by V. Domino
The reality of my predicament hits me like a sucker punch to the gut as the beautiful Parisian shops lining the cobblestone streets turn into run down store fronts.
I know without a doubt in my mind that this isn’t the way to the train station.
Looking at the doors, I see that there’s no access to the lock from the inside. Not good.
“Sir. Excusez-moi. Excuse me.” Nothing. The driver doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
A piece of plexiglass separates me from the front of the cab so I do the only thing I can under the circumstance. I yell like my life depends on it. Because let's face it—it probably does.
Banging on the clear plastic barrier, I shout at the top of my lungs, “LET ME THE FUCK OUT! NOW!!!”
I see the man’s beady dark eyes look at me through the rear-view mirror, but he maintains his silence, not giving me more than that one glance.
He wants to ignore me? Fine, let’s see if this gets his attention.
Unzipping my thigh high boot, I flip it over, rearing my hand and smashing the chunky steel-covered heel against the glass.
“Stop it!” he barks out.
Oh, so this prick speaks English.
“Pull the fuck over and I’ll stop!” I glare at him from my position in the back seat, unwilling to let my guard down.
He doesn’t speak, so I lift my hand again and start banging on the glass with every bit of strength I possess. The streets down this part of Paris are barren, but maybe if I shatter the window I can unlock my door from the outside and run.
The glass cracks and I’m about to issue one last strike when the driver swerves a hard left, my body flying across the back seat and slamming my body against the opposite door.
He begins speaking in Russian, a language I picked up during my travels, “You worthless bitch. You better be worth the money.”
What the hell is he talking about? If he thinks he’s getting his cab fare after this, he’s delusional.
Oh god. I’d bet a million dollars this isn’t about cab fare.
My stomach drops and my entire body breaks out into a sweat. I heard about this, but I never thought I’d be living through it.
The driver pulls into an alley, exiting the car and pulling the back door open. I scooch as far back as possible, keeping my boot in my hand as if it were a weapon. There’s no way in hell I’m going down without a fight. I’m a Martinez, weakness doesn’t run in my veins.
“Come here, you little tramp.” He reaches for my legs, trying to pull me out by my feet.
I bring down my boot on his forearm, the heel digging into his tattooed skin. But before I can strike again, his other arm comes around, grabbing my own and yanking me toward him with so much force that I slam into his broad chest.
As his hand moves to grip the back of my head, I start to bring my knee up, kicking and kneeing whatever body part I can reach.
“Enough!” The man roars as my head flies into the hood of the car, the metallic taste of blood being the last thing I remember before my world goes black.
The room is spinning. Or am I spinning? Slowly prying my eyes open, I faintly hear someone crying.
What in the hell? I’m in a room with at least thirty other women, all around my age, early to mid twenties.
Reaching up I rub my head, the splitting headache and dry mouth a reminder that this isn’t some horrible nightmare.
I bolt up and head straight for the metal door to the far left, but a little voice stops me.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The girl looks to be younger than me, maybe eighteen if that? Her hair is stringy and her left arm looks badly bruised with clear indications of needle marks. She follows my gaze and then looks back at me. “Yea, I wouldn’t if I were you. It’ll only get you into trouble.” She raises a brow, daring me to become the next version of her horror story. Pointing toward her arm, she continues, “This is how they keep you in line. Best do as you’re told or you’ll make things worse for yourself.”
This can’t be happening. This can’t be my real life.
Slumping against the cold metal door, I let myself fall to the ground.
I need to find a way out. I’m no quitter and no matter how dark things might seem right now, I know I will survive. I am a Martinez. I hail from a long line of Aztec warriors. I will survive this and I will overcome whatever sad bastard steps in my way.
Now...how to get these other broads on board?
“These piss ass bastards better have what they owe me.” I mutter under my breath as we enter a hall gilded in gold, displaying priceless pieces of art and furniture. Looking around, I shake my head. “If they deny me what’s mine, then we’ll just have to strip this place bare. They’re paying up, one way or another.”
Damian, my consigliere chuckles. “If they’d just pay us back what they owe us instead of spending their money on frivolous shit, they wouldn’t be in this problem.”
Everything’s gone to shit for the Russians since the head of the Bratva died, leaving his entire empire to his dim-witted sons whose idea of success is flashing all your wealth, meanwhile pissing all of your money away and ignoring your money making businesses.
“Mischa. Michail.” I nod in the direction of the twins, sitting at either end of a long marble slab, the legs of the table gilded in none other than gold.
“Mateo, please sit. We have some good products for you. We think you will be happy.” Mischa, the eldest of the twins, speaks up.
I arch a brow, intrigued by his statement, though cash is always preferred to ‘product’ as payment. If it’s shares in their Vodka distillery, I might be willing to bend my rules a little.
A brunette walks into the room carrying a silver tray, shot glasses lined up in a neat row and twinkling with the promise of its sweet nectar. My eyes travel back to the girl, her long flowing hair swaying back and forth like a hypnotic pendulum as she rounds the table.
