The Russian Bodyguard: A Dark Mafia Romance (Krasnov Brothers Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  Her fingers ghosted along the waist of my sweats from one side to the other just above my ass. “Which ones and who did you kill?”

  Fuck. I didn’t think Sasha even knew how much or how often her life was in danger.

  That had been the pact made between me and the pakhan—to keep her in the dark.

  But then her hot tongue swiped at the emblem of the black dagger tattooed on one shoulder blade, and I jerked on the stool.

  “Tell me about this.”

  Voice rasping, I murmured, “That was back in Moscow. My first kill”—I cleared my throat—“for you. I was very young.”

  “Who was he?”

  “A nobody thief. The scumbag followed you around whenever Baba took you out, because he clearly thought the two of you posed no threat. He didn’t know the threat lurked in the shadows.”

  That threat was me.

  Sasha said nothing. She traced feathery fingertips in a shiver-inducing way across the inked blade.

  Her slow, seductive interrogation made me fucking squirm in my seat. I could’ve put an end to all her questioning, but I felt I owed her . . . something.

  She curled one arm around to my abs and, just as her lips moved to the mirror-like tattoo on my other shoulder, she let her palm drop to the straining rod in my sweats.

  Perspiration beaded at my temples.

  I wouldn’t let myself buck up into her hand or back against her mouth. Instead I sat stock still as arousal pounded down to my cock and uneasiness threaded through my veins.

  She seemed to murmur in approval when she felt the tension in my body. Tension that centered in the rigidness at my groin.

  Then her hand drifted away, and I released a slow breath.

  But she wasn’t done.

  She lapped at the other tat then asked, “What about this one?”

  I shifted on the stool to point my cock down the inseam of the sweats because—fuck—this was turning me on in a fierce way when it should be doing the opposite.

  “First kill for you in Boston.”

  I grunted when Sasha nibbled at the bunched muscle on my shoulder.

  “Why? Who?”

  “Fucking Yakuza suka.” My fingers clenched over the lip of the counter, and I could still remember the Japanese asshole’s shrieks when I gutted him. “Don’t know when or how he saw you. But he followed you all the way out to the mansion. I rid him of his entrails.” And nothing had given more sick pleasure at the time.

  Sasha bit the side of my neck then her pointed tongue slithered all the way down the centerline of my back. My body rolled with her.

  The witch.

  The sexy witch.

  She was going to wreck me. Or I was going to destroy her.

  As this rate, I didn’t know if either one of us was going to get out of this thing—whatever it was—intact.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to anymore.

  “Are there more for me?”

  Strangely she didn’t sound disgusted.

  “Da.” Many, many more.

  “Do you know what I think, Maksim?”

  I swallowed over the tightness in my throat. “What?”

  Licking a path up one bicep before nibbling the corner of my jaw near my ear, she made my balls fill with yet more cum.

  “I think you’re the farthest thing from a mongrel or a monster because you’ve been my savior all these years and you never even wanted me to know.”

  Spinning, I grasped the nape of her neck in my hand, gripping hard. “And I don’t think one fuck is enough to get this out of our systems.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sasha purred.

  When I kicked the stool away, the seat clattered to the floor. I was on Sasha in the next second.

  I unleashed myself on her, my mouth slamming over hers, and she was ready and waiting and so fucking willing that my temperature spiked.

  Lips still sealed against hers and tongue forging fiercely inside, I tore her shirt open and buttons ricocheted around the room.

  Her fingers drove into my hair when I drew her up to her tiptoes. I bent her back over my arm, mauling her tits with my tongue.

  Still attached to her breasts with my mouth, I maneuvered both of us across the floor. I released her only to pivot her around. And I bent my sassy, sexy woman over the arm of the sofa.

  Her hot gasp and throaty moan of Yes, Maksim made my damn testicles swell.

  Shucking off my sweatpants, I took my place right behind her and thrust in.

  Fast. Hard. Deep.

