by Roxie Rivera
He nodded. “I’m alone.”
“You don’t have to be alone, Besian. You’re surrounded by women all day long—”
“I don’t want a dancer.”
She popped his arm. “Hey!”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He took a long drink of his scotch. “I respect the girls who dance for me. I’ve even dated some of them.”
“But mixing business and pleasure doesn’t work?”
“It does for some men. It might have worked for me, but then I saw her and—”
“Oh my God!” she reacted with shock as she finally understood what he was trying to say. “Who is she?”
He wouldn’t meet her searching gaze. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is, Besian.”
He drained the last of his glass. “She’s too good for me. If she’s smart, she’ll stay far away and forget I even exist.”
Sara started to protest, but then she considered what she had just done with Zel. She had sent him away to protect him, feeling the same way that Besian did about this unknown woman who had stolen his heart.
Dropping back against the couch, Besian said, “You know why Ramsay was here.” It wasn’t a question. “He made the reasons for his visit clear to me when I gave him his options.”
“He thinks I owe him money.”
“You do owe him money.”
She glared at Besian. “How the hell do you figure that?”
“He went to la pinta thinking his boss had his back, and he comes out and Lalo fucked him.” Besian made a crude gesture. “Then, to get Ramsay to stop causing problems, he had the bastard framed and sent back to prison. Yes, your stepbrother is an asshole, but he’s not wrong about Lalo and the money. You just inherited everything Lalo owned and that includes his debts. So, technically, according to the rules of our underworld, you do owe him.”
“And how do you propose I pay him? Huh? I can’t touch the assets that Lalo put in my name. I’ll be the one who ends up in la pinta!” She shook her head. “I don’t want any of it. Not a penny.”
“That’s good because the government is probably going to take all of it, even the shit you bought with your own money.”
“Good. I want that part of my life closed. I want it to be over. Finished.” She spread her hands out in front of her, only narrowly avoiding sloshing wine. “I want to be able to come back to Houston and not have to look over my shoulder every five seconds.”
“You’ll be safe in Houston. Nikolai’s blessing earlier made sure of that.”
“I’ll need a good lawyer to handle the inheritance bullshit.”
“I know someone you can trust. He’s on Nikolai’s payroll.” Besian touched his wrist as if to make a point that the lawyer was part of the family. “As far as Ramsay is concerned, I’ve taken care of it. He’ll get what he thinks he’s owed when he’s resettled.” He made a dismissive gesture. “We’ll work out the specifics of repayment later.”
“So that’s that,” she said quietly, already feeling herself drawn back into the Albanian mafia’s stranglehold.
“Not like that,” Besian countered. “This is a personal debt. It’s private between you and me. I promised you that once you paid your debts, you would be free of the family. I’m keeping that promise. This is a friend helping a friend.”
As Sara thought about how much Besian had risked to keep her safe in the many years they had been friends, her gaze drifted to the television still playing across the bedroom. She zeroed in on images of Zel. After seeing him fight in the flesh on the penthouse floor, it was a different thing altogether to see him fighting on television. The cherry-picked images and reels showed him at his very best, pummeling and twisting and kicking and subduing his opponents.
But then the voice-over switched to a harrowing recall of Zel’s opponent’s history. Mace was a hard-faced, snub-nosed brawler. Almost all of Mace’s highlight reels featured blood spatter and unconscious opponents. The stats shown made little sense to Sara, but the clips of Mace striking an opponent so hard he dropped like a bag of rocks made her chest constrict.
Learning Mace had killed the man made her very nearly ill.
Swallowing hard as her stomach roiled with nausea, Sara looked at Besian. “Zel is fighting that man?”
Besian nodded. “He’s the toughest opponent Zel’s ever faced. Actually, Zel did the league a favor by stepping in to cover this fight when the originally scheduled fighter went down with a bad injury.”
“Mace killed a man!”
“Not on purpose.”
“Like that makes it any better?” Sara shook her head. “He can’t go through with this, Besian.”
Besian seemed amused by her sudden concern. “This is what he does, Sara. It’s the risk he takes.”
“It’s stupid! He’s risking his life for what? Some money?”
Besian held her gaze. “Zel is risking his life for his freedom.”
“How much?” It was a dangerous question to ask, but she did it anyway.
“Sara…”
“Besian.”
“It’s a lot. More than you can risk.”
“What are the odds?”
Besian hesitated. “Mace is at -300. Zel is the dog at +340.”
“Your book is still open?”
“Sara,” he said with a warning sigh. “You don’t want to take any of this action.”
“I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re a terrible gambler. You always have been. I’m not taking your money.”
“Then I’ll go find someone else who will,” she threatened.
“You know that our friendship won’t protect you from the debt,” he warned. “That money goes into the family pool. You make your payments on time—”
“Or you go after my kneecaps,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve heard it before, Besian.”
“I’m not taking your money tonight. Not when you’ve been drinking,” he decided. “If you’re still serious, come see me tomorrow. I’ll put you in the book.”
“When I win, I want you to apply my winnings to Zel’s debt. Whatever is left over goes to him.”
