Renee Rose's Blog

Primitivo – Contenuto

RILEY

Aspettavo Cody. Con ansia. No. Con impazienza. Era la prima corsa della luna piena che affrontava dopo la rivendicazione. Dopo avermi fatta sua.
Ora, era via con Tyler e gli altri del Wolf Ranch a fare… qualunque cosa facessero quando mutavano in forma di lupo e correvano. Perché era nella loro natura. Perché dovevano farlo.
Cody mi aveva detto che la necessità di correre era forte, ma lo stesso valeva per la necessità di scopare. Non di fare l’amore. Puro sesso selvaggio e disinibito. Strinsi le cosce all’idea perché sapevo quanto Cody amasse rincorrermi.

E quanto io amassi essere rincorsa.
Quella sera era diverso perché non si sarebbe trattato di un gioco. Lì si sarebbe trattato di Cody che aveva bisogno che io soddisfassi i suoi desideri più profondi e – si sperava – più perversi.
La porta sul retro della casetta si spalancò di colpo, facendomi sobbalzare.
«Zuccherino.» La voce di Cody fu un ringhio profondo.
Lo percepii nei capezzoli e nel clitoride. Mi si contrasse la figa.
Entrando nella cucina… eccolo lì. Nudo. Sudato. Perfino un po’ sporco.
E tutto mio.
Dio, i feromoni che emanava erano inebrianti.
Così come fissare il suo cazzo, che era duro e praticamente pulsava di desiderio.
I suoi occhi chiari incrociarono i miei. Li sostennero.
«Scappa, zuccherino.»
Io annuii, guardando la porta aperta alle sue spalle. La foresta oltre di essa.
Mi leccai le labbra, vogliosa di ciò che dovevo fare. Di ciò che bramava lui.
Perché non era solamente per lui. Era anche per me.
Avrei soddisfatto il suo lupo. E l’uomo.
E lui mi avrebbe scopata fino a quando non fossi stata io a urlare nella notte.

Sogghignai, poi lo superai con uno spintone, uscendo nella notte, tirandomi via la maglietta lungo il tragitto.
Alle mie spalle si levò un ringhio, il suono che proveniva dal profondo del petto di Cody.
Quello che diceva che mi avrebbe presa.
Lanciandomi un’occhiata alle spalle mentre correvo, vidi il suo profilo robusto sulla porta.
«Vieni a prendermi… compagno,» esclamai, sapendo che l’avrebbe fatto.
Sapendo che l’avrebbe sempre fatto.
Corsi per i boschi, fingendo che ne andasse della mia vita. Fingendo di non avere scelta in quel gioco consensuale. Che il lupo mi stesse dando la caccia. Che io fossi la sua preda. Sul punto di essere divorata.
Nel modo migliore possibile, ovviamente.
Sentii i passi di Cody alle mie spalle. Poi affianco. Aspetta – dov’era?
Oh! Gli finii addosso. In un attimo, mi ritrovai a cavalcioni della sua vita, il suo cazzo che cercava la mia apertura bagnata.
«Oddio,» gemetti quando la mia schiena colpì un albero.
Cody mi fece passare un braccio tra la schiena e la corteccia ruvida e l’altro sotto il bacino, a proteggermi, sempre. Nello stesso istante, si spinse dentro di me, impennando i fianchi verso l’alto.
Io urlai di piacere. «Sì!»
«Ti ho presa, piccola compagna.»
«Mi hai presa,» ansimai io. Ero a pochi istanti dall’orgasmo. L’attesa era bastata come preliminare. Aggiungeteci l’inseguimento ed ero pronta ad esplodere.
Gli occhi di Cody brillavano. Strinse i denti, la sua espressione tesa che esprimeva pura bramosia.Si sbatté dentro di me, sollevandomi e spingendomi contro l’albero. «Cazzo, Riley. Sei fantastica.»
«Lo so,» ansimai io. «È incredibile.» Lo era. La luna piena. L’aria fredda che contrastava il calore fiammante della pelle del mio amante. Nulla avrebbe mai potuto superare quell’istante. «Sono tua,» esalai.
«Cazzo, sì, lo sei.» Pompò più forte. «La mia. Bellissima. Compagna.» Praticamente ringhiò quelle parole mentre mi si sbatteva dentro.
Io gettai indietro la testa, chiudendo gli occhi contro la luce forte della luna mentre l’estasi mi travolgeva. «Sì, Cody!»
Lui emise un ringhio animalesco. «Sì! Riley. Cazzo.» Ruggì di nuovo e andò a fondo.
I suoi fianchi si impennarono mentre veniva, riempiendomi.
Io avrei voluto piangere. Era così bello. Così commovente. Così tutto.
«Ti amo,» ansimò Cody, le sue labbra che infiammavano le mie in un bacio grezzo. «Ti amo infinitamente.»
«Anch’io, infinito come l’universo.» Sorrisi contro le sue labbra.
Lui emise un borbottio soddisfatto e mi scivolò fuori. «Sono così fortunato, cazzo.» Mi riportò in braccio fino alla casetta. «Riesco a malapena a credere quanta fortuna abbia avuto a trovarti.»
«Sono io quella fortunata,» dissi io, perché era vero. Con Cody, avevo tutto ciò che avrei mai potuto desiderare in un compagno. Più di quanto avessi sognato.
Avevo il cuore stracolmo.

Warrior (Alpha Mountain 3) FREE First 3 Chapters

Alpha Mountain: WarriorChapter One

 

QUINCY

 

There was nothing better than the feel of the stick between my thighs. Okay, maybe there was a different kind of stick that felt pretty good in that location. And maybe only one specific stick I preferred at that.

I would never forget the glory of that one. Long and thick, I barely got my fingers around it. Steely hardness beneath heated velvet. And the guy it belonged to?

A mixture of sweet sin and ruthless danger to both my heart and body. 

To the enemy? They never knew the cause of their last breath.

But Chase Berghart, call sign Kennedy because he’sthe ladies’ man, wasn’t here.

His talented dick wasn’t about to sink into my eager pussy.

No, I had a different kind of thrill I was taking for a ride today.

“Returning to base. Heading zero-six-two.” The comms unit built into my helmet transmitted my message to the guys who were closely following my position.

The helicopter tipped to the right as I pulled on the cyclic control stick.

“Copy that. Everything looking good.”

I glanced at the radar on the display and confirmed because the weather was holding and so was the visibility. For now. Storms blew in with record speed in Montana, and some were expected.

“Watch your six.” It was a different voice than usual. Taft’s casual but focused response was replaced by another. One I was all too familiar with. One who had spoken in my ear before with that deep, dark tone.

Kennedy.

It made me wet then offered all kinds of carnal promises. They had definitely been fulfilled. That first time happened two years ago at the base in Qatar after a SEAL mission. Our adrenaline had been pumping and needed an outlet. We’d found it in each other. I’d known he was a man whore, but I hadn’t minded. We’d fucked. He’d fled. Sent on a mission I hadn’t been privy to.

We were working together again—this time not in the military—but with Alpha Mountain Security. There were no rules, no protocols or laws to stay within.

I glanced at my radar again. “I’m good.”

“Get back to base,” he practically growled.

I rolled my eyes. I’d flown helicopters my entire military career. There were very few women combat fighter jet pilots in the Navy. Starting out, my options had been limited in comparison to my brothers. I chose helicopters because they got me behind enemy lines. I helped my fellow soldiers, including the SEAL teams who needed to be extracted.

I was the best they had. Until I quit. Now I was Alpha Mountain’s best. And only in this small corner of the world. Which meant I was the person who was called on for anything involving a helicopter, including searches and rescues.

“Lay off, Kennedy,” I snapped. “I got this. The guys were dropped off and are on their way to the lost hikers. I’m a few miles off the targeted landing area. But no issues.”

“You’re not out of there yet.”

“I’m well aware of where I fucking am.” I wasn’t behind enemy lines. Or on an Alpha Mountain mission that, on paper, didn’t exist. That never happened.

“It’s not just you at risk this time,” he reminded.

Those words gave me pause and explained his crankiness. Yeah, it wasn’t just me that needed protection on this run. But I wouldn’t be grounded. Not yet and not by him.

And not for a simple Search and Rescue team shuttle.

“You need to–”

Alarms blared, and my dash blinked red.

I cut off my words and focused, not on Kennedy and his possessiveness, his anger at me being up in the air, even this close to base, and being coddled and protected like a child. I had bigger problems than a bossy ex-SEAL who gave me shit.

“Holy fuck. Incoming,” I said. I saw the flare of the missile in my periphery just as it appeared on radar. “Evasive maneuvers.”

“Christ. What the–”

“Two incoming.” Taft’s voice cut off Kennedy’s. Taft was thinking with his head and not his dick.

After a few recent bouts of angry, wild sex with Kennedy, he’d gone commando on my ass. Well, and one other reason.

I banked right. Hard. The ground, which was thickly forested rolling hills, got bigger.

“Who the hell is shooting at me and why?”

The first missile passed, and I banked again to avoid the second.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kennedy shouted.

“Some helo is firing at Quincy,” Taft countered.

I could hear chatter in the background, them bickering, and–

My thoughts ceased, and I focused solely on my training, on getting my ass out of this situation. I’d been shot at before, with soldiers who relied on me to get them home in one piece. No one was in the chopper now, but I still had precious cargo. Cargo I couldn’t allow to be harmed.

I heard Taft’s voice in my ear. Kennedy’s, too. I ignored them and just flew.

The second missile hit my left landing skid, the slight impact jarring the copter off course.

“I’ve been hit.” I checked the gauges, then pressed the button to shut off the alarm as I veered along the ridge of the hillside. I relayed the damage. Damage Ford wasn’t going to be happy about, not to his brand new helicopter. “Not sure about landing, but I’ve had worse.”

“Fucking-A, Quincy!”

“Shut it, Kennedy,” I snapped. “Get your ass off the fucking comms.”

“You’re my woman, and–”

“I’m not your woman,” I countered. “Taft, shut him down. I’m returning to base. I don’t need–”

The alarms blared again.

“Incoming. Someone sure as shit doesn’t like your ass,” Taft said.

This time, it wasn’t missiles, but another chopper. Of course the missiles came from a chopper. Where else would they be coming from around here?

I whipped my head to the left where the radar indicated another bird.

“Fuck.”

I dipped over the ridgeline to be sheltered by the rugged hillside, but the chopper followed.

“It’s a Bell. Friendly.” The whiz of bullets–and the missiles–had me changing my mind and direction. “Shit, not friendly.”

I used every bit of my knowledge to evade the chopper, but I couldn’t outfly it. More bullets came at me in a long barrage.

“Quincy! Get the fuck out of there!” Kennedy shouted. He was still listening in. So probably were all the others back at the command center. This was me on a simple run, shuttling the Search and Rescue guys. Nothing more. Now it was like I was back in the Middle East.

I was fucked. I was a few miles from Alpha Mountain and my helipad. There was no way I could avoid this guy for that long, or long enough for him to run out of bullets.

“They want to shoot me down.” Duh.

“Get back to base!” Taft called.

“I’ll bring them right to you.”

“Oh shit,” Kennedy said, understanding what I was putting down.

I had weapons of my own thanks to Ford’s obsessive need for being prepared. The only way to save myself was to turn on the offensive. I banked left, hard, but that opened my side up to attack. I changed elevation, aiming for the clouds, then banked to the right, bringing the other chopper into my sights.

He knew what I was doing. He was an experienced pilot whose mission was to end me.

“Take this, you fucker,” I muttered. Sweat glistened my skin as I pressed the fire button. I watched as bullets shot from the fixed mounted minigun. Yeah, Ford had bought an armored, armed tank of a helicopter for Sparks, Montana, and it sure as shit was coming in handy right now.

He banked. Aimed. Fired.

This time, I had nowhere to go, no chance to evade. I only angled my chopper, so it protected me. But the bullets tore through the tail boom.

I lost control of the steering. Then everything else. “Fuck. Come on…. Come onnnnnnnn.”

“Get an extraction team on the horn,” Kennedy yelled.

“Extraction team? Quincy is that team.”

“Give me something,” Kennedy snapped back.

“Coordinates are–” Taft stated.

Kennedy and Taft were talking in my ear, but I was tugging on the stick, using the pedals to try and level, to try to keep from going into a tailspin. The ground rushed up fast. Too fast, even as I tilted the rotors forward to get as much lift as I could.

“Mayday. Mayday,” I called, but Taft already knew the deal. I might be close to home but not close enough.

“Stay alive, Quincy. Stay fucking alive.” Kennedy’s frantic voice was the last I heard before the crash.

 

Chapter Two

Four weeks earlier

KENNEDY

 

She was in the shower. 

Naked. Just a few feet away from me.

But I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about what she looked like unclothed. Dripping wet. That long hair unbound and streaming down her back.

Nope. Not at all. Living with Quincy was not a daily torture for me. Not in the slightest.

After the shit show with Indi, or Indigo Buchanan, Ford’s girlfriend, being stalked then kidnapped on top of a mountain by Tully, the psycho involved in her brother’s–and our SEAL team member’s–murder, we all agreed a helicopter would come in handy.

I’d been all for it. Taft and Hayes had been in as well. Even Mrs. L had been eager for the alternate mode of transpo although a helicopter was a big step up.

Except I hadn’t thought about who would fly the bird.

Until it was too late. After we built a landing pad. After we built a hangar.

Because not only did the brand new chopper arrive, but so did the pilot.

Melissa Mason, aka Quincy.

The best damned pilot I knew in the Navy. She should’ve been a TopGun, but the barriers to female pilots were still too significant.

She was also the best damned lay I ever had.

Which posed really big fucking problems. We weren’t in the Middle East any longer. We weren’t on gripping, hellish missions where a sweaty bout of sex released all the excess adrenaline.

She’d avoided me like the plague while I sniffed around her for months when I saw her around missions. Then she finally gave in to what we both knew was between us, and it was beyond spectacular. It had been the heat of post-mission that made her cave–that sexual affirmation of life that was so damned necessary after coming close to dying. It probably stemmed from some deep biological survival instinct–reproduce before it was too late that ensured the survival of the species.

Whatever the reason, after that night, I wanted to survive just to get between those sweet thighs again.

Our chemistry had been off the charts.

Still was. And that was the issue.

Now we were out of the Navy, living in close quarters in Sparks, Montana. Population… less than what filled a major league ball stadium. Hell, half that. We’d worked together before but only in passing, and that sure as shit hadn’t been long enough.

Her job had been to shuttle whomever and whatever. Wherever. That included SEAL teams in and out of tricky and dangerous situations. She’d done it with precision, focus and integrity. And full of threats.

Now the most dangerous situation the two of us faced was bumping into each other in the bunkhouse in the middle of the night. Me seeing her in skimpy sleep shorts and a tank top that did nothing to hide her perfect body, those lush tits that were topped with pert nipples I remembered licking and sucking on and went hard every time I was around.

I knew this because I couldn’t help but look.

Every fucking time.

Which was all the time. Because this new team we were on was small. So far, besides Ford, it was me, Hayes, Taft, and now Quincy.

Which meant it was nearly fucking impossible to keep from grabbing her from her bed and tossing her over my shoulder, carrying her back to my room and giving her round two. Or tossing her over my shoulder after she finished the obstacle course, her skin slick with sweat.

Yeah, I wanted to toss her over my shoulder 24/7.

Because she might be a badass in the pilot’s seat of a helicopter, but I wanted to be in charge when it came to her orgasms.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. She’d set a clear boundary after the first time we had sex and reaffirmed it when she got here.

“Not. Happening,” were her exact words, each delivered with an index finger poke to my chest. “Find another hookup. I’m not your FWB.”

My forehead had scrunched up at that, and she had to explain, “Friend with benefits. Find someone else.”

I’d expected that stance to change once she realized how slim the pickings were around Sparks, but it hadn’t.

Yet. Besides, my dick seemed to only want one woman. The one who didn’t want anything to do with me. Quincy.

“Dude, you having a stroke?”

I stirred and blinked at Taft, who’d come into the industrial kitchen in the bunk house. I had been Ford’s first hire, and we’d designed this space together. Eight bedrooms, each with its own full bath. A common family room and kitchen combo with a dining area that seated twelve.

Mrs. L, Ford’s grandmother, always cooked in her kitchen in the house, enjoying feeding us all. But at five in the morning when I got up–not something I could break after years in the service–no one expected her to have a full breakfast spread. She got up early but not this early.

I’d made the coffee and had been pouring a mugfull when I heard Quincy’s shower kick on. Which meant she was naked and wet and soapy.

And I was staring at the steaming brew without doing shit.

I gave Taft my signature grin as he went to the mega-fridge and pulled out a carton of OJ. “Debating adding sugar or if I’m sweet enough.”

Who was I kidding? I liked sugar with everything.

He chugged directly from the carton, which had a sticky note on the side that had his name on it. Now that he’d just contaminated the whole thing, I didn’t need the reminder.

“It’s those lollipops.”

I didn’t reply because he was right. I had an oral fixation that was constant–and not only for Quincy’s pussy… fuck, I was mental–that I’d had since I was a teen.

I’d gotten into drinking and smoking in ninth grade. A rebellion against my parents’ stiff rules and proper etiquette required of a rich, social climbing DC family.

When I realized they weren’t going to change from the fake fucks they were, I had to. I’d stopped my self-destructive ways and enlisted. That got my ass in gear.

I heard the shower shut off, but Taft didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Which was good because I didn’t want to punch his face in for even thinking about Quincy as anything but a teammate and pilot.

Not that I was supposed to, either.

He set the carton back in the fridge, the door slapping shut behind him. “You coming? We got PT to push through.”