  I fucked her until the sofa shifted several feet across the floor, bunching the rug beneath our feet. Ramming balls deep, I shot her full of so much cum it pulsed out around the thick stalk of my cock to splatter her thighs.

  Sasha came too, the tight spasms of her hole milking me for all I had.

  I chuffed out a deep groan when I was done with her. I pulled out slowly simply to watch my semen trickle out of her. Then I wrapped her in my embrace and kissed her with no finesse at all because I had none. I wasn’t a gentleman. I didn’t come from big bucks. I definitely didn’t have a good pedigree.

  I was a common street thug made good by the Bratva, and deep down I fucking liked the gore and the grind and the grim reality of it all.

  It seemed Sasha was on board with all of that too. She twined her arms around my neck and gave as good as she got.

  Tipping my head back, I said, “I still think you’re a printsessa though.”

  Biting her lower lip teasingly, she hummed, “Maybe I’m your printsessa.”

  I liked that.

  Liked is so much I took her again. That time we made it to the bedroom, if not the bed.

  When I finally rolled her onto the mattress and got beneath the sheets with her, I was feeling pretty damn smug. I imagined I’d tired her out enough to keep her mouth shut. Unless I woke up later and wanted her to use it on my cock.

  17

  Sasha

  MAYBE THE FIRST DAY or so of our marriage had been idyllic. And that just proved how twisted my life was if I could call a forced wedding, an attack the very same night, a very real threat on my life, then delivering my niece almost singlehandedly idyllic.

  But whatever. The next several days were anything but. Kept under lock and key at The Hammer, I was beginning to get cabin fever. Sure, I was used to being watched over and handled, but I’d always been able to cut loose one way or the other. A night spent at The Cat and the Sickle where I could drink and dance to my heart’s content. A spa day with Jo and Lucia. A shopping spree when I tried to max out my AmEx.

  All those little luxuries were off the table, my world narrowed down to just four walls.

  At least there was Maksim. In this new incarnation, he was wholly different and entirely fascinating.

  The night I’d asked him about the tats that marked the kills he’d committed for me, everything had changed. We finally let all the past trespasses go and let ourselves want and take and fuck.

  Could he ever fuck. My god. It seemed whatever passion he put into being a silent assassin carried over to his dominant nature in the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen . . .

  Maybe all the sex was just a distraction from the stress of our situation. Because, let’s face it, Maksim and I never would’ve gotten together under normal circumstances. It’d taken a psychotic asshole intent on kidnapping or killing me to push us together.

  My other distraction came in the form of Lucia who stopped by daily to go over preparations for the nightclub.

  On the fifth day after Maksim’s and my nuptials, Lucia and I sat together at a long table downstairs with samples of fabric, crates of drinkware to choose from, and the laptop open so we could swipe through final logo options for the venue.

  Maksim passed by the front of the table, and I stared at him against my will.

  Licking my lips, I admired his physique in the black jeans and combat boots and tight T-shirt combo.

  His gaze slid to me, and I quickly ducked my head from the char
ged heat in his irises. After barely a pause, he kept stalking away, broad shoulders and fine ass disappearing around a corner.

  I wondered if there was drool on my chin or some other sign of my salivating when I peered over at Lucia to find her watching me with clever eyes.

  “Well, things certainly appear to have changed,” she said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pretended to be busy as I shuffled around sample cards of something or other like I was stacking a deck.

  “So you did, didn’t you?” she persisted.

  “Did what exactly?”

  “I’ll put this politely, you and Maksim consummated the marriage.”

  The stupid little color palette cards flipped right out of my hands and spread out across the table while my cheeks began to flame and my fingers failed to obey my instructions.

  Lucia hooted victoriously. The elegant, beautiful Sicilian princess actually crowed like a crazy woman.

  “I’m so happy for you both!”

  “I-don’t-wanna-talkaboutit,” I grumbled, getting Maksim’s bad habits as well as all of his cum.