He snorted with something akin to amusement. “You would do something romantic like that.”
“Zel and I can’t be together, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help him.”
“I don’t think he wants your money, Sara.”
“Trust me. He’s better off with the money.”
“If you say so…” Stretching out his legs, Besian exhaled roughly. “There’s something you need to know about Lalo’s death.”
She swallowed nervously. “All right.”
“I’m telling you this because I trust you and I think you need to know,” he said carefully. “It involves Alexei and Shay.” He eyed her almost empty glass. “You might want to refill before I start this story…”
Chapter Eight
Tense and irritated, Ivan shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed the towel draped over the nearby bar and wrapped it around his waist. He expected some tension and stress on the morning of a fight. He was always worried that he hadn’t prepared his men for their contests.
Had he drilled them enough? Had they sparred enough? Had they improved their ground game? Had he worked them too hard? Pushed them to drop too much weight? He was always mentally cataloguing their injuries and weaknesses and comparing them to their opponents, always working the angles and looking for any last-minute advantage.
But this stress that was eating up his stomach and making his neck ache? This was all Zel and that bullshit with the dancing girl.
When Besian had called to tell him to meet Zel in his room, he hadn’t known what to expect. Finding his fighter with a bloody neck and bruised hand had been something of a relief. He’d been expecting much, much worse. The hand wasn’t broken, just banged up, and the cut could be explained away as a shaving accident. Zel would be able to fight tonight, but his heart and his he
ad were out of the game. Men who weren’t focused got hurt—and they got hurt badly. Sometimes they fucking died.
“You’re going to have a stroke if you don’t calm down,” Erin warned, her voice gentle but firm. She leaned against the doorframe, her ankles crossed and her toes pointed like a ballerina as she watched him with a worried eye. A sheer pink lace and silk nightie barely covered her perfect ass. Always effortlessly beautiful, she was at her loveliest like this. Tousled hair. Sleepy eyes. No makeup. Just natural, pretty Erin.
“I’m going to have a stroke if you keep walking around in that tiny little thing,” he retorted gruffly. Her bare bottom and her nipples were plainly visible in the see-through nightgown. “I hope you don’t intend to answer the door like that when our breakfast gets here.”
She rolled her eyes at his possessive remark. It was one of their games. He played up his caveman side, and she pretended not to like it. “Actually, I had planned to walk around naked this morning. I figured you would tear this off of me the second you saw it last night.”
There was no mistaking her annoyed tone. After all that champagne and dancing, Erin had been hot for him last night. Hell, she’d ended up on his lap during the cab ride back to the hotel.
He’d been aching for her, already planning out all the ways he was going to make her scream his name, when his iPhone started rattling in his pocket. Instead of a passionate night with his wife, he’d spent hours in Zel’s hotel room icing the fighter’s bruised hand and watching that cut on his neck scab over while examining him for any signs of head trauma or invisible injuries that would end his fighting chances.
“Evie?”
He hadn’t been fond of her nickname when she’d first started teasingly calling him Evie, twisting up the proper Russian pronunciation of his name to needle him during an argument one night. Somehow, that nickname had stuck and soon he found that he rather liked it. To everyone else he was Ivan or Vanya or Coach. For her and her alone, he answered to Evie.
Erin advanced on him with deliberate steps. She placed a small hand on his chest, her skin soft and cool against his. Rising on tiptoes, she kissed his jaw. “You’re going to develop an ulcer if you keep worrying like this.”
He slid his arms around her slim waist and nuzzled her cheek. “If I could snap my fingers and relax, I would.”
“I know how to help you relax.” She walked her fingers down the flat plane of his stomach and pressed ticklish kisses across his chest. His body reacted instantly to her teasing touch. He swallowed hard as Erin kissed her way down his stomach before gracefully kneeling at his feet. She cupped his stiffening cock through the damp fabric of the towel and nipped at his happy trail.
After she peeled away the towel, she grasped his cock, and he shivered with excitement and lust. She stroked him, dragging her hand up and down his shaft while gazing up at him with so much love. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve this innocent beauty who had chosen to love him despite the black stains in his history. When she smiled at him like that, he felt as if he could conquer the world. She made him feel invincible. She made him want to be her hero.
And—fuck—when she wrapped her wet lips around the head of his cock, she owned him. Anything she wanted, he would give. Anything. Diamonds? A new house? A new car? A trip to the Caribbean? A weekend in Paris? Hers. Done. Without question.
But she never asked.
She gave and she loved and she supported him without holding out her hand or running a tab. She was totally selfless when it came to her love for him—and he would spend the rest of his life working hard to deserve it.
With a mischievous grin, she flicked her tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock before sucking him deep and hard. He gripped the edge of the marble vanity behind him so tightly he was shocked it didn’t snap. She hummed enthusiastically around his dick and took him even deeper. His heart slammed against his ribcage. She sucked and fluttered her tongue while stroking him.
