by Roxie Rivera
"Kostya!" Besian bellowed a greeting from his spot at the card table. Judging by the half-empty bottle of raki sitting in front of the Albanian mob captain and the pile of chips, the man was having a hell of a good night.
"I see you started without me." He tried to get a peek at the other players' cards as he moved to the open seat but only caught a glimpse of Sergei's. Seeing the enforcer's hand, he was glad to have missed this round. It looked like Nikolai's bare-knuckle champion was about to clean out the Albanian captain.
"Drink?" Besian wiggled the bottle of plum-flavored liquor before splashing some into his own glass.
Kostya held out his hand and shook his head. "They're bringing me a beer."
As if on cue, a scantily clad waitress arrived with a tray of drinks. Water for Sergei, vodka and whisky for the men from Besian's camp and an ice cold Shiner 97 for him. He made sure to tip the girl who brought in their drinks before taking a sip. Glancing around the room, he nudged Sergei. "Where's Danny?"
Sergei shrugged, his gaze never leaving his cards. "Playing Santa Claus, I suspect."
"Huh?" Kostya sat back, lit up a cigarette and watched the game play out in front of him. The rest of the table folded as Sergei raised the stakes and Besian stupidly blundered right into the trap.
"Those kids next door," the behemoth explained. "I think he has a crush on the big sister. He swears up and down there's nothing to it but…"
He thought about the townhouse where Danny lived. He'd been there once or twice and vaguely remembered the family that lived there. "That's the dad with the drinking problem, yeah?"
"Yeah." Sergei glanced at Besian. "He's on the books at the Black Eagle."
"What's his name?" Besian asked upon hearing the name of the social club where the Albanian loan shark Afrim Barisha took bets.
"Bill? Bob? No." Sergei seemed to be thinking. "Burt?"
"Yeah. Yeah. I know this one. He's fat? Bald? He's a good customer. He usually pays on time and keeps coming back."
Kostya made a mental note to keep an eye on that situation. Danila was only twenty-three or twenty-four. He was still young enough to think he could save the whole fucking world. The last thing the kid needed was to get caught up in a mess while playing the hero for some pretty young girl.
Somehow Danny had managed to remain untouched by the darkness of their world. He hadn't yet been asked to do something truly violent for the family—but his time was coming. Sooner or later, they all spilled blood.
Kostya grinned when Sergei dropped his cards and Besian let loose a string of Albanian curse words. Sweeping his winnings toward him, the fighter neatly stacked his chips. Kostya bought his way into the game and sized up his opponents. He was good, but Besian and Sergei were better. Setting a mental limit, Kostya made up his mind to get out of the game when he hit that number.
For next two hours, he bullshitted and played cards. He enjoyed watching Sergei win round after round, especially since he knew how much the other man needed that money to get his brother and mother over here from Russia. When he was in the hole a month's salary, Kostya bowed out of the game.
"Deal me out this round," Besian instructed before rising from his seat. "Let me walk you out, Kostya."
He knew that tone. Besian had a piece of information he wanted to share discreetly. "Sure."
Shoulder to shoulder, they left the back room and ended up in the hallway there. Besian looked up and down the hall before lowering his voice. "One of my guys locked up down in Beaumont got me a message about a certain machete-wielding psycho."
Machete-wielding psycho? There was only one man who fit that bill—and he was Vivian Valero's father. "Romero?"
"The one and only," Besian confirmed.
"What's he up to?"
"He's talking to the Feds."
"Which ones?"
"The Marshals."
Kostya didn't like the sound of that. There was only one reason a man like Romero would talk to that group, and it was an incredibly dangerous one.
"I know that Nikolai has…," the Albanian seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "…a soft spot for the daughter. If her old man is thinking about turning against his cartel or his outlaw crew? It won't be good for her."
That was putting it mildly. "I'll let the boss know. He'll appreciate the heads-up."
