Bad Boy Romance Collection: The Volanis Brothers Trilogy

by Meg Jackson

  “Yeah,” he growled. “That’s it, Ricky. That’s fuckin’ it.”

  He moved one hand to her waist and stopped her movements, taking her from below, slamming himself again and again into that spot. Ricky cried out each time he pressed into her, unable to stop the words as they tumbled forward.

  “Fuck, yes, Cristov, yes, please, please, right…right there, oh, God, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  He pushed her down, thrusting into her while her clit pressed against his stomach, her cheeks red as cherries and her muscles tight as rubber bands. She felt her climax swelling, cresting, rushing towards her like a freight train, and when he spoke again she broke.

  “Come for me, Ricky, come for me.”

  She ground herself down against him as lights exploded before her eyes, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, her body releasing everything in a flood. From some distant place, she could feel the body beneath her shudder and burst, a warmth spilling into her as Cristov came, his cock massaged and milked by her clenching pussy.

  She trembled, her thighs aching from how hard she was clutching him, pulsing waves of pleasure booming from her stomach to her limbs down to her curling toes. When, finally, she drew a breath, it was a gasp, filling her body with the oxygen she’d unknowingly deprived it of. Her limbs could no longer hold her. She fell on top of him, the last of his thrusts gentle inside her, their bodies spent and sweaty and pulsing with hearts racing too fast and breath coming too short.

  Finally, Ricky managed to roll herself off, collapsing into the sheets beside him. Her eyes felt heavy, her body tingling, her mind numb and drugged with pleasure.

  “You owe me ten bucks,” Cristov said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. It was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.

  But that had been one night. And when the morning came, it brought more regrets than Ricky could deal with. So she’d rushed him out, and tried to forget it. Tried, and failed.

  8

  Cristov was surprised to hear from Ricky so soon; a full day earlier than he’d expected or hoped. He’d only run into her on the street a few hours ago, it seemed, and she had just contacted him to meet at Sammy’s Pub at 9pm. It left a bad taste in his mouth, hearing from her so soon. It couldn’t mean she had good news to share.

  And, it meant he’d have to tell her what was going on (or come up with a convincing lie, at least). He didn’t feel ready to do that. It came with a boatload of issues. For one thing, it mean revealing his involvement in the town’s sudden marijuana boom. For another, it meant giving up information that he didn’t quite trust her not to spread. He had respect for the woman, but it was well known that she was an incorrigible gossip.

  Still, he needed to know what she’d dug up on the men who were threatening his business, his family, his kumpania. He’d already told Kennick and Damon, the three men sitting around the little table in their trailer exchanging solemn looks. Kim had been off doing something mayoral, kissing babies or something like that.

  “How serious did he seem?” Kennick had asked, fumbling with a paper napkin, tearing it into tiny strips.

  “Serious as the grave he threatened to put me in,” Cristov said.

  “We could cave,” Damon said in a tone that revealed his distaste for the notion. There was pride to consider, never mind the welfare of their clients and the money their illegal business brought in.

  “Like hell,” Cristov snapped, irritated even though he knew his brother was just exploring all options. “We’re Volanis men. Volanis men don’t get bullied into shit they don’t like.”

  “Surrender is not an option,” Kennick offered in a low mumble, the pile of wispy paper under his fingers growing taller by the minute.

  “Well, they haven’t done anything yet,” Damon offered, once more saying things that no one wanted to hear but needed to be said. “O zalzaro khal peski piri.”

  “Acid corrodes its own container”; considering the situation, the old adage provided no comfort.

  “We’re just supposed to wait?” Cristov groaned, burying his face in his hands. It seemed like they’d just overcome a major hurdle, clearing their father’s name, and now there was more trouble on the horizon. Then again, they’d expected it. Between Jenner Surry sulking like a caged lion and their psychic cousin’s prophesies for bad times coming, the Volanis brothers had been waiting for something like this.

