by Nicole Fox
A moment later, Gino bursts into the room, sweating and beet red. He narrows his eyes to mere slits as he walks past me, and takes his place at the far end of the mahogany table. Eitan heads over to the bar on the left and pours himself a scotch. Some of the men are already seated, sipping at their rum, and of course, there are the few who are snorting cocaine.
“Want a scotch?” Eitan asks, holding up an empty glass. I nod.
“Shiiit, Nikita. You feel like burnin’ a whole pile of money tonight, or what? What the fuck were ya thinking, spending so much on a slave?” The East Side Boys MC president shakes his head and laughs.
“You coulda just snagged her up before she even went on stage. Ain’t this your damn event, anyhow?”
“Sure is. Coulda gotten that pretty pussy for free,” one of the other bosses chimes in.
I smile coldly and ignore them. Eitan places my drink down in front of me and takes a seat at my side. I glance over to Gino, who’s stiff-lipped and silent. Gazes bounce between him and me, causing my stomach to roil. I pray that none of these impudent motherfuckers rile him up. He’s a live wire, dangerous and unpredictable.
Four of my lieutenants walk in and stand around the room. This meeting is semi-regular and used to conduct business and keep the peace. Any street warfare is supposed to be approved by the council before it can take place. This safeguards the families, and ensures that all of us make the appropriate adjustments to our businesses at the appropriate times in order to keep the police from peering too closely at our end of the city. In that sense, our interests are aligned.
But in another sense, this is a room full of sharks, deciding whether it might be more filling to take a bite of each other instead of our usual fare.
I swirl the liquid in my glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes, breathing in a fragrance that only years in an oak barrel can achieve. It’s my one vice and I make a virtue of it. I savor it as I sip and roll the liquid across my tongue, eyes closed.
“Eitan,” the East Sider continues, “Why’d ya let the kid waste all his money on that slave?”
My eyes snap open.
Eitan wisely demurs. “Mr. Lavrin can make his own decisions about what he wants to spend his money on.”
“’ey, Lavrin, what d’ya think about renting her out? Maybe make some of your money back. After you break her in of course,” someone else cackles.
Other voices start to rise, jesting at my expense. I slam my glass back down on the table with a crystalline thunk.
“Enough.”
The man who spoke last, a reedy bastard with nasty-looking face tattoos, laughs nervously and falls silent. The others shrug and mumble under their breath, but no one dares to go farther.
Except for Gino.
Gino holds still, staring at me, eyes locked with my own. There is a wrinkle in his nose, promising danger, like a dark cloud on the horizon. His jaw is clenched, a slight tick visible every couple of seconds. His nostrils flare with every breath.
“You really needed another fucking whore?” he grinds out in a raspy whisper.
“I haven’t purchased a new slave in a long time. I wanted something new.” I pick up my glass and take a slow sip with all the casualness I can muster. We’re like two jungle cats in the wild, prowling and sizing each other up. Violence is in the air.
“Just something new? Or were you trying to show me up?” Gino’s lips pull back over his teeth. “Because, for the amount of money you just spent, I would say your aim was to embarrass me.”
I set my glass down once more, holding Gino’s gaze and never blinking. “I’m not sure why you’re taking this personally. We have bigger things to discuss.”
Gino slams his fist down on the table and everyone turns toward him. “Bigger things to discuss? How about we discuss your lack of respect for a member of the council? How about we discuss what the consequences should be?”
My eyes narrow and my men step closer to the table. My fingertips drum against the mahogany surface as my gaze bounces between the members of the council, all of whom remain silent. One of the bikers grabs his drink and kicks his feet up on the table like he’s about to watch a movie. But everyone else is tense.
It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have in my body not to rise to Gino’s bait. He wants to get me riled up, but I won’t let him play me so easily. Calm. Control. Breathe. I feel the rage start to simmer back down, and my fist slowly unclenches.
Then Gino goes one step too far.
