaining chip, I could access her father.”

  Pavlichenko relaxed slightly. The pressure of the gun eased from the side of Boris’s head. “Go on.”

  “I traced her to the cruise ship. I got on the list posing as a trade minister. I bid on her and won, and then we escaped off the ship a few days later.”

  He lowered the gun. “Why were you at Filitov’s hideout?”

  Boris sighed. This was the part that was hard to explain. “I needed guidance. After the escape off the ship, I wasn’t sure what to do with the girl. Being with her for so long clouded my judgment.” He paused. “I’d only heard of him hiding out there, I wasn’t sure.”

  “But you knew.” Pavlichenko opened the barrel of the gun, spinning the chamber. “You knew where he lived which means you hid it from us.”

  “I didn’t hide anything.”

  “Well, at any rate, you led us right to him, so I should be thankful for that, at least.” Pavlichenko chuckled. “So maybe we’ll call it tit-for-tat? Hm?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have eyes on us, Boris.” Pavlichenko set the gun down at the edge of the desk and clasped his hands behind his back, leveling him with a look. “Our people want to know why you showed up at the house of a defector. Now, I’m willing to let the official story be that you went there to finish him off yourself. You went there to take care of business, as a way to prove yourself to the GRU.”

  Boris blinked, furrowing a brow. “The GRU? Why would they get involved?”

  “The Kremlin was getting inpatient,” Pavlichenko said, sniffing. “They’re very interested in removing the last traces of the Slavonian royal family, hence the eyes on your every move.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Your question is not worth answering,” Pavlichenko said. “All you need to know is this: the Kremlin wants Zvonimir gone, and I assured them that you’re committed to your assignment. They’ll be pleased to hear of your initiative in exterminating Filitov’s house by your own hand.” He speared him with a look. “Understood?”

  “Understood.” So his job was safe—but at what cost? The King’s life was still on the line.

  “And as for your—ah—slip.” Pavlichenko waved his hand in the air as though dismissing the idea. “I can see why you might get distracted. Claudia is very beautiful. I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at her myself. I’ve always wanted to fuck a Princess.”

  Boris stiffened, fists balling. “No.”

  Pavlichenko’s smile turned into a sneer. “No?”

  “She’s off-limits.”

  “Have you forgotten who you are?” Pavlichenko slammed his fist on the desk. “Your loyalties are askew, Boris Andreivich. Bring them back in line, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “She and I survived a wild week. It’s natural for me to feel protective of her. She’s an innocent in this, and she doesn’t deserve anything more than what she’s had to live through.”

  “An innocent?” Pavlichenko scoffed. “She’s the Princess of Slavonia. Her father is a traitor to the Russian people. She, by matter of blood, is also a traitor.”

  Boris gritted his teeth. “She doesn’t deserve any more trauma. My plan was to send her back to her father anonymously, and then complete the mission as originally planned.”

  Pavlichenko ran his tongue over his teeth, scowling at him. “Fine. But it plays out like that—and only that. You let the girl go. You do the job. And everything is fine.”

  Boris jerked his head into a nod. “Exactly.”

  Pavlichenko nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Good.” He strolled to the desk, opening the top drawer. He revealed a stack of papers and handed them to Boris—a passport clipped to a few legal documents, his license, and a bank card. Relief stormed him—at least he had a lifeline, now. Options.

  “We’ll let the girl go soon,” Pavlichenko said. “But first, we must attend to one more matter.”

  Boris’s belly cinched. This could be literally anything, and if he knew anything about his shadowy boss, it was that he liked his surprises.

  “Follow me.”

  He led him out of the office, back down the hallway, and toward the main area of the warehouse. It smelled like bleach and electrical fires in there, a highly unsettling combination. Pavlichenko whistled and a few burly men appeared, like they’d been waiting.

  Pavlichenko shouted a gruff command in Russian and then tossed a forced smile at Boris. “Our friends from the GRU will take it from here.”

