Ruthless Doms Boxset

by Jane Henry

  “It’s beautiful here,” Marissa says, looking out the window. “So different from—”

  I give her a sharp look. She may not speak of where we came.

  “The ship,” she finishes. She swallows hard and doesn’t meet my eyes. I hauled her over my lap for a spanking when she almost spoke my name aloud, and it’s more imperative now than ever that we keep our identity hidden.

  The streets are so crowded with people, I have to focus heavily on navigating safely to the on-ramp to the highway.

  “When does Tomas expect us?” Erik asks. I spoke to Tomas this morning, and he put me in charge of bringing us to meet him.

  “Noon.”

  We drive in silence until I get to the on-ramp. I glance at the GPS on my phone. “It should only take about fifteen minutes. He says traffic may be lighter this time of day.”

  The on-ramp is crowded with people, and I hate the slow-crawl. I want to be there already. Today is the day we pay tribute to the Bratva, and hopefully gain the entry we need.

  “Jesus,” Yakov mutters. “Tak mnogo lyudey.”

  So many people.

  “Eto dolzhno proyasnit'sya,” I respond. It should clear up. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. I wonder why he speaks Russian now. One of the criteria for admission to the Boston brotherhood is fluency in Russian, and if we speak our native language, he’s likely assuming the girls won’t know what we say. What he doesn’t know is that Marissa is fluent in Russian and speaks it as well as I do. I give her a quick, sidelong glance. We haven’t discussed this, but I don’t want her to reveal that she knows the language.

  The other girls look downward, but there’s a palpable nervousness in the air. Yakov’s jaw is tight, his hand clasped on the leg of the girl beside him. Even Erik’s typically arrogant demeanor has diminished as he stares out the window. His arm is around his woman’s shoulders, but her body is held apart and rigid.

  “YA khotel by byt' za rulem,” he mutters.

  I wish I were driving.

  I give him a sharp look, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. The bastard. He doesn’t like that I’m controlling this.

  “I can’t make the traffic go away,” I tell him tightly, “but according to the directions, it clears up after the tunnel.” I try to keep myself aloof, and not let on that he affects me, but I’m already on edge not knowing what will happen next. My pulse races, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Marissa reaches for my knee, and discreetly gives me a little squeeze. When she touches me, the tight coil inside me loosens a little. Still, I push her hand away casually, so the others don’t see. It wouldn’t do for anyone to notice any intimacy between us at all, though I can’t deny that even this little reminder from her helps calm me.

  I ignore the way she tucks her hand in her lap, like she’s been rejected. I hate that. But hell, she can’t risk a damn thing.

  The traffic clears after the tunnel, and I look at the GPS. We drive here for half a mile before we exit again, heading deep into the inner city. I glance in the rearview mirror. “Fuck!”

  Huge headlights loom right behind me. There’s a goddamn tractor trailer on my heels. I look quickly to the left and right lanes to see if I can switch, but there’s no escape. I hit the gas, getting dangerously close to the car in front of me.

  Yakov’s already unbuckled, his gun in hand.

  “Jesus, Yakov, put it away,” I mutter, thankful the car in front accelerates, but the truck behind us only draws even closer. He’s trying to run me off the road.

  “Fucking douchebag,” Erik growls, pulling his gun out, too. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  “Trying to run us off the goddamn road,” I tell him. “Who the fuck is he?”

  “No idea. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hood.”

  The last time we were in this position, I was running with Marissa to safety, and she recognized the man driving. I want to ask her now, but can’t risk either of the men knowing our history. Thankfully, there’s an exit coming up, but it seems he’s pushing me right off it. He’s on our tail, so close I hear the screeching of metal as his bumper scrapes ours and we lurch forward. I turn the wheel so hard the tires squeal as I exit the highway. The truck veers back on the main highway but doesn’t follow.

  “What the fuck was that?” Erik asks. I don’t slow down. We’re in the inner city now, huge high-rises on every side. I’m driving way too fucking fast for an area like this, but I want to be sure no one’s followed us. I take a swift right turn and then a left.

  “Fuck!” Erik screams from the back. A car swerves into our lane, and is heading straight for us. I yank the wheel, trying to get out of the way, but it’s coming at us head on. I hit the gas again, swerving hard, my pulse racing. This is no accident. Someone knows who we fucking are.