I gave him a middle finger salute, then worked my way through my coffee. “I’ll be there in ten.” Before Quincy came, I was always the first out the door in the mornings, but now I found myself lingering, unwilling to leave any building in which Quincy was naked.

I doubted Hayes was in his room. He usually spent his nights at his girl’s place in town. Megan was one of the sheriff’s deputies and had a sweet little house near the station. I didn’t blame him for wanting to stay there. There was no question they were hitting it hot and heavy and didn’t want an audience.

I was thrilled with that. No reason to listen to others getting off when I wasn’t getting any.

Leaning against the counter, I worked through my brew.

A few minutes later, Quincy’s door opened. She came out in a pair of leggings which did nothing to hide her toned legs. Or tight ass.

She stopped short at the sight of me.

“Morning,” I said.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she replied. She was braiding her hair into a long tail even though it was wet.

I arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Figured you’d be in the redhead’s bed.”

She was referring to the waitress who’d come onto me last night. We’d gone to dinner in town as a group for Indi’s birthday. While she was pretty and eager, I didn’t touch the woman, only flirted. Not that Quincy needed to know that. She didn’t want me, my sex life, or lack thereof, was none of her business. Besides, the last thing I wanted her to know was that I was pining for her like a teenaged boy with his first crush and first hard on. It was better for her to think I wasn’t affected. “I don’t linger, sweets.”

She rolled her eyes at the name, one I started calling her after I got a taste of her that long ago afternoon.

“Not your sweets. And I’m all too familiar with your fuck ‘em and leave ‘em routine.”

A routine? Yeah, well… I was known as a player. A man whore. Whatever.

The reputation meant I was safe from any woman wanting seconds.

That meant attachment, and I didn’t do strings. Except I wanted strings and seconds with her. But since she didn’t want it in return, I had my pride.

I only shrugged, which made her huff.

She turned and her long braid whipped over her shoulder.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want repeats,” I reminded.

She glared. “I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

“See you out there,” I called, gritting my teeth. She didn’t want me, that was fine. But I wasn’t going to have her think I was pining for her. Even though I fucking was.

She bent down, her ass in the air for a brief moment, as she grabbed her flip flops which were on the shoe rack by the door. We all agreed the bunkhouse was a no shoe zone.

“Nah. I’m headed with Mrs. L to yoga. We’re meeting the others for the class at six.”

The others were probably Indi and Megan. Maybe even Holly from the coffee shop. The ladies were tight, and I was glad for it.

The thought of Quincy doing yoga, bent over, ass in the air, made my cock stir. It also made me think about how flexible she was and how much fun that could be.

Yeah, I was obsessed with her, which made me cranky. I didn’t obsess about any woman. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Except I couldn’t stop with her.

“Good thing I already had my workout with the redhead,” I lied.

She stilled at that, glared daggers over her shoulder before she left, slamming the door behind her.

Yeah, I was a dick. While we never mentioned about our little fuck-fest overseas, the air was constantly thick with tension about it.

I’d go back for seconds. Thirds. Hell, I was afraid I’d never get enough of her. And that was why I was pissed. And cranky. And a downright asshole to her.

Because the more she hated me ensured that I wouldn’t get her beneath me again. She’d felt too good. Too perfect. And that meant trouble.

 

Chapter Three

 

QUINCY

 

I walked out of yoga class feeling warm and loose. Not bad for a workout that didn’t involve me pushing limits and proving something to everyone around me.

Yoga wasn’t my thing, but it was a nice break from my usual training. I was a Navy pilot. I preferred running, lifting weights, or crossfit. But I’d moved to a small town, and my circle of friends was even smaller. So if I got invited to a 6 a.m. yoga class with the only three women I knew in Sparks, I had to go.

It was better than another work out with the guys.

Scratch that. It was better than working out with Kennedy. Because the man was Adonis in gym shorts, and every time I got physical near him it made me want to get physical with him. 

Which couldn’t happen again.

I liked Kennedy. Far more than I cared to admit. But he was a player. He had a reputation that went far beyond the Navy SEALs. I swore every female in the Navy knew about Kennedy. Maybe in every port around the world. Ford’s entire team had been quite popular, from what I heard, but Kennedy was known as the charmer. 

He had those dimples. That ridiculous habit of sucking on lollipops and winking when he talked to you. Even the redheaded waitress the night before hadn’t been immune.

“You guys coming for coffee?” Holly, the owner of the Feed ‘N Seed, which doubled as Sparks’ local cafe and hangout, asked us as we hit the sidewalk, our yoga mats tucked under our arms. It was summer, but the morning air was still cool coming off the mountain. It felt great after the workout. Besides myself, the morning yoga posse consisted of Holly, Indigo, and Megan.

“Definitely,” Megan said. “I’ve been craving your maple walnut scones since last week. So delicious.”

“I’m totally in,” I said. I could eat about five walnut scones right now. 

My phone rang as we walked on the grass-choked sidewalk toward the Feed ‘N Seed. I checked the screen and winced, clearing my throat before I answered. “Hello, Admiral.”

“Melissa.” The speaker’s familiar voice was deep and stern. 

I waited for him to say more. 

“Your mother said you haven’t called in over two weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. I spoke to my mom more often than I spoke to my dad. I liked her. “Nothing to report, remember? I killed my career when I chose not to reenlist.” Or so he’d told me. Several times, in fact.

My dad let out an exasperated sigh. Yeah, I called my father by his rank. He was an admiral in the navy. My brothers, a rear admiral, a commander and a captain. Me? A Navy dropout, at least in their eyes. “Melissa, call your mother. She wants to hear from you. We both do.”

“I’ll call her after our briefing.”

“What is the op?”

I had to laugh. He thought because he was such a high rank in the military that he could nose his way into my life. Wasn’t happening.

“You know I can’t discuss that with you, Dad.” Call me silly, but I loved parroting back the same things I grew up hearing from him. “Our clients have a right to their privacy.”

My dad grumbled. “What kind of clients are these, Melissa? Drug cartels and supervillains?”

I snort laughed. “Did you just say supervillain?”

It showed how little he thought of my new job.

“Mercs take on dangerous work. I don’t want you wrapped up in anything illegal.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“I’m serious,” he barked, using his admiral voice. “I looked into your boss, Ford Ledger. I found out he was dishonorably discharged.”

Like this was new. I was surprised it took him this long to bring it up. I’d been at Alpha Mountain Security for over a month now, and it was Ford’s company.

“Then you must’ve already heard about David Buchanan’s murder and name being cleared.”

Buck was Indi’s brother, and he’d been framed for an Afghan soldier’s death after he, himself, had been murdered. Yeah, big stuff.

“The circumstances around the entire incident are unclear.”

“Unclear?” I practically shouted. “Your intel is shit then.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that the intel I do have about your new boss isn’t shit.”

I frowned because he was right. Ford had been kicked out for trying to clear his friend’s name, but even with that taken care of, Ford hadn’t been exonerated.

Yet.

Dad was high up, and I suspected he was partially angry because he knew nothing about what was going on. The story that was being shared in the Navy was full of holes and paper thin. He wanted legit intel. From me.

That was probably why he was calling more than him actually caring about me.

Now I was losing my temper.

“Whatever you’re seeing is wrong, Dad. Someone high up was running an illegal drug trade out of Afghanistan, and they tried to pin it on Ford and his friend. So yeah, things have been suppressed to protect the guilty. Since no one else is doing it, Alpha Mountain will expose the whole operation before too long.”

There was a pause as my dad digested that information. “I’ll put some feelers out, but I don’t want you involved in this, Melissa. If that’s true, you will all be in danger.”

I rolled my eyes. My entire career in the Navy had been dangerous. He hadn’t wanted me to enlist in the first place and had been very vocal about it from the start. My brothers, he was proud of. Me? I couldn’t do anything to satisfy the man. If I told him I was going to become a yoga instructor, he’d scoff at it. I’d never been able to make him proud. It probably started when I was born without a penis.

“I’m with an entire team of ex-Navy SEALs. No one will get past them.”

“Don’t get cocky,” my dad snapped. “You’re not a SEAL. You’re my daughter, and I won’t have you–”

“Hey Dad?” I interrupted. “I’m going into the coffee shop with my friends. Can I call you later?”

“Melissa.” He growled my name like a curse.

“Bye, Dad. Love you.” I ended the call and sighed.

“Do you call your dad Admiral?” Megan asked as we climbed the wooden steps to the Feed ‘N Seed. They’d been walking along beside me as I had that fun chat. “Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard that much.”

“I only do it to be a smart ass and piss him off,” I told her.

Holly went behind the counter where a sleepy-eyed teenager was making espresso drinks for the town’s coffee connoisseurs and started making ours.

“Is he an admiral?” Holly asked, glancing over her shoulder.

I nodded. “Yep. Navy big shot. My three older brothers are all gunning for that rank, too.”

“Wow. Three older brothers. You followed in their footsteps?”

I frowned and couldn’t keep the grumble from my words. “I’m the baby and the only girl. I spent my entire life trying to catch up with those boneheads.”

“No wonder you’re such a badass.”

Whatever.

“Says the badass.” I bumped hips with Megan, who was not only a sheriff’s deputy, but it turned out, was also an accomplished cat burglar. She was exceptional at yoga.

“Go and sit down.” Holly foamed milk in the stainless steel pitcher, the steam making a high hissing sound. “I’ll bring it over in a sec.”

Megan, Indi and I sat down at a corner table, leaning our rolled mats against the wall. Other tables had customers, some familiar to Indi, who waved at two older men. The scent of baked goods and coffee made the place welcoming, and it was obvious why it was a hit in town.

“So I guess they hate that you left the Navy?” Indi probed.

“Well, that’s the irony. They never wanted me to join and held me back at every turn, but now that I left the Navy for merc work, they’re all going out of their minds with worry. I haven’t called him in two weeks, so I had to answer to the big gun this morning.” I crooked a grin.

“I guess he doesn’t think much of Ford?” Indi ducked her head. “Sorry, I might have overheard too much, too.”

“My dad dug into his background and learned all about his dishonorable discharge. I set him on the right trail.” I shrugged then glanced at Indi to make sure she wasn’t upset about the blackballing of her boyfriend. I knew she was, but we all lived with it until we could ferret out the truth and bring the bad guy, or guys, to justice. “My dad can be a bulldog when it comes to interfering with my life.” I flashed a knowing grin. “Who knows, with his misplaced worry, he might rattle the right cages and actually unearth something useful for the team.”

“Ah, I see how you think,” Indi said. She didn’t seem bothered but picked up on the fact that I was spinning my father’s anger into having him dig for results. If he hated me working for a supposed-bad guy like Ford, then he better help make Ford turn into a good guy. “I like it.” She glanced past me and lowered her voice. “Oh, don’t look now, but I think you have an admirer.”

I waited a beat before turning, but before I could, a friendly male voice sounded behind me. “Well, hello there, ladies.” A large hand dropped, not to my shoulder, but to the chairback behind me.

I spun to gaze up at literally the only hot and eligible bachelor in Sparks. Lee Landers, the local mechanic. I gave him a brilliant grin. “Heyyyy. Lee, right?”

He leaned over with a smile. “That’s right.” He extended a hand to shake mine, even though he hadn’t offered it to Indi or Megan. Although he’d known both of them his whole life since I’d heard he’d grown up here too. “You’re Quincy.”

He remembered. I beamed up at him as I shook his rough palm. 

I’d met him a couple times in passing at the coffee shop and had hoped to extend our acquaintance to a date. Or drinks. Or a basic hookup. I could be as much of a sailor as the rest of the guys when it came to getting my sexual needs met without any strings. And I had a feeling this guy could do it.

With his rugged good looks and quick smile, I was surprised Holly wasn’t all over him. His dark hair was a little long, and it fell over his forehead. Wearing jeans, sturdy leather boots and a black t-shirt that didn’t hide one bit of his muscled torso, he practically oozed blue collar perfection I read about in romance books. Especially with the tattoo on his biceps.

I felt calluses on his fingers. A man who worked with his hands was probably very skilled with them.

“What are you ladies up to?” His gaze swept over my yoga clothes, taking in the rolled mats. “Morning workout?”

“Yep,” I replied. “Now we’re caffeinating before work. What are you up to?”

“Me, too. I’m headed to the shop.” He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of his auto shop a few blocks down. Mrs. L told me he ran a brisk business, taking over the place from his father and building it up. His dark eyes didn’t leave mine.

He stared.

I stared.

“We’re going to K-Sparks later,” Megan announced, mentioning the name of the local microbrewery. “You should come around.”

Lee didn’t look toward Megan when he asked me, “You going to be there?”

“Yeah.”

I hadn’t had sex in a while. A long while. I was all for a fling, but I was selective. Especially now. Especially after that one time with Kennedy when my feelings had gotten involved. I hadn’t meant for that to happen, but they had. I didn’t long for the gorgeous SEAL and his magical dick since we pulled out and used it on women from coast to coast, but I was… something. Hung up. I had to be because being around him only riled me up. Sexually and emotionally. That made me angry because I didn’t want to be into a guy. Especially not a soldier. I had enough soldiers in my family.

That was why Lee might be what I needed.

Attractive. Nice. Employed. Didn’t live with his mother—that I knew of. Definitely wasn’t in the military or was ex-military. Or was Kennedy.

Yeah, he’d do.

“See you there.”

He winked then left.

Everyone was quiet because I had a feeling we were all staring at his butt.

“He’s a really nice guy, Quincy, but be careful.” Megan warned. “He recently got out of a relationship. He may be interested in only a rebound.”

A rebound could work because it meant he wasn’t interested in commitment but just a little fun.

“Well, actually, it’s probably been a year,” Megan corrected, blowing on her hot coffee. “It’s safe enough. I’d do him. But don’t tell Hayes.”

We laughed, knowing it was definitely better not to tell Hayes.

“I’m not blind,” she added. “He’s hot. And nice.”

“I’m not looking to marry the guy. Just for some entertainment in the form of broad shoulders and strong hands.” I flexed my own small hands for emphasis, and my friends hummed in approval. “Being a rebound is fine by me.”

Except the strong hands that popped to mind didn’t belong to Lee but Kennedy. Those long fingers knew exactly where to touch me. How to bring me to org–I shook my head to clear that thought. Inwardly, I groaned.

This was exactly why I wanted to get something going with Lee Landers.

I needed to work Kennedy out of my system once and for all. The guy had gotten under my skin in a way I hadn’t seen coming. We hadn’t just hooked up the night I decided to scratch an itch with him. We’d gotten down and dirty. He’d given it to me rough. Then gentle. Then kinky as hell.

And the worst part? He’d spent the night.

That was what left me undone. I hadn’t expected it from him. I’d never actually slept with a man before. I left for the military straight from my parents’ house at age eighteen and, of course, sleepovers were strictly prohibited in the Navy. It wasn’t like I had private quarters. It was only until I was deployed, when the ratio of men to women was so vast that I had a space of my own. Small and cramped but alone.

Then, I’d been raw and vulnerable after the mission we’d just completed. I’d bared myself to him–not just my body but my soul–and he’d stayed with me. While it had been a one time thing, we’d done it way more than one time. His stamina had been… impressive.

 By morning, Kennedy had been more than a hot SEAL who gave me a joy ride and that was the part that ripped me apart. Because I’d known he wasn’t playing for keeps. Not even remotely.

“So, I guess we’re going out tonight?” Holly asked pulling up a chair. “Is that what I heard?”

“Yep, looks like it.” I sipped the foamy cappuccino she made me with appreciation. 

“Do me a favor?” She lifted her brows suggestively, a sly smile turning her lips. “Bring the rest of your team when you come.”

I tried not to bristle. There was no reason to keep Holly from the eligible guys. Taft might like her.

But I’d rather not. I’d very much rather not. Living with Kennedy was hard enough, especially when I knew the way he rolled. I didn’t want to have to witness him doing the morning after routine with a friend of mine. Knowing they’d slept together…

“So it’s a couples thing?” Indi asked with mock innocence. “Or do you just mean the available ones?”

“Oh, your men can stay home.” Holly wagged a finger between Indi and Megan, because they were in solid, unbreakable relationships with Ford and Hayes. “But bring the other two. It’s no fair you keeping them all up on that hill to yourselves.”

Indi and Megan chuckled. “Me? Us?” Megan said, pointing at herself then Indi. “It’s Quincy who’s got them all to herself.”

I hid my scowl in my coffee because it wasn’t Holly’s fault her words poked a wound. I didn’t blame her. I was eager to jump the guy myself. Kennedy. Not Taft. She could have him.

But I’d be damned if I mentioned anything to the guys. If Indi and Megan wanted to make this a group event, they’d have to arrange it themselves.

 

 

ORDER NOW

Warrior

Mistake #1: Sleeping with a friend

Hooking up with Quincy was a no-brainer. 

The sexy, hot-shot Navy pilot wasn’t on my SEAL team.

I thought she’d be safe for a one-night stand.

 

Mistake #2: Letting her walk out the door

I realized too late she wasn’t a one-and-done for me.

But now she thinks I’m a player. Okay, she knows I’m a player.

Which is why she won’t go there with me again.

 

Mistake #3: Wanting to repeat Mistake #1.

Quincy’s on my team. We live in the same barracks. 

We’re friends. I don’t want to screw that up.

Being near her is pure torture. I don’t know how much longer I can last. 

Before I risk the biggest mistake of all–losing her.

GET NOW

Bonusepiloog – De Hand van de Dode Man

De Avond van de Verloving

Marissa

Ik giechel wanneer Gio me over de drempel draagt. “Ik denk dat je moet wachten tot we getrouwd zijn om dit te doen?”