“Cat got your tongue, Nikita? You’re as silent as your dead old man.”
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
Burning fury hisses through my body. Inside, I’m a volcano erupting, anger pouring off of me like a wave. How dare this Italian fuck even mention my father? A million visions run through my head—slicing Gino to pieces, bleeding him out, dragging him down the highway behind my car—a million slow, painful deaths for his insolence, none less than he deserves. I want to lash out, to hurt him again and again.
But losing my temper is exactly what Gino wants. I’m an inferno on the inside; outwardly, I keep my features calm. My voice is acid as I ask him, “What did you just say?”
“Maybe it’s time for the Lavrin reign to end.” Gino sits back and cracks his knuckles. “I think it’s my turn to show you who you’re dealing with.”
The tension in the room is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. And after that threat, it takes me but a moment to realize every man’s hand is on his gun. Gino is obviously goading me, but tonight isn’t the night for eruptions. No matter how bad I want to put a motherfucking bullet in the fucker’s head.
I stand from my chair and place my palms flat on the table before I lean forward. “Nothing is done without the council’s prior approval, Gino. You got something you want to bring up, something you want to start over a fucking cheap whore? You want to start a war? If so, speak now.”
Gino smiles and holds his hands up in the air in mock surrender. “Relax, Nikita. I’m merely speaking aloud. On second thought, given the money you lost on that bid, I think we’re even.”
I stand straight and pull on the lapels of my jacket. I take a couple of deep breaths to try and calm myself down. Truth be told, the entire room needs to calm down. Gino might have started this, but tension-filled cokeheads with guns are likely to be more dangerous than him right now.
I push back my chair and head over to the bar to add more ice to my glass. Not that I need more ice, but if I keep standing—or start pacing—everyone is going to continue to remain on edge. The peace between the families, between the elites, must be kept if I want to pull off the weapons shipment I have coming in. I need their full cooperation.
Eitan clears his throat and speaks up, beginning the normal process of the meeting. The tension has eased somewhat, but no one’s hand has strayed too far from his weapon of choice. “To business now, gentlemen. First item on the docket: Lenny, you still have use of the docks in two nights, correct?”
Lenny, the Devil’s Canyon Motorcycle Club president, runs one of the largest clubs in the city and they’re all business. Hell, Lenny used to work for a Fortune 500 company, and he took what he learned and incorporated it into his club. The man runs a tight ship. The thought of bikers using spreadsheets still makes me laugh.
Lenny nods. “Double-checked everything this morning. Going to have a talk with the guys to make sure everyone knows what they’re doing.”
The meeting goes on, Eitan confirming with the other members of the council that protection and distribution are in place, that the proper police and port authorities have been paid off. Lenny runs over statistics and details about the docks, which of his men will be helping, points of entry we need to keep an eye on in case the feds get tipped off for any reason, and myriad other aspects including getaway plans that incorporate the dock layout. When everything has been checked off, the conversation turns to other upcoming projects being undertaken by various family heads.
The whole time, Gino
smokes cigarette after cigarette, exhaling a continuous stream of foul smoke in my direction. I hate the stench. The odor somehow finds a way to permeate my suits and even the dry cleaner can’t fully remove the smell.
I wonder what Gino could be cooking up. It’s not as if I’m vulnerable, my performance at the auction tonight notwithstanding. My power in the city is untouchable. I have the advantage in cash flow, number of loyal soldiers, weapons—the list goes on and on. And yet, something in my gut tells me that he will do something stupid. It would be just like him to launch a suicidal attack he has no chance of winning. Though I’d almost surely come out on top, it would be costly, not to mention the undue attention it would draw.
The fool isn’t more than a common thug. He’s just showing off for everyone. If there’s anything the man loves more than money, it’s attention. I turn my attention back to Lenny, who is finishing an explanation of the dock schematics on a laptop.
