His Queen of Clubs

by Rose, Renee

  I’m wooing her now, not forcing.

  “I built where architects advised, for flooding reasons. But yes, it’s beautiful. It’s why I chose this land to buy.”

  “Do you swim here?”

  “Sometimes. It’s cold.”

  She chuckles. “I’ll bet.” She finds a rock near the shore and sits on it, facing the water. “I could sit here all day.”

  I sit beside her.

  It’s funny. I had this big house built here near the lake, but I’ve never spent any time here enjoying it. Not until now.

  I breathe in the fragrant summer air, listen to the sound of birds and insects calling to one another.

  I want to pull Alessia onto my lap and inhale her scent, too, but I keep my hands to myself.

  “What did you say to the guard who stopped me?” She breaks the peaceful silence.

  “I told him never to touch you again.”

  Her full lips curve up.

  “And when I stabbed you—what did you say to Mika?”

  “I gave him earful.”

  “I recall. What about? Letting me get a knife or for holding a gun?”

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  She turns and blinks at me. Her brown eyes are golden in the sunlight. She wears no makeup, and looks as fresh and beautiful as a model.

  “You already know the answer.”

  “Holding the gun?”

  “Pointing it at you.” The memory rushes back. I’d felt no pain from the stabbing in the moment. All I experienced was the stark fear of Mika firing that gun, either on purpose or by accident. No kid should hold a gun—I don’t even know where he got that one. “Christ,” I mutter, shoving my fingers through my hair. “He could’ve killed you.”

  Alessia leans against me, her shoulder pressing against mine. “I like you, too, Vlad.”

  Shock registers before the pleasure that blooms in my chest.

  “When you’re not being a dick.”

  One of those unexpected laughs bursts out of me.

  Christ, I don’t know when I’ve laughed last. I never laugh. Like Mika, I grew up too fast. I don’t remember when or if play and laughter were part of my experience.

  Yet here I am under the wide blue sky with the most beautiful, easy to be with girl on the planet.

  Laughing.

  It doesn’t feel real.

  Chapter 11

  Alessia

  “Alessia.”

  I don’t think Mika’s used my name before. I’m glad he’s warming up. We had our morning study session and then he disappeared for a while. Now he’s shown back up in the living room. He crooks a finger at me. “Want to see something?”

  Does the Pope wear a pointy hat? I’m bored out of my skull locked up here. Vlad’s been working all day in his office. I scramble off the comfortable easy chair I’d settled into. “Yes. Da.” I’ve started on my Rosetta Stone Russian lessons. I wish I could just download the language into my head like they do skills in The Matrix.

  I follow Mika to the back wing of the mansion. To what appears to be more of the “servant’s quarters.” Zoya’s domain.

  Mika takes me into the laundry room and points. There, bounding in and out of a wicker laundry basket full of towels, is a litter of black and white kittens. Their tiny mews make me laugh.

  “Awwww,” I exclaim, crouching down to pet a tiny head with my index finger. “They’re so sweet.” I pick one up and hold it to my chest. It starts purring immediately. “Is the mama cat Vlad’s?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Zoya comes in, her expression severe as always. She says a few harsh words to Mika.

  “She says she has to get rid of them before Vlad finds out. I think the mama is hers.”

  I grab the laundry basket protectively. “No way she’s getting rid of them.” I pick it up. “Ask her if I can keep them.”

  Mika’s eyebrows shoot up. “All of them?”

  I don’t really want to keep all of them, but annoying Vlad is my only diversion these days. I think having five rambunctious little kittens tearing around his bedroom is a perfect way to drive him crazy. “Da,” I say.

  I am perfectly willing to go up against him on this issue, even if Zoya isn’t.

  Mika says something to Zoya who looks at me doubtfully.

  I kick up my chin. “The kittens are coming to my room,” I announce. “Vlad can deal.” Maybe I can use this as a bargaining chip to get my own bedroom. Lord knows sharing a bed with Vlad is a dangerous proposition. If we have a repeat of the other night’s performance featuring his tongue between my legs, I won’t be able to resist him.