During their earliest days together, he had experienced such guilt in moments like these. He had put her on a pedestal, elevating her above all women and denying himself the rougher pleasures he liked from fear of hurting or disgusting her. When she had finally asked him to play rough, to spank her a little harder, to tug her hair, to nip at her neck or breast, he had been floored. It had taken him a while to accept that she wanted everything he had to offer and that she enjoyed it just as much as he did.
So when she dragged his hand away from the counter and toward her hair, he knew exactly what she wanted. He threaded his fingers through her silky hair and gripped a handful of it, pulling just enough to sting but never enough to harm. She smiled excitedly around his cock before relaxing her jaw. He thrust into her mouth. It felt so fucking good. He wouldn’t last long.
When Erin reached between her legs to touch herself, he lost control. He groaned her name before the first burst of his orgasm punched the air right out of his lungs. Erin moaned enthusiastically and took him deep into her mouth, greedily swallowing his seed. When she’d milked him dry, she left him shuddering by gently sucking and licking his sensitive cock until he was soft and slipped from her mouth.
Looking thoroughly pleased with herself, Erin sat back on her heels and licked her lips. She reminded him of a naughty kitten, and he couldn’t help but smile down at her. He helped her stand and then dragged her tight to his body for a kiss that left her breathless and shaking. His hand traveled the curve of her spine to her bare bottom. He squeezed a handful of her plump ass before giving her a sound smack that made her press even harder against him.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door of their suite. He traced his thumb along her lower lip and held her smoky gaze. “Fuck those pancakes. I’m going to have you for breakfast instead.”
“I don’t know. I think I’d rather have my mimosa and English muffin instead.” With a daring smile, she crept away from him and out of the bathroom. Knowing his wife as well as he did, he understood this was a bit of teasing and foreplay. She would go all the way to that door in nothing but that see-through nightgown.
All right, he thought with a surge of desire. Challenge accepted.
In seven quick, powerful strides, he caught up with his wife and swung her up into his arms. She squealed with laughter, giggling even louder when he buried his face along the curve of her neck and nipped at her throat. He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, using his big hand to gently hold her in place. Her breaths quickened as he opened her thighs and bared her pussy to his approving gaze.
There was another knock at the door as he lowered his face and kissed her right there, brushing his lips against her soft pink heat. Holding her gaze, he said, “You stay right here.” He dragged his mouth down her slit. “Just like this.”
She gulped and nodded shakily. “I won’t move.”
He rose to his full height and snatched up the pair of pajama bottoms he had shucked earlier. After slipping into them, he headed left the bedroom. He made sure the door was open just a few inches, enough for Erin to worry that another man might see her in that exposed and vulnerable position. Ivan would never let that happen, but he liked the idea of teasing her with the possibility.
The hotel porter’s eyes widened at the sight of all his tattoos, but the young kid seemed to know better than to stare or ask stupid questions. The porter quickly uncovered the dishes to make sure everything was there and handed over the room service ticket. Ivan added a tip, signed the bottom and handed it back. He practically chased the kid out of the suite and locked the door behind him.
Back in the bedroom, he pounced on Erin. She laughed at his enthusiasm and then moaned as his tongue did wicked things to her. He forced her thighs wide open, holding her right where he wanted her, and went wild on her pussy. She was soaking wet for him.
Giving head excited her so much that he always had an easy time of giving her pleasure when it was her turn. This morning was no exception. Sh
e arched her back and rocked her hips as he fluttered his tongue over her in the way she loved best.
“Evie,” she breathed his name. The muscles in her legs flexed, and she began to inhale deeper, faster breaths. “Evie!”
She came hard while shouting his name. His ego enjoyed the exaltation, and he made sure not to let up until she was inching away from his mouth and gasping from the aftershocks. He spent a little time licking and nibbling her pussy and clit until she sagged, boneless and spent, atop the messy bed. He trailed his mouth along her inner thigh and across her belly, pushing the see-through nightie out of the way as he crawled up her body.
Eye to eye, they smiled at one another, sharing the intimate looks that married couples did. Mornings like this, he couldn’t quite believe he shared his life with this incredible woman. She cupped his face in her hands and caressed his cheek with her thumbs. She seemed so fragile to him, her fingers so elegant and fine. He felt like a brute next to her, all muscle and brawn and rough edges.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly. “You look so serious.”
“I’m wondering what the hell you see in me and my horrible face.”
“Your face is not horrible! You’re handsome.” She kissed him lovingly. “You’re the sexiest man in the world to me.”
“Angil moy.” He laughed and kissed her back. “My face is like an old potato.”
She scoffed and traced the dip in his nose where it had been broken twice. “I love your old potato face.” She ran her finger along the dent in his forehead and the scar on his cheek. “I love everything about you, Ivan. These scars, these old wounds, your tattoos—you’re perfect to me.”
No matter how many times she professed her love, he couldn’t eradicate the fear that someday she would wake up and realize she could have done so much better. He had talked to Dimitri about it once, after too many beers, and Dimitri had helped him understand that being abandoned as a child had left a dark, ugly hole inside him. Erin’s love had poured into that hole, but he feared it would never be completely filled.