by Jagger Cole
“There were more of them than we thought.”
“Nothing you couldn’t handle, it seems.”
The office I just crashed into was supposed to have the organizer and two of his guards inside. Instead, there were fifteen armed men. “Were,” past tense. None of them are breathing now.
The door to the apartment opens and Dimitri strolls in with case of beer on his shoulder.
“Ahh! There’s my prize fighter!” Fyodor grins. He turns from me and walks over to embrace Dimitri. “How did it go?”
Dimitri shrugs. “No problem. He paid what he owed in full, while weeping.”
Fyodor chuckles. “Good. Good. And you have it?”
“Da, of course.” Dimitri grins his winning smile and winks at me. He yanks a wad of cash out of his jacket pocket and passes it to Fyodor.
“Very good work, my boy.”
“Nyet problem.” Dimitri shrugs. “I broke his jaw anyways though, to teach him a lesson in timelines.”
Fyodor cackles as my older “brother” opens the case of beer and takes two out. He opens one for Fyodor and then for himself before he turns to see me standing there, still wet from the shower and bleeding.
“Why the fuck are you naked, Kostya?”
Fyodor laughs. “Baby boy over here had some trouble with his assignment.”
I scowl. Dimitri laughs. “It’s just a collection run, Kostya. You didn’t have to fuck them.”
I roll my eyes as he and Fyodor chuckle.
“It was messier than we thought, that’s all,” I grunt.
Dimitri smirks. “Had to get your hands dirty, little brother? Have you forgotten how to fight?”
“There were fifteen of them,” I growl.
But the both of them are already heading over to the couch with the money and the beer. I take a breath and let the anger seep out of me. They’re just teasing me, that is all. This is what families do. This is what it means to be part of one. It’s just teasing, that’s all. I know Fyodor cares that I came home, alive. I know his disinterest in the narrow miss I had today is to harden me—to make me stronger. So that the next time there’s twelve extra men and a dozen more guns behind the next door, I’ll be even more prepared.
Without him, I’d be dead. So I take the teasing for what it is, and I move on.
I head into the room Dimitri and I share. I pull on some clothes. But then something catches my eye. I turn and peer through the window across the courtyard, to the next apartment block over. I frown when I see him raise his hand up. When it comes down, I snarl.
I don’t know the small girl who lives across from me. But I understand cruelty when I see it. She screams and dives into the corner of her room. But through the window, I can see the man—her father, perhaps—storm towards her, belt in hand. I can’t hear the hits, but I can almost feel them myself.
I flinch when he hits her over and over. My jaw grinds harder and tighter, until I can taste blood. Finally, the man stops. He yells something else at the little girl and then staggers drunk out of the room, leaving her shaking in the corner.
But when he’s gone, she slowly gets to her feet. She shuffles to the window and looks out. I look back, across the wide, empty courtyard. Her eyes drift aimlessly, but when they suddenly land on me, she pauses, startled.
Fifty feet apart, across thin air, and we’re total strangers. But slowly, her lips curl into a small, hidden smile. She waves. Before I know it, I’m waving back, and I’m smiling. It might be the first one I’ve had in years.
“Kostya!” Fyodor roars. I frown and glance back to the door. I turn back, but the girl is gone, her shades drawn closed. I smile again, waving at no one.
“Kostya!”
I grunt and head back into the living area.
“Da?”
“I need you to go out and get more beer,” Fyodor grunts from the couch where he’s watching soccer.
I’m physically exhausted. I’m drained from fighting and killing my way through fifteen men for a couple thousand bucks. I’m still bleeding. But Fyodor turns, and he smiles at me.
“Hey and pick up some good food for dinner. Pizza maybe?” He grins. “You earned it, my boy.” He tosses me a wad of cash with a wink.
I smile. “Da, Fyodor.”
“That’s my boy.”
Present:
She looks so beautiful when she sleeps.
Being near her again is… thrilling. It makes my heart surge with need for her. It makes other parts of me yearn and ache for her too, if I’m being honest. I groan as my eyes slide over her sleeping form.
There’s a war inside my head. A battle being raged between the man in me that wants to protect her, and the beast in me that wants to pull these hospital covers off of her and savage her right here. That’s the part of me that wants to wake her with her legs around my waist while my thick cock pushes into her tight little cunt.
To have her wake up moaning my name as my tongue delves deep into her sweetness.
I growl quietly, catching myself before the monster in me completely takes over. It’s a battle—and a constant one at that. I want to cradle her like a delicate flower. But I also want to fuck her like an animal. I suck in a breath, stepping back from her.
The plan has all gone wrong. But that’s the story of my life, isn’t it? Part of me still wants to take her, and bring her someplace I can watch over her, forever. But I begrudgingly know she’s safest here.
I managed to sneak into her hospital room past the small army of guards and cops her brother has patrolling this floor. But that’s only because I climbed up seven stories on the outside of the building, and then over two wings to slip into her window. And when I leave here, I’ll add myself to the list of those watching her, protecting her.
My phone buzzes quietly in my pocket. I let my eyes slide over Nina once more before I climb out the window. I swing my weight over to the room above and next to hers. It’s unoccupied and it has a small window ledge for me to perch on as I answer the call.