  There’s nowhere to go. This car is going to hit us, and I can’t stop it. There’s a fucking suicidal driver heading straight for us.

  I brace right before we slam into the car coming after us. Metal crunches, glass shatters, Marissa and I slam into air bags that instantly deploy as we spin out and finally screech to a stop.

  I push myself out of my seat and take immediate inventory. First, Marissa. I turn to her, thankful that she’s conscious, though bloodied.

  “Are you okay?” I demand. She nods.

  “I’m fine,” she says, her voice tight. She’s bleeding from a gash on her cheek, but her eyes meet mine. “Get them.”

  I immediately look to find the driver of the other vehicle. My gun is in my hand. Fuck recognition. Anyone that drives me off the road and threatens Marissa, I’ll kill him no matter who gets in my way. I tear open the door. Someone hits the ground running, the driver’s side door to the vehicle that struck us swinging crazily. I pull out my gun and shoot, hitting his knee cap. I want him fucking conscious. He screams and hits the ground, his face contorted in pain as he writhes on the sidewalk, clutching his knee. Pedestrians scream and scatter. I hide my gun and run after him.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, holding him by the hair.

  “Fuck you,” he growls. I don’t recognize him at all and he has no ink that I can see. I drag the fucker back to his car that’s in better condition than ours and hold him in my grip before I do inventory of the rest of the passengers. Yakov stands outside the car, the blonde woman next to him, and Erik’s girl with the dark hair is climbing out. Marissa watches me with wide eyes, and the sight of blood dripping down her face infuriates me. I slam the man in my grip against the car, enjoying the way he howls when his head crashes into metal.

  Goddamn motherfucker.

  “Where’s Erik?”

  “He’s fucking jammed in there,” Yakov says. “We’ll have to get him out.” Flames leap from the hood of the car. Our time is limited. Fucking Erik.

  I look at the man in my grip and back to Yakov. Yakov releases the blonde and trots over to me. Yakov reaches in his pocket and pulls out a fistful of zip ties.

  “Secure him first,” Yakov says, glaring at the man with the promise of vengeance. In seconds, we secure him with the ties and toss him in the back of the car, before racing to the wrecked rental.

  Erik screams for us to help him. He’s pinned beneath twisted metal, writhing in pain, his leg pinched.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. Sirens wail in the distance. Someone’s called emergency vehicles. We have to get out of here.

  “We’ll have to pull him out,” Yakov says with a grimace. The pinned metal could be working as a makeshift tourniquet, and removing him could make him bleed out, but we can’t risk staying here. Yakov stands on one side and I the other. Erik’s growling in pain, white as a ghost, and he looks on the edge of passing out.

  “Hold fast, brother,” I tell him. “Breathe. We’ll get you out.”

  The guy might be a douchebag, but Bratva men defend one another to the death. I’m bound by honor and loyalty to save him, as is Yakov. Yakov meets my eyes and gives me a nod.

  “On three,” I say. “One, two, three.”

&nb
sp; Erik’s scream rings through the air as we lift the car off his leg. He’s bleeding, and heavily, but thankfully it isn’t as bad as I feared.

  “We’ll have to make a tourniquet,” Marissa says. She’s by my side and the blonde is by Yakov’s. I tear off my shirt and wrap it around his leg.

  “Fuck!” Yakov growls.

  I look up and see Erik’s girl running as fast as she can two blocks away.

  “We chase her, we risk cops coming here,” I tell him. “Gotta get you to the compound.”

  “Go,” he says through gritted teeth. If Erik survives this, he’ll have to face Tomas empty-handed. I look to the blonde who sits by Yakov and Marissa, who watches everything with wide, curious eyes. They didn’t run.

  Sirens wail just seconds away. The car that hit us is still running, and it’s our only means of escape.

  “We’ll take his car,” I tell Yakov. Bystanders watch us on this busy street, but we wave off help. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

  Yakov and I take Erik to the car, then I slide into the driver seat, Marissa sits in the passenger seat beside me, and Yakov restrains the man in the back on the floor, his foot pressed to his back. The man growls and tries to get up, but he won’t move.

  “Go, Aleks,” Yakov says. “I’ve got him.” He points his gun at the man’s temple low enough out of the view of any bystander and cocks it. “Call Tomas.”

  I call him on my phone and swipe at my head.

