A knock at the door had Kiri scurrying out of the bedroom and down the hall to the front room. This was her chance to get out. The door opened before she got across the room. A woman slipped inside carrying clothes.
“Ms. Delducci,” she said, bowing her head politely. “Mr. Adranokov asked me to bring you some items to wear. He gave me a description of your, uh,” her speculative eyes traced over Kiri’s body, “size and height. I searched around, asked the girls to loan something…suitable. I must say,” she smiled, reviewing Kiri’s form again.
“There are not many that have your…attributes. You are small, dainty, but, oh Miss, curves like mad. As delicately gorgeous as a butterfly, no wonder the Sir is so enamored with you.” A grin turned her thin mouth up she added, “And no wonder Miss Silver is in such a snit.”
“Uh, Mrs…um, I am not, I mean he and I we’re not, I mean…oh,” she groaned consternated. Clasping her hands together in prayer she said urgently, “He took me from my home. He kidnapped me, and he plans on assaulting me. You have to help me! Call the police!”
The woman’s face paled. “Oh dear. Mr. Adranokov does take what he wants. However, if I assisted you in leaving, well,” she shook her head with a serious flattening of her lips. “He might not hurt me, I am a woman and there aren’t really rumors of him ever seriously harming a female, other than the ones who ask for it specifically. But…well, he is an angry hard man purported to have been born without kindness or mercy. I don’t really know for sure if he would use his fists on me, or worse.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Ah, that’s neither here nor there, dear. We all do as he commands. Why don’t you try these on?” Nervously the woman moved to Kiri and held out the clothes.
With a resigned sigh, Kiri accepted the bundle. That gangster had everyone cowed for crying out loud. Honestly, the man was such a barbaric heathen. “Okay.” Ever polite, she smiled and introduced herself, “I’m Kiri, what’s your name?”
The smile was returned. The woman looked to be in her late forties, dark hair was up in a twist, a polyester uniform of black top and skirt covered her plump body, sturdy shoes encased her feet. Her legs were almost straight up and down with little shape to them like fence posts. She had a kind smile on her rather plain face. “I’m Francy Mouldare.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Mouldare. These are odd circumstances,” Kiri said shyly.
“Please, Miss, call me Francy.”
“And you call me Kiri.”
A frown pulled a line between her brows, she vehemently shook her head. “Oh no, Miss, the Master would be not pleased if I didn’t speak strictly respectfully to you.”
Looking confused, Kiri asked, “Does he have that rule with everyone?” After all, the man is clearly a barbarian.
This brought a laugh, which softened her plain face. “No, certainly not. Only people that are very important to him, and honey,” she grinned conspiratorially at Kiri, “the Master has made it very clear that you are important to him. He has extra guards to protect you, and he has sternly admonished me to direct you to breakfast. He was quite adamant that I make sure you eat. I can’t say he has ever ordered that before!”
Thinking that over, Francy expressed surprise. “Actually, Miss, he has never shown any interest in guarding, feeding, clothing or otherwise with a woman. Certainly he has never brought a whor- uh, woman to his suite.” Her finger tipped to her chin she regarded Kiri. “Yes, you are certainly important to him.”
Kiri gave in, for now. Really, she had little choice in the matter. After showering and dressing she followed Francy out of the door and downstairs.
On the first floor, breakfast was set up buffet style along one wall of a handsome dining room. Pale peach wallpaper with silver etchings, gleaming hutch and highboy, long buffet counter, and a table that could seat well over two dozen people easily strode down the center of the large room. The room was empty. There were a few dirty plates showing someone had eaten, but the most of the settings were untouched.
“Please, fill your plate and have a seat anywhere, Miss Kiritina.” Francy nodded to the table. “Shall I bring you coffee? Tea? Juice and milk are there on the sideboard to help yourself.”
“But where are the others?”
Francy chuckled while gently taking Kiri’s arm and guiding her to the beginning of the covered heating pans. “Honey, except for the crew that have gone to work, the rest here are lazy slagabouts. The women won’t be up and about for hours. They stay up late, um, entertaining the men.”
“Entertaining?”
