Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Better than your pretty nose, I bet.”

  I tentatively touch my more than swollen nose. “You still have the hots for me? I’ll give you the keys to my place if you want a taste of my whip later.”

  Christian barks out a laugh.

  “Boys, boys. Now tell me. How did it go with the little pricks in LA?”

  Christian crosses his legs and puts his hands behind his head, eyeing me, waiting for me to start.

  I clear my throat. “Darrell and Myles were indeed putting away some of the profit. They tried to convince me otherwise, as you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah, get to the good stuff.”

  “We dealt with Darrell. Myles got away. But we’ve got him. He’s in a safehouse and our contacts will keep him there until we take care of him. It’s all good.”

  I jump as Salvatore slams his fist to the desk. “It’s not fucking good. You botched it!”

  “It’s being taken care of,” I grit out.

  “Do tell me,” he says silkily, “how did Mr. Myles get away?”

  I glance at an impassive Christian who looks like he’s meditating. Fucking ass. “You already know how.”

  “I want to hear it from the source. I don’t like people telling on each other.”

  Christian stirs. I glare at him. Serves him right.

  “An employee was unfortunately working late and stumbled right over us. Literally. In the commotion, Myles ran. Christian went for him, but apparently he was slippery.”

  I get a murderous stare from the man next to me.

  “Uncle,” he says, but Salvatore waves him off.

  “I will deal with my relative later. And then what? I assume you dealt with this witness?”

  “She got away,” I mumble.

  He cups his hand behind his ear and leans forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

  I clench my jaw. “She ran, sir.”

  He points at me and Christian in turn. “So, you’re saying that two of my fucking baddest, meanest men couldn’t handle one little stinking worm of a man and a fucking woman?”

  Now that he puts it that way…

  “But you found her and dealt with her? Just as Christian will deal with fucking Myles?” He purses his lips as he gives Christian a look that makes goosebumps race along my back.

  “I found her.”

  “And I assume she’s dead?”

  “She’s alive.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following. A witness, who can identify you, who can identify my nephew, who can lead an investigation to me, has been left alive?”

  “It’s not an issue.”

  Salvatore stands abruptly. “It’s a big fucking issue!” he roars.

  I stand too, supporting my hands on the desk, leaning forward. “Johnson leads the investigation. He’s our man. No one’s gonna trace anything to you, Mr. Salvatore.”

  My world explodes in pain as he grabs my nape and slams my head to the desk. Christian darts up, but then just stands there.

  “I will be the judge of who poses a risk to my organization. Get rid of the girl.”

  “No.”

  He grabs my ear and pushes me down harder. “No?”

  I twist loose and jump over the desk in one long stride, tackling my boss, the most dangerous man on the West Coast of the US of A, to the floor. I punch him once, twice, then I’m ripped up by the mountain that is Christian Russo. He pins my arms behind my back. I jerk and scream, but there’s nothing I can do.

  I force myself not to blink as I stare down the barrel of Salvatore’s Glock. I always knew we’d end up here one day. Nothing lasts forever.

  He shakes his head as he stares at me, pushing a hand through his hair. “What the fuck’s the matter with you, son? This hurts me.”

  “I’m claiming her as mine,” I say. It’s the only thing that might work. It’s the only thing that can make Salvatore change his mind.

  He stares at me, then throws his head back in laughter. “You’re hilarious. I’ve never met someone so afraid to get attached, and here you are, trying to save some girl’s life by telling me you’re gonna marry her? It’s fucking priceless.” He tucks the gun away and claps his hands together. “Well, in that case—” He nods at Christian, who releases me. “This calls for a celebration.” He grips my nape in a vice-like hold. “I never thought I’d see the day.” Slapping me on my back, he lets me go.

  Moving toward his desk, he then spins around, pointing at me. “I’ll need to see this miracle of course.”

  “Of course,” I say stiffly.

  “And you,” he says, pointing at Christian. “Solve your problem.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re both dismissed, you fuckers. I’ll call for you when I need you.”

  When we’re at the door, just about to exit, he calls for me. “And Eric.”

  I turn to face him but stay quiet.

  “You’ve got one week for this ‘claim’ to happen. If it doesn’t, the girl dies.”

  My gut clenches, but I don’t show it. I nod curtly, then I leave. I won’t be staying for dinner. I need a bottle of whisky and a night to myself to work on my options.

  Chapter 21

  Anna

  I sleep the whole next day. It’s a worried, restless sleep and I jolt awake several times, my heart pounding, but my need for rest is so great it overcomes the hysteria that threatens to swallow me whole.

  I get up at six p.m. It’s Christmas Day. It should feel sad that I’m not celebrating, but I can’t muster enough energy to care. I’ve got seven text messages from my father. I thumb a quick message back and then toss the phone Dad lent me on the table. I need food. Desperately. After looking through my meager rations, I call for a pizza. Then I realize I don’t have my credit cards, and no cash. Cursing my life to Hell, I call them back and cancel.

  I’ll contact my bank tomorrow.

