I push through a door, not even sure how I got here, running into what seems to be a disused warehouse.
And then somebody’s arms are wrapping around me, pulling me close, and their grip is getting tighter as I try to thrash and wriggle out of their steely embrace.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Erik
I squeeze her close to me.
My queen.
The woman I feared I’d never see again. That fear showed me something vital about myself. No, not about me, but about her. Erin is the best woman in the goddamn world, that’s what it showed me.
She’s unlocked something inside of me, something I had to kill as a child so that I could rise up and become the leader of the Bratva. I can let it go, now, with her.
“Erin,” I whisper, hugging her close. “I’m here. It’s okay.”
“It’s you?” she says, her voice disbelieving.
I take her by the shoulders and turn her around, looking deeply into her eyes. I can see the panic there. I can see the haunted look in her eyes. But, beneath all that, there’s a strength that triggers pride in my chest, a blooming swelling of it.
“Oh, Erik,” she moans, collapsing against me, choking on a sob as she tells me.
The words tumble out of her.
She tells me about Michael and her parents.
She tells me about the trick with Kat’s voice.
She tells me about getting free, about how sore her wrists are.
I move my hands through her hair and whisper to her, “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe now. I have a car waiting. The police are dealing with the Irish.”
“The police?”
I nod. “A smart man knows when to use—”
Suddenly, the door at the far end bursts open.
Michael Jenkins and five hooded Irish mobsters walk in, panting and looking around, clearly for an escape. Two of them have their guns out and the others reach for them when they see us.
I whip out my pistol and jump in front of Erin, blocking her with my body, making myself as big and wide as possible.
Michael stops, blinking when he sees us, illumed by a shaft of moonlight coming in through the tattered remains of the warehouse roof. The wind howls and people shout all around us, but this little corner of the mayhem seems somehow private.
“Oh, shit,” he says, grinning. “Look what we got here, lads. Romeo and Juliet being all lovey-dovey, trying to avoid the fight. What’s to stop me from shooting you in the head, Erik?”
I bare my teeth in a wolf’s grin and then heft my gun, saying nothing.
“That?” he laughs. “In case it’s missed your notice, you’re outgunned.”
“I could drop three of you before you hit me with a single shot,” I snarl. “And if you think one shot’s going to end me, you’re sorely fucking mistaken, my friend.”
He shakes his head, smirking. “Cocky motherfucker.”
He stalks closer, his men spreading out behind him, trying to surround me. But they’re amateurs. They’re coming too close.
They’re underestimating me, just as the men in the fighting ring used to in my youth, thinking I was just a teenager, not understanding the savage fury that fueled my every movement.
“Just go, Michael,” Erin hisses from behind me.
“Quiet, babe. The men are talking.”
“Just go,” she snaps. “You’re a disgusting fucking monster and if you don’t leave, I’ll kill you. Do you understand? I’ll kill you.”
My pride swells even more, that now, in the face of the man who has haunted her so sadistically, she is still able to summon her flame.
My mind flickers like firelight, filling with all the glory the future’s going to bring for us. Our children are going to inherit her spirit. I just know they are.
But first, these men, these fools.
First, this stalker, this so-called bogeyman.
But what Michael doesn’t know is he’s a little over excited pup and I’m the big bad goddamn wolf.
“I think you’re coming with us, Erik, my man,” Michael says. “You’ll make a nice hostage.”
“Is that so?” I say, lowering my gun slightly, judging the distance between the men now, my mind performing calculations at a rate too quickly for me to even comprehend.
In the fighting pits, they once sent six men at me at once.
I was smaller then, younger.
I’m a grizzled bear now, ready with experience, and Michael Jenkins has just made a deadly mistake by stepping within reach.
I swipe at him, knocking his pistol from his hand and then leaping forward.
Crack.
My knuckles take him under the eye, breaking the skin, a cut pissing blood under his cheek.
The men swarm me, they try to fire their guns, but I spin around and grab one under the armpit and haul him into the nearest two.
I spring at the others, spinning and catching one with a vicious spinning elbow, his nose busting and erupting in a shower of crimson.
They leap at me and jump for their guns, but they’re slow, so fucking slow.
I sprint and shoulder-barge one into the far wall, making him scream as he falls to the ground, clutching onto his shattered arm with his slightly less injured one.
A man grabs me and I spin, catching his throat, lifting him off his feet and tossing him to the side like a rag doll.
Then Michael raises his gun again, a victorious smile on his face, but he’s raising it too slowly, too confidently, and I duck under and come up with an uppercut that would knock a tree out of its roots.
His head tips back and he makes a bloody, gurgling noise as he backflips and lands on the floor, gasping.
All around me, as I emerge from the haze of violence, the men are gasping and groaning and trying to sit up.
And failing, because I’ve worked them over too badly.
I glance at Erin and even more pride moves through me when I see she’s collecting all the guns and placing them on the other side of the room, leaving the men unarmed.
My streetwise Bratva queen.
I kneel down and grab Michael by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him to his feet.
