Wed to the Russian Biker: A Mafia Romance

by Bella Rose

  “Loser?” Courtney snorted. “I know, right? How awful is it that he makes a million dollars a year, runs a successful company, and acts like a nice human being.”

  “And her family only wanted her to marry him because he’s rich and her loser brother needs a benefactor that her mother can push around.” Creighton’s smug tone only pissed her off more.

  Courtney cocked her head, refusing to let him get to her. “Yeah, and how’s that working out for them? Seems to me Toby is doing what he wants. Bella is happy. And the rest of them are still wallowing in their own crap. Pretty much the way you’re going to be.”

  A flicker of doubt showed in Creighton’s eyes. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. Because the only way that a woman in this day and age can be used the way you’re describing is if she allows it.” Courtney set her jaw and gave him her best dirty look. “And I’m done letting all of you walk all over me, Creighton Kemper. Why don’t you go ask that wedding planner Elsa to save your pathetic ass?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said lamely.

  “Seriously?” Courtney would have gestured to their surroundings, but her hands were still tied. “Look at us! Why would you lie now? Do you really think it matters? Besides, we have photographs!”

  “So?” Creighton said defensively.

  It probably didn’t help matters any that Vasily and his men were laughing their asses off at the exchange between Courtney and Creighton. One of the men said something in rapid Russian. Vasily answered back, and then Courtney suddenly found herself with her hands free.

  She stared at Vasily in shock.

  He shrugged. “My men suggested to me that this whole thing would be more amusing if the two of you weren’t restrained. Or at least if you weren’t. Perhaps you would like to get a few hits in?”

  “You guys are messed up,” Courtney told him. She rubbed her wrists, keeping her gaze carefully focused on Creighton.

  There was movement at the entrance to the room once again. A man dressed in a suit with a gold-and-purple scarf-looking drape around his neck walked in. All of the attention swung to his entrance. Courtney chose that moment to bolt.

  She sprinted the four steps to the room’s back entrance. If memory served, this was the entry and exit point for the staff when they were serving at social functions. It led into a butler’s pantry and then on into the kitchen.

  Behind her Courtney heard shouts in Russian and Creighton’s incessant screaming not to let her get away. There were heavy boots pounding in the hallway. She slid through the kitchen in her thin-soled shoes and scrambled to find the latch on the door. She had to get outside. There was no time to waste if she wanted to get lost in the dark outside. And if she stopped to even think for a moment about how terrifying that idea should be, she would lose her nerve and give in.

  The kitchen door finally opened. It felt like an eternity. She dashed out of the house and onto the stone patio that stretched the length of the back of the house. Tripping on the uneven flagstones, she went down on her hands and knees. Tears stung her eyes but she didn’t give up. She got to her feet and kept running. Down the steps she went toward the shadowy tree line looming in the darkness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The scene that Mikhail walked into at the Creighton estate would have been comical had he not noticed almost immediately that Courtney was conspicuously missing. The level of fear he felt for her was phenomenal. Mikhail had always considered himself goal focused and driven. But he would also be the first to admit that most of his life had been spent selfishly pursuing his own ends. Now for the first time, he was far more concerned about the fate of another person, no matter the impact it had on his own situation.

  Creighton was throwing what amounted to a tantrum in the middle of the estate house’s large central room. He was swinging his arms in large circles while shouting angrily at Vasily and his men. There was a priest in the room, a man Mikhail had not seen in long years. He was the local Russian Orthodox priest, a man indebted in more than one way to Vasily Romanov and his mafia cronies.

  Mikhail ignored Creighton and spoke directly to Vasily in Russian. “I’m assuming you’ve lost Courtney.”

  “I must admit that the woman is clever and determined,” Vasily commented casually. “However, my men will catch up with her soon enough and bring her back here.”

  “Meaning that they’re fumbling around outside in the dark trying to find her,” Mikhail guessed. “Sounds like a haphazard plan at best.”

  Vasily’s men were eyeing Mikhail as though he might be in danger of exploding into sudden violence. Mikhail didn’t care. Sometimes it was handy to have such a black reputation. It kept people out of his way.

  “This plan of yours is ridiculous,” Mikhail told Vasily. He made a gesture toward the priest. “You cannot bully an American woman into marriage. Even if she said yes, there are a hundred ways to undo the marriage before the week is out.”

  Vasily’s jaw was set. He was determined. “Pierson Security is ours.”

  “Why?” Mikhail wondered aloud. “What does it matter? Start your own company. A security company is a ridiculous notion for a mobster anyway. Who would trust you with their secret information when you would be so likely to try and sell it back to them at a blackmailed rate?”

  Vasily’s eyes gleamed and Mikhail realized what he was missing. He began to laugh, the chuckle growing until it was a belly laugh and Vasily was looking rather disgruntled. The older man frowned. “The protection game was the way our organization grew in Russia and Siberia. It will be our legacy here in the US as well.”

  “You’re forgetting something about the United States, Vasily,” Mikhail said with amusement. “Here in the US you’re considered a criminal organization. Homeland Security is looking for reasons to deport you, your citizenship is shaky at best, and there is too much competition for dominance of even the mafia market.”