Francy picked up a plate, opened a lid and stuck a serving spoon in the heaping steaming grits. She poured a large spoonful on the plate and handed it to Kiri, then nodded to the next heating dish. “Um,” a slight pink tinged the older woman’s thin cheeks. She had to speak carefully. Mr. Adranokov had been quite explicit that his new…guest was quite an ingénue and was to be treated with kid gloves. “Well, the men are…how do you say…”
“Gangsters?”
Francy coughed out a choke, wiped at an eye. “Well, sort of. Anyway, they get tense sometimes, all that brute testosterone, aggression and such, and well, they get to brawling. So Mr. Adranokov lets the girls come in and, well, help them relieve their stress.”
“Are they the men’s girlfriends or wives?” Kiri placed a sausage on her plate and a piece of toast, added a dollop of gravy to the grits.
Francy coughed again. “Um, no, Miss. Most of them work at Mr. Adranokov’s clubs.”
“Clubs?” Kiri turned to go to the table but Francy lifted a lid, scooped up some scrambled eggs and plopped them on her plate.
At Kiri’s frown, Francy said, “Please, Miss. He will ask me what you had. If you don’t eat a sufficient, well-balanced amount, he will be angry with me. He is a very perceptive man, he will know if I lie.”
“Okay, this is so absurd, but I don’t want to cause you trouble.” Kiri sighed, and let Francy add fruit to her plate, then she firmly turned and set the dish on the table and pulled out a chair. “You were saying? About his clubs?”
“Well, Miss,” Francy started uncomfortably, “they call them Gentlemen’s Clubs. Can I get you coffee? Tea?” Her voice rose thinly.
Kiri sat down and buttered the toast. “You mean like strip clubs.”
Francy choked and nodded.
Smearing raspberry jam on the toast she asked, “How many does he have?”
“Oh, I’m not really sure, three or four?”
“Wow. So, do they entertain Mr. Adranokov too?”
“Um, I don’t think so anymore since you are here. He already had words with Silver.”
“Silver?”
Francy’s face reddened, she’d already said too much. “Um, she’s a dancer, she kind of tries to claim the Master as hers. But, I think now that you are here, uh…I need to go, I’ll bring you coffee,” and she darted out of the room.
Chapter Fourteen
Naithon’s mind had wandered the entire meeting. Several times Blok had nudged him in the side when Naithon didn’t respond to a question.
He was at the Riveaux Knights’ clubhouse. He didn’t think he and his crew were in any danger, the motorcycle gang knew if they did anything untoward with Naithon that his faction would come down pitilessly hard and wipe every one of them off the face of the earth.
The clubhouse made up of stucco, brick, steel and wood was designed to withstand most artillery assaults. The outside was dirty and grey, barbed wire encircled the cement wall that surrounded the perimeter, and heavily armed members patrolled. They were trained to shoot first ask questions later.
Still, Naithon’s faction was bigger, stronger, smarter, and even more ruthless. No one who valued their life was stupid enough to screw with him.
Currently, Naithon was ensconced in the meeting room where the club held their church. Church was their term for meeting. The place was as secure as a fortress, but if Naithon and his men wanted at them, nothing would stop them.
; Naithon looked up to see Rory ‘Roar’ O’Landon regarding him thoughtfully with a mild smile. In his early thirties, Roar was fairly young to be President of an MC, but the last president didn’t survive the battle with the Foes of God.
Thankfully, unlike some of the others, Roar liked to shower. His long hair tied back in a ponytail hung cleanly down his broad back. Armed to the teeth, as was Naithon and every other male there, Roar wore a black t-shirt under his cut, and ancient blue jeans.
“Mmm,” Naithon made a vague sound, apparently Roar had asked him a question.
A small laugh rolled out of the president. His accent was an odd mix of country, redneck and Cajun. “Ah, so the rumors are true.”
At Naithon’s lifted brow, Roar grinned. “They said you had grabbed up Ignacio Delducci’s beautiful young, engaged daughter as surety to keep the peace, and dat you are quite smitten wid her and refuse to return her. Only half of your mind has been on this meetin’, the other must be on what’s between the girl’s legs, hmm?”