“Apologize,” I snarl. “Apologize for all the fucked up things you’ve done to Erin, Michael, do it now or I’m going to do something I might regret with the police about to barge in here any second. Might regret, I said. Mark that. Because there’s a big part of me that’d enjoy punishing you for what you did to her.”
He croaks.
His legs kick and I have to hold him up.
And then he gasps, “Okay, okay. Jesus, Erin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a piece of a shit. I’m a loser. I hate myself.”
I turn to Erin, an eyebrow cocked.
She nods, letting me know it’s enough, she’s done with him.
I drop him and walk over to her, taking her hand and leading her toward the door. I navigate the darkness well, feeling her take calming breaths beside me.
Finally I burst out the side of the warehouse and open the door of the sleek, black sedan that’s waiting there for us.
She hurries in and I climb in behind her, slamming the door and sitting back, taking a slow breath myself, as the car pulls away.
“You’re going to make an amazing mother,” I whisper after a moment.
She snuggles close to me. I wrap my arm around her, squeezing her even closer, and then even tighter, as I realize that I could’ve lost her.
My woman. Mine. I could’ve lost her forever.
In the madness of a job, you don’t think like that. Everything is in the moment. Instinct rules.
Now it hits me and I hold her like I’m never going to let go.
“Really?” she whispers. “Because my parents weren’t so great, clearly.”
“I saw you back there,” I say with passion. “You were strong. You were scared, of course you were, but you were brave, too.”
She shivers, snuggling closer to me. “Is Kat okay?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I assure her. “She was sitting in bed with Bullet when I left her, guarded by eight of my most trusted men.”
“And the police, Erik?” she whispers. “I’m still confused about the police.”
“Not everything is what it seems,” I murmur. “For example, most people would expect me, as the leader of the Bratva, to charge in there and slaughter those bastards, like they probably deserve. But that would lead to further fallout, disruption of business, and, more importantly, death. Death for them, yes, but also death for others further down the line. And, Jesus, Erin, and maybe death for you.
“So I use the police sometimes. I work with them. They tolerate me because I donate to them regularly and they know that with me ruling the streets, things will be much, much less violent. I avoid killing at all costs. I pay my way with my legitimate businesses. I don’t allow my ego to rule me, as some of these weaker men do, these pathetic bastards who feel the need to strut around and act tough.”
She looks up at me, tears beading in her eyes, so devastatingly beautiful I can hardly believe she’s real.
“I guess I always had certain assumptions about the Bratva,” she whispers, and then licks her lips as though contemplating what to say next. “But that was before I met you, Erik. That was before I discovered that, despite your job, your position, whatever the heck you want to call it, how really, really good you are.”
I smirk and kiss her forehead, closing my eyes and savoring the feel of her, the life making her skin hot.
“Don’t tell anybody,” I joke. “If word got out that Erik Godunov has a heart, it could complicate things.”
“Everybody who matters already knows,” she whispers. “Kat, Bullet.”
“You.”
“Yes.” She smiles. “And me.”
We sit back as the car continues to glide back toward my estate.
When we get home, we climb out. We just can’t stop holding onto each other, my arm wrapped around her shoulder, her hand gripping onto my side as we walk up the steps and into the house. She lays her head against me as I lead her upstairs, toward Kat’s room.
We share a look as we hear Bullet on the other side, panting, desperate to get out when he scents us.
“Bullet,” Kat is saying. “Good boy.”
“All good, boss?” Igor asks.
I nod shortly. “Take the men and surround the estate. Give us some privacy.”
“Of course.”
“Wow,” Erin teases when Igor and the men have gone. “You can really turn on the stern routine, huh?”
I nudge her playfully, still amazed that I’ve found somebody I feel comfortable nudging playfully.
“I thought you knew that already,” I chuckle. “In the bedroom, Erin, you turn me very stern.”
She giggles and jabs me back. “Come on. Bullet sounds like he’s going crazy in there.”
“Katelyn,” I say, knocking on the door. “Open up. It’s us.”
“Is Erin there?” she beams.
“Erin is,” Erin says, smiling.
“Oh, yay, good,” she says. “I was so scared. Come on, boy, lemme open the door.”
A moment later, the door swings open and Kat and Bullet run at us, both of them with big grins on their faces. I kneel down and wrap my arms around Bullet as Kat throws herself at Erin, tears streaking down her face as she struggles to get the words out.
“I was so scared and I kept saying it would be okay, to myself I kept saying that, but then I thought if it’s not, oh, Erin. Are you still my best friend? I’m sorry that something bad happened to you. Where did you go? I’m so happy you’re home. I love you, Erin. I really love you.”
Erin blinks and glistening tears flow down her cheeks as she hugs my niece to her chest, looking at me over her head, smiling despite the tears.
“I love you, too, little lady,” Erin whispers.
And I love you, my mind growls, staring at my queen, looking so maternal as she lets my niece sob into her chest.
I love you more than life itself.
But something blocks the words, some instinctual trepidation.