"I'm counting on it." Besian smiled slyly. "One good turn…"
He chuckled softly. "Yes. I'm sure he'll be happy to repay the favor someday."
Leaving Besian, he headed out of the strip club, stopping only long enough to drop tips on the satellite stages for the dancers who weren't getting much attention. The crowd was thinning, and the girls who weren't as popular were going to have a hard time making much money tonight.
"You leaving already, baby?" Sapphire sidled up close to him. Like most of the entertainers, she wore too much perfume and too much makeup. She was a beautiful woman beneath all that, but the men who frequented the establishment expected a certain look. It was all about providing a fantasy, and Sapphire understood the theater element better than most.
"It's late."
"Not that late, honey." Her hand glided down his chest and along the flat plank of his stomach to cup his cock. Though he wasn't interested in her like that, his body nonetheless reacted to her skilled touch. "I can think of a reason to stay out tonight."
"I have somewhere else to be." He carefully removed her groping hand from his body. "You know my rules. I don't date the employees."
"That's a shame, sugar." She patted his chest. "You're a curiosity I would love to satisfy."
"I'm flattered, but I'm not your man, sweetheart."
He disentangled himself from the gorgeous dancer and left the club. His body's reaction to her touch annoyed him. Not because he had gotten hard but because of the smiling face of a different woman that had flashed before him. Her. God, of all the fucking women in the world, why did it have to be her that made his chest tighten and his cock stand at attention?
Refusing to think about Holly Phillips, he started his SUV. Driving home, he couldn't help but think of all the free pussy he declined night after night. Between the four clubs he owned with Besian in the greater Houston area, there was always some dancer trying to seduce him. While his partner often sampled the endless buffet of women, Kostya preferred to find his dates elsewhere.
His position as Nikolai's right hand man seemed to draw women to him but for all the wrong reasons. The tattoos always brought out the questions. What was he supposed to say?
Oh, I got this one after I committed my first robbery. Yeah, this dagger was my first hit—but not with the mob. This one I gave myself to commemorate the end of my government contract. This one marks me as Nikolai's man. That one marks me as a cleaner.
There would be two reactions to that sort of honesty. The smart women would scream and run away from him, and the crazy ones who were aroused by danger and violence would attach themselves to him like a parasite, always wanting more gruesome details.
No, it was much simpler to just keep to himself. Now that he was staring forty in the face, Kostya had begun to accept his fate. He had made choices in his life, some out of necessity and others more calculated, that had forever closed certain doors to him. He was too dark inside, too stained with sin, to ever be loved by a good woman.
And, anyway, if he didn't catch a bullet by fifty, he would be shocked. There was no use in dreaming of things he simply couldn't have. He wasn't Ivan. He wasn't getting out of Nikolai's family. There would be no sweet, gentle woman like Erin to save him.
His thoughts turned to Vivian and this shit brewing with her father. The situation had trouble written all over it. As he pulled into his driveway and waited for his garage door to rise, he flashed back to the night Vivian had nearly died in Nikolai's arms. She had been the scrawniest little thing back then. No one looking at her as a child could ever have imagined how she would blossom into such a hauntingly beautiful young woman. It was no surprise that she had b
ewitched Nikolai with those sky blue eyes of hers.
Getting out of his vehicle, he decided he would have one last smoke before heading inside. He had been trying to cut back and was doing quite well, but the poker game had whet his appetite for the jolt of nicotine. Letting the garage door close behind him, Kostya leaned against the side of his house and simply stared out across his quiet, still neighborhood.
It amazed him that he was able to blend in so easily with the rest of his middle class neighbors. He had chosen the modest ranch-style home for that very reason. He wanted to live invisibly, to be the man everyone waved at when he retrieved his mail or the morning paper but also the man no one knew. The few neighbors who asked got the same answer. I'm a security consultant.
Only Holly had ever dared to ask more questions. Only she had tempted him to break his number one rule. Don't get involved. He repeated it to himself again and again.