  And with that thought, my blush would never die down.

  Lucia sat back with her arms folded beneath her breasts. “I seem to remember not wanting to talk about Arkady and me once upon a time, and you wouldn’t let it go.”

  Still not talking.

  Leaning in, Lucia’s conspiratorial smile gave me a good hint about what was about to come. “Someone told me about a piercing.”

  I was going to kill Jo. Of course that meddling new mama had told.

  Mustering my best innocent expression, I turned the tables on Lucia. “As I recall, Arkady interrupted our chat that day, and I’m pretty sure you were about to spill something dark and naughty and tasty about him.”

  Her mouth popped open then her lips pressed shut and, all of a sudden, she was blushing.

  “Oh my god! I hit a nerve didn’t I?” I clapped my hands. “Now I have to know. What exactly is Arkady hiding? Fair is fair, Lucia.”

  She shook her head, a sure sign something was up.

  I scooted my chair around to hers. “He likes to dress up in lingerie, doesn’t he?”

  “What?” Her nose crinkled.

  “He’s into ladyboys or something?” I yanked her chain.

  “No!” She laughed.

  “Then how bad can it be?”

  “It’s not bad.” Her voice lowered. “It’s very good.”

  I thought about these Krasnov brothers—Arkady, Kirill, and Maksim. I considered the three of us women—Lucia, Jo, and me. We weren’t typical Bratva ladies, not one of us, and not just because two of them came from different factions. We had spirit, which tied us together as much as a blood bond ever could. We’d survived brutality and deaths and warfare on home-turf, and we weren’t always—or even very often—the precious and pampered types.

  We had opinions.

  We voiced them.

  In many syndicate marriages, being a spirited woman wouldn’t be tolerated at all.

  But our men—at least my man—took a different track.

  My bottom burned deliciously when I remembered the spankings that had been more pleasure than punishment.

  When I thought about how Maksim had tied me up.

  When I drifted back to the first night when he withheld each and every one of my orgasms.

  Looking at Lucia who tried to avoid my gaze, something tickled at the back of my mind. For all that Maksim and Papa had tried to shelter me, they’d really failed miserably.

  Oh. My. Fuck.

  What was that thing called . . . the cross-type structure I’d seen in a porn once?

  My smile growing wide, I whispered to Lucia, “I know about the locked room on the third floor of your townhouse.”

  She threw an entire glassful of primo champagne down her throat, and I knew I was getting somewhere.

  “Tell me, Arkady doesn’t happen to store his St. Andrews cross up there, does he?”

  Drawing in a fast breath, Lucia accused, “How did you figure that out?”

  BDSM! Oh my god. I was right!

  “It’s not what you think.” She tried to backpedal.

  I relented, pouring her another glass as I sipped from mine. “Don’t worry. I think it might run in the family. I haven’t been restrained on a cross yet, but Maksim does find a pizza paddle handy for spankings.”

  “No he doesn’t,” she breathed out.

  “Yep.”

  We fell together, laughing, then we clinked our glasses and went back to work. We traded secretive smirks every so often then more gales of laughter would follow, and I knew Jo was part of this very particular sisterhood too.

  The way Kirill was a control freak, had to be.

  We whispered about the possibility of that too until heavy recognizable footfalls approached.

  Just before Maksim’s towering shadow eclipsed both of us, I muttered, “Don’t say a word.”

  “Same goes for you,” Lucia mumbled under her breath.

  Maksim’s hand dropped to my shoulder, his fingers dangling close to my breast.

  He restrained himself from doing anything else in Lucia’s presence though, and what a pity that was.

  Bending over from his waist behind me, he still overwhelmed me—his scent so masculine and musky that he was virility just waiting to be bottled.

  Lucia watched all, sending me a sideways wink as if she understood the struggle I endured as I sat there complacently instead of launching myself off the chair so I could climb my way up Maksim’s yummy body.