  As I slump on a chair, the tears come. There’s a hole in my chest. It aches. I don’t know how I’m going to mend it. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know if I’ll have a job or where to go from here. I realize none of my co-workers know what I know.

  Shit.

  I lean my cheek on the glossy surface of the table and stare out the window. The sun is shining, and a seagull swings by before it soars high up out of my sight.

  I’m sweaty, smelly, and I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday morning. I don’t know if I’m ever again going to meet the assassin who made me feel everything, who turned my world upside down.

  Of course I won’t. I should be happy I’m alive. I should definitely not want to see him again.

  I walk in circles around the closed Mac that lies on the living room table. Finally I can’t resist it any longer and open it. Googling Eric Reed leads to a musician and to a lot of random people, none that are even close to the Eric Reed I met two days ago. I don’t even know if he lives here.

  Crap.

  Pacing my apartment, I finally call Dad and make plans for tomorrow, then I go to run a shower. As I undress and finally stand stark naked in the harsh light of the bathroom, I study my body, or what’s left of it. Bruises and swellings aside, I look a mess. My hipbones protrude, my belly is sunken in. I have no natural feminine curves at all. I used to have breasts but now they’re maybe A-cups at best. I don’t even think I’d need a bra for these. The memory of how he touched me makes my nipples stiffen; I groan as I continue to take measure of myself in a way I haven’t done for a very, very long time. I have a wild, pale-brown bush of hair down there, but what’s the point in trimming something no one’s ever gonna visit anyway? My legs and armpits are unshaved too. I always wear pants or long skirts, and long-sleeved shirts. I just haven’t seen the need to groom myself.

  But tonight I do. I look through drawers and the cupboard until I find a razor, then I step in the shower and tidy up my legs and armpits.

  Tomorrow, I’ll locate someone to wax me. Or not. Glancing at the scrape wounds, and the black and blue bruises o
n almost every part of my body, I decide to postpone that for a week or two.

  I can’t sleep.

  I get up, make tea, pace my apartment, go back to bed.

  The hole in my chest keeps growing. I half expect a knock on the door. Or rather to have it knocked down. Eric wasn’t the subtlest man I’ve met. At least not when he was hunting me, trying to kill me.

  Images from our hours together run on repeat in my mind. All of them. Bad and good. I find it so hard, though, to remember the hurt and the fear. After all we went through together those memories aren’t what makes me feel like I’ll implode.

  Morning finally comes. I’m taking today off from work. I don’t know if work will still be there, and I can’t muster up the energy to care. As I brush my teeth, meeting my own gaze in the mirror, I finally fully realize I’ll never see Eric again and nearly double over in a sudden bolt of pain.

  I call my bank, then I leave for my dad’s. He pampers me the best he can, and we have a nice day together with an overabundance of food, a few gifts, and Crosby, Stills, and Nash after we’ve grown tired of Christmas music. Dad loves them. It’s silly, really, but every year I buy him a new tie. And every year he gives me a puzzle. Then we sit for hours, until our backs ache and try to get the little pieces to fit. Afterwards, we play Monopoly. He always lets me win, like he’s done since I was a kid.

  I’ve managed to forget about my miseries for a few hours, but when we hug our goodbyes and I hop in the cab, my chest clenches with this new pain I live in.

  My home is dark and feels so utterly empty. Everything is quiet. I walk through my evening routines, a shower, brush my teeth, dead set on actually sleeping tonight. If this continues, this insomnia, I’m going to a doctor. I need those few hours of not being trapped in my own mind, or they’re gonna have to lock me up, because I’ll go insane.

  Hugging a pillow, my over exhausted mind finally shuts off and I drift into unconsciousness.

  Something tickles my cheek. I swat at it, but it returns. When I finally manage to tear myself free of the frenzied dream, my fingers touch skin. Skin that isn’t mine. My eyes fly open and I stare at the shape of a man sitting on the bed next to me. I yelp and throw myself off the bed on the other side, scrambling to my feet.

  “I didn’t mean to freak you out that much,” says a husky, well-known voice.

  I rip the comforter off the bed and wrap it around me, my heart thumping hard. It’s Eric. He came back. My knees nearly fold in relief and a surge of trepidation.

  I exhale shakily. “Exactly how much did you plan to freak me out, then?”

  “Less than that.”

  “Oh my God, Eric. How did you get in? Why are you here?”

  He drops my keys, my phone and my wallet on the bed. “Did some cleaning up at the office. Found some stuff I figured you’d want back.”

  I gape. “Why didn’t you give them to me two nights ago?”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  “You’re such an ass! I needed those.”

  “Careful, Anna,” he says in a low tone.

  I cross my arms over my chest, still clutching the comforter. “Or what?”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I can barely make out his face in the dark. Suddenly my chest clenches. “Why are you here? Please be honest. Please don’t play games with me. Are you going to kill me? I just—just need to know.” My insides ache with sudden fear, my heart pounding hard.

  Eric reaches out and turns on the bedside lamp, then he pushes his fingers through his hair, messing it up and sighs. “Why does every-fucking-body keep saying that?”

  “It’s not that far-fetched,” I quip. He isn’t here to kill me. Deep in my heart I know this is the truth. Which raises the question why he is here?