Unsettled by the way she affected him, Kostya tried to figure out what it was about his petite blonde-haired neighbor that caused his stomach to leap and his chest to buzz whenever she was near. Oh, Holly was pretty, but he saw beautiful women every day and none of them made him feel like that. She had a nice laugh but so did plenty of other women. Her figure was a bit slim for his usual tastes. He had always preferred big, lush breasts and a nice, heavy ass not that pixie-like build she sported.
Fishing his lighter and cigarettes from his pocket, he started to light up but held off when he spotted the two headlights illuminating the street. Nosiness went naturally with his occupation. Safe in the shadows and well hidden, he watched the pricey sedan roll down the cul-de-sac lane. He didn't recognize the vehicle as one that belonged to any of his neighbors. On alert, he shifted his hand back to his holstered weapon. It wouldn't be the first time someone had ordered a hit on a rival outfit during the holidays.
When the car swung around and slid up against the sidewalk lining Holly's house, his body went stiff. A surge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy tore through him. Settle the fuck down, he silently ordered himself. She's not yours. She can never be yours.
Wanting to make sure she got inside all right—and wanting to get a good look at the man who had brought her home—Kostya jammed his cigarettes and lighter back into his pocket and crept around the edge of his garage. He made sure to stay cloaked by the darkness.
When the passenger side door opened, Holly's angry, upset voice filtered into the night. Instantly, his jaw tightened. Before he could stop himself, he was cutting across his yard to rescue her. From what, he didn't know yet, but the sound of a man shouting at her enraged him.
"You're a pig!" Sobbing loudly, Holly clambered out of the sedan and dragged her coat along the wet sidewalk. The sleeve of her pretty gold dress was torn, revealing the strap of her red bra. Any other time that tempting view of her silky flesh might have tripped him up but right now it infuriated him.
"Yeah? Well you're a frigid fucking bitch!" A second later, her shiny metallic clutch was launched out of the vehicle and whacked her right in the face. "Whore!"
Holly cried out in pain and fell to her knees on the brittle, cold grass.
Seeing red, Kostya stormed to the driver's side door and jerked it open. The driver, a blond in his early thirties gaped up at him in shock. Kostya reached down, unlatched the asshole's seatbelt and hauled him right out of the driver's seat. Slamming her date against the car, he used his larger body to trap the man in place.
Don't kill him. Not in front of Holly. Don't let her see the monster inside you.
Maintaining the thinnest hold on the vicious beast within him, Kostya decided not to use the knife sheathed against his boot or the pistol holstered under his jacket. There were other ways of hurting a man. Much, much more painful ways…
He gripped the dirty bastard's balls in a tight clench. The man let loose a pitiful whine. "Did you just call my friend a whore?" The man whimpered as Kostya squeezed harder. "Huh?"
"I-I-I," the man stammered unintelligibly.
He knocked into the asshole with his shoulder. "Man the fuck up and answer me!"
"I didn't mean it." The bastard actually looked like he was about to start crying. Revulsion raced through Kostya. Weak. Pathetic. Loser.
Movement near the hood of the car filtered through his hazy red vision. Holding her clutch in both hands, Holly stared on with wide eyes. Streaks of mascara ran down her face. The sight of her ripped dress made him want to crush this bastard's balls. "Kostya?"
Pushing his forearm against the man's throat, Kostya sucked in a steadying breath. He held Holly's terrified gaze. "Did he hit you?"
She quickly shook her head, those long blonde tresses swishing around her shoulders. "No. I mean—not until he threw this at me." She gingerly rubbed her reddened nose and scratched cheek.
The urge to beat the man bloody was strong. Not wanting to make such a big mess in her front yard, he decided to give the fucker a taste of his own medicine. Eyeing her clutch, he ordered. "Bring it to me, Holly."
She swallowed nervously before walking toward him. He snatched the clutch from her hand, took a quick step back and smacked the bastard right across the face with it. With a backhand movement, he slapped the man again, making sure to catch the metal closure against her date's skin. If Holly was going to bleed, so was this loser.
