Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  "Damnit," I swear under my breath while vainly scratching at the keyhole before a warmth envelops my hand — Ivan has reached his out to steady mine. "Thanks," I murmur a moment before the lock clicks open and we step inside.

  My apartment isn't much of a comfort right now. As soon as we walk in, I'm greeted by the sights of all the half-packaged goods I'd been trying to sell, and I'm hit by the memory of that frantic night and the morning after. My grimace deepens when I realize all of that was just in the past twenty-four hours. It feels like it's been a full week.

  Ivan quietly helps me inside, his powerful muscles steering me to the empty couch easily. He's careful to ease me down slowly, and I can feel the muscles in my abdomen protest at the change, already starting to feel sore.

  I resist gently as I feel him try to put me on my back, but he gives me a concerned look. "Don't try to sit up," he says in a soft voice, "I know you'll want to keep awake, but you need rest after an episode like that."

  "I'm fine," I protest, pushing his hand away as I suddenly feel indignant at being treated like a patient in my own house. My face does a sorry job of hiding the pain, though.

  "You've never taken a blow in your life," he answers, but there's no mockery in his tone. His eyes give me a steady, firm gaze, though. Reluctantly, I concede and lay back on the soft couch.

  He takes my forearm in his hands, narrowing his eyes at the marks that are starting to show themselves. "Hm."

  "What?" I ask, lifting my head a little as he gets up and heads further into the apartment. A moment later, he spots the bathroom and disappears inside.

  I let my head plop back down onto the cushion, wondering at the different ways things could go from here. So he saves me from his own goons...for what? Does he want me as his little hostage, here in my own home? I'm not that badly injured, if he thinks I'm about to roll over and let him march in on my business. Or maybe he really did just think they'd go too far, push a 'client' beyond her limits.

  None of the options put a good taste in my mouth, but I'm surprised to see him emerge from the bathroom a few moments later with some bandages, cotton, peroxide, and ointment from my medicine cabinet.

  "What are you—?"

  "Just relax," he insists, sitting down next to me and taking my wrist in his lap. He turns it over for a moment with a frown, looking at the bruising and scratches before dabbing a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbing the cuts gently.

  I wince at the pain, but my eyes are watching his face incredulously. Is this guy for real?

  "I won't try to apologize for scum like those three," he says. "They are the types that take pleasure in tormenting anyone they can get their greasy hands around. Not the kind of men I consider part of my business."

  "You all seemed to be on the same page before today," I point out, but he doesn't give a response. He's applying ointment to my wrists now and wrapping bandage around them.

  He reaches over and touches my sore spot, but even his painstakingly gentle touch makes me wince. He frowns, a low rumble coming from his chest. "The beasts meant to do a real number on you," he remarks ruefully. "I don't like to think of what might have happened if I hadn't made it any sooner. I didn't see any aspirin in the bathroom," he adds, looking back up to me.

  "Kitchen," I say with a gesture in that direction, and he nods.

  As he moves that way, his gaze drifts across the boxes scattered about the room, and my heart sinks as I anticipate the inevitable question.

  "What's with the packing? Were you planning to move before today?"

  "No, nothing like that," I stammer out, but in hindsight, I think that might have been a decent idea. "I was just...selling a few of my things, getting them ready to ship quickly."

  Silence in response.

  "Look," I start again, finding it easier to speak while he's out of the room just now, "Ivan, I...I don't know what they would have done if you hadn't shown up, you're right. Thank you. You might have saved my life today. Or saved me from something else, I don't want to think about..." I trail off, letting silence hang awkwardly between us again.

  I don't have to see his face to know he's already put two and two together to figure out I can't make the $4,000 anymore. I just know he's going to bring his offer up again, so I scramble to say something to divert his attention when something that had been nagging at the back of my mind hits me.

  "Ivan, you said you don't kill."

  The bustling in the kitchen stops. "Yes."