“What have you found?”
Erik pauses for a moment.
“I said, what have you—”
“No, I heard you. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
I scowl. I’ve given Erik some of the firearms I recovered from the shootout, where those animals tried to hurt her, and take her from me. They thought they’d have easy prey. But they weren’t accounting for me, shadowing her. As I’d been shadowing her all night. I think of the soft, spineless little pussy of a man I spooked with a single look and single sentence: “keep away from her.”
He was no threat. At least, not in the same way the men who came for her later were. But I’ll not suffer a single jackal to be circling her, sniffing her, looking for a weakness. I’ve survived as long as I have, especially through prison, by being able to read the devil in people. There are criminals, and then there are evil people who commit evil things because it is in their nature. Prison taught me to spot the difference.
Her “date”—this soft, spineless man—wasn’t evil. I don’t believe he intended to hurt her, or even to manipulate her as some men are inclined to do when it comes to beautiful innocence like Nina. But just the same: he had to go. He had to be told to stay back from what was not his.
Because she’s mine.
The men with the guns who ran her off the road though, were another story. Some had Bratva ink, some did not. All of them had the look of hired guns, though. On the surface, what happened tonight was made to look like a Bratva hit. But the pieces don’t add up. The players are all wrong. That’s where Erik comes in, though—to figure out based on the guns and the pictures of the tattoos I left with him who’s after my angel.
“Then why are you calling.”
Erik clears his throat. He’s nervous, even if he’s a brave man.
“We’re done, buddy.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
“Listen man, I don’t ask questions, I don’t pick teams, I don’t choose sides, and I don’t play
politics. But whatever shit you’re up to? I can’t be part of it.”
My jaw grinds. “I thought we had an arrangement.”
“We did.”
“I pay you, you deliver me information—”
“Yeah, and this ain’t Moscow, comrade. Chicago’s a small town, and I’ve been hearing all about you from a whole bunch of people. Money or not, if word gets out that I’ve been helping you take whole crews out, that’s bad for me.”
I frown. “What are you talking about? The Nazi motherfuckers?”
“Wyatt’s crew? The gun dealers? No, man, fuck those Fascist fucks.”
I growl. “Then I fail to see how we have a problem.”
“I’m not talking about beating up Nazis, brother. I’m talking about all the other crews you’ve been taking down and knocking over for cash and weapons.”
My brow knits. “Excuse me?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. The only “crew” I’ve taken out is the little swastika fuckers who sold the tripod guns. And the men who would have killed Nina tonight. Aside from that, I’ve been a fucking ghost in this city.
“Look, I know what you’re up to. And whatever, hey, that’s Chicago, right?”
“And what am I doing?”
“You’re carving out a chunk of it. Look man, I’m not hating on that. And if you need work down the line, you know where to find me. But not until the dust settles—”
“I’m not carving out shit.”
Erik sighs. “Listen, brother, I hear what I hear. A big Russian motherfucker with a bunch of Bratva ink taking over territory, recruiting guys for top dollar, taking down other crews? I know you’re not with Viktor Komarov’s crew because this is beneath him. And you’re not Volkov, because them and the Kashenko’s have a peace worked out for Chicago. So the way I figure, you’re a lone wolf building up your own empire or something.”
My teeth grind. But I say nothing.
“So look, brother. Good luck and all that shit. But I’m out until the shooting stops. Nothing personal.”
I hang up and glare into the night. My pulse thuds in my chest, and my senses tune.
Erik is both wrong and right. He’s right in that I am a lone wolf—a solo, apex predator out for a long hunt. But I’m building no empire. I’m not recruiting anyone, and I’m not after anyone’s territory or interests.
Which means there’s another. There’s another lone wolf in this city. But he’s made the mistake of coming after what is mine. He’s made the mistake of gunning for Nina.
And now, I’m going to hunt him. Whoever he is.
I slip back down to Nina’s room, and back through the window. I slip quietly to her bedside and lean over her. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of her hair, listening to her breathe deeply in her sleep. Before I can doubt myself, I pull the spare burner phone out of my pocket and slip it beneath her pillow. It’s not a move I was prepared to do yet. But circumstances have changed.
I lower my lips and gently kiss her forehead.
“You saved me once, my angel” I whisper quietly. “Now I’ll burn down Hell itself to save you.”
9
Nina
I wake with a gasp. My skin is tingling, and my hospital gown is sticking to me. My eyes dart around the room, acclimating to the darkness and the glow of hospital machines. For a second, I’d forgotten where I was. But it slowly comes back to me.
Then, the dream does too.
Instantly, I blush deeply as the details begin to replay through my head. I was dreaming of him again. Fever dreams. Illicit dreams. Dark, dirty, forbidden dreams. In dreamland, he was next to me, right here in this room. He was murmuring in my ear, kissing me, and then slowly waking me with his fingers.
I squirm beneath the sheets. My legs squeeze together as I remember his hand slipping between them in my dream—sliding higher and higher until he was cupping my pussy in his huge hand. I feel my face blush as I replay the part of him waking me with a finger sliding through my lips and then rubbing my clit.