“Ja?” zegt hij. “Fuck dat. Ik draag je over de drempel wanneer ik maar wil. Weet je waarom?”

“Omdat je me bezit?” Antwoord ik. Datgene waar ik me ooit tegen verzette, is nu mijn roep om seks geworden. Alleen al hem het horen zeggen, of zijn eis dat ik het zeg, maakt me nat.

“Omdat je mijn ring draagt. Wat jou de mijne maakt.” Hij loopt langs de keuken maar weigert me neer te zetten. “Pak een fles wijn, engel.” Hij houdt me boven de wijnkoeler.

Ik kies een muscato, aangezien dit het toetje is, en neem de wijnopener uit een la wanneer mijn veerman me erlangs draagt. “Hoe zullen we de glazen dragen?” giechel ik. Ik heb helemaal geen handen meer vrij en de zijne houden mij vast. “Wacht even.” Ik klem de fles tussen onze twee lichamen en reik naar de kast. Hij gaat wat dichterbij staan zodat ik er twee kleine dessertwijnglazen uit kan halen.

“Ik wil echt dat je me neerzet, zodat ik voor ons een kaas- en fruitbordje kan maken,” zeg ik tegen hem.

“Ik zet je niet neer.”

Ik kijk in zijn prachtige bruine ogen. Mijn koppige, bezitterige, ongelooflijke man. En dan te bedenken dat ik het met hem bijna verpest had.

Hij draagt me naar de slaapkamer. Ik zie het nog steeds als zijn slaapkamer, ook al ben ik hier komen wonen nadat mijn relatie met Nonno moeizaam begon te lopen. We hebben het sindsdien bijgelegd, maar het duurde even voor ik hem alles vergeven had. Vooral als ik eraan denk dat ik dit zou hebben misgelopen.

Ik ben zo verdomd gelukkig met Gio. Toen ik hem eindelijk binnenliet, mezelf toestond alles te ontvangen wat hij me wilde geven, kreeg ik zijn oneindige liefde. Hij wil alleen maar geven en geven en geven. Geld, affectie, tijd, cadeautjes, seks. Hij staat altijd klaar voor mij.

Als ik bij hem ben, heb ik het gevoel dat alles mogelijk is. Zoals Giovanni’s openen. En ja, ik ben degene die erop stond dat we het zo noemden. Ik moest hem eren op die manier, ook al denkt hij dat het gênant is.

Gio ontkurkt de wijn terwijl ik zijn hemd losknoop. Mijn handen schuiven onder zijn onderhemd om de stevige spieren van zijn borst te volgen. Hij schenkt twee glazen in en houdt het zijne omhoog. “Op meer.”

Ik lach. “Op wat?”

“Meer van alles. Meer van ons. Meer restaurants. Meer avonturen. Hoe zit het met die reis naar Italië? We kunnen daarheen als huwelijksreis. Of verdomme, we kunnen daar ook gewoon trouwen.”

Mijn ogen tranen zoals altijd wanneer ik besef dat hij echt al mijn dromen gaat waarmaken. “Op meer.” Ik slaag erin niet te veel te stamelen en hef mijn glas op om te klinken. Nadat ik een slokje genomen heb, neemt hij het uit mijn hand en zet het bij het zijne op het nachtkastje.

“Waarom ben je nog steeds aangekleed, engel?”

Ik trek de rits van mijn jurk naar beneden om me uit te kleden. “Dat ben ik niet.”

Hij trekt de bandjes van mijn beha naar achteren en laat ze schieten. “Wat is dit dan?”

Ik haast me om mijn beha en slipje uit te trekken. Natuurlijk is hij nog steeds volledig gekleed, in het machtsspel dat hij zo graag in stand houdt. “Beter?”

“Veel beter.” Hij duwt me naar achteren en kruipt over me heen, trekt mijn knieën omhoog om mijn benen wijd te spreiden. “Speel met je tepels,” beveelt hij, dan laat hij zijn hoofd zakken en likt in me.

“Hah… ah.” Mijn adem komt eruit in lettergrepen van genot wanneer ik kronkel onder zijn tong. Hij strijkt een paar keer met het puntje over mijn clitoris en gaat dan met zijn tong langs de binnenkant van mijn lippen.

“Gio.” Ik breng mijn handen naar beneden om door zijn haar te gaan en de gigantische diamant op mijn vinger weerkaatst het licht. Ik ben niet gewend aan dat gewicht. De grootte. De betekenis.

Dit is echt.

Ik moet mezelf eraan blijven herinneren.

Gio penetreert me met zijn tong, daarna gaat hij opnieuw langs mijn plooien. Wanneer hij met zijn mond over mijn clitje zuigt, kreun ik en trek ik aan zijn haar.

Hij tilt zijn hoofd op. “Wat heb ik je gezegd met die handen te doen, engel?”

Ik leg mijn handen weer op mijn borsten en speel met mijn tepels. Hij schudt zijn hoofd in spottende teleurstelling. “Tijd voor een straf.”

De sensatie volgt onmiddellijk. Ik knipper met mijn ogen, de opwinding stuurt hitte naar de oppervlakte van mijn huid.

Gio draait me met één hand aan mijn heup om en buigt voorover om in mijn kont te bijten.

“Auw!” gil ik, ook al doet het geen pijn. Ik schop met mijn voeten.

Hij klemt mijn beide handen vast achter mijn rug en begint me te slaan. Ik kronkel van genot om gevangen gehouden te worden, om zijn straf te krijgen. In het begin voelt het pijnlijk aan en ik kronkel onder de slagen, maar wanneer mijn kont eenmaal opgewarmd is, wordt iedere slag een genot. Mijn opwinding druipt tussen mijn benen.

“Gio,” hijg ik, ik wil meer.

“Heb je een goede neukbeurt nodig, schatje?”

“Ja.” Ik hoor het geritsel van het openen van zijn broek.

“Dat is goed, want ik ga je echt ruw en hard nemen”.

“Ja! Ruw en hard. Ja, alsjeblieft.”

Hij grinnikt terwijl hij met de kop van zijn pik tussen mijn benen wrijft. “Ik ga er zonder bescherming in, engel.” Hij zakt in mij en ik kreun van voldoening. “Ga je me baby’s geven? Want ik wil het hele pakket. Veel kleine Tacones die rondrennen.”

Het genot explodeert in mijn borst. Ik dacht altijd dat ik zou wachten tot ik minstens dertig was om een gezin te stichten. Je weet wel, eerst werken aan mijn carrière. Maar nu wil ik niet meer wachten. Ik wil ook het volledige pakket.

Ik krom mijn rug om Gio dieper te nemen, genietend van de sensatie van zijn lichaam dat tegen mijn stijve kont stoot, iedere keer als hij naar binnen duwt.

“Fuck, Marissa, je voelt zo goed.” Hij blijft stoten, zo hard dat hij mijn schouder moet vasthouden om te voorkomen dat ik van het bed glijd. “Dit lekkere lijf houdt me de hele tijd hard. Weet je dat? Hoe denk je dat ik door het diner gekomen ben met jou in die sexy jurk die iedere prachtige ronding liet zien?”

Ik kreun.

“Je bent zo nat voor me. Zo’n braaf meisje.” Hij neukt me nu harder en ik moet mijn armen uitstrekken om me schrap te zetten tegen het hoofdeinde van het bed.

Ik spreid mijn vingers en kijk naar de grote steen op mijn linkerhand.

“Ik neuk je graag als je mijn ring draagt, schatje. Weet je wat dat betekent?”

“Dat ik je bezit ben?” Zeg ik ademloos.

“Dat jij mij bezit, engel. De Tacone mannen zijn misschien veel dingen, maar we zijn trouw aan onze vrouwen. Onze vader heeft ons één ding goed geleerd. Behandel je vrouw als fucking goud.”

Mijn ogen zijn weer nat. Ik jank mijn volgende kreet.

Gio grijpt het hoofdeinde boven me vast en stoot hard in me. In en uit als een drilboor met zijn beloftes weergalmend in mijn oren.

“Gio,” snik ik. Niet omdat ik iets te zeggen heb. Meer omdat ik God voor hem dank. “Gio.”

“Fuck, ja!” brult hij en hij komt klaar. Op hetzelfde moment, reikt hij naar beneden en neemt een van mijn tepels vast, knijpt hard en duwt me over de rand. Ik kom klaar en raas in een gelukzalige vergetelheid terwijl golf na golf van genot door me heen gaan.

Wanneer het vuurwerk ophoudt met exploderen en ik terugkom van de maan, laat Gio zich naast me neerzakken en verstrengelt zijn vingers met de mijne om mijn hand in verschillende hoeken te draaien. De diamant glinstert en schittert in alle richtingen.

“Hij is prachtig,” zeg ik zacht. “Ik vind hem prachtig, Gio.”

“Ik dacht dat je me ging zeggen dat hij te groot is.”

“Het is veel te groot,” zeg ik met een lach. “En het is precies perfect.”

“Oh ja?”

“Jij hebt hem uitgekozen. Dit is de ring die je wilde dat ik zou dragen. Het is een cadeau van jou. Dat maakt het perfect voor mij.”

Gio kust mijn voorhoofd, mijn neus, mijn lippen. “Ik hou van je, Marissa.”

“Ik ben van jou, Gio. Je hebt alles van me — mijn hart, mijn lichaam, mijn ziel. Ik hou voor altijd van je.”

Hij streelt mijn gezicht met zijn hand en ik knijp erin terwijl hij me verwonderd aanstaart.

“Op meer,” fluister ik.

“Op meer,” herhaalt hij.

 

Alpha Mountain: Hero

PROLOGUE

FORD

“Did you hear Lee Lander’s taking over his dad’s mechanic shop?” Buck asked.

We were used to moving around under the cover of darkness, but that was to evade the enemy, not to cut across a field beneath a Montana black night sky. Neither of us had been home for over sixteen months and I’d forgotten how dark it got. No big cities anywhere nearby.

No fucking desert either. We weren’t wearing our fatigues and we weren’t carrying multiple weapons. Here in Sparks, there was no war. No enemy. The only chance at being killed tonight was alcohol poisoning or getting eaten by a bear.

“The most exotic thing he’ll see of the world is the undercarriage of a sixty-seven GTO,” I countered and took a deep breath.

Fuck, I missed that scent. The tang of pine and damp earth was as much a reminder of home as Gram and Gramps. Or the twenty or so friends from high school who were currently finishing off a keg, listening to music, fooling around and having fun in the back forty behind us.

“The undercarriage I want to see is that of Kenzie Michelson. She was hot in high school, but did you see her tonight? Were her tits always that big?” He held up his hands to show how big he thought they were.

“Why the hell are you helping me carry the second keg when you could be helping Kenzie out of her panties?”

Our long legs ate up the distance between the party and the house. The get-together was in the usual party spot by the creek, originally chosen so my grandparents wouldn’t know about any of the late night get-togethers. Of course I’d been stupid to think that. They’d been pissed back in the day, but now? I was twenty-three. I’d had hair on my balls for years, but I’d also become a SEAL and gone to war. Neither of them gave a shit if I wanted to get drunk with a few old friends. Hell, they were content I was in one piece. And home.

They were off on a seniors trip to a nearby casino for two nights, having their own kind of good time.

“She’s not port pussy,” he countered, stopping when we got to the truck. He leaned against the back end. “Still, I get the feeling she wants me to be her ride out of town.”

I remembered Kenzie, big tits and all. I’d been cautious where I stuck my dick in high school because I’d had plans. Plans that didn’t involve a surprise baby and wife at eighteen. I’d wanted out of Sparks, to follow in Gramps’ footsteps in the military. So I understood where Buck was coming from.

I pulled down the tailgate and jumped into the bed. Fuck, I loved this truck. I’d bought it when I was sixteen after spending the summer working at the seed and feed lugging sacks of grain, bales of hay and every other piece of heavy farming shit. It’d helped me get into shape for basic training, and eventually BUD/S.

That had been hell, but I’d had Buck to tell me to stop being a pussy whenever I had an inkling of quitting. Now it seemed I had to give him a pep talk to get laid, or at least blow his load. There wasn’t any chance for it deployed.

“Get her to suck you off,” I told him. “She won’t get pregnant from that.”

There, problem solved.

“Think we’ll ever fit back in here?” he wondered, glancing around, Kenzie forgotten. The only thing visible in the dark was the back side of the house and a hint of Gramps’ workshop beyond.

“Who the fuck knows. I didn’t survive drown-proofing to plant wheat and drive a fucking tractor for a living.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked, cocking his head with the usual tilt.

The back stoop light cast a glow across his face. His blond hair was cut military short. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, but he still couldn’t grow a fucking beard. Not even a mustache. He was an inch taller than me, but leaner. He was a faster swimmer, but I had him in hand-to-hand combat. Not that anyone from around here understood anything about what our lives entailed. What we endured so they could fuck beside a bonfire.

“Sparks?” I ran my hand over the back of my neck. It was late August and summer was still hanging on. Barely. The air was cool and this was Montana. We had another week to go before we were due back in San Diego, but the chance for the weather to turn was always a possibility this far north and at this higher altitude. “I miss snow.”

He sighed. “I don’t think I can ever go on a beach vacation. Shit, I hate sand.”

I had to laugh. Afghanistan was hot as hell and a fucking sand box. That shit got everywhere. In places I never thought possible.

“I got this,” I told him. “I can carry a fucking keg all by myself. Go have fun with Kenzie.” I had no intention of cock blocking my best friend. We were on fucking leave. Our commanding officers expected us to unwind and fuck.

“What about you?” he asked.

I lifted the keg from the tub, ice sloshing, and sat it in the bed beside me. “What about me?”

“There any pussy around here you want to tap?”

Yeah, there fucking was. Indigo. Buck’s sister. His smart, gorgeous, barely eighteen sister. The one who’d followed us around when she’d been a kid. Who’d done shit all to get her big brother’s attention. When we left for boot camp, she’d been thirteen. But now?

Holy fuck. She wasn’t a little kid any longer. She was a beauty. Blonde hair down her back that she no longer had in two braids. A toned, curvy body with full, high tits. An ass that could probably crack walnuts. How did I know all this?

The Buchanan’s had had me over for dinner a few nights ago and there she’d been. All tanned skin. Full lips. Bold blue eyes that tracked my every move.

I’d gotten one look at her and my dick had gone instantly hard.

For Buck’s little sister.

He’d seen the way I’d stared. Maybe a second too long because he gave me a look. An I’m going to cut your dick off and feed it to you before you even know what happened glare.

I’d never dealt with the bro code before because hell, I didn’t lust after little girls. But Indi wasn’t little or a girl any longer. She was perfect.

Perfectly off-limits.

So I answered my best friend the only way I could so as not to lose my dick. “Nah.”

He tipped his head toward the house. “You sure?”

I glanced that way and saw a lacy white bra dangling from the screen door handle.

He grinned. “I don’t need to speak five languages to understand that’s for you.”

I hopped down from the bed, my boots hitting the dirt of the driveway. I pulled the keg onto the tailgate, then slid it toward him.

“Here. I’ll go see what’s going on inside.”

I was fine with one-night stands. In fact, that was the only kind of sex I had. It wasn’t like a SEAL led the nine-to-five lifestyle. Girlfriends and wives didn’t know when their man would be walking through the door. Or if he would ever again.

I knew the chances of survival being in the military, especially being a SEAL. I took it on voluntarily. Even my grandparents understood the risks since Gramps had been in Vietnam. But I wasn’t putting a woman through that fuckery. It wasn’t fair to her.

The bra on the screen door? Whoever it belonged to was in my house. Uninvited. Even if she was—very obviously—requesting sex. I didn’t like being surprised. Ambushed, even with pussy. Because I’d been trained to stay alive. To watch out for shit like this.

But this wasn’t war and the woman not wearing a bra? She sure as shit wasn’t my enemy. Since my dick was also on vacation, it got hard at what was being offered.

Buck slapped me on the back. “Have fun.”

He hoisted the dripping keg up onto his shoulder and hoofed it back toward the bonfire. He disappeared into the darkness and I went to snag the bra off the door. Based on the size of the cups, the woman who’d discarded it had a nice handful. Perfect.

I went into the familiar kitchen. The house was quiet, only the light over the stove was on. After peeking into the family room and finding it empty, I went up the back steps and to my bedroom. A sliver of light seeped out from beneath the closed door. I took a second to adjust my now-hard dick before turning the doorknob.

Holy fucking hell. 

It was Indi and she was naked. 

In my bed.

“Hey, Ford.”

CHAPTER ONE

Nine Years Later

INDIGO

The heel of my hiking boot skidded ten feet down the slick embankment before I managed to stop. At least I stayed on my feet—oof. I slipped a second time and slid another six feet on my ass, which was now muddy and soaked. 

Great. Just perfect.

I lurched back to standing. A bolt of lightning followed instantly by a crack of thunder meant being exposed. Cold rain pelted my head and shoulders and every drop registered through my hooded, waterproof jacket. The sudden summer cloudburst turned the already muddy soil of the mountain to the consistency of a soggy bar of soap. The kind that slid out of grasp and had to be chased around the tub while leaving slick remains in its wake.

I needed to find a place to take cover until the storm passed. There were trees taller than me to get hit by lightning, but I wasn’t stupid. I needed shelter, and now. The trouble was, the closest place belonged to Ford Ledger.

God, Ford. The guy I’d been stupid over. Who’d embarrassed me. No, I’d done a really impressive job of that all on my own. My own tattered pride was the reason I was debating whether to step foot on his land, even in a flash storm.

Yeah, it had been that bad. He was the extremely hot but jerky best friend of my brother David. Or better known by his friends as Buck. Ford was the last guy on Earth I wanted to ask for or accept help from. There was no chance in hell I’d show up at his door. Not even if the mountain turned into a volcano and erupted.