  Boris balled his fists as the three stocky men approached him, faces neutral. The hair on the back of his neck stood and he knew—this was a beat down. A message; Pavlichenko making his point.

  He couldn’t defend himself against the three brutes—but he’d go down trying.

  Boris rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and hunkered down for a fight. When the first man swung, he dodged it and landed a solid punch in his gut. Then the second guy came around, catching him in the neck, and from there i
t was a desperate lurch to protect himself.

  The hits came fast and hard. And then a blow to his head.

  Darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Claudia stewed so hard she was surprised she didn’t pass out from exhaustion. So much thinking, overthinking, yelling in her head, unheard pleas to Boris. The sheer mental jumping jacks meant she could probably sleep for days at this point.

  She paced her makeshift cell, which was actually just an empty cinderblock office. Plain. Tasteless. Completely bereft of answers.

  Anxiety clawed at her, made sweeping steps back and forth over her chest until sometimes she paused in the pacing to gasp for air. Her father could die soon. She had to save him. She had to stop these fucking monsters from whatever they were going to do.

  How could she use her position to interfere with their plan? She gnawed on her lip, glancing out the open door at the guard on duty. He’d given her a couple lecherous stares, but other than that he was a quiet sentry.

  The gun in his holster drew her attention, like it had for the past half hour. She wanted it. Needed it for a plan that was percolating in her head. She didn’t know the specifics yet, but it involved a lot of threats, and a lot of gun-waving. That had to help. Had to. She didn’t know what else she could do, other than sit in this jail cell and be useless.

  Or worse yet, be bait. That was the real fear stalking the hallways of her mind. What if her imprisonment here was going to be used as bait to get her father here? What if instead of seeking him out on their own accord, they’d simply lure him here to murder him?

  Her belly knotted and she drew a shaky breath. These sick fucks were serious business, and she wouldn’t put anything past them. She thought the sex cruise was bad. Oh no. Boris and his crew were far worse. These guys made bidding on a girl’s fake virginity seem like child’s play. Maybe she should have just stayed on board and protected her innocence.

  “Hey.” She stopped walking, curious to see if the guard would respond to her. He didn’t.

  She gnawed at her lip. How are you gonna get that gun? Simply asking him for it wouldn’t work. Wouldn’t that be an abysmal failure. Hey, can I borrow your gun? I promise I won’t do anything threatening with it. Just bored in here.

  And she couldn’t count on Boris. Who knew where he was off to—and would she even see him again? Despite how angry she was with him, the thought of not seeing him again was upsetting. And why? He’s probably run off to kill your dad. Good riddance to him.

  Her last hope for being saved, Pavlichenko, was one of the sleaziest snakes she’d ever seen. Something about him felt like a clammy palm, embodied in human form. Gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  Think, Claudia.

  The threat of her own father’s demise was the purest form of motivation she’d ever encountered. Unfortunately, it left her too desperate to think clearly at times. Like drinking too much caffeine while bedridden. Amped up and useless.

  “Hey, do you hear me?” Maybe the guard didn’t speak English.

  “I hear you,” he retorted, not looking at her, the Croatian accent heavy. “Now quiet down.”

  She leaned against the back wall, staring at his holster. Maybe mind control was the last resort.

  Think. What would Boris do?

  She grimaced. Boris would put the guy in a headlock and push him out of a moving truck. Admittedly bad ass. But what had she done that was even remotely as badass?

  Well, there was that one epic lap dance on the sex cruise. Her eyes widened as she thought back on it. The lap dance had left plenty of dudes spellbound. Maybe one even had gotten off during it. What if she channeled that same sexual prowess right now?

  Better than nothing, at least. She clucked her tongue, starting a slow lap around the room. She tugged her tank top off once she passed the door—made a big display of tossing it into the center of the room.