  “Will you ask Zoya to bring a litter box to my bedroom?” I ask Mika as I breeze out the door carrying the kittens.

  I leave Mika and Zoya discussing the situation in the laundry room.

  In the bedroom, I close the door, turn on the television and let the kittens explore. They are the cutest things I’ve ever seen and they totally brighten my day. Even if I hadn’t wanted to annoy Vlad, having them in the room is a delight.

  Zoya installs the litter box in the en suite bathroom. I can’t understand what she’s saying, but there is much hand-wringing and clucking about it. She’s definitely worried about Vlad’s reaction.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her in English. “I’ll handle Vlad.”

  She catches his name and bobs her head, talking some more. Finally, she leaves.

  I sit on the bed and watch TV, holding various kittens on my lap. When Vlad comes in, there’s one on my shoulder, one on my chest and two in my lap. The fifth one is curled up on Vlad’s pillow.

  He stops short. “What…?”

  I smile broadly. “You have kittens! I’m keeping them all.”

  The kitten on my shoulder is batting at my hair. I laugh and pet her.

  I expected Vlad to be annoyed. Instead, his expression softens and he just gazes at me for a moment. “That’s cute,” he says, surprising me.

  “Aren’t they?”

  He shakes his head, his lips curving into a slight smile. “Not them. You. You with them. Very cute.”

  I’m taken aback. “So I can keep them?”

  “Da, printsessa. Whatever makes you happy.”

  “Can I get a puppy, too?” I press.

  He just grins. “Now you’re just testing me. Do you even want a puppy?”

  “Maybe not until the kitties have grown up a bit,” I concede.

  Vlad’s smile grows even warmer. The lines on his face, softer. He’s a different man like this—younger and more handsome. Almost boyish.

  I pick up the kitten on my chest and hold it out to him. “Hold one. They’re so sweet.”

  “Okay.” He’s so agreeable. He takes the kitten and puts him on his chest, rubbing under its chin to make it purr.

  It’s ridiculous but I fall a little in love.

  I don’t want to.

  He certainly doesn’t deserve it.

  But I can’t help it.

  He’s so damn likeable. And the fact that he’s also an asshole holding me against my will, the fact that he’s a criminal, capable of great violence should be a turn-off. But it’s not. Maybe because I come from a long line of men like him. And if we do fall for men who are just like our fathers, then he fits the bill.

  He may not be Italian, but the rest is all there.

  Dangerous. Powerful. Cunning. Unyielding.

  Yet gloriously protective and equally kind.

  I peer at him. “You’re cute with a kitten, too,” I tell him. “But don’t think this means I’ll have sex with you.”

  He just smirks. “You will, zaika. You’ll beg me for it. And you will like it.”

  * * *

  Vlad

  After the initial deposit of a quarter million, I get a wire for the rest of the six million from Alessia’s brothers. All of it.

  It’s a smart move on their part. Give me the lump sum at once and use it as leverage to get me to send her back.

  It won�
��t work, of course.

  I refuse to let it make me feel guilty.

  Chapter 12

  Alessia

  Curled up on the comfortable black leather sofa in Vlad’s opulent living room, I practice my Russian with the Rosetta Stone.

  Mika snickers at my accent.

  I repeat it, watching for his approval until he nods.

  It’s been three days since we arrived and we’ve settled into a routine with his tutoring. I teach him for a few hours and then he helps me with my Russian. I have the Rosetta Stone and also a translating app. Vlad somehow figured out how to give me a tablet that accesses only certain websites, but I can’t get online to do anything else. I can’t figure out how he did it, but I think he must be pretty tech savvy. The way his fingers fly over the keys on his laptop, he definitely seems at home.

  He works long hours in his office, bent over the laptop or pacing around on his cell phone.