  “No,” Kennick said, settling his hands on each side of the paper mountain, the napkin utterly demolished. “No, we’re not. But striking first doesn’t exactly seem like the wise option, either. They could be bluffing.”

  Cristov scoffed. If his brothers had seen the look in that guy’s eyes, they wouldn’t be talking about waiting or bluffing or anything. They’d be talking about running those fuckers out of town.

  “I doubt it,” he said, biting his tongue against the words he wanted to say. “Guy didn’t seem like the sort to make threats he didn’t plan on making good on.”

  “We don’t know where they are, even,” Damon offered. “We don’t know who they are, where they are, what they’re planning, how to get to them….”

  It was true; Cristov held back from telling his brothers about what he’d asked Ricky to do. He didn’t think they’d approve of bringing an outsider in so soon. He hoped, though, that she’d be able to find enough dirt to start the process of smoking them out. Maybe she’d even be able to find out where the bastards were holed up.

  “So we wait?” Cristov asked, the answer obvious even as he asked the question. Rig had said he’d be in touch; beyond that, there was little the gypsies could do. Kennick clicked his tongue against his teeth.

  “Not quite,” he said. “We’ll look for them. Ask around. See if anyone else has been troubled by them. I’ll ride around and see if I can spot some bikes in town. You’re pretty sure they’re a motorcycle club?”

  Cristov nodded.

  “Then we should at least be able to hear them coming,” Damon offered with a wry grin.

  “You’re not gonna tell Kim about this, though, right?” Cristov asked, and Kennick’s mouth tightened.

  “I better not,” he said, though he was clearly unenthused by the idea of keeping a secret from her. “She’s been good about turning the other cheek when it comes to the greenhouse, but if she thinks her town might be in trouble…”

  “Mama bear comes out of hibernation?” Cristov suggested with a smirk. He liked Kim well enough, could even see himself coming to love her as sister-in-law, but her devotion to the one-horse town amused him. He didn’t understand what she saw in the dinky hamlet that was worth so much of her time and energy.

  And he wasn’t particularly happy with the fact that she hadn’t done more in terms of swaying the town on the strip club. It was one of the kumpania’s most profitable businesses, and she’d barely lifted a finger to keep it from being trampled under the hooves of goody-two-shoes residents who wanted to keep “filth” away.

  “I’ll tell some of the boys – Nal and them – to keep their eyes and ears open. You keep on sleeping in the greenhouse, for now, Cris. But if things start getting dirty I want you back in here where it won’t just be you and that pussy-ass guard dog,” Kennick said. He straightened up in his seat as he laid out the plan.

  Kennick always took comfort and strength in leading, just as Damon was perfect in his role as mediator and advisor. Cristov….well, he didn’t know what his role was. Kid brother, mostly, he supposed. He bit back the resentment as he watched his brothers slipping into their positions in the family. He didn’t much appreciate being kid brother.

  “Got this fight tonight,” Damon reminded the brothers, looking at the clock over the sink. “Couple hours. You coming?”

  “I will,” Kennick offered just as Cristov declined. He didn’t feel like watching Damon take a few punches that night. He had too much to think about, and his nerves were so raw from his encounter earlier that day that he wouldn’t be much of a cheering squad. His brothers both gave him a sid
eways look; usually, they all went to support Damon in his fights.

  “I’ve got an early appointment tomorrow,” Cristov said, lying through his teeth. When his brothers didn’t bite, he sighed and offered them a little bit of the truth. “I just don’t feel like a long drive after the day I’ve had.”

  “Right,” Damon said with an understanding nod. Kennick seemed less accepting, though he kept his mouth shut.

  After seeing his brothers off, Cristov ambled across the trailer park, the collar of his jacket pushed up to his nose to keep out the worst of the autumn night’s chill. Shep wagged his tail and barked a single hello, Cristov’s hand falling to scratch the dog behind the ears.

  The rows of plants were bushy and fragrant. Cristov thought about how easy it would be to shrug and give in, to sell off their crop and wash their hands of the whole mucky business. The thought of taking the easy way out infuriated him. He’d meant what he’d said; no one but no one was going to bully him out of his business. Especially not some beefed up biker who had no respect for what Cristov considered a damn-near sacred tradition.