  One more lap, and the guy still hadn’t noticed. She paused, toeing off her shoes, throwing them against the wall. The guard turned at the noise, and his eyes widened.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just getting more comfortable.” She paused in the doorway, leaning against the cool cement blocks, sending a sultry look his way. She batted her eyelashes for good measure. “You won’t pay attention to me. It makes me sad.”

  He furrowed his brow and looked away. “Be quiet.”

  “But I’m just soo horny.” She resumed her slow laps, feet padding quietly on the smooth floor. Guys lapped this shit up. It had to work on him too. The guard peeked back at her a moment later and she figured now was the time to go for the gold. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. His gaze hopelessly riveted on her as the straps fell down her arms.

  “You want to see?” She let out a throaty chuckle. Boris flashed through her head—God, even still she wished maybe he were nearby. To quench her one last time.

  The guard’s jaw flexed but he didn’t respond. He didn’t look away, either.

  She let the bra fall away, breathing heavily so her breasts would rise and fall even more. She dipped her head, searching out his gaze.

  “You want to touch me?”

  Come on. Come on. Get in here already.

  The guard cleared his throat and crossed his arms. Then he peered up and down the hallway, then back inside at her.

  “Fine.” He stepped into the room, licking his lips. “Come here.”

  Success. She sauntered nearer, her nipples two tight points in the cool air. “As long as you promise to touch me, big boy.”

  The sentry cocked a grin. “I promise.”

  She held a grin, steeling herself for whatever was head. Distract him and grab the gun. She eyed the gun without looking directly at it, lest he divine her true intention. She grabbed his hand—a big meaty paw, one that made her shudder—and brought it to her belly.

  “You like this?” She pressed herself closer to him. His breath was hot and stale in her face. He chuckled low, nodding.

  She dragged his hand up her belly, between her breasts. In the valley between them, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “I want you.”

  The sentry took a breast in his head, murmuring something in Croatian. Distracted. She surveyed the holster clipped to the side of his pants and reached for the gun, slipping it out of place as smoothly as possible. His rough thumb pinched at a nipple. She winced, bringing the gun slowly around behind her. The ball was in her court. What now?

  The guard dipped his head to press his lips against the curve of her breast. Too perfect. Time to take a page from Boris’s book. Conjuring every ounce of fear from the sex cruise, every shard of anger and regret from this past week, she smashed the butt of his gun against the side of his head.

  He grunted, stumbling backward. With a guttural yell she slammed it into his head again. This time, blood trickled out of a fresh wound. He stumbled again, his boots thudding against the ground, and then toppled. His head made a sick crack as it met the smooth stone floor.

  She gasped, watching his unmoving figure for a moment. If she hadn’t knocked him out with the gun to his temple, then the fall certainly took care of the rest for her. She blinked, too scared to move, like somehow his lumbering fall would alert anyone else in the area that he was out of commission.

  When no shouts, no pounding of boots appeared over the next few minutes, she breathed easier. Okay. Okay. Now what?

  She scrambled to replace her clothes, pulling her bra on and then her tank top. With shaky hands, she replaced her shoes, afraid to look away from the guard. Just in case he came to, or was secretly reaching for a new weapon to use against her. She’d seen enough episodes of cop shows to know what a purportedly knocked out guy could do when someone let their guard down.

  Footsteps sounded from somewhere. They grew louder and she froze. Crap crap crap. If it was one of Pavlichenko’s people, she was fucked. She stuffed the gun in the elastic of her leggings at her back. Maybe she could pretend the guy had narcolepsy.

  The footsteps sound
ed odd as they approached. Not like brisk walking, but like shuffling. She tensed, sending up a quick prayer before whoever it was came through that door—and to whatever gods were above, to help her figure out the next step of this ramshackle plan.

  Boris peered into the room a moment later. She perked up but fought to remain neutral. You can’t be happy to see him.

  She gasped when she saw his face. He was bleeding from a nasty gash on his mouth, and one eye was well on its way to black. He leaned against the door frame, cradling his arm against his ribs. He let a haggard sigh.

  “What happened to you?”