  Vasily’s gaze narrowed. “Which is why we need a man like you to head up our new enterprise. You’re a citizen. You have access to places we do not. You owe us, Mikhail. We were the beginning of your career.”

  “You were the beginning of nothing,” Mikhail spat. He made a gesture to indicate the empty chair where they had obviously held Courtney earlier that night. “And at the moment you don’t even have leverage.”

  Mikhail was already texting Frank, giving him the latest on Courtney’s proposed whereabouts and asking him to move in with a team to search the woods and find her. He didn’t care about Vasily. He didn’t care about Creighton, or Gordon. The only thing that mattered was getting Courtney out safe and sound. The two of them had much to talk about. He had so many things to apologize for. Then she would forgive him and they could start over.

  Vasily snapped his fingers and three men began to close in on Mikhail. Vasily looked grim. “You would be surprised what I have.”

  Creighton looked panicky and irritated in turns. “What’s going on? Would you all speak English, dammit? We’re in America! This isn’t Russia. You can’t just come in here and act like some criminal thug and get away with it! We have laws here.”

  Vasily looked at Mikhail. For the span of one moment the two of them had one thing in common, a complete distaste for Creighton Kemper. “How can you stand dealing with men like him on a daily basis?” Vasily wanted to know. “He is weak and ineffectual as well as completely without pride.”

  “As I recall, there were plenty of men in your organization who were equal or worse,” Mikhail pointed out. “And I don’t deal with him. I squash him beneath my boot heel on a daily basis and move on.”

  Vasily looked amused. “Hence your acquisition of Pierson Security.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I should not like you. I should not respect you. Not after you murdered my son.”

  “I didn’t kill Uday,” Mikhail said quietly. He shook his head. “Think back to that night. There were so many bullets flying. And where do you get off holding me responsible f
or the murder that you ordered me to commit? You told me to kill Uday. You ordered me to do it.”

  “No.” Vasily’s voice died. He shook his head. “I did not do this thing you claim. I loved my son.”

  Mikhail frowned. “But the order came from you.”

  “No. Never!”

  The hard, unflinching note in Vasily’s voice confused Mikhail. “Who else was there that night?” he asked Vasily.

  “Dimitri,” Vasily murmured. “Dimitri was there.”

  “Dimitri who just married his son to your daughter?” Mikhail reminded him. Suddenly the night that had haunted him for so long took on a whole new meaning. “Gee, I wonder what it was he thought he had to gain by making sure that Uday was out of the picture?”

  * * *

  Courtney crouched beneath a tree and shivered a little. The thin blouse and skirt she had put on for work that morning was not an outfit intended to wear when one trekked around in the woods at night. There were things moving out here. She could hear a rustling somewhere behind her as if an animal was creeping along through the woods.

  She’d never spent much time outdoors like this. There had been a few picnic trips with friends of prominent families who owned places in the country just like the Kemper’s estate. But for the most part, Courtney’s life had been lived in the urban jungle. She was woefully unprepared to spend a night in the middle of the trees, brush, and most notably—the critters.

  Her hand strayed to her belly. It was odd really. She had considered terminating the pregnancy more than once. Yet here she was worrying about the welfare of her unborn child. Was that demented, or was she simply reacting to the primal call of motherhood like the rest of the female population had been since the dawn of time? It was almost impossible to decide. She only new that right now she was worried for her baby and that she desperately wanted out of this untenable situation.

  “I’m going to make things better for you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  Was it true that unborn babies could hear their parents’ voices even from outside the womb? Maybe it didn’t matter. Perhaps the reality was that she felt less alone when she remembered that she wasn’t alone anymore. Not really. Life was about far more than the right clothes or who had the most money or the oldest name or the bluest blood.

  There were voices. Courtney held her breath and wondered if they were friend or foe and how she would even be able to tell. Then she realized that the voices were speaking Russian. That sort of made the whole question moot. She had to stay off the Russians’ radar long enough to get real help.

  Keeping her body low and close to the ground, Courtney carefully moved back toward the path. At this point the voices were coming from a point about fifty yards or so to her left. The path was to her right. Perhaps there was a way to circle around behind the men and get out of the forested area. Although she was at a complete loss as to how she was supposed to get back to civilization. As she recalled, the Kemper estate was a good hour from the city. Most of the towns out here were just rural dots on a map. The land was used for hobby farming and country getaway properties for the affluent families in the city.

  “Ma’am.”

  Courtney nearly came out of her skin. Whirling around, she lost her balance and plopped onto her backside in a pile of pine needles. The dried-up vegetation poked the backs of her bare thighs and dug into her bottom. She was trying to catch her breath as she wondered if the English speakers were somehow there to help. Had someone called the cops?

  “Who are you?” she demanded in a low voice.

  “Hush.” In the shadowy darkness she saw him raise his finger to his lips. “We don’t need to catch their attention, do we?”

  “Get me out of here,” she begged. “I want to go back to the city.”

  “That can certainly be arranged.”

  The man made a gesture with his whole arm, and Courtney gasped as the whole forest around her seemed to move. Men dressed all in black with their faces smeared in dark paint emerged from the shadows to form a protective barrier around her. They made a few gestures to indicate that she should try to follow and be quiet.