Once we’re done going over all the specifics, I give Eitan the go-ahead and he transfers over the cash. Gino leans forward and puts out his cigarette by dumping it into the glass of whatever he was drinking earlier. He says nothing, just sits there with his arms crossed.
I stand and hold my glass in the air. “Thank you, gentlemen, for coming tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Cheers to future success.”
“Cheers,” the voices in the room ring out, and everyone finishes their drinks.
I hustle out of the room without another word. It’s been a turbulent evening, and I need to take the edge off. I get in the back of the luxury sedan waiting outside for me.
“Take me to the penthouse,” I order the driver. We peel out at once.
There’s a new slave I’m quite eager to meet.
Chapter Nine
Annie
The car pulls into one of the most expensive apartment complexes in the city. The driver descends deeper into the parking garage and pulls up to the elevator entrance. Another suited goon is waiting there. He strides forward and opens my door, yanking me out by the arm.
“Do none of you morons know how to be gentle?” I spit.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me. He just closes the car door and leads me toward the elevator. The vehicle pulls away and we stand there in silence until the ding of the arriving elevator cuts through the dead air. Inside, the floor is covered in red carpet. The walls are metallic and the place smells floral. The whole thing is dripping with classless luxury, fancy just for the sake of being fancy. The bodyguard inserts a key and hits the button for the top floor.
Penthouse.
I shouldn’t be surprised. The man spent over two hundred thousand dollars on me. Where else would he live? I gnaw my lip. I still can’t believe I’m in this mess. But maybe this man will listen to reason and let me go. Maybe I won’t end up dead.
The ride up to the penthouse is even longer than I expected and when the doors open, my jaw drops. Holy crap. My eyes fixate on the window ahead of me, so large it reminds me of a storefront but instead of merchandise it displays constellations against an inky black sky. The bodyguard nudges me forward and my heels click against the ceramic tile. I close my mouth and continue to take in the grand space.
In front of the window is a huge mahogany table. Two tall, silver candelabras command attention from the center of the table, holding smooth peach candles whose wax has never dripped. Above hangs the most beautiful crystalline chandelier. Simple yet elegant, it perfectly complements the table beneath it.
The bodyguard jabs me again to move down the hallway. I turn my head over my shoulder and glare at him. “You could just tell me where to go instead of prodding me like cattle.”
“Shut up.”
He brings me into a large bedroom and stops in the doorway. The floor is carpeted and the walls painted a gentle cream color. The bed is centered against the far wall with an elaborate headboard. On top of the mattress is a dark blue dress. I walk over and take in the garment. If they expect me to get dressed up like a dancing monkey, they’ve got another thing coming.
“I’m not wearing this.”
The dress—if it could even be called that—barely covers a thing. If I even attempted to bend over, my butt would be hanging out. The material is nearly see-through, and there is no breast support. Not that I have large breasts, but still.
The bodyguard growls and steps into the room. “Put it on now.”
“No. I’m not wearing this. I’m not a whore.”
He steps forward again, close enough for me to feel his breath against my face. I realize suddenly how tall he is, how broad, like a boulder with arms. I’m a little ant in comparison. “You can put it on yourself or I’ll put it on for you. But, one way or another, you’re going to wear the fucking dress.”
I swallow hard. This jerk would enjoy putting the dress on me against my will. But after the night I’ve had, no one is touching me anymore. No one is ripping my clothes again. “I can dress myself, thank you,” I say through clenched teeth.
Satisfied for now, he turns and stalks back to the doorframe, where he stands observing me with crossed arms. I narrow my eyes at him. “Turn around or get out. I said I’ll dress myself but you aren’t getting a show. And if you keep harassing me, I may just let your boss know.”
The man’s face goes rigid, blotchy red spreading over his skin. He looks like he wants to lunge across the room and strangle me, but I’ve clearly said the magic word—‘boss’—because instead he steps through the doorway and slams it shut behind him without saying anything.