Leaning forward, she smirks before placing a shot glass directly in front of me, her soft hair brushing against my forearm, causing my dick to come to life. The scent of jasmine and something I can’t quite put my finger on drifts up and I have to momentarily close my eyes, centering my thoughts.
Now is not the time to get a hard on. I mentally shake my head, reminding myself that I can have any pussy I want, but business comes first.
Looking up, I see that Mischa and Michail are both eyeing my interaction with the brunette closely. Narrowing my eyes, I direct my question toward Mischa, “So is this the product you’re talking about.”
“Yes. Do you like it?” Misha’s ice-blue eyes gleam in the dim lighting, his excitement palpable.
Damn, it’s just fucking vodka.
Picking up the shot glass, I throw the alcohol back in one go, the liquid burning on its way down my throat. “Yes. I like it. Now, how about you tell me why you think this is fair value. It’s not exactly the same currency.”
Michail flinches, the first sign that they know what they’re offering isn’t what we bargained for.
“No, it’s not. But with time, it can more than double or triple what we owe you.”
“Oh, how so?” My jaw clenches and my grip tightens around the empty shot glass. I’m not buying this bull shit.
“Well, she’s not the only one we have for you. There are others.”
She? What the fuck is he talking about?
My brows pull together and my eyes narrow. “What do you mean, she?”
Both brothers look at each other nervously before Michail blurts out, “There’s thirty more... but she’s the prettiest.”
This earns the younger brother a glare from Mischa. “What my dear brother is trying to say is that these whores are worth more than what our agreement called for. They can earn you three times over the amount. We think it’s a fair trade.” He is all false bravado as he stares at me, waiting for my response to what I can only call an abomination of our world.
Yes, I might be a fucking criminal. I might deal in drugs, alcohol,
and violence, but I draw the line at hurting innocent women and children.
They are the light in our dark world of hate and corruption. What we fight for and defend. We might lay with the devil, but they’re our anchors to this world, giving us something worth living for. There is no darkness without light, and I’ll be a damn fool if I let this little asshole destroy that balance.
“Did you just say there are thirty more?” I roll my head, cracking my neck in the process and alerting Damien to the impending conflict.
“Yes. We can bring them out if you’d like. Let you inspect them. They’re all top grade. Hand selected by my top men.” The bastard has the audacity to gloat about these women as if they were things and not creatures worthy of adoration. I’d like to see his ass carry a baby for nine months. I’d bet you his pansy ass would cry like a little bitch as soon as labor pains hit.
I may not have children of my own, but I’ve seen my sisters suffer through the miracle of childbirth and that shit is no joke. Definitely not for the faint of heart like this little prick.
Pushing back from the table, I stand. “Please, take me to them.”
“Of, of course.” This mumbling fool is only taking me to his funeral. He just doesn’t know it yet.
My men wait outside, one call from Damien and they swarm in. We were prepared to make the Bratva pay. One way or another, we were coming out with what was ours. I just didn’t think it would include a truck full of women with it.
I fall behind the twins, nodding at Damian to place the call.
We head into a narrow corridor with one metal door at the far end. Michail unlatches the bar that keeps it closed and opens it wide, motioning the brunette inside. She’d been following our trek from the meeting room to whatever this is. A holding cell?
My nose crinkles at the odor. There’s a single toilet in the corner and it’s clear that most of the women haven’t bathed in days, if not weeks.
I’m about to turn around and tell this sniveling idiot what I think of his deal when the brunette suddenly releases something that sounds like a damn war cry.
The women all jump to attention and start heading toward the twins, jumping on them like rabid animals attacking their prey.
I’m about to help them finish them off when the brunette jumps on my back like a damn spider monkey, clawing at me like her life depended on it. Under any other circumstances, I’d be turned on as fuck, but right now I have business to handle.
Reaching back, I grab both of her arms and flip her forward, bringing her small body to my chest. Her tight little ass hits my belt line and I groan, suppressing the reaction she elicits from my traitorous body. “Shhhh, you’re safe, little one. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”
Her body stills against me, her back melting into me as if she and I were one. This girl must be some sort of witch because never in my entire thirty-five years of life have I reacted to a woman like this. Needing to create some mental distance, I get back to the task at hand.
Without releasing my grip on the girl, I look for Damian. Sure enough, he’s got both of the twins tied together. Looking at his face closely, I see that he’s sporting a few new scratches on his face. No doubt an addition gifted to him by these spirited ladies.
“What now, boss?” Damian stoically stands, awaiting my call.
“We’ll make an example of them and then strip their headquarters clean. Nobody fucks with a Bianchi. A debt owed is a debt paid. One way or another, we always collect.”
“And the ladies?”
“We need to find out where they all came from and discuss the logistics when we’re back home. For now, we’ll take them with us.”
Immediately, the brunette begins to wiggle in my arms. “You said you would let us go. You lied!”
“No, little warrior. I said I would get you out of here.” I raise a brow, amused with the fire in this little one. “Now, I suggest you do as I say. Or else I’ll be tempted to leave you here with the Bratva.”