  “What are you working on?” His voice was like a low electric hum that made my brain fuzz over and my body beg to be fucked.

  “Logos. Have a look.” I flipped the laptop in his direction. “After we choose the one we like we can get the marketing materials printed up.”

  He barely glanced at the designs before rising.

  His voice turned gruff when he said, “We don’t need marketing materials, Sashenka. We just fucking need to be able to open already.”

  He stalked off without a backward glance, pulling out his phone and speaking into it in harsh tones.

  “What was that about?” Lucia quietly asked as the air deflated around us.

  A sad smile bent my lips. “He’s a caged animal when what he really wants is to be on the hunt.”

  Maksim was exactly right. The Hammer and the Sickle couldn’t open until the Oleg threat was neutralized.

  All possible preparations had been made for a battle. Maksim was ready, but I didn’t think he wanted to stave off Oleg anymore.

  No. He wanted to bring the fight to the Russian-grown suka. But, despite canvassing the entire city, Maksim couldn’t locate the son of a bitch.

  He became short-tempered, as impatient to end this thing as was I. He wanted to get on with life and turning the club into a moneymaker and money laundering front just like The Cat and the Sickle.

  Black market guns would flow through the Bratva to other factions, dirty cash would get folded into each night’s profits and spit back out all clean and corrupt.

  I had no illusions about the underworld.

  I wondered, though, if Maksim’s life would include me after the issue of Oleg had been destroyed?

  “It is time to go upstairs.” He’d paced back on stealthy treads, and I jumped when I heard his voice.

  Upstairs.

  Because every nightfall we adjourned to the apartment and barricaded ourselves inside, leaving the ranks of soldiers to guard the premises, and I knew that chafed at Maksim too.

  Holding his hand out to me, he guided me from my seat as I shut the laptop.

  He turned to Lucia, quickly releasing my hand. “Is Arkady coming for you soon?”

  “I’m here.” Wearing an immaculate suit, Arkady, the oldest Krasnov and my Papa’s underboss, came from behind Lucia.

  She spun toward him, moving into his big embrace to kiss him as though nothing else in the world mattered. I s
uffered from a sharp pang of jealousy over their open affection.

  With Lucia pressed close to his side, Arkady scanned Maksim and me. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.” Surprisingly, Maksim slid his fingers back through mine as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

  One of Arkady’s eyebrows gave a devilish quirk as he looked at our linked hands.

  He barely suppressed a grin. “You have broken her in already?”

  A hot dart of anger rippling through me at his presumption, I yanked my hand from Maksim’s and stared Arkady down. “I will be broken by no man, least of all—”

  I stopped myself just short of saying least of all by Maksim.

  To do so would be a betrayal that I couldn’t contemplate anymore.

  Upstairs, Maksim and I ate. It was a quieter meal than ever before, his former grunting and grumbling notwithstanding.

  We cleaned up side by side, but he was stiff and wooden, moving close to me only to put things in their proper place.

  Was there a proper place in this world for me and him together?

  Both of us on tenterhooks, Maksim doublechecked everything. The locks, the doors, the windows.

  He arranged his many weapons across the coffee table, a vast array of blades and pistols and his most carefully handled rifle.

  He brought out a whetstone, boxes of ammo, and gun oil while I watched.

  Pouring him a shot of freezing cold vodka, I delivered it to him.

  He sank it back without a word and went back to sharpening knives, cleaning guns, and loading chambers.

  “Would you take care of my Glock too?”

  Dark head raising, he looked at me as if he hadn’t even realized I was in the same room. A frown I was so familiar with crossed his brow.

  Then he wiped his hands on a rag and pointed to the safe recessed into the wall. “The combination is your birthdate, Sashenka. You could have gotten your weapon at any time.”

  I didn’t believe him for an instant. But I went to the safe, punched in the date of my birth . . . and the door swung wide open.

  Emotion thickened my throat.

  I didn’t even think he’d paid attention to my birthday. He’d never said anything, given me anything.