  In the afternoons, he takes me out to the lake—my favorite time of the day. Yesterday, I found a garden bench had been placed in a shady spot halfway to the lake.

  “Is this for me?” I gasped when we came upon it.

  Vlad kept the stoic Russian mask on. “Rest,” he ordered, rather than just admit to the kind deed.

  I sat, because I did need a rest, then scooted over and patted the place beside me. When he sat down, I pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “It’s okay to admit there’s actually a nice guy under that asshole front you wear,” I told him.

  “No,” he grumbled. “There’s definitely no nice guy. I just don’t want you to die of exhaustion.”

  So he said, but when we arrived at the water’s edge, I found another surprise. One of those rustic porch swings had been placed right by the rock I usually chose to sit on.

  Because I don’t want to be touched by Vlad’s efforts, I’ve upped my demands and complaints. I need new music. New clothes—when will he take me shopping? I need a Kindle and romance novels. I want to send letters home.

  He doesn’t concede to anything, nor does he get annoyed. He just gives me his game face and tosses out orders to keep me in line.

  I screw around on the tablet, trying to hack into the internet. Seriously, if he figured out a way to limit it, I can figure out the way to get past it.

  “What’s the WiFi password?” I ask Mika casually. You never know. I might trick him by acting like it’s a normal request.

  No luck.

  The boy grimaces and his ears turn red. I feel bad for even asking.

  “I’m just kidding. Can I borrow your tablet?” I hold my hand out like I expect him to pass it over to me.

  He hugs it to his chest. “Mine doesn’t have access, either,” he says.

  I can’t tell if it’s true or not. It would make sense, though. Vlad shouldn’t trust Mika not to help me, especially when I’m winning the boy over more and more every day. “Only to games and TV.”

  I sigh and Mika flushes some more. I’m a bitch because I pretty much just asked him to betray the father figure I’ve been hoping he’ll bond to. It’s so wrong of me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to feel caught between the two of us. It’s not fair to you.”

  Mika looks at me, his blue-green gaze earnest. “Vlad says he will let you go,” he says.

  I nod. “I know. I believe him. Do you?”

  Mika swallows, but nods. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know him so very well, though. Only a few months now.”

  “I’m sure he’s dangerous,” I say. “But not to us.” I point between the two of us.

  Mika studies me intently, as if measuring the truth of my words. Then he nods.

  Outside, I hear the gravel crunch as a large truck pulls up. I go to the window to look out. The driver pulls in, then backs up to turn. He must be an idiot, because he backs up way too quickly and totally smashes into one of the cars in the circular drive.

  The men on the porch yell. Security guys pour out from all sides, swarming around the vehicle. I watch for a moment, fascinated, thinking this would make an excellent Trojan horse style invasion.

  And then it occurs to me.

  I don’t need armed men to pour out of the truck. All I need is this distraction. No one is guarding the front door right now.

  Mika’s standing up to look out the window, as well. “Go get Vlad,” I order him.

  The moment he’s out of sight, I shove my feet in my sneakers and dart for the door.

  It’s some kind of miracle—no one notices. They’re all gathered around the accident, yammering. Vlad’s already out there, too. He must’ve exited from a different door. I duck behind the hedges and move swiftly, keeping close to the mansion until I hit the edge, then I dart for the trees.

  Vlad’s place is out in the country. I will have to hike quite a ways, which sucks with my kidney condition because I get short of breath. But maybe once I hit the main road, I can flag down a car. Not speaking Russian is another serious hitch in my plan, but I’ve memorized the word for help in Russian—pomogite—and I’ll just keep saying it until they figure out how to help me.

  A half an hour later, I’m sweaty and tired but on the main road. I don’t dare stop moving. Panting from the exertion, I wave my hand at every car that goes by, trying to flag one down as I jog along the road.

  I’m hoping I’ll look desperate and out of place and that will make someone stop to find out what in the hell is wrong with me.

  And then I’m totally in luck because a Russian police car pulls up and two men get out.