Her eyes narrow and she glares at me in defiance, but she nods. Smart girl.
The other women look at her, awaiting her decision. My little firecracker has their respect. An odd sense of pride bubbles up inside my cold black heart. Interesting.
The girl silently nods at others and like good little soldiers, they all begin to file behind Damian.
Walking toward the twins, I shake my head. “If you two would‘ve just paid up like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Rule number one. Know thy enemy.” I draw my gun, running the metal barrel along Michail’s profile with one hand while holding on to the spitfire with the other. “I don’t deal in human flesh.”
Pulling the gun back, I place it right between his eyes and pull the trigger, the blood and brain matter splattering all over his brother’s blubbering face.
“Mi—Mi—You fucking animal!” Mischa cries out, trying to reach for his brother but unable to remove the ties Damian placed around his wrists.
“Mischa, Mischa, Mischa. This isn’t personal. It’s just business.” Moving the gun so he’s staring down its barrel, I whisper before pulling the trigger once more, “See you in hell, asshole.”
To my surprise, the woman in my arms doesn’t so much as flinch throughout this entire interaction, and I feel another flutter in my chest. Clearing my throat, the beauty looks up, her face not holding a trace of fear. Instead, I see the glint of vengeance and the fire of passion yet to be discovered.
Standing there, splattered in blood with the enemy at my feet, I’m struck with the sudden urge to kiss her.
“Mateo, the car is ready.” Damian breaks me out of the fog I’m in and looking at him, I nod.
Grabbing my little warrior by the arm, we make our way out of the building, seeing the carnage all of my men have left behind.
One thing I can always be sure of is my men. I have some of the most loyal people under me, and it makes me damn proud to be the head of the Bianchi Famiglia.
Stepping into the sun, my driver opens the door to our blacked out SUV and I motion the woman inside.
Her big green eyes look back at me hesitantly, and I can’t help but smirk. To think that after what she’s lived through and seen, she still holds an ounce of trust toward me speaks volumes as to the pureness of her heart.
Doesn’t she know I’m the monster her mother warned her about? I might not subject women to sell their flesh against their will, but make no mistake, I’m no saint.
She slinks into the back seat, giving me a perfect view of her peach of an ass and my dick twitches in its place.
Groaning, I lower myself into the seat, acknowledging this is going to be a long trip.
Call me crazy, but I’m not scared. Being next to this massive brick wall of a man actually makes me feel safe.
Mateo. His name rolls around my head like a mantra—a prayer.
I don’t see the same disgusting darkness that shrouded the twins of despair. Those two idiots had nothing good to offer this world, and I’m glad this man put an end to their dealings.
Eyeing tall, dark and broody as he scrolls through his phone, I can’t help but wonder what our lives would have been like had we met under different circumstances. Had I met him in a bar, would I have flirted?
Yes. Fuck yes. His persona exudes confidence without his having to utter a word, and his eyes. Damn his eyes. They have the power to bring any weak woman to their knees.
Despite all that, I need to find a way to get him to let me go, though the way he was hanging on to my arm lets me know this won't be easy. Needing to broach the topic delicately, I choose to play nice... for now.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Arching a brow, I gift him with a smile, taking pleasure at the light I see reflected back in his eyes.
There’s a slight purse to his lips before he schools his face. Looking up from his phone, he stares me down, “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.” Placing his phone in his pocket, he looks me up and down, from the tips of my toes up to
my head and back down. “We are heading back to my home. All of the women will be housed with a family until we deem it safe for their release. In the meantime, they will work in the occupation of their household. The Bianchi do not give handouts. Everything must be earned, no exception.”
“If we’ll all be released, then why not let us go right now? We won’t cause any trouble, promise.” I know I’m pushing it, but I have to try. We’ve all been through so much and I have no clue where I am now, much less where this man’s home is.
His squared jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, I can tell that questioning isn’t something he’s used to. “As I said, it isn’t safe. I don’t know where they all came from and the last thing my men need is the authorities breathing down their necks for shit they didn’t even do.”
Slinking back in my seat, I have to acknowledge that he sort of has a point. I’d probably do the same thing if I were in his shoes. I look up at him warily, wondering if he’s as good as his word, but before I can ask him anything else, our SUV comes to a stop.
The driver comes around and opens the passenger door, letting me out first and guiding me toward a private jet like something straight out of the movies. Gaping at it and then back Mateo,, I can’t help but blurt out the obvious, “We can’t all fit in there.”
“Astute observation. You’re as brilliant as you are beautiful.” Without answering my question, he walks right past me. “Well, are you coming?”
Looking at my surroundings, I see that it’s a ghost town. I’m about to debate the logistics of running when I hear him let out an exasperated breath.
“The other women are being driven, little warrior. This will get us home much faster, and seeing as how I have lots of business to attend to, this is the way we will travel. Now get in.”
The tone in his voice leaves no room for interpretation, he’s dead serious and I’m smart enough to choose my battles. Riding in a comfortable private jet versus a cramped van for hours on end definitely won’t be one of them.