  He laughs. “I guess, and no. I’m not.”

  “Why then?” I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “I’m here because you need me, and I need you. We started something we haven’t finished, and I have to explore that.”

  I take a step back and collide with the wall, as a wave of tingles rush through my body, making my knees weak. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You know you do.”

  “What if I really don’t want to?”

  “Then you’re lying. To me, to yourself. Stop that shit.” He stands, his eyes intent on mine.

  My gaze darts between him and the door. He’s in the way and I know I won’t get past him. “I don’t want to,” I whisper, my lower lip trembling. My body screams at me that I’m a liar. I’ve longed for him so much that I’ve cried myself to sleep two nights in a row.

  His eyes turn darker. My stomach clenches and I throw myself toward the door, needing to breathe, needing to know the choice is mine. I don’t get past him. He throws his strong arms around my waist and lifts me straight up. The comforter falls off me and my shorts and sleeveless top don’t offer much of a shield between us. His heat penetrates my skin. His every breath reverberates through my chest.

  I don’t kick and flail. Instead I go completely still, a part of me reveling in his touch. “Please.”

  “Please what, Anna?”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Really?” There is genuine surprise in his voice. “Why?”

  “Because—because hurt is what you do.”

  “It is. But I won’t hurt you. I did, I know, but I won’t hurt you ever again.”

  “Why?”

  Eric lowers me until my feet touch the floor again, but keeps me pressed against his body, my back to his chest. He leans forward, putting his mouth to my ear. “Because I don’t want to give you up.”

  My whole body goes slack, not with fear, but with an overwhelming primal response of belonging I’ve never felt before in my life.

  “Don’t I have a say?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “What? You can’t force me!”

  “Technically, I can.”

  My heart stutters and I open my mouth to object, just for the sake of it.

  “But that’s not gonna happen.” He turns me so I’m facing him, still holding me tight. “I’m gonna make love to you, Anna. We’re gonna take it slow, at your pace. I’ll make you feel safe. I’ll make you find yourself again. I’m gonna make you soar and break free of these fucking walls you’ve hidden behind.”

  His unexpected, raw honesty floors me. My heart beats at an insane pace. Feeling his breaths, his muscles, every part of him, I suddenly know why I’ve been in such acute pain. I tilt my head.

  “Please hold me, Eric.”

  He tightens his grip, and I lean my ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It almost matches mine in its intensity. I glance up at him. Is he as affected as I am?

  “I am holding you.” His voice is husky, sending shivers through me.

  “Please, kiss me.”

  Chapter 22

  Eric

  Kiss me, she says. I’m holding this beautiful little lady tight in my arms. She trembles, her breaths come out uneven and in short gasps.

  I bend closer, my eyes searching hers for hesitation, for worry, but all I see is widened eyes, big black pupils, and a need so strong it matches my own.

  When our lips meet, she opens her mouth to mine, letting me take her fully. The little gasp that escapes her shoots straight to my cock. I hoist her up against the wall, pressing her between my chest and the hard surface, never breaking the kiss. When I finally do and pull back to look at her, tears glitter on her eyelashes.

  My chest tightens at the sight. She doesn’t have a choice. I’m making her mine. I won’t force her, though, I’ll coax it out of her, until she screams with her need for me to claim her. Then I’m stealing her away. It’s the only way I can keep her safe.

  “What are you feeling, Anna?”

  “I’m a little bit afraid.”

  I kiss her again, gentler at first, until I feel
her respond, then rougher, pushing her even tighter to me, my cock pressing against her.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “You…”

  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “I’ve had your life in my hands. Spared you. Saved you.”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I kiss her again and revel in the feeling when she threads her hands through my hair, cradling the back of my neck.

  “I’m afraid of you as a man.”

  “I know. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

  “You’re not gonna hit me?”

  I laugh. “I’m not gonna hit you. When you’re ready, you’re gonna get the spanking of your life, though.”

  She twitches and opens her mouth to respond, but I claim it again and spin us around, lowering her on her back on the bed. She begins to move away.

  “Don’t move.”

  She widens her eyes and her mouth falls open. But she obeys. Only her chest heaves.

  “Good girl. Now stay absolutely still. Can you do that?”

  Her eyes are huge, but she nods.

  She has red-checkered shorts on and a little white top. No bra. Her nipples tent the fabric. The sight is mouthwatering, but all in due time.

  “Can I touch your foot?”

  She nods.

  I kneel next to her and take her little foot in my hands, caressing it, massaging the sole, eliciting a hot-as-hell groan out of her. I almost shake with the effort of holding back when all I want to do is rip off her clothes, hold her down and push inside. But all in due time.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her only answer is a mewl, which makes me grin. I move up along her ankle, putting a little pressure on the muscles in her calves. She twitches.

  “Too much?”

  “Hell no,” she moans. “It’s fantastic. I didn’t know I was so tense.”

  I push her legs apart, just a little, slowly moving up along the inside of her legs, careful to avoid the bruises, pushing them apart a little more as I reach just north of her knees.