Snickers rippled around the table. The grin widening, Roar went on, “Swiped the bitch right out from under the noses of Montoblanco, Delducci, and every other red blooded man dat had designs on her.”
His face blank, Naithon said coolly, “You had a question, O’Landon?”
Roar laughed. “Okay, big man’s not gonna spill. Fine. To answer your original question, no, you know it’s not my crew takin’ out yours and Delducci’s people. It took too long for the three of us to make a fuckin’ treaty, ain’t gonna break dat now. Tings are goin’ too smooth, we’re all makin’ bucks hand over fist, not gonna mess wid dat.”
Naithon’s lips pressed, he hadn’t thought they were involved but he had to cover all bases. He was only here now as a courtesy, he had his soldiers snooping around to see if the Knights had any spokes in the assassinating wheel. “All right. What about those fuckers the Foes? You think they’re trying to cause a war between my family and the Delduccis?”
The president shrugged a rugged shoulder. “Nah. Dere weren’t enough of ta bastards left to rob an ol’ lady much less try to git involved wid ya’ll again.” Folding his hands on the old scratched up table, Roar leaned in. “What do you tink is goin’ on? I hear dey took out four from your side, and six countin’ dat prick Duce Delducci on his side. Good riddance to shit, I say about Duce. What could they want? You tink Ignacio Delducci is doin’ it to maybe clean out your folks and is killin’ his own people to take away the suspicion?”
Naithon sat back on the hard wooden chair, dragged on his cigar, slowly exhaled the smoke. “No. His own boy was killed. I saw him at the funeral, it broke him down.” He’d also seen Kiri there in black, veil covering that gorgeous face. He hadn’t been able to get near to her there, either. Ignacio had her surrounded by his men and a bunch of freaking nuns. “Can’t figure it, O’Landon. Someone wants something and they’re killing to achieve it.”
Naithon stood up signaling the end of the meeting. Vlad on one side and Blok on his other got up as well. Roar and his men stayed seated.
As they departed, Roar called out with a mock in his voice, “Don’t you go and forgit to send dat little lady back home to her fat, old, fee-ahn-say, Adranokov!” Male laughter ushered them out the door.
All the way back to the mansion, Naithon could think of nothing except Kiri and how soon he could get her to not fight him while he took her. He was happy that she was a virgin, that no man but he would ever be inside her, but on the other hand it was giving him blue balls to give her a bit of space. If she was more experienced she might not be so afraid, so resistant to him.
When he first snatched her, his only thought was to bang her and keep her. Her feelings didn’t figure into the equation. However, after Maz’s speech, he decided he wouldn’t pounce on her, not force her, but he wasn’t going to be able to be around her, have her sleeping in his bed much longer without doing her. And he was going to be around her, and she would be sleeping in his bed, so it has to be soon.
Once inside the mansion, he pulled out his phone to call Mazonn. He needed to debrief with the rest of his men before he went to see Kiri.
He texted Mazonn and was passing the grand room where most the occupants hung out drinking beer, playing cards, necking, when he stopped dead. Kiri wasn’t upstairs in his room like he’d ordered; she was sitting across the room on one of the sofas. She was tucked in a corner, Mazonn sat next to her and Yashin perched on the arm of the couch on the other side of her. The three of them were laughing like old friends.
As Naithon pulled out his phone and glanced at the message that beeped, Mazonn leaned over and whispered something in Kiri’s ear and she giggled.
She wore jeans and a skintight red shirt, and even from where he stood he could see she was braless. Every other man in the room was blatantly gawking at her. Of course they were, her round, firm, plump breasts were bobbing and jiggling with her movements. The blouse was like red cling wrap.
Naithon saw blinding, raging scarlet. He stormed over to them, grabbed Kiri’s arm and jerked her to her feet before anyone even knew he was there. She stumbled in surprise and he gripped her arm. “You little fucking whore. You won’t give it to me but you’ll spread your legs for all the other men?”
“Nait-” Mazonn started.
But he was already stalking to the elevator with Kiri in tow. He normally didn’t bother with it, he liked the added exercise of hitting the stairs. But now, he was so enraged he was going to move fast and she wasn’t going to be able to keep up with him.