"Oh my god!" Holly gasped with shock, and the sniveling little shit in front of him started to sob hysterically.
"Did you like that?"
"N-n-no!" The guy cringed and lifted his shoulders in a bracing move, as if he expected to be hit again.
Kostya considered it but didn't think he could keep his bloodthirsty instincts in check much longer. "Do you think she enjoyed being hit with it?"
"No."
"Maybe I should follow you home, tear your clothes and call you names in your front yard. Would you like that?"
"No. Please!"
Disgusted by the pathetic excuse for a man in front of him, he released his hold and shoved the man against his vehicle. "Get the fuck out of here. Now." Stepping close, he hissed, "If I ever find out that you so much as look at Holly again, I'll fucking come for you."
The guy's panicked gaze flitted along the tattoos exposed on Kostya's neck. He was stupid, but he wasn't that stupid. "I won't. She'll never see me again."
"I'm holding you to that." He pushed the man into the front seat. "Go."
Shaking and crying, the asshole shut his door. Kostya grabbed Holly's hand and dragged her safely behind him as her date from hell punched the gas and spun his tires. He tore down their street and disappeared.
Concerned for her, Kostya pivoted quickly, cupped her face and tilted back her head. He gazed at the injury. "We have to put ice on that."
Dazed, she clutched his wrist, her soft fingers curling along his skin and setting his body alight with need. "Thank you."
Teased by the scent of her perfume, Kostya dropped his gaze to her pink lips. Perhaps he could have just one kiss…?
No. Don’t be stupid. Get her inside. Go home.
Clearing his throat, he took his hand away from her face. "You don't have to thank me for helping you." He spotted the goose bumps rising along her exposed skin. A cold wind blew across them. He picked up her jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Let's get you inside before you freeze to death."
Not arguing with him, Holly led him up her sidewalk and into her home. Their floor plans were similar with his house only slightly larger. Where he had chosen a dark hickory for his floors, she had picked out a pale, gleaming oak. Her walls were a breezy shade of blue and bedecked with photos and witty word art pieces.
The differences in their lives had never been more perfectly presented to him. She was sweet, fun and lived a full, happy life. He was dark, somber and lived a life filled with terrible secrets and even worse deeds.
Shaking off that depressing thought, he said, "Go change. I'll make an ice pack for your face."
"Oh, Kostya, you don't have to do that."
Embarrassment caused her ears to flush. "You did enough coming to my rescue out there with Cody."
He committed the other man's name to memory along with the license plate on the car. He fully intended to pay Cody a visit in a few days just to rattle that bastard's cage. "Where the hell did you meet someone like that?"
"His mom comes to the salon. She's friends with my mother. I guess they thought it would be a good idea to set us up. You know, the flighty cosmetologist with the successful divorce lawyer. He had tickets for the Weston Christmas Gala so I accepted the date thinking he might have some potential."
What about me? Does she think I have potential? No, he silently acknowledged. He had been friend-zoned from their very first meeting nearly a year earlier. For her safety, it was best.
"He's scum, Holly."
"He was just a little drunk and really stupid."
"I've been very drunk and extremely stupid, but I've never put my hands on a woman." He flexed his fingers at his sides rather than indulge the clawing need within him to caress her bare skin. "Men like that are dangerous. You will never go out with that man again. Do you understand?"
"Excuse me?" Her green eyes went wide with surprise at his harsh tone. "You're my friend, but you don't get to tell me how to live my life."
"Because I am your friend, I get to tell you all sorts of things that you don't want to hear, Holly. That man is off-limits. He'll hurt you—and then I'll have to hurt him."
Her expression relaxed some. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but you don't have to go all crazy alpha male on me. You know? You could just say, 'Hey, Holly, you can do better.' You don't have to throw down ultimatums."
Duly chastised, he nodded. "You can do better, Holly. Much, much better," he murmured. "You deserve the very best in a man. Not some fucking prick like that."