  I bite my lip and look at my carefully arranged bandages before continuing. "The way you moved in there, I've never seen anything like it. You moved like you weren't afraid to face anything they were going to throw at you," I breathe, surprised at my own outpour, but the more I think about it, the more astonishing Ivan's actions were, I realize. "You fought them like you were ready to kill. You knew what you were doing."

  Ivan strides back into the room with a stony expression, and I immediately regret broaching the subject. He sets a glass of water and three white aspirin tablets on the table next to me, with a nod for me to take them.

  As I do, I notice he's avoiding my gaze, but his expression is no softer.

  "I said I do not kill, Katy," he says quietly, and then his eyes look up to meet mine with a chilling coldness. "What I do is business. Only business. What those three devils would have done to you, that would have been 'killing.' You had this whole ordeal dumped into your lap against your will, and you know nothing of it beyond what you are told. You're outside our business, in the grand scheme of things."

  My eyes are wide as I watch him rise and move to the window, peering out at the darkening street below.

  "I am not a brute, killing whatever comes into my path. But you're right. I'm not called on to handle trivial business. We Russians, we take breaches of professionalism very seriously. Those who act against us from within are no better than rats."

  He turns to face me, but I can already read the words in his face. "They call on me to deal with the rats. The kind of scum who were trying to force you into something against your will."

  A hit man.

  My throat goes cold. I'm standing before a man who's taken the lives of others. A paid assassin.

  "The men today, one of them has a powerful relative, so I had to hold back." He looks up at me now, meeting my eyes with a surprisingly gentle gaze. "I'm truly sorry to have to put you through the fear of knowing they still live."

  I shake my head as though I'm saying 'no thank-you' to another helping of food — I've never exactly had someone apologize to me for not killing someone.

  "Ivan," I start, but I trail off, unable to process this news. Then an even harder realization nearly makes me dizzy: I had a one-night stand with a hit man.

  "You don't have to say anything," Ivan says, holding a hand up and stepping closer to me. I recoil, and he pauses, a sad look in his eyes. "I understand this is a lot to take in. Too much for even a woman as brave as yourself." He offers a smile, almost laughing. "Judging by the fact that you were ready to walk into the club and say 'no' to those three with nothing but your bartender backing you up, you've got more courage than the three of them put together."

  Without another word, he reaches over me and pulls down the huge blanket I have folded on the back of the couch. He drapes it over me, and I feel his hands poking at my sides.

  He's tucking me in!

  "You need rest," he says with finality, those stormy blue eyes looking at me with a calming authority I can't explain. "We can talk more once you've let some of this excitement settle. In the meantime—” he stops himself, glancing around the apartment. "Never mind. For now, you've earned some rest, Katy."

  He runs his fingers through my hair, and I find myself smiling despite myself. I force the smile away when I catch it, but I think he notices. He stands up with a wink and heads to the kitchen again, and I let out a deep sigh of relief, letting myself stare at the ceiling and trying to relax as many of my muscles as I can.

  A hit man just
saved my life. The man who was asking me to be his just yesterday. He nearly killed Oskar and the gang. Hell, he practically had to hold himself back from doing just that. And now he's...he's acting like a nurse?

  I turn my eyes down to the bandages around my wrists. They're perfect. Not too tight, just snug and neat, and the ointment under them makes my skin feel cool and soothed, even though I know it'll sting when I wake up.

  Wake up. It suddenly hits me how tired I am. This isn't just an exhaustion, though, I feel somehow safe around Ivan.

  Why do I feel okay dozing off under this hit man's care?

  Because he's still the same gorgeous guy you went home with three months ago, and on top of that, he may say he's a killer, but he's practically a teddy bear around me, I remind myself.

  I can't quite tell what Ivan is doing in the kitchen, but I can hear bustling. It's reassuring. Even if Oskar and his goons were to try to come back, Ivan is there.

  And after all, he didn't have to come for me today. I don't know how much of what the Russians shouted at each other was true, but somehow, I doubt the mob would have suffered too much if I'd been left to fend for myself at the three's mercy.