He pushed her into the elevator. As the door closed he saw astonished expressions on his cheating ex-friends’ faces. Naithon was so angry he kept a space between him and Kiri. There was no doubt he was infuriated, smoke about came out of his ears. The air seethed around his grit, scowling face.
Pressed against the wall as far as she could get from him, timidly, Kiri spoke quietly, nervously, “Um, Mr. um Boss, is something wrong? Did something happen?”
The look he gave her could laser a hole through steel. The elevator pinged and the door opened. Without a word he opened the steel door then grasped her arm and dragged her down the hall to his room. She tried protesting, digging her feet into the carpet, he was blowing his top and she was afraid to be in the vicinity when he exploded.
Opening his door, he shoved her inside so hard she stumbled again, catching herself on a chair to keep from falling. “Mister-”
He stomped over to her and got in her face, wrath burned out of his eyes into hers, his fists clenched, shoulders bowed. Accent thick and outraged, he bellowed, “You fucking call me mister or boss again, so help me Dio I will beat that ass of yours black and blue!”
Kiri tried to move back, but he was on her. Grabbing her, he shoved her to the floor, forcing her on all fours.
She cried out, “No, wait, please-”
“Done waiting,” he muttered, lowering himself down behind her. He put a hand on her back forcing her down on her forearms, face almost on the floor, ass in the air. Rounding his body over her back, he reached under her and seized her breasts painfully.
Kiri screamed and tried to fight him, he pressed his chest on her back holding her immobile. “Wear shit like this for men to see your tits,” he kneaded and squeezed so hard, so crudely, she cried out.
He ranted on, “Spread your legs for any man that walks by,” he reached for the button on her jeans. “A whore like Fiereza, I’m gonna fuck you like my brother took her.”
“No! Wait,” she screamed again, “I didn’t, I didn’t, please-”
“Tried to be nice, give you time to get used to me, relax, fuck Mazonn telling me that shit. He wanted you for himself, the bastard.” He shoved his erection into her bottom and rubbed it abrasively back and forth and pressing angrily so hard, if he hadn’t wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her he would have smashed her into the floor. He ripped at the button on her jeans, it flew off across the carpet. “Taking that cunt, then I’m taking that ass.”
&nb
sp; “Mister-”
That did it. Naithon lifted her and flung her on her back. He pushed the shirt up exposing her breasts then pulled the zipper on her jeans down. She kicked at him, punched at his arms, it was like a flea hitting a bull. She couldn’t stop him from shoving his hand down inside her pants and palming her sex.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, again and again and again. He ignored it and gripped Kiri’s mound cruelly hard, she cried in pain.
“Taking you now, bitch, you won’t be fucking any other men but me,” he growled. Grabbing the tops of her jeans, he tugged them. His phone buzzed again, then there was pounding at the door. He would have ignored that too but Mazonn was shouting his name.
“Fuck,” cursing, Naithon stood up, looked down at Kiri. Tears streamed down her face, she tried to cover her bare breasts with her small hands, her jeans splayed open revealing tiny pink panties with a lace trim.
“Don’t you fucking move,” he commanded, pointing at her, “not an inch.” Storming to the door, he wrenched it open. Mazonn’s fist was raised in mid-knock.
“What the hell, Maz, you banging my woman? What the hell-”
“No you dumb ass. Sam Guerrero was-”
Ready to slug his best friend, Naithon stormed, “What does he have to do with you and Yashin and your hands all over my girl? What the hell-”
“Shut up, you jerk for a second, cripes.”
Taken aback, Naithon cursed a string of words in Romanian, “Maz-”
“I said shut up.”
Naithon shut his mouth.
“Okay, geesh.” Mazonn wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. “The girl, Kiri, she had finished breakfast and was sitting in that alcove near the dining room waiting for the servant to take her back upstairs when Sam Guerrero found her. Yash and I heard her screams. Of course here, screams from females are generally screams of pleasure.”
“Maz,” Naithon grunted. Then he frowned, “Why was she screaming? What-”
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