  The whole group moved off in the opposite direction of the Russians crashing through the brush. The Russian men seemed to be moving quickly in the opposite direction. They were still calling loudly to each other in their native tongue, and Courtney couldn’t help but wonder if they realized that all the noise was helping her keep away from them. Did they think she was some kind of moron?

  “This way, ma’am.” The SWAT-looking guy gestured for her to follow the path.

  Carefully placing her feet so she didn’t fall on her backside once again, Courtney felt immeasurably relieved that she was no longer alone in this horrible situation. She’d been rescued. She was sure of it.

  It seemed only a short trek to a clearing where two large SUVs were parked. The dark vehicles had tinted windows that obscured any trace of driver or passengers. Courtney didn’t even argue. She just got inside and buckled up. At this point the unknown quantity was actually preferable to the known one. It seemed backward, but she already knew the Russians wanted something from her that she did not want to give. It remained to be seen if her new friends wanted anything or nothing at all.

  The vehicles roared to life, and the leader turned around in the passenger seat and gave her a thumbs-up. “Just hang tight, Ms. Piers-Cameron. We need to get out of here fast, so the ride will be pretty bumpy.”

  “I’m sorry, but who are you?” Courtney didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she needed some credentials here. “Police? FBI? SWAT?”

  “We work for Mikhail Krachenko.” The man spoke as if she shouldn’t be the least bit surprised about that. “He sent us to make certain you’re safe. We’re to take you back to his building in the city. You’ll be completely protected there, and that’s his biggest concern.”

  “Of course it is,” Courtney murmured, feeling completely at a loss. Great. She’d just jumped from the frying pan right back into the fire.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mikhail surreptitiously glanced at the display on his watch. The handy accessory let him view incoming texts without being obvious about pulling out his phone. It was a very welcome ability when he was in situations such as this one. Frank had just texted him to let him know that Courtney was with them and they were en route to his building.

  Just about that time, four of Vasily’s men came striding in through the wide doorway that led to the front of the house. Vasily spoke to them in rapid Russian. Mikhail had to suppress a chuckle when they told him they’d lost Courtney.

  Vasily gazed at Mikhail with a strange expression on his face. “You don’t seem upset. Your lady friend is wandering around outdoors at night. This does not worry you at all?”

  “Perhaps I have more faith in her ability to survive on her own than you do,” Mikhail blustered. The only reason he could sell that little lie was that he knew he wasn’t counting on Courtney’s outdoor skills to carry the day.

  “Is that right?” Vasily murmured. “And if I choose not to buy this lie you’re selling?”

  Mikhail shrugged. “At this point you have nothing.” Mikhail jerked his chin toward Creighton. “This man owes you a lot of money he cannot pay. You have no leverage against me personally, which means I have no interest in giving you Pierson Security. Killing me would only ensure that you never see a piece of that company or any other. Perhaps you should wait and see if I decide to offer you a consolation prize. But that won’t be tonight.” Mikhail straightened his suit jacket and turned to leave the room. “I think we’re done here, Vasily.”

  “Not so fast!”

  The slightly shrill tone belonged to Gordon Piers-Cameron. He was holding the same gun he’d had only a few hours before the last time he threatened Mikhail. He was swinging the weapon wildly about the room. He paused briefly in the vicinity of Creighton Kemper. The spoiled society boy was whimpering like a baby.

  Mikhail saw it coming about the same tim
e Vasily did. Both men began to lunge toward Gordon, but it was too late. He squeezed off a shot in Kemper’s direction. The bullet struck the man in the thigh, going all the way through his leg before it embedded itself in the stone fireplace.

  Kemper’s scream was worthy of a black-and-white horror film. The sound reverberated around the room and shook Mikhail to his bones. Worse, Kemper kept on screaming. He was grabbing his leg and shrieking something about not wanting to die.

  “Shut him up!” Vasily shouted.

  Vasily’s men were on Kemper in seconds. Although their ministrations had nothing to do with keeping him alive and everything to do with shutting him up. They did put pressure on the wound, muttering to each other about how lucky this idiot was that the bullet had missed his artery. Nobody shared that information with Creighton, however, so the idiot continued to bellow like a stuck pig while moaning that he was going to die.

  Vasily and Mikhail ignored Kemper and stared at Gordon. The man’s expression was slightly insane. It was obvious that the events of the last few months had taken their toll. He looked disheveled. His hair was thin and scraggly. What had been a comb-over was now lying in lank strands about his ears. His bald pate glistened with sweat, and there were rivulets running down his face. He looked as if he was a man on the edge of doing something incredibly stupid.

  Vasily straightened. He was not a man unused to staring down the barrel of a gun. “This will not get you what you want.”

  “You lied to me!” Gordon pointed the gun at Vasily, his face a mask of tortured pain and regret.

  Vasily looked completely unmoved. “Did I?”

  Mikhail couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Vasily had promised the man. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Creighton Kemper was a pawn. He owed the money. He was Vasily’s claim to the business. But the claim had been weak once Mikhail had become involved. Apparently Vasily had gone to Gordon to try and strengthen his position.