  Let them pump their dirty drugs somewhere else. Not in this town, and not anywhere near this trailer park. He thought, with a wincing sadness, of his Uncle Nevimos. The man had gone off seeking fame and fortune six months before, and wound up dead five months later.

  Ana, Cristov’s aunt, had barely wept at the funeral. She’d seen it coming from a mile away. She’d heard it in his voice when he called to check in. She’d seen it in his eyes before he left. He’d picked up some nasty habits out there on the road, and they caught up to him, and left his son without a father and his wife without a husband. Ana and her son, Pieter, were so used to being on their own that it wasn’t the crushing blow it could have been, but still. He would be sorely missed.

  He’d just been thinking of his late uncle when the text came in from Ricky. To be honest, when he’d bumped into her on the street, the last thing on his mind had been how much he wanted her, even though it had been – more or less – all he’d thought about since their one night together.

  He’d been so distracted that his only thought had been how she might help him. It hadn’t been until she’d nearly disappeared around the block that he’d been hit with that wave of longing he’d come to expect whenever he thought of her. The way she walked, swinging that tight little ass around, must have been for his benefit. Now that he’d talked to his brothers and felt somewhat more settled about the issue at hand, her demand to meet in a few hours carried a lot more weight.

  It wasn’t just that he’d be forced to come clean (or lie, he reminded himself he could always lie), he was going to be seeing her. Sitting with her. Talking to her. He’d buy her a drink as a thank you, for sure.

  And he’d see that little crease between her eyebrows as she spoke to him. He’d watch her tongue dart out to wet the corners of her mouth. He’d hear the sound of her knuckles cracking, something that bothered him when other people did it but fascinated when she did it. He assumed her knuckle-cracking habit had something to do with the amount of time she spent typing on a keyboard.

  Confronted with her pale grey eyes, almost-white hair, her high cheekbones and that lithe, flexible body…he could feel himself heating up even as he thought about it. Even if this was going to be all business, he wondered if it might end in a way that surprised them both. He certainly wouldn’t mind losing a few hours buried in her warm, welcoming body.

  Being granted entrance into those cold eyes, seeing them melt from the inside out, feeling her shudder as she caved to him, let him take charge and bring her to a rocking, bucking, screaming mess of nerves and electricity…

  He shook his head, reminding himself of how she’d treated him that morning the week before. Reminded himself that there were much bigger things to think about, much more pressing matters at hand than getting his rocks off. She didn’t want him, or wouldn’t let herself want him, and Cristov was done chasing girls.

  He’d learned the hard way that it never ended in his favor. He’d wind up all screwed up and sad inside, just like always. Wondering what was wrong with him, that no woman ever wanted to stay. Just like his mother. Just like all of them. His mind was dangerously close to meandering down a dark path, and he focused all his energy on scratching Shep’s back as he sat down heavy in the folding chair near the front door.

  Thinking too much would get him into trouble. Maybe she’d let him in again. Maybe she wouldn’t. Who cared? He needed her, but only inasmuch as she could give him information he could use to nip this little issue in the bud. Beyond that, she was just a girl. Just another girl. Just some chick who’d rocked his world once and then slammed the door behind him like he was a Jehovah’s Witness.

  But as he ran his fingers through Shep’s fur, he couldn’t help but remember the way Ricky’s hair, fine and so blonde it was almost white, had felt in his fingers. And the memory of her eyes, pale blue, gray in the morning when she wouldn’t have him, was seared into his brain.

  Truth was, he couldn’t wait to see her again. His blood was boiling just thinking about it.

  9

  Jenner Surry sat picking his teeth. In lieu of a toothpick, he used a bent-out-of-shape paperclip that he’d found in the bowl of household detritus on the coffee table, a bowl that spent its days gathering rubber bands and matchbooks.