In the dream, he ripped this hospital gown off of me and spread my legs wide. His mouth delved between my thighs until I was writhing in agony. And then, he took me—right here, right in this bed. I moan quietly as I remember the feel of his strong grip on my hips as he drove his thickness deep in my eager pussy.
I groan and shake the dream away, blushing. I take a shaking breath, trying to calm my nerves and stop my rampaging dirty thoughts. There’s still a throbbing heat in my core and a wetness between my legs. But I roll my eyes at myself.
Twenty-three years old, and dreaming about losing my virginity in hospital scrubs with the smell of antiseptics and an IV in my arm. And who says romance is dead?
I close my eyes to try and fall back asleep. But my heart is racing now. My mind is awake, too. I frown and turn to glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two in the morning. I sigh and turn again to try and sleep. But no matter how much I squeeze my eyes shut or tell my brain to shut up, it’s just not happening.
I roll over again, when suddenly, I freeze as my hand slips under the pillow. I slide my hand back out, holding a phone I don’t recognize. I frown, trying to place it in my mind or if it’s Fiona’s or something. But it looks brand new.
It also has no lock code yet. I thumb open the screen, and yeah, it’s brand new. My brow furrows as I open the contacts, but when I just see one number, my pulse quickens. I swallow thickly, and my tongue wets my lips as the realization hits me.
He was here. Not just in my dream, and in my fantasies. He was really here. Or else maybe he got a nurse to slip the phone under my pillow, but that seems insanely unlikely.
My skin tingles as I scan the shadows of the room, as if maybe I missed him the last time I looked. But of course, he’s not still here. Just the phone, with one number in it. I blush as I imagine him standing here, watching me sleep and dream of him. Watching me writhe in my dreams as he fucked me against this very bed.
My face burns as I hover my thumb over the number. But then I catch myself. What the fuck am I going to do, call him? I chew on my lip as I try and imagine what that conversation would even be. But then without being able to stop it, my finger moves back to the single number. I click the message icon, and the blank text screen pops up.
My heart races. My legs squeeze together. The remnants of the dream sizzle inside of me, until I can’t stop myself.
Who are you?
The second I send it, it feels like I’m going to have a heart attack. My stomach knots, and my pulse is so fast that I’m gasping for air. But slowly, I get control of myself again. I breathe, staring at the phone. I almost imagine I’m going to get a “oh great, you found my phone!” Text back from the orderly who accidentally left it here. But when the three dots appear, I already know that won’t be the case.
You know who I am.
I tremble and stare at his words. I am officially talking with the man who’s been stalking me, and haunting my dreams, and watching me. And, at least I think, protecting me. The man who kissed me.
The Beast.
Yes.
I shiver, biting my lip.
Do you prefer that name? I mean, do you like it?
It is my name.
I almost don’t type it. Then I do and erase it. But then I write it out again and hit send.
If you’d rather, I can call you Kostya.
The three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again, only to vanish. But finally, he starts typing again.
You have done your homework.
I grin.
Always good to know who it is who’s stalking you
Is that what you think I am?
The simple answer is yes. The more complex answer includes “but I find that idea thrilling, and more than a little hot.” Except I can’t write that. Those are the thoughts of a crazy girl—a damaged girl.
But really, there aren’t any words to write to accurately tell him what I think of him—or how I think of him. So before I can lose my nerve—and
it may be the pain meds still in my system—I hit the call button.
My pulse races and I hold my breath as I bring the phone to my ear. I wonder if he’ll pick up. Part of me hopes he won’t, so he’ll stay this mysterious fantasy man. But the fantasy has already bled into real life. This stopped being a fantasy when he kissed me earlier.
“Nina.”
The way he growls my name with a voice like leather and whiskey makes me tremble. It makes me warm all over, and it makes me rake my teeth over my lip.
“Kostya,” I whisper back.
I hear him breathing quietly.
“That is who you are, right?”
“Da,” he grunts.
“Ty by predpochel goverit’ po-russki?” Would you rather speak in Russian?
“Nyet,” Kostya grates out. “No, English is fine.”
I feel myself blush more, hearing his voice.
“You’ve been watching me.”
“Yes,” he answers with zero hesitation. The heat of that one word makes my core tighten and throb.
“Why?”
“It is…” Kostya makes a growling sound. “Complicated.”
“I’m a smart girl.”
“Da, I know you are.”
“So tell me.”
“You may not like the truth, Nina.”
“I might not. But life is full of hard truths.”
“Yes, it is,” Kostya grunts.
“And I think you know that as well as I do.”
He says nothing.
“Where are you from?”
“Moscow.”
I smile. “Same here, actually.”
“I know.”
I blush, feeling my pulse quicken. “You know a lot about me.”
“I know everything about you.”
I feel my face burn. “You’ve also done your homework.”
“Watching you is not work.”
My lips curl into a smile. Is this flirting? Am I flirting with the man who’s been stalking me?
“How often are you…” I squirm under the covers. My God, I am. I’m flirting, hard, with this man. “How often are you watching me?”