Sparks was a small town, but somehow I’d managed to avoid Ford in the year since he retired from combat to do God-knows-what on his land. That was because I would’ve rather frozen to death than have a one-on-one conversation with the guy. I didn’t need to be told off and turned away. Again.

Yeesh—ack!

I slid again. I was completely off-trail now and getting back to the path and following it probably wasn’t my best bet. It was a ninety-minute hike without any cover to the trailhead where I parked. Not even a rocky outcropping to shelter beneath.

I looked down the mountainside toward Ford’s property through the pouring rain. It was hard to see, but there was an old greenhouse, one I never remembered. Although the one time I’d been to his house, I’d been more interested in his bedroom than anywhere else on the huge property. I could hole up in the greenhouse until the storm passed. I wasn’t the first Montanan to seek refuge from a neighbor.

I hunched my shoulders against the wind and rain and changed the angle of my descent, picking my footholds carefully to avoid more sliding and slipping. A lot of good it did me. I spilled three more times before I reached the property line. The barbed wire on the low fence looked new and aggressive like it was built for more than just keeping stray cattle in or out. Going to the nearest post, I braced on it as I climbed the strands of taut wire. Even taking great care, I ripped my pants climbing over it.

“Fuck,” I muttered, wiping rain off my nose and setting off again.

I made it to the greenhouse—which was also in better repair than I expected—and tested the door.

“Seriously?” I said to no one.

It was locked. Who locked a greenhouse? I might hate the guy, but I’d known Ford my whole life. Sure, the only time I’d seen him since that fateful, naked night years ago was at Buck’s memorial. Pot was legal to grow now, but I couldn’t imagine Ford or his grandmother cultivating plants that had to be kept safe from theft. What was the guy up to? A lock only meant one thing. He was shady. Like Buck, whose last actions as a SEAL were less than heroic. Hell, they said he’d murdered someone. 

I pushed that thought away like usual because I didn’t want to think about the shit that we were told about my brother. The things he couldn’t answer. Because he was dead.

Dropping my backpack on the ground, I grabbed the multipurpose tool I always carried. I tried to jimmy the lock, but I couldn’t get it. Finding a rock, I smashed a low window and used it to clear the remaining shards. Hoisting myself through the opening, I tumbled inside.

Christ, I was wet.

I left a puddle which only grew larger as I shook like a Golden Retriever to get the water off my jacket. My hiking pants were soaked through, despite being made of water-wicking material. They were no competition against a rainstorm. My boots, well, they were at least five pounds heavier than normal and caked with mud.

I was a mountain guide, used to things like this, but it didn’t make being soggy and cold any more pleasant. Thankfully, I didn’t have to paste on a smile for paying tourists. Tell them that a little rain made a vacation more memorable. I glanced around. “What the hell?” I whispered to myself.

There weren’t any plants. The space had been converted into a gym. A gym like at a fancy hotel. Two treadmills and a rowing machine were at one end. Racks held free weights and in the corner were neatly placed kettlebells. The floor wasn’t concrete but a grid of cushioning rubber. A giant punching bag hung over the mats on one end.

I glanced up at the glass ceiling and all I saw was pounding rain. Who knew how long this spring storm would last. I had no intention of putting in a few miles on a treadmill; I had the wilderness outside for that. Except I couldn’t sit here in my wet clothes while I waited for the weather to pass. Before the front came in, it had been in the high seventies and the glass kept the space balmy. I sighed, then shivered, even though it was warm inside the greenhouse/gym.

“Sorry, Ford,” I muttered as I toed off the muddy boots. Nah, I wasn’t sorry. Getting his fancy home gym muddy wasn’t close to what I’d had in mind for getting even after all these years.

I would’ve been lying, though, if I pretended there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t want to stick it to him a bit after what he’d done to me. Okay, what I’d done to him, but either way, “the incident” had left a big scar on my confidence—and heart—and created enough shame to pretty much ruin sex for me. It didn’t make me any less horny, because I’d seen Ford at the grocery store a few months ago. Yeah, I’d hid behind a display of canned peaches, but I’d seen him. He’d changed since the night I offered up my virginity to him on a platter. Back then, he’d been a focused SEAL, all sharp edges and precision. At the funeral, he’d looked older. Weary. The gloss had been gone but I hadn’t paid him all that much attention. But in the pasta aisle? His dark hair had been longer. He had a dang beard, which somehow made me all kinds of aroused.

He still had sharp edges, but they were honed now. As if his focus was laser sharp.

It made me wonder what all that intensity was like in bed.

Those thoughts were why I was hiding in his greenhouse gym instead of knocking on his front door. I wasn’t going to be denied twice.

I removed my jacket and stripped off the wet hiking pants. At least my t-shirt and panties were dry. That was about all, though. I hopped on one foot, then the other, to take off my wet socks. They weren’t going to be fun to put back on, but I’d worry about that later.

The pounding of the rain on the plastic roof must’ve drowned out all other sound, because I had no idea I was no longer alone until a deep, all-too-painfully familiar voice rumbled behind me.

“Indigo Buchanan.”

I jumped a foot and screamed. I spun around.

There, standing in jeans and a soggy black shirt was an older, broader, bigger Ford Ledger. And he was holding a gun. He ran a hand over his mountain man beard as he raked his gaze over every inch of me.

“You have a real habit of taking your clothes off and making yourself at home where you don’t belong.”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

FORD

 

I put the safety back on the M9 I’d palmed when the security system alerted us that someone had breached the fence at the property line and tucked the weapon in the waistband of my pants. This time it went off, it hadn’t been a deer jumping the fence. Or a bear.

No, it was Indigo “Indi” Buchanan.

I debated if I’d rather wrestle a bear than this woman. Fuck, no. I wanted to roll around with her. Too much. She’d have claws and I kind of hoped she bit, just a little. At least that was my dick talking.

I tried—fuck, I tried—not to look below her waist. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, drink in the sight of those long, toned legs. The bare skin that…

No.

Nope.

Fuck, not going to look.

Not going to even think about checking out what color, cut, and style of panties she wore. Not when I remembered all too well what she looked like out of them.

In my bed.

Indi.

The woman who haunted my dreams. Who taunted me still, even though this was the first time I’d seen her since she was eighteen—except across the church at Buck’s memorial service. All those years ago, Buck and I had been on leave, the summer she’d graduated high school. The night she’d left her bra dangling as invitation and climbed naked in my bed with the intention of letting me punch her V card. The night Buck had found us. Thirty seconds after I’d covered my eyes and told her to get out. He’d wanted to hand me my balls for breakfast.

She wasn’t for me even though she was no longer jailbait. She never had been and she never would be, no matter how fucking gorgeous she was. She was my dead best friend’s little fucking sister. Off-limits.

I’d promised Buck I hadn’t and wouldn’t touch her. It had been because of the bro code before that night then Buck telling me to stay the fuck away from her after. No screwing around with younger sisters.

Even if they weren’t young or little any longer. Hell, she was… I did the math…twenty-seven and standing half naked and dripping wet in the old greenhouse we’d converted into a gym.

Indi’s eyes flashed, teeth clenched tight. Besides wet, her skin appeared wind-chapped, but there was no mistaking the additional flush crawling down her neck.

Clenching my fists, I avoided reaching out and wiping away the rain dripping down her cheeks. Back then and even now, one touch and I knew I’d be fucking ruined. Because her skin would be silky soft against my calloused palms. Sweet beneath my lips. She was spirited and wild and I knew her passion would have no depths. I’d drown in her.

I would not break a promise to the man who’d bled out in my arms. The man whose death—and actions leading up to it—I intended to investigate and solve, even if it catapulted me to my own early grave.

It was clear she wasn’t here bent on seduction. Sure, seeing her like this was sexy as hell, but there was no peekaboo lace or sultry looks. No lacy bras in my grasp. She looked like a dunked cat. A gorgeous, perfect dripping cat.

Fuck, now I thought about her pussy. How it might be dripping. I growled.

“Ford Ledger. Still an ass, I see,” she shot back, tipping up her chin and glaring.

I deserved it, and not just for my unnecessary taunt. If I’d had any honor left at all, I’d have gone to the Buchanan house in town every week to see what I could do to help Buck’s parents. To try to ease their pain and grief over their dead son. But they hadn’t wanted to see me—too painful, his mother had said at the funeral—and I couldn’t face them again, either. What could I say besides their son’s death was my fault. Buck had gotten into something and hadn’t confided in me. Hell, he’d been accused of murdering a local Afghani law enforcement officer just before his death—which wasn’t possible. I knew Buck and he wouldn’t do that. 

Still, he was involved in something. And I was his leader and should’ve known what the fuck had been going on with him. Protected him from the shit he’d gotten into—whatever it was.

No, I couldn’t face any of them until I figured out who killed Buck and why. The day he’d died he’d left camp without authorization. Yes, he’d met with someone in the village—I didn’t know who. Knowing Buck, there had been a damn good reason. One that got him killed. I intended to figure out who was behind it all.

I took a few steps forward. Not because I wanted to be closer to Indi. Hell, no. 

Because I wanted a better look at her face while I questioned her. Not that she required interrogating. She wasn’t on some kind of mission to destroy me. No, it was pretty obvious what happened here.

“Got caught in the storm?” I asked. I was soaked too from the sprint from the house, but my clothes were staying the fuck on.

She shoved her wet honey-colored hair out of her face and cocked a hip like she was ready to stand her ground with me. In just a shirt.

Which was cute. Damn cute. I was a fucking SEAL. Former fucking SEAL. I did shit for exercise that would kill a regular guy. And she was a tiny slip of a woman in comparison. If she kicked my shin, I wouldn’t even feel it. Although the way she was looking at me I expected her to aim a little higher.

“Sure did.” She said it like a challenge, lifting her chin at a haughty angle. That cockiness had my dick going rock hard.

I was still having a helluva time not looking down at those legs. Especially with the way she stuck one out at an angle toward me.

“So you decided to break into my greenhouse.”

She shrugged as she glanced around. “Shelter’s shelter,” she explained as if I didn’t know a thing or two about survival skills.

I cocked an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest. My t-shirt was damp against my forearms. “Rather than try the house?”

She rolled her eyes like a brat. “Can you blame me? You’re not exactly the welcome wagon.”

Now I was offended. “You think I’d turn Buck’s little sister away in a storm?” I asked incredulously.

She flinched at the mention of her brother—and probably the fact that I’d done just that once before—and I immediately regretted it, but then I was distracted by something else.

Her tits.

They were covered—completely covered—but her nipples still poked through the thin material. They were stiff and erect under her Sparks Outdoor Adventure company t-shirt. Even after all this time, I remembered how pink those tips were, how they were upturned and… fuck, lickable. Even though I hadn’t gotten close enough to do any licking.

They were like that now probably from the cold. Or the rain. Except, wouldn’t I have noticed them right away? No, it seemed like they’d gotten stiff talking to me, which unfortunately made me harder.

Buck’s sister, I reminded myself. She was Buck’s sister. Fuck.

“Jesus, I’m not just Buck’s little sister.” She raised her hands and made air quotes to go along with the sass. “I’m my own woman, Ford. I was then, I am now. How did you even know I was in here?” She turned the convo back to me.

I’d been out of the military and back in Montana for nine months. One of the first things I’d had done to the place when upon my return was set up top-notch security. I didn’t fucking trust anyone. Especially not the US government who was supposed to have my back. The only people I trusted were my grandparents—and Gramps had been gone for two years now—and my team.

I’d called in Kennedy, NAME OF TEAM expert, who’d left the service right after I had. After the shit that went down, he’d chosen not to reup. Instead, he’d showed up in a fucking snowstorm and gotten to work, putting up sensors to let us know of anything over four feet tall—keeping the alarms from pinging with every wild animal—crossed onto the land or was moving about. Every inch of the Ledger land was monitored. The compound the men and I were building was like a fortress with impenetrable, invisible walls. 

“I knew the second you stepped over my fence,” I said.

She tossed her hands up and shook her head. “You know what? This isn’t worth it. If you’re going to be an asshole about me getting out of the weather and wave your freaking gun around then—”

“Why were you out in it in the first place?” I hadn’t been waving a gun. Jesus. Either way, I wasn’t going to correct her about that. She didn’t know about my post-SEAL mercenary work. How I took jobs now needing my military-trained skill sets that paid a shit-ton more than a Chief Petty Officer.

If she thought I was an asshole mountain man, all the better.

“It wasn’t raining when I headed out, you idiot,” she snapped.

“You should be better prepared.”

Her mouth fell open and I had a feeling if smoke could come out of her ears, it would be now. “Prepared? I had everything I needed and I found shelter, more than others out hiking today probably did.”

“No one else ended up here.” I raised my hand indicating not just the greenhouse but my property.

“You sure? Maybe I’m to pull your attention one way while my team of tourist hikers overrun your house.”

That sass. Holy shit, she needed her ass spanked for that sass.

“And part of that plan was to take off your pants? I didn’t think you teased people that way… any longer.”

The second I said that, I knew it had been a mistake. A low blow. A true asshole move. I bit my tongue, but I couldn’t take it back. While I’d been pissed she’d been in my bed and offering herself, I appreciated that she recognized her sexual needs, even at eighteen. She hadn’t been shy about them. No, she’d fucking owned her sexuality and I’d snubbed it. And her.

The biggest thing I’d thought of for all these years? She’d come to me. To my bed. Offered that gorgeous pussy and sweet cherry to me. Me.

Now? Fuck… I was a dick.

She flushed, then glared daggers. “I’d rather be out in the storm than do this with you.” She tried to breeze past me, but I caught her elbow. 

What a mistake. Total. Fucking. Mistake. Now I knew how soft and smooth her skin was. Caught her rain and cucumber scent. She was close enough that I wanted to touch other parts of her, too. Lift her up so she’d wrap those bare legs around my waist, press her against the glass and have my way with her. Lay her over the weight bench and push those thighs nice and wide. Have her bend over the weight rack and take her from behind. Get deep inside that sweet body I’d craved for years.

Yeah, thoughts of her forbidden body had gotten me through some of the worst fucking hellholes.

“Stop.” I sounded gruff, like I was dressing down a team member, not protecting a friend’s sister. Even if it was from only a storm.

I would’ve dialed it back, but that would be a mistake, too. I couldn’t encourage any feelings on her part—not that she even remotely still harbored the same ones she’d had at eighteen. She thought I was an asshole and that would keep her away.

Because if I found her in my bed again, I wasn’t sure if I’d turn her away. I’d take her. Intimately. Aggressively.

I wasn’t a gentle lover.

“You’re not going anywhere but into the house where you can warm up and dry your clothes.”

“Oh really?” she fumed. “You have a lot of nerve, Ford. You haven’t said ten words to me or my parents since Buck’s death and now you’re acting like we’re all still buddy-buddy? You didn’t want me all those years ago and you think I’m back for what… more? More humiliation and embarrassment? I don’t think so.” She yanked her arm out of my grasp and tried to pass me again.

I could’ve stopped her. Easily. Could’ve wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from the door, or tossed her over my shoulder and carried her to the house. Hell, I could’ve even apologized, but the list was so long I didn’t know where to even start.

She could stay here and wait out the storm, but there was no way I was letting her do that. There was a much easier way to get her to do what I wanted and it had me smirking. I might fight against having Indi beneath me, but she sure as hell was going to do what I said.

I grabbed her wet clothes and backpack from the ground, then beat her to the door. “See you in the house,” I tossed out before walking out into the storm, letting the rain cool my need for the one woman I could never have.

“Ford!” she yelled. “You fucking asshole. I’m going to—”

The pounding rain cut off the rest of her words as I made my way across the field to the house. I was smiling for the first time in months.

 

READ NOW:  https://geni.us/amhero

 

The Bookie is now live!

Title: The BookieSeries: Chicago Bratva #6Author: Renee RoseGenre: Mafia/Bratva RomanceRelease Date: December 7, 2021BLURB

 

I BARGAINED WITH THE BRATVA–

 

MY BROTHER’S LIFE FOR MY OWN.They offered me a deal: thirty nights for my brother’s life.Thirty nights…with him. Nikolai Novikov.The charming but dangerous loanshark.He’s deceptively smooth. Sinfully handsome.Addictive, even.But it’s only an illusion.I vow to give him nothing more than I promised,Yet he sees right through me.When it comes to my heart, all bets are off…And winner takes all.

 

 

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AUTHOR BIO

 

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE loves a dominant, dirty-talking alpha hero! She’s sold over a million copies of steamy romance with varying levels of kink. Her books have been featured in USA Today’s Happily Ever After and Popsugar. Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won Spunky and Sassy’s Favorite Sci-Fi and Anthology author, and The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance. She’s hit the USA Today list seven times with various anthologies.Sign up to receive a FREE ebook: https://subscribepage.com/alphastemp

The Bookie – First Chapter Preview

Chapter One

 

Nikolai

There’s just no pleasure in delivering a good beat-down anymore. 

As bookie for the Chicago bratva, it’s part of the job, but my heart isn’t into it. Not with this kid.

I bury my fist in Zane’s soft belly and watch as he doubles over, wheezing. We’re in his dorm room at Northwestern. I told his roommate to take a hike unless he wanted me to beat his face in too.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get your money. I promise,” he gasps.

“Nah. We’re past your promises,” I tell him. “This time, I’m here to collect.” It’s not like he hasn’t been warned. The truth is, I probably have gone way too easy on him because I like Zane. 

He’s smart. Was a decent addition to my poker table before he got into blow and started acting like a douche.