  His mother, Mara, in the other room, was napping, as she often did in the late afternoon. He could have been out shooting the shit with his cousins, or chasing the Rom girls around like a man his age should have been, but he had larger things to occupy his mind and time. He’d waited patiently to hear from the Steel Dragons MC, who had expressed an interest in his proposition. He’d help them take down the gypsy’s hold on the territory.

  “And what do you get out of it?” the man he’d talked to, Crooner, had asked, his voice clearly belying suspicion across the phone.

  “The men who run the business – well, they’re no friends of mine,” he’d responded in as cool a manner as he could muster. There were his cousins, Nal and Sam, to consider; they played a role in the cultivation and distribution of the gypsy’s stock. But it was Cristov and his brothers who would really suffer.

  If they lost hold of one of the kumpania’s longest-running and most profitable businesses, it would arouse suspicion about their ability to lead. And since messing with Kennick, the man on top, had proved unsuccessful, Jenner figured that he could do just as much damage striking from below, taking out Cristov, the youngest Volanis. He didn’t necessarily want to physically hurt the kid, but if something were to happen to him in the due course of events, he wouldn’t be weeping.

  He wished the Steel Dragons would include him more on their plans. So far, they’d only come to him for information. Where the greenhouse was, who ran it, how to get under his skin. Jenner was not the sort of man who liked to sit back and let someone else take the lead in a plan he considered his baby. But he also had no intention of getting on the Steel Dragon’s bad side. He trusted they knew what they were doing, and had to be content with that.

  Now, as he sat cleaning the remnants of lunch from between his teeth, he tried to think of anything more he could tell the Steel Dragons that would help them. He had told them of the fierce loyalty between the Volanis brothers and their sister, Mina. He’d told them all that had happened since they’d arrived in Kingdom; Kennick’s foolish affair with some local government bitch, her ascension to the role as mayor. He’d told them about Damon’s underground fighting career, Cristov’s tattoo shop, the pathetic excuse for a guard dog he’d gotten.

  All Jenner could do was wait and watch. After the whole trailer fire debacle, he knew, the Volanis brothers were watching him as closely as he was watching them, so he wasn’t about to risk getting seen following Cristov or his brothers around to find more weak spots. At any rate, he knew the club’s reputation, their downright inspirational abilities to get things done. He trusted that they would take care of things, and leave him to t
ake his rightful place as rom baro.

  10

  Ricky got to Sammy's a bit after 9, having stopped for a slice of pizza on the way in the hopes that it would cool the burning storm in her stomach, a potent combination of excitement over seeing Cristov (unwanted excitement, she might add), worry over what she'd discovered in her research, and the half-pint of whiskey she'd drunk already.

  I'll only have one beer while we talk, she told herself as she opened the door to the bar. I've got some very good reasons not to be drunk tonight.

  But when her eyes found Cristov in the overheated haze of the pub, her teeth clenched and her tongue watered in protest of this plan. He was talking to a girl. A pretty girl. Jenny Pinchot, to be exact. Homecoming Queen and head cheerleader of Ricky's graduating class, she was something of an arch-nemesis, though the two girls kept up a decent facade of congeniality.

  Jenny was that kind of queen bee who was untouchably perfect and yet threatened by Ricky's outsider charms. When Ricky was writing sartorial articles about the school's cliques, making the senior boys laugh and want to take her out to parties, Jenny was collecting community service awards and straight A-grades that made the boys want to take her home for dinner with Mom and Pop.

  Now, seeing Cristov smiling at Jenny while she flipped her golden locks over her shoulder, Ricky felt jealousy roaring its ugly head. High school had ended years ago, but this was a new sort of jealousy; Ricky had never actually cared much about Jenny dating the same guys as her, but Cristov? What could he see in her perfectly white teeth and Pinterest-planned outfit?

  No, Cristov was cooler than that. He wouldn't buy into the dream-wife ploy. And what did Jenny want with him anyway? The guy lived in a trailer with his brother and did tattoos. Not exactly the kind of dude who'd be at home spending a summer in the Hamptons.