  “Thank God,” I say. “Pomogite. Pomogite.”

  They jabber at me in Russian, dour sounds coming from harsh, angry faces.

  I point down the road toward Vlad’s place. “Zaklyuchennyy.” It’s the word for prisoner. At least I hope I’m saying it right. It’s another one I memorized in case of escape.

  They repeat it back. “Zaklyuchennyy?”

  “Da!” I bob my head and point frantically toward Vlad’s mansion. “Zaklyuchennyy.” We need to get the hell off this highway before Vlad figures out I’m gone and comes looking for me.

  They speak rapidly to each other in Russian, and then one of them gets on the radio on his phone.

  “Yes, let’s go.” I go to their car and throw open the back door, climbing in the back seat.

  “Nyet, blah blah blah,” one of them scolds me in Russian.

  “Da,” I insist.

  They speak together again in Russian, then the officer next to me leans his face down and nods his head, saying something. He slams the door shut and leans against it.

  Come, the fuck on.

  Get in the car and drive me to the station. We need to call my brothers. Get me on a plane off this continent. Quickly.

  I knock on the window.

  The cop ignores me, his backside pressed against the freaking window. I can’t even open the door now to get his attention. I tap again.

  No answer.

  Shit. Cops are probably owned by the bratva in Russia. Which means I’m screwed.

  I try to open the door, but the cop’s body blocks me. I slide over to the other side and, surprise, surprise, the other cop has that one blocked, too.

  Another vehicle approaches, then screams to a stop, wheels squealing.

  Fuck. That has to be Vlad.

  I hear Vlad’s angry voice and then the cop moves.

  Oh hell.

  The door flies open.

  I stare up at a very angry Russian.

  “Come.” He beckons to me.

  I appreciate that he doesn’t manhandle me much anymore, but I’m not going to make this easy on him.

  Just in case he doesn’t own the cops and I misread the situation, I shriek, “Zaklyuchennyy!” again, as loud as I can.

  Vlad gives me a withering look. “Who do you think called me, zaika?”

  Right. I figured.

  “Now get out. If I have to lift you out, your
punishment will be far worse.”

  My stomach flutters at the word punishment.

  I’m half dizzy from the adrenaline. My hands shake as I reach for the door handle to boost myself out.

  I’m scared, for sure. I’m not sure what Vlad will do to me.

  I’m not terrified, though. He’s not cruel. I’m sure of that.

  The moment I’m on my feet, Vlad throws me up over his shoulder and carries me to the car. I claw at his back with my nails, not because I think it will do any good, but because I’m not going to go like a limp fucking doll. Especially not in front of the good-for-nothing corrupt police assholes who sent me back to him.

  When he sets me down, I slap his face.

  Or at least I try to. He moves lightning fast and catches my wrist. “No. Don’t make it worse for yourself. You are already in so much trouble.”

  * * *

  Vlad

  I push Alessia into the passenger seat of the car. “Don’t run. Don’t fucking open this door. Do not test my temper.”

  Looks like she’s back to being my prisoner.

  I won’t pretend I won’t love stripping her bare and tying her up. I won’t pretend I won’t love having her at my mercy.

  But this is a huge fucking setback as far as our relationship goes.

  And I can’t believe I’m even thinking that word. We don’t have a fucking relationship. She’s my prisoner. She may be my wife, but it wasn’t by choice. I know that. I need to stop pretending any different.

  “You had your insulin with you?” I demand. I already know the answer. She has jack shit on her, and that’s what really upsets me.

  What if the police hadn’t been driving by? What if she’d been out here for hours? I’ve already seen how breathless she gets when hiking. She has no food on her, no insulin. She could have fucking died.

  “No,” she admits with a grumble. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s acting sullen, but I saw her hands shake when she got out of the police car. She’s afraid of me.

  I tear back to my place. “Don’t move,” I growl when the car stops. I get out and stalk around. Open her door and pull her out. Hoist her over my shoulder again.