Oleg, our bratva cell’s enforcer, hauls him back to his feet and holds him up for me to punch again. I tip my head at Adrian, one of our soldiers, to have him deliver the blow.

I don’t get off on violence. Not the way Pavel, the most sadistic in our bratva cell, does. But he moved to Los Angeles to be with his actress girlfriend, who gets off on his sadistic ways. And Oleg, our huge, silent enforcer, is also in love, which has softened him. 

The guy was probably always a teddy bear under the huge fearsome exterior, but he pulls punches more often now. Case in point—he’s doing the holding up instead of the punching. Considering one aptly delivered blow from Oleg’s giant fists could end a guy, it doesn’t make sense.

“I’ve given you slack while you get the money together, but you missed last week’s payment. Didn’t answer my texts. So here is what’s going to happen.”

Adrian punches his jaw then delivers a left uppercut to the ribs. Our new cleaner shows promise. Adrian’s new to this country and has known great hardship. He still rides the sharp edge of violence. The rest of us have grown softer living large in America.

“You’re going to give me the keys to your Mustang and sign over the title.”

Zane gapes at me, eyes bugging out. Blood runs from both his nostrils and his lip. “You can’t…I…” I raise my brows, and he finishes with a simple “fuck.”

Adrian hits him again.

“I’m not completely heartless. I’ll deduct the full resale value from what you owe the bratva. It’s a 2018?”

Adrian hits him before he can answer, and Zane drops to his knees. “No more,” he wheezes.

“Get me the title.”

“Here are the keys.” He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls them out. “The title is at my sister’s place. I’ll bring it to you Friday.”

I take the keys. “Nah. We’ll go get it now—together. I wouldn’t mind meeting Big Sister. What’s her name again? Chelle?”

Zane’s eyes go wild, not missing my intended implication. “Leave my sister out of this. I’ll get you the title right now. Just give me a lift over there.” 

“Let’s go.” I spread my hands. 

Oleg hauls Zane to his feet, but he stumbles on his way to the door, like he can’t remember how to walk. We flank him as we head down the hall, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. 

I’d scoped the location of the Mustang when we arrived, so I go straight to it now and get behind the wheel. Adrian shoves Zane toward the back seat and takes the front passenger side. 

Oleg leaves to drive the SUV we came in. 

Zane lunges between the seats and points to the glove box. “There are napkins in there,” he grunts. “Unless you want me to bleed all over your new car.”

“Someone else’s new car,” I say mildly, lifting my chin at the glove box to let Adrian know it’s okay to get them. “You think I want to drive your old set of wheels?”

Adrian’s lip curls when he hands the napkins back, and Zane flinches at the hardness he catches in our soldier’s face.

I drive to Zane’s sister’s place without directions. I’ve already done my homework. My brother Dima, our bratva cell’s hacker, researches all our players. When Zane got in the hole with us, Dima went deeper. I have everything I need on Zane to wring him dry.

I know he and his sister had an upper middle-class upbringing. Their father was a stock broker who shot himself three years ago. They inherited little because it turned out the guy had a gambling problem. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in Zane’s case.

The one thing the dad hadn’t touched was his kid’s college fund, so Zane was still riding his privilege there. The sister is five years older and works for the top publicity firm in town. 

I pull up in front of a brownstone building in a transitional neighborhood of Chicago. It is one of those up-and-coming hipster areas where old buildings are being gentrified, but there are still good deals to be found.

Zane gets out and punches a code in at the door, then leads us up three flights of stairs. “You have the key,” he mumbles at me. I hand him his keyring, and he finds the right one and pushes it in the lock.

The apartment is small but nice. Worn oak flooring, walls painted white except for the random accent in muted teal and plum. There are tastefully framed black and white art photos.  Everything is relatively neat. I stop and pick up a framed picture of what looks like Zane’s high school graduation. He’s in his cap and gown, a young woman tucked under one arm.

“Is this Chelle?” The woman is much smaller than him, but they share the same facial features—the shape of their nose and mouth, their coloring.

“Leave her out of this,” Zane snarls.

I don’t comment. I have no intention of harming his sister, but I’m not above making him think I will. I learned the art of intimidation from Ravil, our pakhan. I know it’s more what you don’t say, what you merely imply, than what you really do. Let their imaginations run wild. Let them wonder how much we are actually capable of. The truth is, while we may operate on the wrong side of the law for many of our business operations, there’s still a code we live by. Harming innocent women isn’t something we do.

I bring the photo closer to my face to inspect it. Chelle is actually quite lovely. She’s petite—I doubt she’s much taller than five feet and everything about her is diminutive. Her dark brown hair cascades in long waves over her shoulders, and there’s a smattering of freckles across her nose. I can’t tell if it’s just the way the light hits her eyes in the photo, but her irises appear less hazel than Zane’s and more golden.

Zane’s gone to a filing cabinet in the small nook of the living room that she appears to use as an office and is rooting through it. “I mean it. Chelle has nothing to do with this.”

I’m glad Zane isn’t a complete douche. His desire to protect his sister from his foibles scores a few points with me.

“Did you find the title?”

Zane is tearing file folders out, rooting through them, and tossing them on the floor. Eventually, he stands. “Here it is.”

He limps over and thrusts the title under my nose.

“Sign it,” I instruct him.

“It will have to be notarized.”

I smirk. “I’ll take care of that.” 

“Can you just keep it and give it back to me when I pay you off?”

“No. I need cash. Consider yourself lucky that I’m willing to handle this transaction for you. Me giving you full value is a fucking gift, so show some appreciation and get me the rest of my money.”

“I will, I will.” Zane picks up a pen and signs it over to me. I hold my palm out for the keys, and he unwinds the car key from the ring. “I’m sorry, man. I will get the rest of it.”

I pocket the key and drop a hand on his shoulder. “You are very smart. I know you can figure this shit out. I’ll expect another payment by next Friday, and if I don’t hear from you, we won’t be so kind as we were today.” I make a point of glancing back at the photo of his sister. “I wouldn’t mind involving Chelle in the next transaction. She looks like a hot one.”

Zane makes a choking sound, but we’re already making our exit. 

He can find his own ride back to the dorms.

 

#

 

Chelle

“I need you to work on the media buys for these two new clients,” my boss, Janette, tells me, dropping two file folders on my desk at six o’clock. 

There goes tonight’s spin class.

Despite my position as a glorified secretary, I’m grateful to be her assistant. As the founder and head of Image First Publicity, she’s a bad-ass publicist, turning her minority-owned business into a multiple seven-figure enterprise within three years. 

That’s why I’m here long past five, when my day is supposed to end. I don’t leave until she does because I’m trying to prove I’m worthy of an assistant publicist position with my own accounts.

I love the job. I find publicity both fascinating and glamorous. I definitely have aspirations of running my own firm someday. But to do that, I have to work from the ground up, which means when Janette snaps, I run. Because this business is highly competitive and there are at least a dozen people at the firm who would kill for my job. So for the moment, I’m resigned to having no social life.

Which is fine since my last three Bumble dates were a total flop. I’m not missing much.

Except for sex.

I definitely miss sex. 

A little physical pleasure now and then would be nice.

The problem is, I’m not the kind of person who can separate sex from a relationship. I don’t know how to date just for sex. I try to picture the guys I date in the vision of what I want my future life to be. It’s all very serious, and no one measures up, and I’m left using my fingers and vibrator instead of lowering my standards to have my needs met and then kicking the guy out the door in the morning.

“I will get them all arranged,” I promise Janette, who has stopped to lean her hip against my desk.

It’s a good sign. It means she’s winding down. When she pauses to actually make conversation I know she’ll be leaving soon.

“I have potential clients coming in from Madison next week. I need to wine and dine them—show them what’s special about Chicago. Any ideas on where to take them?”

“You could always do one of the skyrise restaurants overlooking the city.”

Janette wrinkles her nose. “Too stuffy. They’re young. It’s Skate 3—three Youtube skateboard stars who have monetized their popularity with an online store that’s grossing three hundred grand a month. So I need something more lively and hip. What’s new around Chicago for nightlife?”

I nibble the inside of my lip. “Let me think about it, and I’ll make you a list of possible options.”

Janette rewards me with a smile and a quick tap of her manicured fingers on my desk. “That would be great. I knew you’d have some ideas. You’re young and out on the scene more than I am.”

I don’t disabuse her of the notion that I actually have a social life. I mean, I would like to have a social life. I partied a little in college with my roommate Shanna. But after my dad’s suicide, I pretty much packed that side of me up and shoved her in a box.

These days my social life consists of going to happy hour on Wednesdays when Shanna works the bar and seeing my younger brother, Zane, once a week for dinner, except he’s flaked the last couple of weeks. I’m afraid he may be partying too much. His grades last semester were definitely down.

The thought of him ending up like my dad keeps me up at night.

I start straightening my desk, hoping I’ve read the signs right, and it’s okay to leave for the day.

Janette stands. “All right, I’m heading out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I shut down my computer and follow her out of the building, already starting to assemble the list of possible places she could take the clients in my head. By the time I’ve ridden the train home, I have a half-dozen ideas. I text them to myself as I walk the couple blocks to the place I rent.

When I push open the door of my apartment, I catch sight of my brother’s long body crashed out on my couch. Relief at seeing him is quickly replaced by concern.

“Zane? What’s up? Are you sick?”

It’s not completely unusual for him to be here. He comes by sometimes to do his laundry, but something feels off about him being here on a Friday night. 

I catch sight of his face in the fading light and shriek. It’s been beaten. It’s swollen, almost unrecognizable.

“Oh my God! What happened to you?”

He groans.

“Zane?” I rush to his side, my heart thundering. “Oh my God. Should I call an ambulance? Who did this?”

The sense of dread coursing through my veins tells me I already suspect what happened. He’s into something bad. Dammit. I feared something like this was coming but kept trying to talk myself out of the worry.

“I ran into a couple guys’ fists.” Zane attempts to sit up, gasping at the effort. 

“What. Happened?” I demand. I want the whole story. Whatever it is he’s been hiding from me for the past few months.

My brother is all I have in the world, and he’s my responsibility. I may only be five years older, but after our dad’s death, I became my brother’s guardian and the trustee of his college fund. I’m supposed to be taking care of him, and I’ve obviously screwed up, royally.

Tears burn my eyes. “Zane, tell me what’s going on,” I beg.

He winces as he draws a breath. “I owe some guys money,” he admits. 

“What guys? Drug dealers?”

“No.”

It’s a tiny relief. He’s been so off lately that I’ve suspected he’s been using drugs recreationally. 

“Bratva.”

“What?”

“They’re Russian mafiya. I got behind on my gambling debts.”

“Fuck, Zane.” 

Goddammit. I knew it! I freaking knew it. 

I stand up and start pacing. “How much do you owe them?” 

“Probably around forty grand now. They took the Mustang today and said they’d wipe the full value off what I owe.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Loan sharks give notoriously bad terms. They aren’t going to give him full value for his car. “Who are these guys?” I repeat, even though he already told me.

“Russian mafiya.”

“Okay, so the forty grand is before or after the value of your car gets knocked off?”

“Before.”

I pace some more. “How did this happen?”

“I’ve been playing poker with them for a while. I used to win big. But… my luck turned,” he says, as if that explains or excuses being forty grand in debt to the Russian mob. 

“Your luck turned,” I repeat in disbelief. “When did your luck turn? How long have you been accumulating this debt? I mean, is it one night’s worth, or—”

“A few months. They stopped letting me in a month ago because I was under water. I’ve been working on a plan but—”

I cock my head. “And that plan is?” 

Zane doesn’t meet my eye. He gives a half-hearted shrug. 

“So you don’t really have a plan?”

“No.”

“And how long did they give you to pay off this debt?”

He shrugs again. “They didn’t say. I guess today was a hurry-up warning.”

“A hurry-up warning.”

I go to the kitchen and wrap an ice pack in a towel and bring it to him. “I can’t believe this.”

He takes the ice pack but doesn’t put it on his swollen face. “I know.”

“I mean, after dad—” My voice cracks.

“I know.”

I can’t help it, the tears start falling. I snatch the ice pack from his hands and hold it to his bruised cheekbone, but he jerks away. “Zane, I can’t take this. It’s too much, okay? I couldn’t deal if something happened to you too.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he tries to placate me. “These guys aren’t that bad. I’m going to figure out how to get them the rest of their money, and I won’t play again. Okay?”

I sniff. “How?”

“I don’t know. Is there any way we could use the trust?”

“No,” I snap. I knew he’d ask me for that. “It’s for education expenses only. Do you know how lucky you are Dad left that intact when he died?”

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” He tries to get to his feet and falls to his knees instead.

“Fuck, Zane!” I lurch forward and catch his arm. “Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

 

The Bookie

I BARGAINED WITH THE BRATVA—

MY BROTHER’S LIFE FOR MY OWN.

 

They offered me a deal: thirty nights for my brother’s life.

Thirty nights…with him. Nikolai Novikov.

The charming but dangerous loan shark.

He’s deceptively smooth. Sinfully handsome.

Addictive, even.

But it’s only an illusion.

I vow to give him nothing more than I promised,

Yet he sees right through me.

When it comes to my heart, all bets are off…

And winner takes all. 

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Desired – Prologue and Chapter One

Desired

Two Marks, Book 3

 

Prologue

 

RACHEL

 

Chester, my so-called boyfriend, pulled up in front of my parents’ Palo Alto mansion and parked his convertible BMW in the circle drive. From the window, I couldn’t miss the pale blue shirt, or the way his dark hair was perfect. That meant he had more product in it than I ever used in mine so it wasn’t wind tousled. He was perfect at all times. Perfect.

Ugh. I’d been dodging him for three days. He’s perfect for you, darling. Think of it, you’ll be a senator’s wife someday! It’ll be perfect when you’re married to a man with such aspirations. Your children will be perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. PERFECT. My parents didn’t understand that I didn’t want perfect. That I wanted to choose my own man, one with flaws. Was it too much to ask to own my own life? To do my own thing? Make my own choices? Fail, even?

Failing didn’t happen in my family. It was considered impossible in the political spotlight my family lived in.

I’d graduated from Stanford, like my father and grandfather before me. I was smart, and didn’t need coddling. Or being told what to do. Like marriage. To Chester. The wedding I hadn’t planned. The one that was being thrust upon me by Chester and my parents. 

I just needed a minute to breathe and figure out what I really wanted to do instead of becoming Mrs. Chester Barnes IV. The perfect wife.

I’d made it crystal clear to them, I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t want Chester. I’d been hinting for years at a life that didn’t involve my parents’ closest friends’ son. To become arm candy as Chester worked his way up in my father’s law firm and into politics. He needed me and my family’s clout to win.

Since I was going to become a senator’s wife, I wanted more of a life than vote stumping, planning charity events, and wearing fashionable dresses. Glancing down at myself, I took in the blue dress, the navy pumps. Pearls. God, my mother must have told Chester what I was going to wear so we matched.

Matched!

My heart galloped in my chest with anxiety and panic. No matter what I said, my life was being planned for me. Everyone was ready for me to step into the mold they’d created for me. To continue the family legacy. It wasn’t as if they ever considered me to be the senator.

Chester let himself in the house without knocking since my parents already thought of him as their son-in-law. “Rach? Babe?” he called. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

I sighed and left my childhood bedroom before he came up and invaded my space any more. The only good thing was that my parents insisted we wait until marriage before living together. I’d added on that I was saving myself for marriage. I remembered that night, when I’d told Chester of that. It made me smile even now.

For once, he hadn’t gotten his way. It wasn’t that he was overly gentlemanly, but because he didn’t want to blow any chances with my father. The future lawmaker was willing to take some cold showers.

But for not much longer.

“Late for what?” I asked. “I thought you were taking me to dinner.”

“I am. I made reservations.” He had already started up the stairs as I sailed down them, pausing to receive a perfunctory kiss. I felt nothing from it. Where was the heat? The pulsing between my legs I read about in my romance novels? Why was the perfect hero seemingly too perfect?

“Well, I don’t think they’ll give our table away if we’re two minutes late,” I said.

He followed me back down the steps and across the foyer. “Are you ready? You look ready.”

My stomach twisted. I really needed to break things off with him. To just end it. Say I didn’t want him. That we weren’t a ‘thing.’ That he should find someone else who’d be happy to wear matching outfits and be eager for early tee times. Nothing about us worked for me, and I was getting tired of pretending it did.

Tonight. I’d do it at dinner tonight, where we were in public and he couldn’t make a scene.

“Sure. I’m ready.” I needed to get this over with.

I struggled to think of something to say as we cut through the ritzy neighborhood, but it didn’t matter, because Chester launched into a ten-minute long boast about his latest racquetball sessions, only taking a breath when he pulled in front of the valet at the country club.

I looked around. “Wait. We’re having dinner here?” I’d grown up coming to this place. It wasn’t romantic or private. Not a place I wanted to go on a date.

“Uh, yes.” He came around and joined me by the entrance. “I figured for old time’s sake. We practically grew up here together, right?”

I’d grown up coming to the club. But together? Hardly. Chester was five years older, so most of our childhood had been him leading his group of friends to pick on mine. But okay, whatever.

I also didn’t understand why he’d need reservations. It wasn’t like the restaurant was ever over-full. It was a private club, and both our families were members.

“Come on, we’re through here,” Chester said, taking my hand and leading me around to a side entrance that led to one of the private dining rooms.

My pulse started to pick up, and not in a good way.

Crap. Chester had something planned.

And here I thought the surprise would be me breaking up with him.

But it had to be done.

He opened the door and put a hand on my back to usher me in. 

“Surprise!”

A loud chorus of voices shouted at once, making me jump and scream.

The lights flipped on, and I blinked.