With a sigh, I take a second and sit on the bed. It’s soft and I just want to lie down and close my eyes. My night has been hell on earth and my body is drained from the stress. Sleep would be a blessing. But I can hear the bodyguard tapping his heel impatiently against the wall outside. I don’t want to piss him off too much. There’s no telling what he might do to me—what any of these people might do to me, really.
I undress, peeling off the oversized suit coat, my torn blouse, and my leather miniskirt. I pause for a moment and look down at myself, clad only in a pair of sheer lace panties. My pale elbows are mottled with bruises where Stephen/Augustin squeezed me at the nightclub. It feels like that was a million years ago. With another heavy sigh, I slink into the blue dress and pull it up around me. The material is surprisingly soft, but truth be told, I just want a warm pair of pajamas right now.
“I’m done,” I say. The door is yanked open and the bodyguard stomps in again.
“Let’s go.”
This time, he doesn’t poke me, but leads the way to an outside terrace. The area is almost as large as the inside of the penthouse. In the middle of a cast iron table is a beautiful centerpiece made up of lilies and surrounded by candles. Wine sits in a silver bucket of ice and two entrees of seared steak and a medley of potatoes and fresh vegetables lie waiting. The smell of the food makes me realize how hungry I’m. When did I last eat? I can see the steam rising from the food into the cool night air. My mouth is watering and I feel weak all of a sudden, like I might fall down if I don’t eat right this second.
Then a cough pulls me from my daze.
I turn to meet the gaze of the man from the auction.
He’s standing behind one of the chairs at the table. He gestures at the other as he says in a smooth, low rumble, “If you would, please join me for dinner. I’m sure you must be hungry.”
I don’t reply. I just stare at him, as if he sprouted a new head.
He steps forward towards me. My first instinct is to jump back. He must see my fear, because he smiles and raises his hands as if to show me he means no harm. I almost laugh out loud. The man who bought me, who abducted me, who might very well end this night by tossing me off the fortieth-floor balcony—he means no harm. Just a nice guy, really, I’m sure. Loves his mom, donates to charity, saved a kitten from a tree once. The whole thing is a sick, cruel irony.
He comes around to the back of the second chair and pulls it out for me. “Please, take a seat.”
Part of me wants to argue, but the part of me that’s famished chooses the path of least resistance. I hesitantly sit in the chair he’s offering. He makes his way back across the table and takes his seat. “What is your name?” he says politely.
“What’s yours?” The words rush from my mouth before I can stop them.
He smiles and says, “I’m Nikita Lavrin.”
Nikita Lavrin. I say the name inside my head. It’s a strong name, and the way he says it is so confident, like it’s the most valuable of all his riches. He says it like I should know who he is, although I don’t have the faintest idea.
All at once, my anger comes boiling to the surface. ‘Angry Annie,’ my grandmother used to call me when I’d lose my temper. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I was a terror and a half. And if anyone has ever deserved the full brunt of my wrath, it’s this rich pretty boy smiling at me from across the table.
“So, Nikita Lavrin,” I spit, “What makes you think, after getting kidnapped, dragged around, and damn near threatened with rape for half the night, that I’m in the mood for a steak dinner and small talk with someone who purchased me? Do you think I’m having fun? Do you think this is enjoyable? You’re a monster, and you need to let me go right now, or I’ll call the police.”
The words pour out of me in a big rush, but as soon as I’m done speaking, I immediately regret it. I shouldn’t have said any of that, especially not with so much venom. And especially since I have no idea who I’m actually dealing with.
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dark and unreadable. This is my first time seeing him up close and personal like this. At the auction, the room was too dark and although I could make out some of his features—and that he was handsome—it didn’t prepare me for how beautiful he is up close. His lips are pale and thin and his nose slender and rounded. His eyes are the green of fresh dew. A prominent jaw drawn in a graceful slash reveals the strength of his neck, wrought with twining cords of muscle. He’s an Adonis ... and I’m in trouble.