  Sleep is overwhelming me, fast, and I want nothing more than to just let it. But one thought lingers in my mind while I'm dozing off:

  Maybe...maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being Ivan's for a while.

  A gentle prodding at my side and the warming aroma of chicken wakes me up. I clench my eyes as the soreness of my chest hits me next, but they flutter open at the sound of a deep voice whispering over me.

  "Katy? No no, careful, don't try to turn yourself yet."

  Ivan's warm, smiling face comes into focus, adjusting a pillow that's been mysteriously slipped under my head.

  "Ivan?" I've had one of those naps that leaves you more disoriented than anything else, and for a moment, fear swarms me as I remember the events of the day. The next instant, remembering that Ivan has been here the whole time dulls the edge somehow, and despite his protest, I try to pull myself somewhat upright. "What are you...?"

  Getting a better look at him, I almost can't believe my eyes.

  Ivan has shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick, muscled forearms, and more importantly, the powerful hands at the ends of them are holding a large bowl of steaming, delicious-smelling soup. The only thing missing for a perfect hallmark moment would be if he was wearing my apron. Still, I have to put a hand to my mouth to keep my jaw from dropping at the sight.

  "I hope you don't mind," he says with a sheepish smile, setting the soup and a napkin down on the coffee table. "I was looking for something to warm you up when you woke, but I came across some ingredients for something a little close to home. It's just chicken soup, but the way my mother used to make it." His smile splits into a genuine grin. "You keep a good stock of spices, so I couldn't help myself. It's been awhile since I've had a chance to make it. Kind of a comfort food."

  I'm just stupefied for a few moments, and I pull the blanket a little higher up to my neck. A smile is tugging at my lips. I haven't smelled the aroma of home-cooked food in a long time. Running a club has meant a lot of microwave meals.

  A few moments later, the two of us are sitting at opposite ends of the coffee table.

  "Ivan, this is incredible," I say between spoonfuls of the broth, and I mean it. The soup warms my whole chest, relieving the soreness in my stomach in a subtle, reassuring way. "I don't know what to say. I mean, thank you!" My eyes meet his a moment, and there's an affectionate glint in his.

  "It's not necessary," he says after a mouthful, setting his bowl down. "Katy, I'm sorry for everything this has put you through. Business is business, you understand."

  "No, I do," I say hurriedly, biting my lip before proceeding. "There's been something on my mind, and I think this is as good a time as any."

  Ivan tilts his head, and I hold the warm soup close to my chest, heating the cocoon of blanket I'm wrapped in. I stare at the floor for a long while before looking into his eyes, resolution now firmer than ever, and a small smile spreads across my lips.

  "I'll take your offer."

  9

  Katy

  It’s New Year’s Eve, and I still haven’t told anyone about the deal.

  I hold the ladder steady for Natalie as she works on the light fixtures for the big night. New Year’s is always a booming event for any club, anywhere. In Brighton Beach, though, it’s all the more important that everything go off without a hitch. People come from all over to start the New Year with a bang, and the Amber Room is not going to miss out on those crowds.

  Especially since I’ve got the money to make that happen now.

  To my surprise, that’s been the biggest change in my life since agreeing to be Ivan’s for a year. Even when I first accepted his deal, I knew the dizzying high I got from the outpour of affection wouldn’t last. Later that very night, I started to worry about whether he’d change for the worse as soon as it started, but so far it’s felt like, well, having a boyfriend.

  He started by telling me that we were going to stop selling my stuff, and that alone took a huge weight off my shoulders. We put all of my possessions back into place, and he even helped me reorganize some of the house, which was long overdue. He hasn’t even told me to move in with him, which I thought would happen right off the bat.

  Instead, I’ve found myself with breathing room to get the club back on its feet with the spare money I have.

  And I’m not wasting any time putting it to use.

  “Okay Natalie, 2016. Is that motorcycle ride gonna happen for me now, or what?” Ashton chimes from across the room while she moves around the walls, changing bulbs on the floodlights. She’s been trying to get Natalie to let her ride her bike since getting hired.