A large banner was strung across the far wall. Happy Engagement Chester and Rachel. No comma after engagement, which for some reason was the first thing I noticed. Not the actual words.

Because the actual words were… untrue. We weren’t engaged. He hadn’t asked. I definitely wouldn’t have said yes.

“Wh… what’s this?” My high-pitched voice sounded more like my mother’s than my own.

My parents, and Chester’s, and a bunch of random family friends all stood around the large table with broad smiles. There were presents in the middle like it was already our wedding night. Not that we were having a wedding night.

“It’s a surprise engagement party,” my mother explained, coming over and hugging me. Her familiar scent swirled around me, cloyingly sweet and heavy. “Isn’t it wonderful, dear?”

I tried to take a step back, but Chester’s hand at my back stopped me. “Um… but we’re not engaged,” I managed to say.

Chester pulled out a box, and dropped to one knee.

There were a few gasps, but all I saw was the box. The ring. It was big and gaudy. Something easily picked up in photos.

Oh no. Oh, crap. My stomach dropped. Panic made it feel like the walls were closing in.

“Chester, no.” I tried to stop him.

He looked up at me with an adoring, eager expression. “Rachel, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I shook my head. I’d gone along with everyone for so long, but I couldn’t do it now. Not here, not like this. This wasn’t what I wanted. Maybe I’d enabled everyone by not saying no before, but now I was.

“No. No way.”

I was able to back up, and I did. One step, then another.

Quickly.

I backed right up until I hit the closed door, then I reached behind my back and twisted the handle.

“This… um… I can’t… this is not, um…”

Torn between being the good girl who didn’t want to embarrass Chester, and my fury at him and my family for banking on that good girl saying yes for exactly that reason, I opted out of any explanation at all.

“I won’t marry you.”

I turned and ran, as fast as I could. From the life they had planned for me. The life I didn’t want.

 

CHAPTER 1

 

CORD

 

Hunger was what took me to the diner for lunch. As usual, I’d lost track of time—between patients and my research, it was a common occurrence—and arrived well past the busy lunch rush. For such a small town, it was good to see all the business in West Springs. Locals—humans and shifters—took care of their own. As I settled into my usual booth in the corner, I breathed in the scents. Chili. Chicken pot pie. Vegetable soup. Fall had set in, the leaves past their peak and the trees were almost bare once again, which meant warm and comforting foods on the menu.

I hadn’t been in for a while, having been away for over a week at a medical conference in Texas, then tackling back-to-back patients to make up for lost time.

Something was different today. I took a deep breath and tried to figure it out. A new spice? Fruit pie? I noted hints of cinnamon and cherry. Perhaps Bessie had found a new recipe. My mouth watered, eager to try it. I was a confirmed bachelor in town, so Bessie ensured I ate well. Being the only doctor in West Springs, I kept the humans in town healthy, which kept me busy all hours of the day and night. Then there was my research into shifter DNA and gene mapping that distracted me.

Like now. I missed the blur of a woman as she pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, followed by a clatter and breaking of dishes as they hit the floor. I winced and hoped only empty plates had been dropped instead of food that would be wasted.

A minute later, Bessie came out, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Seeing me in the corner, she offered me the usual smile and wave, then veered to the coffee pot. She came over with a mug and filled it to the brim.

“How’s it going today?” she asked.

While she couldn’t ask me after my patients because of confidentiality, she knew as much, if not more, about the residents of West Springs than I did. I might know who had bursitis—humans—or how fast someone healed after a fall on a full moon run—shifter—but she knew everything else.

“You tell me,” I replied.

She set her free hand on her hip and took a deep breath. At sixty, she was as spry as ever. Her two mates kept her busy. One was in the kitchen cooking, the other on their ranch on the back side of the mountain, keeping everything running.

“Sally’s eager for her baby to be born.” She looked left and right to see who was sitting nearby. She didn’t dare say pup in the restaurant because of all the humans. “I’m sure you know that.”

I didn’t need to treat any of the shifters, since they healed on their own from all but the most severe of injuries, like beheading or being shot with a silver bullet. Both of which were possible, but I’d never known it to happen. I did follow the reproduction of our species closely.

“Little Jack Morring’s cow won a blue ribbon at the fall fair last weekend. Still no grumblings from the ranchers. Well, no more than usual,” she went on.

I frowned and took a sip of my coffee. I loved it black and strong, and Bessie knew just how to make it to strip paint off a barn. Over the summer, two ranchers had killed some wolves, and been given fines for their actions. Since they had been the ringleaders of the group of older and pestering humans, the remaining group who frequented the diner for their morning coffee klatch didn’t have the same drive to put action to their anger. Thankfully.

“That’s good to hear.” I took a sniff, picking up that delicious dessert scent. “Got a new pie you’re trying out?”

She frowned. “Pete made a batch of his potato soup.”

The scent definitely wasn’t that.

A woman came in from the kitchen with a tray on her shoulder but it leaned dangerously toward spilling. She was the one I’d glimpsed before, but could now watch. I could check out her curvy body, the way the diner uniform t-shirt clung to her full breasts. The way her blonde hair slid like a curtain over her shoulders.

My mouth watered, eager to brush that hair to the side and kiss her neck. To nip at the spot where it met her shoulder. 

Going to a table of men on the other side of the diner, she began to serve them. She had a difficult time balancing the tray, and I was practically on the edge of my seat with the need to rescue her. All of the meals had safely been placed on the table, but a glass of iced tea spilled, pouring off the edge of the tray like a dark waterfall.

Her instant reaction was to turn away from the diners, which flung the liquid across the tile floor.

The sweet scent was stronger now, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the woman. A flush of pink brightened her cheeks, clearly from embarrassment. She set the tray on an empty table and bent down to wipe up the spilled drink with a cloth she’d had tucked into the apron at her waist. Her jeans were snug across her curvy ass, and I couldn’t look away.

Neither could the men at the table. I saw red, and a growl escaped my throat.

Bessie held out a hand. “If I told off every man who looked at one of my waitresses with a little extra attention, there’d only be female customers.” I didn’t like her words and glared at her, but only for a second because I had to look back at her. Because I’d been just like those men, ogling her. Hell, my dick was hard just watching her from across the room.

“Who is that?” I had to know. It wasn’t just important, it was imperative. I couldn’t leave here without that information, and anything else Bessie had on her. All I knew was that she was around twenty, gorgeous… and mine.

Wait, what?

“Rachel.”

Rachel.

“She’s new. As you can tell. She’s as smart as a tack, figuring out the checks without using a calculator.” Bessie leaned down, although she wasn’t whispering for me. She did it so Rachel couldn’t overhear, which meant she was human. “The worst waitress I think I’ve ever had. She’s broken more dishes than she’s served, but on the bright side, my floor’s never been cleaner with all the wiping up.”

Then she laughed, to soften the harsh words. She’d been in the business for decades, so it was saying a lot. I took offense for Rachel.

“If she’s so terrible, why did you hire her?” I asked.

Pete hollered from the back for Bessie. She huffed, then turned on her sneakered foot, not answering.

I wanted to go and yell at her mate for interrupting what I could learn about Rachel, but then I’d come across as insane.

Which I felt at this moment.

What was wrong with me? I itched to stand and toss Rachel over my shoulder. Carry her off. Help her with her tables. Put her coat on her before she left so she didn’t get cold.

“Rach, hon, help the doc with his order while I see what Grumbly Pants in the back wants,” Bessie said.

Rachel stood from her crouch and nodded to Bessie, then glanced my way.

Holy shit. Her eyes were the palest of blues. Intense. Frustrated and upset. She raised a finger to me, then went and poured a new glass of iced tea and took it to the waiting table. Then she came my way.

Finally.

I took her in up close. Fuck, she was young. Her skin was flawless. Her eyes were bright, and her smile a little forced. “Hi there. I’m Rachel. What can I get for you today?”

She nodded and her hair swung around her cheek. I wanted to reach out and tuck it back. Wrap it around my fingers and hold it as I kissed her. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my raging heart… and dick.

Then it hit me. This was the sweet scent I’d picked up. Her.

She was the dessert I craved. She was the cherry pie, and I knew why. I sounded like a horny asshole, but I knew just by looking at her that she was sweet. And the reason I scented cherries was because she had one. Fuck me. My dick spurted pre-cum, and my wolf, who was usually quiet and tame, surged forward and licked his lips. She was a virgin. It wasn’t as if she had a sign on her forehead, but I knew. I’d bet my medical license on it. Crazy, yeah.

She. Was. My. Mate.

“I, uh, I’ll have some more water,” I choked out.

Unaware of my porn-worthy thoughts, she nodded and headed to the kitchen.

I barely remained in my seat, but remembered at the last second that following her with a raging hard-on wouldn’t be smart. I was the town doctor. I was always in control. It was my job to have a level head. To be calm and collected. A quick thinker.

Now, I was out of control. Wild. Driven by my basest needs to make her mine.

I’d never expected to meet my true mate. To find the scent of her. Because, while I’d been born in West Springs and was a pure-bred member of the Two Marks pack, I had no scent match. Meaning there wasn’t another male whose scent was the same as mine. Who would claim a mate with me. The quirk of the West Springs shifter DNA. Hell, I knew all about it, since I studied it with a passion.

I was the broken one. The kind I studied the most. Yet, while I’d now found my mate, I couldn’t claim her as a Two Marks mate should. I was alone, and I was deficient. Not only did I not have a scent match, but I couldn’t give her or the pack the pups that were deserved. And our species was rapidly dwindling. 

Rachel returned with a glass of ice water. She kept her eyes on mine the whole way over, as if she sensed something different about me too. As if she were attracted. Needy.

Her nipples poked against the t-shirt, giving her away. I took a deep breath. Her scent was even sweeter now. Fuck, she was aroused. I scented her desire. Her need.

For me. This wasn’t one-sided.

No. I’d be hers as much as she’d be mine.

She closed the distance between us, but at the last second, she stumbled. The ice water flew over me, the freezing liquid drenching me. The glass dropped to the floor and broke.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Rachel cried.

I’d never been thankful for being doused in ice water before. My dick went down. Until she pulled a rag from her apron pocket—she must have grabbed a new one after the iced tea incident—and started drying my chest and then the front of my pants.

Now I was so hard, I was sure the zipper would break. Her hands froze and she looked up at me, meeting my gaze. Her eyes were so blue, like a summer sky. In those depths, I saw her. Recognized her. Knew she was mine.

I had no idea how long we stared, but she blinked, yanked her hand back from my jean-covered dick, then turned away. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink, and it was obvious she was mortified. She squatted down and began to pick up the broken glass.

“No, don’t get that,” I warned. “You’ll—”

She hissed, then sucked her finger into her mouth. Shit, she’d cut herself. Before I could reach out and see how badly she was hurt, she popped up and ran for the kitchen, the swinging door moving back and forth from her haste.

I stared after her, stunned.

Her scent lingered, and my wolf howled. I’d found her, and now she was gone. I stood and followed. I’d dwelled on all the reasons why I shouldn’t keep a mate, but now that I knew who she was, all I could think about was being with her. I couldn’t let even a room separate us.

Not now. Not ever again.

 

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The Hacker is Now Live

Title: The HackerSeries: Chicago Bratva #5Author: Renee RoseGenre: Mafia/Bratva RomanceRelease Date: September 28, 2021BLURB

 

SHE BETRAYED MY FAMILY—I WILL MAKE HER PAY.

 

The sweet redhead in our building isn’t as innocent as we thought.She brought a Fed into our circle. Got my twin brother shot.Now she will pay. I’m putting her in charge of nursing him back to health.If he dies, she dies. That’s what I told her, anyway.Of course I wouldn’t actually harm her.Our beautiful neighbor is already under my skin.But that won’t stop me from punishing herthen touching her in all the ways I vowed I wouldn’t.She’s ruined my peace. Become a distraction I can’t afford.I want to keep her under my control…

 

I need to keep her out of my heart.

 

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

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EXCERPT

 

I turn to see Natasha standing in the doorway. She’s still in that fucking dress. The one that shows every single curve of her lithe body. It makes her look like a grown-up, someone I could do all the dirty things I frequently imagine doing to her.

 

“Get out.” I seriously cannot deal with her. I’m not ready. I need more information. I need to get behind a fucking computer!She doesn’t listen, though. She comes in, drifting ever closer, close enough for me to catch her ginger-peach scent. The one that seems to match her the red glints in her coppery hair.“I’m sick over what I did. What a mess I made of things. I… um… I’ve been trying to figure out why I wasn’t upfront about bringing Alex to the game.”I grind my molars and finally lift my icy gaze to hers. I even go so far as to take a few menacing steps in her direction.She registers the threat, backing up toward the wall. I want to kick my own ass for scaring her, but pushing her away—keeping myself shut off from her allure—is imperative. I can’t let myself soften toward her. She’s already the hugest liability possible.“Honestly?” Her fingers tangle together at her waist; she’s doing that fidgety thing she does when she’s nervous. “I think I was trying to get a rise out of you.”My brain scrambles in disbelief.Natasha is not the manipulative type. At least, I didn’t think so. She’s sweet and honest and giving.“I hoped you’d be jealous and finally make a move.”I’m suffocating suddenly by the friction of her words ricocheting inside my body. She hoped I’d…be jealous. And make a fucking move.I close the distance between us, my hand grasping her throat as I push her up against the wall. Her eyes widen, but I don’t have time to watch them dilate because my mouth crashes down on hers, taking everything I’ve wanted all these torturous months. It’s a brutal kiss. A punishment for all the agony she’s put me through. For what she’s still doing to me.I lick between her lips to lash her with my tongue. I let my teeth scrape her lips, I suck her tongue into my mouth. She gives it back with passion. So much more eagerness than I expect or deserve.Well, hell. My cock swells against my zipper. My kiss grows more feral.She reaches for my dick, giving the hardened outline against my jeans a squeeze. I catch her wrist and spin her to face the wall, punishing her with a sharp smack to her ass.

 

 

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Releasing December 7

 

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The Hacker – Chapter One

SHE BETRAYED MY FAMILY—I WILL MAKE HER PAY.The sweet strawberry blonde in our building isn’t as innocent as we thought.

She brought a Fed into our circle. Got my twin brother shot.

Now she will pay. I’m putting her in charge of nursing him back to health. 

If he dies, she dies. That’s what I told her, anyway. 

Of course, I wouldn’t actually harm her.

Our beautiful neighbor is already under my skin.

But that won’t stop me from punishing her

then touching her in all the ways I vowed I wouldn’t.

She’s ruined my peace. Become a distraction I can’t afford.

I want to keep her under my control…

I need to keep her out of my heart.

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Prologue

St. Petersburg 2011 

Dima

 

I slam the brakes on the Lada too hard, sending the car I share with my twin brother into a full spin on the icy highway. For one glorious moment, I think I’ve done it.

I’ve ended things. I won’t have to sell my soul to the bratva to repay the loan I took for her treatment. 

I’m going to join her. I promised there’d be no one else for me. I swore it there in the hospital, the night before she took her last breath. When she took off the ring I gave her and put it on my pinkie finger. 

You are always mine, and I am always yours. Even in death. 

Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.

Right before I went home and beat my bedroom wall until it crumbled.

Nikolai’s frantic yells fill my ears as our car smashes into a guardrail, crushing my side of the car in. Metal screams, glass shatters. We teeter on the side of a bridge over a frozen river. This is it. Time to die. The pain will end now. 

I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife, but I do know I don’t want to live without her. 

Nikolai unbuckles his seat belt and throws his door open, yanking me by the shirt to haul me out on his side.

“Nyet.” I don’t move. The moment he gets out, the car will fall to the river below. I don’t know if the ice will break beneath the weight. Maybe the impact alone will kill me. I can only hope.

Nikolai keeps hold of my shirt with one hand. With the other, he punches me in the face.

Pain explodes in my nose and behind my eyes. My vision goes black, blood pours into my mouth. 

Nikolai uses my disorientation to yank me from behind the wheel. “Get the hell out,” he growls in Russian. 

My vision still hasn’t returned. My legs scramble—fuck. I think they’re helping me climb out. 

I throw out a hand to grab for the door handle. The steering wheel. Something to keep me in the car when it slides off the bridge, but my twin is too fast. He throws his weight backward and falls down to the ground outside his door, pulling me on top of him. 

Metal groans. The car teeters and then slides away from us. For a moment, it feels as if the bridge itself is falling, as the world swoops around me. And then it crashes to the river below.

Nikolai punches me in the face again. And again. “You don’t get to die today, asshole.” Another punch. “And you don’t get to fucking bring me with you.”

I groan, choking on blood. 

I didn’t mean to kill Nikolai. I am a bastard for not even separating myself from him. 

I hadn’t planned on dying tonight—not consciously, anyway. But I should have given his presence in the car more thought before I executed that non-plan. 

That’s the thing with twins. Nikolai feels like an extension of myself. The silent presence who shared my pain through the months of Alyona’s chemo and radiation. Who did my homework for me and swapped classes to pretend to be me and take my tests when I stopped caring about school. 

He was the guy who found out about the bratva loan when it seemed like a new expensive treatment option might help. 

We don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. He’s been with me through the whole fucking thing. From falling in love with the most beautiful girl in the city to putting her in the ground.

I groan and curl up on my side in the snow, turning it crimson with the blood from my nose and the split in my lip. 

“Get up.”

I don’t move.

Over the howling wind, I fail to notice the arrival of another car. A door being thrown open.

“Get in,” an authoritative voice commands.

Nikolai tries to haul me up. I don’t move. 

“Get them in the car.”

Two pairs of gleaming black boots stomp around me, and I’m hauled to my feet and shoved in the back of a limo. 