Instead I move closer to them, and enfold them all – Bullet, Erin, Kat – in my arms, hugging them close.
For the first time since they took Erin, I let out a sigh of relief.
I’m home.
She’s safe.
And tomorrow is a new day, an important day.
Perhaps the most important of our lives.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Erin
“Where are we going?” I ask, looking across the Lamborghini to Erik sitting in the driver’s seat, confidently handling the car, smirking over at me as he shifts gears.
“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
“Why do I feel like you’re playing a game, Erik Godunov?”
He chuckles and I let a smile spread across my lips, knowing he’s not going to tell me. We’re driving down the highway towards the city, and if somebody told me in this moment that all the craziness only happened last night, I wouldn’t believe them.
We spent what felt like forever hugging each other, all four of us, and then afterward Erik and I sank into bed together and just lay there for a while, our bodies pressed closed.
But then the lust took over, unbelievably considering what had happened, considering that I still smelt of smoke.
The lust started and we couldn’t stop it.
“Erik, I smell.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
He smirked, then, and took me by the hand and led me into the marble ensuite. We stood under the waterfall shower and he lathered the shower gel into my body, pressing my breasts together, getting them soapy before rinsing them off.
We devoured each other, like animals, like people who’d been underwater for too long and finally broke the surface and took that first breath of air.
Now, I reach across the car and stroke my hand along his face, savoring the feel of his jawline, completely clean shaven this morning.
When I woke up and found him standing naked in the bathroom, shaving as he looked into the mirror, his back a rippled canvas and the light making shadows play on the ridges in his muscles, I asked, “Why are you shaving? Is it a special occasion?”
I intended it as a joke, but he glanced at me, shaving cream clinging to his cheek. And his icy blue eyes sparkled as he turned back to the mirror, smirking and dragging the razor down his jaw with the steady hand of a surgeon.
“Maybe,” he said, wiping the straight-razor on the cloth at his side and then dipping it in the water. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
I was nervous about leaving Kat alone this morning, but then I had to remind myself that she’d never been in any danger to begin with. It had all been a messed up trick. Worse than that, the only danger last night had come from my actions, from the way I’d just rushed out there. That’s a lesson I’ll only have to learn once.
I turn back to the road, letting my eyes fall closed, thinking about Kat and Bullet back there at the house, safe with the guards.
Erik has promised that we’ll be back before dinner – it’s midday now – and that’s good enough for me.
I’m stunned by how much I miss Kat, but then not really, not as shocked as I probably should be.
Just like with Erik, it feels right.
“You have to go, silly,” she told me this morning, pouting at me in a very grownup way. “Uncle Erik has a surprise for you.”
“Kat,” I said, giving her side a tickle as she lay in bed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She wriggled away, giggling. “Nuh uh. It’s a secret.”
She would say no more and then, when I emerged from her room, Erik was dressed as he is now. He’s wearing his sleekest grey suit with silver cufflinks, his hair swept to the side, his shoes polished and shiny, his body as muscular and beautifully intimidating as it always is, hulking in the suit jacket.
“Down, g
irl,” Erik jokes from the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a pout that would make Kat proud. “Who said I was thinking anything?”
“You don’t need to,” he smirks, guiding the wheel slowly, effortlessly. “You’re wriggling your legs together in that way you have. I know what you want. But you’ve got to be patient.”
“That’s not fair.”
His smirk widens.
“Oh, I think it’ll be worth the wait.”
Then his expression darkness and he swallows audibly.
“At least, I hope so.”
My curiosity flares.
Erik’s hands guide me as I stare into the blankness of the blindfold, my heart hammering in my chest, but not in fear, not like last night.
Excitement bounces around inside me and, somehow, I feel myself letting go of Michael’s revelation, letting go of the past. Erik told me that Michael is going to be in prison for a long, long time, and if he ever tries to hurt me again, he’ll take whatever measures he must to protect me, to protect our family.
I trust him.
I love him.
I feel a light wind pricking my face, and then Erik slides one hand around my waist and hugs me close to him, and with the other he peels off the blindfold.
I blink in the sunlight, staring at the building, my chest doing a dance of elation and shock and a dozen emotions in between.
We’re standing in an enclosed courtyard surrounded by high trees that frame and distort the sunlight.
There’s a large, flowery garden and, beyond that, a squat redbrick building that looks so adorable I could weep. The door is baby blue and there’s a sign above the door that reads, Erin Godunov’s Art Studio.
I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth.
“This is … mine?” I whisper in disbelief.
“If you want it,” Erik says, hugging me closer to him, his torso laid flat against my back, warm and comforting. “I know that painting takes you here and there, but it works as a base camp, I think?”
“Works,” I say, giggling. I spin on him, looping my arms over his shoulders and standing on his tiptoes. “It’s amazing. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you, Erik. Thank you so much.”
Another woman might tell him no, she won’t accept handouts.
Bratva Boss's Babysitter: An Instalove Possessive Male Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 192) Page 7