  “What’s that? Can’t hear you, the lights are a little loud up here,” she calls back, half-hidden in the hanging lights.

  On a regular day, the ceiling looks like a starry sky, a canvas of hanging lights that make the little club seem like a ballroom. For tonight, Natalie’s brought out the heavy artillery: amber lights in ornate patterns around the whole room, almost doubling the brightness of the room, set to light up at the stroke of midnight. Natalie used to work on theater sets, so she volunteered to handle the “stage-setting” for tonight.

  “Tch,” Ashton clicks, “you never let me have any fun.”

  “Do too. I let you help me wax it last time.”

  “That wasn’t as fun as you said it would be.”

  “See?” Natalie winks down at me, “She doesn’t even appreciate my heartfelt generosity.”

  I roll my eyes. “Anyway, are you sure this stuff is safe? It’s been a good couple of months, but I don’t think a fire inspector having an aneurism in the building would do much to keep it that way.” All I’ve told the staff is that the payments have been worked out. They got the message not to press further.

  “I mean,” Natalie puts a hand on her hip, tilting her head to the side, “the chances of something happening on one night are, like, pretty slim, you know? And besides, if something does go up in flames, we can use Charlie as a wet blanket, right Charlie?”

  The bouncer in the corner doesn’t look up from his phone, but grunts noncommittally. He’s been on dating websites all morning.

  “What’d I tell ya?” Natalie grins back at me, climbing down from the ladder and scooting it over a few feet to start working on another section of the ceiling. “Anyway, everyone will be too distracted getting a New Year’s Eve kiss to notice a little electrical fire, yeah?”

  I snort. “No, see, it’ll be too hot in here already from that, we don’t need any more heat adding to it!”

  We laugh, and my mind wanders to Ivan. I haven’t heard from him all day. He hasn’t said anything about plans for tonight. Maybe he isn’t much of a New Year’s kind of guy?

  That’s going to make tonight hard to dance around, I realize, as Natalie peers down at me mischievously.

&nbs
p; “So, Katy, with business up again, are you gonna let yourself cut loose for a kiss? You’ll have the lion’s share of the men tonight, after all. They’ll practically line up for you.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think ‘make out with a club owner’ is on the top of many people’s New Year’s resolution lists, Nat.” I narrow my eyes with a smile and divert the question, “What about you? ‘Hot bartender with a hot ride’ reads as pretty kissable to me.”

  “Pssh,” Natalie dismisses, climbing down from the ladder and helping me fold it up. “I don’t need to wait for a special occasion, I can get some action whenever I want.”

  Ashton snickers in the back while Charlie looks up with a grin. “Speak for yourself. Boss, I’ve been thinkin’ about this idea I’ve got, ‘kiss for a cover charge,’ kind of like a happy hour. You think tonight I could…”

  “Alright,” I raise my voice, though I’m unable to hold back a smirk, “don’t forget we’re going to be WORKING tonight, everyone. Be ready to take numbers and get lucky AFTER we’re rolling in the New Year’s Eve income.”

  The crew mumbles a vague assent, and the decorations proceed through the morning.

  But every few minutes, I can’t help but check my phone. There’s a lot at stake tonight, both for the club and for me.

  Technically, the club has a maximum capacity. Tonight, I’m pretending like it’s at least double what it is every other day of the year. I’m the boss, I can do that.

  The Amber Room is so packed I can hardly see over the crowds of people from the elevated stage on the north side of the club.

  I’m in a short red dress for the evening instead of the usual black. It isn’t that different of a cut, but even while I’m staying professional, I want to start the New Year with something a little, well, fresh. My shoes are jet-black and my lipstick matches the dress, so between my heels and the platform, I feel like a queen surveying my dominion as I lean on the leather couch, having just greeted a couple of VIPs who are enjoying the stage. The VIP lounge was already booked up long before tonight.