That was the night we first met Igor Antonov. 

The night the bratva found us and took their due, not in the form of a beat-down or threats, but full ownership of our lives. Because Igor recognized the value of young men with a deathwish. His army was made up of them.

So our mother did lose both her sons that night. She believed we were lost to the icy river, not to the brotherhood that required we disavow all ties to her.

 

Chapter One

 

Dima

There you are, beautiful. 

Hacking and cyberstalking isn’t just a job, it’s a way of life. Sitting behind my screen in the penthouse I share with my bratva brothers, I rule the cyberworld. Right now, I’m watching the live security cam feed on our building to glimpse the slender female figure enter the front door and walk to the elevator. 

I sprout a semi just seeing her unassuming yet somehow sensual walk and the absent smile that tugs at her lips, like she’s thinking of something that makes her happy. 

“Who are you spying on?” Nikolai asks from the couch. 

Fucker. My twin knows exactly who I’m stalking, and his awareness is becoming more and more of a thorn in my side.

“Ooh, is it a woman?” our roommate, Sasha, calls from the kitchen, then sprints through the living room to look over my shoulder.

Case in point.

I click away before she can see anything, sending both her and Nikolai a glare.

Wrong move. My out-of-character response showed my hand. I should’ve played it casual.

Sasha gasps theatrically—always the thespian. ”It is a woman! Who? Let me see.” She tries to snatch at my mouse.

“It’s your mother,” I say then instantly regret it because Sasha’s broad smile wobbles and falls. Her greedy mother was involved in a scheme to steal Sasha’s inheritance and isn’t well-liked around here.

“Wait, really?”

“No. Bad joke. Sorry.”

“What the fuck?” Maxim snaps from the kitchen. He doesn’t appreciate anyone offending his new bride, which is understandable.

“Sorry.” I hold the mouse in the air, out of her reach, but she’s still trying to grab it. “Tell your wife not to touch my equipment.”

Sasha giggle-snorts.

“That came out wrong. Just move away.” I make a shooing motion.

Sasha folds her arms over her chest. “You have to show us now. There’s no way I’m backing off until we see.”

Knowing there’s nothing to see by now—my quarry will be safely in the elevator by now, I set the mouse down. “Fine. This is what I was watching.” I click back on the feed, which shows the screen of the front lobby of our building, Maykl sitting behind the desk, less doorman than our heavily armed sentry.

Cyberstalking is my entertainment, my window to the world, my identity. With a keyboard and screen, I’m god. I consider my view of all data a right I earned by knowing how to access it. 

Everyone’s business is my business because it’s all there for me to see. I can find every scrap of data about them. I can reshuffle it, rearrange it to change their lives with a few strokes of my keys. I can get them in trouble with the IRS, I can wipe their police records clean. I can change their credit score, steal their identity. 

“Kuznets wants your help with a hacking project,” my boss, Ravil, mentions as he passes through the living room. “I gave him your number. He’s going to have Sergei Litvin call you from Moscow.” 

“Okay.” 

I hoped Ravil’s interruption would distract Sasha, but she’s still after me. “So it’s someone in the building?” she demands. “Who?” 

“Who indeed?” Nikolai murmurs, a sardonic edge to his voice.

This time, I’m smart and ignore him. 

Sasha whirls to pin Nikolai with her gaze. “Is it a woman?” She gives an Oscar-worthy gasp. “Is it Natasha?”

“Is it?” Nikolai asks blandly, shifting his gaze to me.

“Why would I stalk Natasha?” I scoff but even saying her name out loud does something to me.

Because I’m always stalking the very lovely Natasha Zolotova, the sexy-as-hell, jail-bait daughter of one of the residents in our building who gives me a hard-on simply by existing. She’s not actually jail-bait. She’s twenty-three—about the same age as Sasha. But she has this fresh-faced sweetness that makes her seem like she could be eighteen. She’s the proverbial girl next door. She brings cheer to the entire building. 

Of course, I already know everything there is to know about her. I keep tabs on everyone in the building as part of my job for Ravil, the bratva boss who provides my twin brother and I a very comfortable life within the confines of the brotherhood.

But stalking Natasha is a daily activity for me, along with washing my face and brushing my teeth. Out of respect, I don’t read her emails or listen to her calls. I just like to check her Instagram photos. Watch the video feed from our building’s security cameras showing her coming in and out. I like to know what she’s wearing. Her mood. That she’s safe. I like to know how often she works—not enough to move out of her mother’s apartment or be able to support herself, as far as I can tell.

Today she’s in a melon-colored halter top over yoga pants, a fact I will verify in person in a few moments. I watch as she enters the apartment she shares with her mom, then comes back out, rolling her massage table to the elevator. 

I close my laptop and stand. 

“You have somewhere to be?” Nikolai asks. 

I am seriously going to kill the guy. I flip him the bird as I walk out of the penthouse suite, around the elevator to where I have a single bedroom that opens to the hallway, hotel room style.

My dick gets hard knowing Natasha will be getting off that elevator and knocking at my door in just a minute, her beautiful face doing crazy things to my resolve. I step inside my room and lean my forehead against the door.

The elevator dings. I try to get my thoughts out of the gutter.

I hate that she’s a mobile massage therapist—she brings her table to other people’s houses. It’s dangerous as hell. She told me she doesn’t see anyone she doesn’t know personally or who hasn’t been personally recommended, and she also told me she doesn’t see men, but I know that’s bullshit, since she’s given me two massages and will be up here shortly to give me another.

I made her promise if anyone ever messed with her she’d tell me. I may not be huge and able to snap necks with one hand like Oleg, our enforcer, but I’d damn well be lethal if anyone hurt that girl.

Not that she’s mine to protect. As much as I enjoy stalking Natasha, that’s all I will do. 

Booking the massages—that was a mistake. A huge one.

It was Nikolai’s fault. My asshole twin must’ve noted my, er, dedication to keeping tabs on her, so he threatened to book a massage, himself, if I wouldn’t. And there was no way I’d let Nikolai be naked in the same room as Natasha.

No fucking way.

So now I have to suffer through me being naked in the same room as Natasha and having those sweet hands touch me everywhere—well, almost everywhere—and not have my dick in my fist. Gospodi, I’m harder than marble the entire hour, and it’s the worst kind of torture. Especially when she flirts with me.

I’m not usually the guy women are attracted to. Nikolai gets them with his charm and general air of danger. Pavel, Ravil, Oleg, and Maxim—the other guys in our bratva cell—they all have women throwing panties their way—or at least they did before they claimed their current partners.

Me, though? 

I’m the computer geek. The hacker.

I’m not charming because I don’t even try. I’m the guy behind the curtain, manipulating the scenes from a computer screen.

But for some reason, Natasha seems to like me. Maybe she can sense my attraction to her—women are intuitive that way. She looks up at me with big sea green eyes like I’m someone worth having, and it shreds me from the inside. 

Because I’m not.

I’m definitely not worth having.

And more than that, I’m not available.

 

#

 

Natasha

I use a keycard in the gleaming elevator to get to the top floor of the Kremlin, the high rise on Lake Michigan that houses most of the Russians who live in Chicago, including myself. Like every time I come to the top floor, my pulse quickens. Before the doors open, I put on fresh lip gloss and fluff my hair. Today I’m on a mission. 

I shouldn’t have access to the penthouse floor, but Dima gave me this card when he booked his first massage with me. I thought it meant something at the time. The tattooed bratva member had been so attentive every time I’d been in his suite, working for his boss. 

But then he rescheduled. And rescheduled again.

Four times. 

And then the two times I gave him a massage, he acted stiff and stand-offish. So yeah, my hopes for something happening between me and the hot bad boy on the top floor have gradually dwindled to nothing. 

I roll my massage table out of the elevator and stand in front of his door now, lifting my hand to knock. He opens it before my knuckles hit the wood. “Amerikanets.” 

He calls me American. It seems like a friendly-enough moniker, but I’m not sure. It could be a dig. I think it’s a joke because I’ve fully integrated into American society. I worked hard to expunge the Russian accent from my speech. No one who met me would know I didn’t move here until I was nine. 

“Hi.” Butterflies flap their wings in my tummy at the sight of him. He’s tall, lanky and blond. His black-framed glasses and friendly face make him look more GQ than street thug. 

But he is a street thug, as my mother just reminded me by phone before I came up here.  None of these men are safe, and they are definitely not for me, according to her rules. 

Dima wears a worn Matrix t-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. His hair is rumpled, like he’s been shoving his fingers through it. He’s not beefy, but he has lowkey muscles, despite being a computer geek. IT Specialist is the official title, but I’d bet my last penny on him being a hacker. One of Russia’s finest, no doubt. The guy is always at a computer, and he seems hella smart.

“Hey.” He scowls at the massage table like it’s an unruly dog. Snatching it out of my grasp, he carries it in. 

“It has wheels, you know.” I follow him in. I try to banter, to put him at ease the way he used to do for me when I came up to massage his boss’s wife during her pregnancy, but when I’m in his room, when we’re alone, I never see that easy-going smile or joking banter of his. Instead, he almost seems defensive. Like he’s mad at me over something.

He doesn’t respond. 

“Or did you just want to show off your superior strength?” When he doesn’t answer, just starts unzipping the bag like he’s the therapist and I’m the client, I add, “I’m already well-acquainted with your muscles, you know.” 

Yes, I’m shameless with my flirting. It’s because he never does anything about it! I could have sworn this guy liked me. I thought he was asking me to massage him as an opening to… more.

And no, I’m not that kind of massage therapist. I don’t do happy endings. But I could have sworn Dima was interested. Anytime I was in the main penthouse suite, his gaze would follow me. Sometimes there was a light touch—his hand at my lower back, like we were on a date. 

And then the most glaring evidence: his hard-ons during the two massages I’ve given him. The tension he never releases. It’s like the guy suffers through my sessions instead of relaxing and enjoying them.

But he never asks me out or flirts back. I even tried asking him out, very casually. I asked if he was going to see his roommate’s band play at Rue’s Lounge. He said no, then showed up, didn’t speak to me, and glared at everyone who talked to me. And when I say everyone, I don’t even mean guys hitting on me. I was sitting with his suitemates—the members of his bratva cell and one of their wives.

After that, I stopped waiting. Stopped expecting him to do anything about it. And I should stop flirting because I started seeing a guy a few weeks ago. A hot half-Russian guy who just started as a personal trainer at my gym.

I pull out the sheets and cover the table, turn on my massage music, and get out the oil. “I’ll just wait behind the door while you get undressed and lie facedown on the table,” I say in my best quiet spa voice. I swear I feel Dima’s gaze on my ass as I walk into the bathroom—the only place to go to give him privacy in his hotel-room-like bedroom setup. I wait until the rustling sounds go quiet and then knock before I come out. 

I pull the sheet down to expose his back. All of the bratva members have tattoos. Some are the same, some are different. I’ve memorized every one of Dima’s, which I find the most fascinating. Most of the bratva guys’ tattoos are crude, probably made in prison with a penknife and ink from a broken pen. Dima sports colorful art down both his arms. Across his right shoulder blade and down his right biceps are a series of ones and zeros. Computer code. That’s why I’m banking on him being a hacker. The bratva’s tattoos depict their crimes. Their stints in prison. Their initiations to the brotherhood. Who they served. How long they’ve served. At least that’s what I’ve surmised. I know better than to ask.

I focus on his right shoulder to start with—it’s always the tightest, not that he ever complains. This probably sounds weird, but I relish touching Dima. He may not enjoy my massages, but I sure as hell enjoy giving them. I like the feel of his muscles under my palms. The scent of his aftershave, his stoic silence.

Today, like the other times I’ve massaged him, his hips go cockeyed the moment I touch him, a boner tilting his pelvis. It can’t be comfortable. If I were the bolder, fearless version of myself, I would lean down and with a purr in his ear, ask if he wanted me to work out that particular part of his anatomy. 

But that’s not me. I’m not a sex-kitten. I’m just friendly, helpful Natasha, here to serve with a smile.

I work out the muscles of his deltoid and biceps then down his forearm to his fingers. Holding his hand makes the flutters start in my tummy again. Like the hands are a more intimate body part than all the other places I’m touching. Dima wears a slender gold band with a diamond chip on his pinkie finger. I’m guessing it means something to him because it doesn’t go with the rest of him. He’s not flashy, not the jewelry wearing type. I work down each finger individually. He has three X’s tattooed on his knuckles. All the guys on the top floor have them. I’m guessing they represent kills.

“So, I hear your brother runs a Friday night poker game.” I don’t know why my heart starts pounding so hard. It’s a little awkward, but all I have to do is get an invite to the game. This is my mission. 

Alex, my new guy, really wants to go. He got super interested when he heard I lived in the Kremlin. I guess he’d heard about the game.

Dima stiffens even more than he was. When he doesn’t answer, I plow forward.

“May I come?”

“No,” he says immediately. His voice is thick and gruff.

“No?” I laugh to cover my embarrassment. I’d pretty much promised Alex I could get us in. “Why not?”

“Natasha, those games are for serious betters. Not you.”

“Maybe I want to seriously bet.” Now I’m just annoyed. What is with this guy anyway? My mission morphs from being for Alex to proving I’m not a total loser.

“No.” His voice sounds even harder.

“Well, can I come and just watch?” Call me persistent. I adjust the sheet. “Roll over, please.” 

Dima rolls over. 

“Please?” I say in my sweetest voice. I don’t know why I can’t take no for an answer. I personally have no interest in the game, and it’s not like I’m trying to impress Alex. I actually don’t think we have a future. He feels more brotherly than boyfriend. I think I’m just hurt that Dima told me no, and that, combined with his refusal to act on his obvious interest in me, makes me rather desperate for a win.

“Natasha…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t believe you’re asking me.”

I pump some oil into my hands and rub his shoulder from the top. “Are there, like, strippers there or something?”

Dima snorts. “No strippers.”

“Drugs?”

“No drugs.”

“Can I just come and check it out? Just once? Please?”

Dima groans and closes his eyes. A moment later, he peeks and catches me watching his face. “Ugn. Fine. Yes, you can come. I’ll text you the address.”

“Yay! Thank you. I’ll be good, I promise.” Now I’m flirting again.

Dima cracks one eye, and the sheet tents between his legs.

My heart trips over itself like I’m running down a hill.

Now is when I should tell him I’m bringing Alex. I should definitely tell him now.

Gah. Why don’t I want to tell him?

And then I realize the ridiculous truth. The whole reason I agreed to ask Dima if we could go to this game was not to please Alex. It was to show up with Alex and make Dima jealous. Maybe spur him into taking action with me.

I ignore the little prickle at the back of my neck that tells me this is totally going to backfire.

First Chapter of The Soldier

The Soldier

 

I SHOULD GIVE HER UP—SET HER FREE. 

The Russian army made me a killer, but the brotherhood made me what I am.

Ruthless. Deadly. Irredeemable.

Which is why Kayla should stay away.

The innocent, young actress has a bright future ahead of her, 

so long as someone doesn’t break her first. Someone like me.

Every weekend, she gives herself to me fully. Without question. Without hesitation.

She’s mine to command. 

In return, I give her what she craves—pain and pleasure. 

But it’s a fantasy that can’t ever become reality.

We’re playing with fire, 

but I can’t seem to let her go…

 

Chapter One

 

Pavel

I wrap my tattooed fingers under the deadbeat’s jaw and trace a knife blade across his throat. “Don’t make bets you can’t cover,” I tell him. I sharpened the blade before we came, so just the tickle of it cuts his skin and sends a trickle of blood down his fat neck. Enough to scare him if he’s squeamish. We’re not here to maim the guy, just to make him piss his pants.

Nikolai, our bookie, stands close, arms folded over his chest in clear condemnation. Beside him, Oleg, the enormous, silent enforcer, cracks his tattooed knuckles.

He already worked the asshole over pretty well. The guy will be bruised and swollen for a couple weeks, for sure. That’s what happens when you fuck with the Chicago Bratva. 

“Please. I’ll get you the money. I swear.” He’s blubbering now. It didn’t take long to break him, but it was still more time than I wanted to waste here. 

Not that my job is a waste of my time. I’m damn lucky to be part of Ravil’s bratva cell.

It’s just that I have someone else to torture after this. Someone far more delectable and willing. But unfortunately, she lives in a different city, which means I have a flight to catch.

I meet Nikolai’s eye, and he shrugs, leaving the call up to me. 

I clean the blade of my knife on the mudak’s shirt. “You have two weeks. Pay up or we take everything you love. Understand?”

“I understand,” he moans. “I’ll get you the money. I promise.”

“You had the money,” I remind him. “And instead of bringing it to us, you used it to place a new bet with the Tacones.”

The guy hangs his head. “I know,” he moans.

“So I’m telling you—we get paid first.”

“I will—I will pay you first. I promise.”

“Don’t think you’re welcome at my table again,” Nikolai says. He takes it personally when players choose to sit with the Italians instead of us. The Tacones aren’t our enemies; we have a tacit agreement to stick to our own specialties when it comes to organized crime in this city. Which means our poker games shouldn’t overlap.

I lift my chin at Oleg, who takes one last swing at the guy’s face for good measure, and then I cut the ropes tying him to the chair. He starts to scramble up, but I point the blade of my knife at his left eyeball, and he freezes. 

“Sit. Count to four hundred. Then you leave.”

“Four hundred. Got it. Four hundred,” the guy babbles.

I pick up my jacket and pull it on as we leave the abandoned warehouse we chose for our little torture session. Pea gravel crunches underfoot as we walk to Oleg’s SUV.

“Not up to your usual quality,” Nikolai remarks as we walk. “You losing your taste for torture?”

“No.” I don’t tell him my tastes have just changed. I’ve found a far healthier outlet for my sadistic urges. I don’t tell him, but he probably already knows. I live with these guys full time. It’s pretty hard to keep secrets although we just found out Oleg kept a huge one about his past from us.

“Seriously, dude. I almost stepped in to throw a couple punches myself.” Nikolai’s still giving me shit.

I glance at Oleg, because the guy communicates more these days, and he shrugs and makes his fist nod, sign language for yes.

“Da poshel ty.” I tell them to go to hell.

We climb into Oleg’s vehicle, and he starts it up to drive us back. 

“Ravil’s going to replace you if you don’t start pulling your weight.” Nikolai says it lightly, but a prickle on the back of my neck tells me to pay attention. I’m not sure if he’s just trying to get a rise out of me or if he means it. Ravil is our pakhan, the boss of the Chicago bratva. The idea that he might be dissatisfied with my service puts me on edge. I’m lucky as hell to have this position, and I’m ambitious. I definitely hope to solidify my place for as long as I’m here. That way, hopefully, when I go back to Moscow, I’ll have improved my position in the organization there.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap.

Nikolai twists from the front seat to look at me. “He made a comment this morning about you leaving for the weekend again. Something about you not clearing it with him.”

Blyad’. I hadn’t cleared it with him. But I thought everyone knew I was going to L.A. for the weekend. I’ve gone every weekend since Valentine’s, when Ravil sent me to a BDSM club on business, and I ended up claiming my little slave.

Still, assuming everyone knew I was going isn’t the same thing as asking permission from the boss. I should’ve thought to ask for his leave, but we’re not exactly timeclock employees. Our job descriptions are pretty loose. Basically, I do whatever the fuck Ravil tells me to do—legal or not. 

Ravil owns me, but I’d do anything for him. 

I scrub a hand over my face. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.” Nikolai may come off as a dick, but I know he’s trying to save my ass.

“What is your plan with this girl?” Nikolai asks.

I don’t answer. It’s none of his fucking business.

“You gonna keep this long-distance thing up permanently?”

“Nah,” I say, trying to make it sound casual. Like breaking things off with Kayla is going to be easy for me.

The truth is, it’s not. I know I’m a piece of shit for claiming her and keeping her as mine for the past month. Kayla has a life. A bright future. One that will only be hurt by association with me. And that’s not even taking into consideration the emotional pain I’m going to cause her. Every week I let this go on makes it harder to break things off. 

I should rip off the Band-aid now, before she gets even more bonded to me as her master than she already is.

Yeah, I’ll break things off this weekend. Not when I get there but at the end. After we have enjoyed ourselves. I’ll make sure she has the best orgasms of her life, and then I’ll let her down gently. Blame it on the distance.

Oleg parks in the underground lot beneath the building Ravil owns across from Lake Michigan. The neighborhood calls it the Kremlin because he only lets Russians live and work here. Russians and his American bride. Also now Oleg’s new girlfriend, Story. For a brief moment, the thought of demanding my slave move here to Chicago, of installing her in the Kremlin so I can dominate her twenty-four/seven, flashes through my mind.

But of course, I would never do such a thing. She’s an actress trying to make it in Los Angeles. Convincing her to move—and I’m not certain I could, even as willing as she is to do my bidding—would effectively terminate her dreams. I may be a selfish prick, but I’m not that big of an asshole.

I get out and check my phone. My suitcase is already packed and in my car. If I climb in now and drive straight to the airport, I’ll get there in perfect time. 

But Ravil. The last thing I need is my ass handed to me by the boss. Not after I’ve worked so hard to make myself indispensable.

Blyad.’ I follow Nikolai and Oleg to the elevator and take it up to the top floor, where we all share the boss’ penthouse. He stands at the giant floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the lake, holding Benjamin, his five-month-old baby against his chest. He’s murmuring softly to the baby in Russian. 

Not a good time to interrupt. 

But I don’t have time to spare.

I go stand next to him, remaining quiet and looking out at the lake. 

“What happened?” Ravil almost always speaks to us in English. When I moved here from Russia to join his cell, I didn’t speak a word. This was how he made sure we learned—by forbidding our mother tongue until we were fluent in English.

“Nothing. We took care of it.”

He slides a speculative look my way, but says nothing. Ravil is mild-mannered. Cool-tempered. Smart as hell. Not a man you should ever underestimate or cross. I’m fortunate he gave me a place here when I had to leave Moscow. I’ve tried to learn everything I can from him, emulate his ways. I’m rough around the edges, but growing more sophisticated every day. 

I shove my hands in my pockets. Apologizing doesn’t come easy to me. I can’t think of the last time I did, actually. But I owe Ravil mad respect. “I should have asked your permission to leave town,” I say, my gaze dropping to the face of his cherubic infant as the baby’s eyelids flutter closed.

“Yes,” Ravil agrees.

Fuck. Nikolai was right. I owe him big time for telling me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” He says it easily, while still making it clear my transgression required forgiveness. 

I take a breath but can’t think what to say next. Do I ask for belated permission? Maybe I should, but I can’t bring myself to even offer the possibility of me not going. I have a slice of pure heaven waiting for me in California, and I intend to suck all the juice out of it before I break things off. 

I start to tell him this is my last trip, but I can’t make that promise, either. 

“You’re figuring things out.” Ravil speaks for me. 

For some inexplicable reason, my heart starts thudding. Ravil just spoke aloud what I’ve been pretending to myself I had already decided. 

But what is there to sort out? Kayla is in Los Angeles. I’m here. What’s more, I have plans to go back to Russia when things cool down. I’ve saved my money to start my own enterprise there. Not going back isn’t an option—my mother is all alone there. 

But he’s right—I clearly haven’t made my mind up yet, or I wouldn’t be going this weekend. My one-month arrangement with Kayla was over last week.

“Yes,” I agree. 

“Let me know when you do.” He turns and walks away, leaving me sweating.

Fuck.

Another reason to conclude my adventure with Kayla this weekend. 

And yet as I walk out the door to head for the airport, I’m almost certain I won’t.

 

#

 

Kayla

I sip champagne in the lobby of the Four Seasons Beverly Hills, positioned just inside the front doors, so I can be seen by everyone who comes in. I’m in character, playing my part, so I ignore the notion that I don’t belong here. That this place is for the rich and famous, and I’m just a wanna-be actress from Wisconsin.

I haven’t seen anyone famous come in yet, but it occurs to me that hanging out here might be a strategy to get “discovered.” You never know, right? That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway. Me and my roommates and the rest of the unemployed actors in L.A.

My phone rings, and I pull it out of my purse, swiping across the screen when I see it’s my agent. 

“Hi, Lara.”

“Kayla, listen, clear your schedule for this weekend. I might be able to get you an audition. I’m working on it.”

This weekend. Fuck. 

On weekends, I now belong to Pavel. But this is my career. It has to come first. “Yeah, okay,” I tell her breathlessly. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a new television series directed by Blake Ensign, and I think you’d be perfect for one of the parts. Oh—I have to take this call. I’ll talk to you soon.” Lara ends the call in her typical important-agent fashion, even though she’s not that important. She’s definitely not the agent to the A-listers. Or even the B-listers. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be my agent, would she?

But, whatever. I’m lucky I have an agent. It’s more than most could say.

I sigh and put my phone back in my purse and drink some more champagne to calm my nerves. Pavel, my bad-boy Russian dom, will understand about tomorrow—if the audition even happens. 

At least I think he will. The truth is, he may be my dom, we may do the most intimate of things each mind-blowing weekend, but we’re still strangers. I say dom—not boyfriend—because there’s nothing “boy” about Pavel, even though he’s probably the same age I am. And no, I don’t know his real age. There are a million things I don’t know about Pavel. Like what he actually does for a living. Or what made him a sadist—if such things can be defined. They probably can’t. I don’t know what made me a submissive. I just know it turns me on more than all the love-making I experienced before I went to Black Light.

Just the thought of the things he’ll do to me tonight sends a shiver up my spine.

I’m in a black cocktail dress—not as slinky or sexy as I’d like, but it has a built-in collar and an open cutout for my cleavage, which I think is hot. I hope Pavel feels the same way.

I recross my legs. I’m wearing fancy black thigh-highs, the kind with the seam that runs up the back and ends with a tiny satin bow a few inches from my ass. I changed my outfit fifteen times trying to get it right, and I’m still unsure about my choice. I feel slightly like a call-girl waiting for her john. Which is hot in a cosplay kind of way, but it might be a little too close to the truth.

Not that Pavel pays me. The first weekend he flew out to see me—the weekend after we were paired at Black Light, an exclusive BDSM club where we met, he held up a wad of bills before we parted. “This is not payment,” he said in his sexy accent. He manages to be stern and commanding, even when giving me a gift. “Don’t think that for even a second. This is spending money because I won’t be around to take you out the rest of the week.” 

I only blinked twice before I took the money, accepting it with Pavel’s kiss to my temple. I’m barely scraping by as a bit-part and commercials actress who does party promotions and light bartending to pay the rent. I’d like to be plucky and proud and tell him I don’t need his money, but I’m really not that person. I’m definitely the “tend and befriend” kind of survivor. Which means I accept help when it comes. When I’d unrolled the bills later at home, I’d been shocked to find it wasn’t a few twenties. It was a wad of hundreds—nine to be exact. 

He repeated that the next three weekends we were together, slipping large amounts of money into my purse or pressing them into my hand. “Not payment,” he would say sternly in that sexy Russian accent, daring me to contradict him.

A bolt of excitement strikes like lightning the moment he walks through the glass doors. Power radiates from the man, contradicting his youth and street tattoos. His neatly trimmed beard adorns a square jaw and chin with a dimple in the center. He would be Hollywood handsome except for the distinct air of danger around him. More than one head turns to see who is coming in. It’s L.A., so there are famous people everywhere—especially at the Four Seasons, and Pavel looks like he’s one of them. 

Like always, he’s wearing expensive clothes, but his crisp button-down shirt is open at the throat, revealing the tattoos that crawl up his chest to his neck. He is every inch the bratva badass. He carries a small suitcase, which I know from experience contains his implements of torture. Things he will use to master me over and over again, all weekend long. 

I slide forward on the modern couch, ready to surge to my feet, but he gives a minuscule shake of his head, his gaze bouncing off me to the line at the front desk.

The explosion of butterflies in my belly makes it hard to think. To decipher. Other than lifting one finger for a half-second, as if to signal me to wait, he doesn’t acknowledge me. He walks past to stand in the line at the front desk. A hot flush floods my cheeks as I sit, my spine straight, tits out, awaiting his command.

I try to push back the pain of his rejection. It’s not rejection. This is a test in obedience. How well do I read his wishes? How good am I at delayed gratification? He’s edging me. That must be it.

Everything the man says or does sends flutters through me. His words are delicious, fantasy-inducing commands. His expressions tend to be dark, bordering on slight disapproval. He’ll give me a flick of his eyebrow, a warning look. He plays the part of my forbidding master to a tee. Except I’m not even sure it’s a part he’s playing. All of our interactions are movie-worthy scenes, but I don’t think this role is very far off from who he really is.

The problem is, I just don’t know. Sometimes I’m not sure I want to know. We’re playing out our fantasies with each other. Why would we want any part of real life in this?

One of the hotel staff brings him a tray with filled champagne glasses. He shakes his head but says something to the man then points in my direction. My hurt fades. He’s still looking out for me, as a good master should. I’m offered more champagne, and I accept, not because I want it but because Pavel had it sent over to me.

He checks in and then strides over. This time I don’t start to get up until I’m sure. Not until he holds out his hand for me. He’s still cool and impassive. No expression whatsoever on the harsh planes of his face. I can’t tell if he’s happy to see me. If he’s pleased or displeased with my outfit or the way I waited obediently. I set the champagne glass down. I don’t need any more—one drink is plenty for a lightweight like me.

My hand is clammy in his as he helps me to my feet. He doesn’t say a word. No kiss. No how are you? Or You look great. Nothing. He’s all business. He drops his suitcase on top of mine, takes my hand again, and leads me to the bank of elevators, rolling both our suitcases with his free hand. 

The butterflies become a hurricane, spiraling in frantic flight. I don’t understand him and my need to please—to play this game properly—has me on a knife’s edge.

We step into the elevator, and the doors shut. The moment we’re alone, Pavel turns to me. One hand wraps in my hair, the other on my ass as he pushes me back against the elevator wall. His mouth descends on mine in a demanding kiss. His erection prods my belly, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. Relief pours through me. 

He’s not dissatisfied. He does want me. 

I wind my arms around his neck and kiss him back, wrapping one leg around his to draw him closer. We kiss like the world’s about to end. Like if we don’t devour each other’s mouths, we’ll never see the light of day again. It’s only been a week since we’ve seen each other, and it feels like both yesterday and forever ago.

The elevator dings, and Pavel catches my hand, not looking at me as he leads me out, expertly maneuvering our stacked suitcases down the hall to a door, which he opens with his keycard.

He still hasn’t spoken. I guess I haven’t, either, because I’m waiting for him to lead. He’s the master. I’m his slave. At least that’s the game we’ve been playing since we met just over a month ago. He kicks the door shut and resumes our kiss with the same ferocity he left off. My butt hits the wall. The hard lines of his body mold against mine, demanding my yield. I surrender to him. To his skill. His domination, his lead. He catches my thigh and hikes it up, finding the top band of my thigh-highs. 

“Hot,” he breathes against my lips. For a first word, it seems appropriate. He strokes my ass, his palm sliding under the hem off the dress. “You look so fucking hot.”

There. That’s what I was hoping for. Why I changed my clothes over a dozen times. 

He kisses down my neck as he palms my pussy like he owns it. Which he does. Consensually given, of course. Like always, I’m soft putty in his hands—quivering, ready, awaiting his command.

He doesn’t give one. Instead, he just takes. He slides his fingers inside my panties and strokes over my slit. “Already wet.” His neatly-trimmed beard tickles my ear. His Russian accent is thick—it always grows stronger when he’s turned on. “Such a good girl. Ready to take my cock the moment I want to give it to you.”

A shudder of pleasure goes through me at his dirty talk, and I drink up his praise, even though my state of readiness isn’t something I have control over. 

“Yes, sir,” I pant.

“I need to be inside you, blossom,” he says gruffly, rushing to free his erection. 

Blossom. I love his pet name. It started because he thought I was too delicate a flower. Too crushable. We were paired by a roll of the roulette wheel at Black Light, and I think he was disappointed to get me. But when he found I took everything he dished—pain and humiliation alike—his disdain for me slowly turned to appreciation. After he broke me, when I humiliatingly lost my shit in a puddle of sub-drop sobs, he declared I belonged to him.

That was five weeks ago. 

I don’t help him now because my job is to submit. He drives the train. 

He pulls my panties to the side and lines the head of his cock up with my entrance, bending his knees to lower to my height. We don’t use a condom because I’m on the pill, we’re monogamous, and we’ve both been tested and are clean. When he shoves in and up, he lifts me to my toes, sliding my hips up the wall. 

I cry out, clutching his bulging biceps for stability. 

“Whose pussy is this?” Pavel’s fingers are rough on my ass as he helps lift me to the right height to nail me against the wall. 

“Yours, Master!”

He thrusts in hard and fast. My back bangs against the wall. It’s rough and frightening and wonderful. I lift my other leg to wrap around his waist, and he grinds into me, shoving in with each powerful snap of his hips. His teeth score my neck, he sucks and nips as he pounds into me.

I listen to the quickening of his breath. I will come the moment he does—if he allows it. I don’t even think or try—it’s like my body knows its master. It wants to join him in the release.

Pavel’s strokes get harder, driving my body further up the wall. I let out a cry of need.  His breath catches, and he slams in deep. “Come.” His command is strangled and guttural as he speaks over his own orgasm.

I relinquish all effort to hold back the squeezing of my muscles around his cock. There is nothing but the sound of his rasping breath, and the sensation of his cock pulsing inside me. 

Pavel kisses my temple, my cheekbone, the bridge of my nose. These are the moments I savor. When I’m certain I’ve won his approval. When he’s grateful and gentle and generous with the affection he otherwise holds back. “I needed that.” He squeezes my ass and kisses my neck. “I couldn’t even look at you in that dress when I came in; I knew I’d have the world’s most visible boner walking to the front desk.”

“Ah, that’s what it was.” I almost laugh with relief. “I thought you were playing some mindfuck to keep me off balance.”

Pavel pulls back, easing out of me, and studies my face. He tucks his cock away and straightens my dress. “I hurt your feelings.” 

I shrug. He’s great at reading me when he seeks an answer but is sometimes clueless about what to ask. My friend Sasha, who hooked us up, thinks I’m the first and only girlfriend he’s ever had.

And I don’t even consider myself his girlfriend.

What we have is something else. 

I nod, and he strokes his thumb down my cheek. 

“I’m into delivering physical pain not emotional, Kayla. I don’t do mindfucks. I don’t want you off-balance, I want you sure of me. Otherwise, how will you trust me with this fuck-hot body of yours?”

The flutters in my belly tumble once then settle down.

Pavel holds my jaw and hovers his lips above mine. “I’m sorry, blossom. I’m a selfish prick. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He kisses me so softly it almost makes me weep. It’s the opposite of the hard, claiming kisses of the elevator. Something different. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t leave you hanging again.”

Everything in my chest goes warm and gooey. This is how things always are with Pavel. I’m on edge, a shivering, volatile mess, trembling for his attention, dying for affirmation, and then when he gives it to me, I soar like a kite.

My housemates think it’s dysfunctional, but they don’t understand BDSM. I think Pavel’s the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.

 

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