  “Yeah?”

  I tell Tomas what happened as succinctly as possible. I don’t mention to him that Erik’s tribute fled, but tell him we’ve captured the man who hit us and we’re bringing him in for questioning.

  “I’ll send men out for recon,” Tomas says. “Get in here.”

  We’re ten minutes out from the compound.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Yakov asks the man on the floor, but the man doesn’t respond. Yakov kicks him. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Question him later,” I tell Yakov. “Keep him secured for now.”

  Marissa freezes. I look to where she does as we turn to get back on the highway. Hidden between two trash barrels, crouched to the ground, our escapee hides. I glance in the rearview mirror, but Erik’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t see her. Marissa and I share a look. We stay silent.

  Erik can deal with Tomas himself. I saved his fucking life, and he’s lucky I did.

  “Yakov, tell me your injuries,” I demand.

  “Bruised my leg, maybe sprained my wrist,” he says. “Otherwise fine.”

  “Your woman?”

  “A few scrapes and bruises but nothing broken.”

  “You?” I ask Marissa.

  “Gash on my cheek, but alright.”

  “We’ll need to see a doctor to be sure no one sustained internal injuries.” I curse under my breath. This is not the way I would have chosen to make our entry to the brotherhood, but it could have been worse.

  We survived.

  I reach to Marissa and run my thumb along her thigh. The bastard will pay for marring her.

  “I want to know how the fuck he knew who we were and how to get to us,” I say. I want a chance to question him myself.

  We drive to the compound in silence, and when we arrive, half a dozen men stand outside, arms crossed like soldiers ready for battle. Tomas stands at the very front, the largest and most formidable of the group. He’s well over six feet tall, his nearly-black eyes boring into me. He wears a sleeveless black t-shirt, his arms revealing signature Bratva ink, silver scars mark his battle wounds along his upper arm that goes all the way to his neck.

  I park the car and go straight to him.

  “Aleks,” he says with a nod. “Tell me everything.”

  I tell him about the truck on the highway and the car that followed us. “We have the driver secured in the back. Yakov’s got him. But we need a doctor, brother. Erik’s bleeding profusely. He’s unconscious now, either from lack of blood or pain.”

  Tomas curses under his breath but nods, then barks out commands to the men behind him to take the prisoner and bring Erik inside.

  “There are three of you and two women,” he says to me. His eyes are as hard as flint, and I realize immediately our new pakhan doesn’t fuck around. “Explain.”

  I tell him how Erik’s tribute escaped.

  “And yet the other two did not run?” he asks, eying them curiously. “Either they’re not as brave as the other, or you’ve treated them better.”

  Tomas turns to the men behind him and issues orders in rapid Russian. Four men leave at a trot. He’s commanded them to find the escapee.

  I don’t respond. I don’t want him to know I have any attachment whatsoever to Marissa.

  “Bring them in. Have them seen to.” I look to Marissa. Her eyes are wide in panic. I want to reassure her that everything will be fine, that I won’t let any harm come to her.

  “She’s a little skittish,” I tell Tomas. “Might be more cooperative if I bring her in myself.”

  “She’s beautiful,” he says, giving her an appreciative once over. My blood thrums through my veins, molten and dangerous, my pulse quickening with the need to kill anyone that even looks at her.

  “She is.” My voice is tight. Is he testing me?

  He holds my gaze for long seconds.

  “No longer a virgin?”

  I shake my head once, keeping my temper in check with difficulty. “No, sir.”

  His eyes go to her once more. “Is she well trained?”

  If I show she isn’t well trained, I risk him wanting to do the job himself and outing myself as incapable of following orders. If I show she is, he might want her for himself. Hell, he probably already fucking does.

  Instead of telling him, I decide to show him. I snap my fingers to Marissa and point to the ground in front of me. Head bowed, she walks to me and stands beside me.

  “She is,” I tell him. “But she needs medical attention.” If I can get her away from him, I buy us time.

  “You all do. Take them to the infirmary,” he tells a man beside him. He looks quickly from me to Yakov. “We’ll talk tonight during your induction.”

  Chapter 17

  Marissa

  Everything here is unfamiliar, and I draw instinctively closer to Nicolai. I have no idea what to expect next, and that frightens me. He told me to trust him. Can I, after all that’s happened?

  Every moment I spend with him erases the cobwebs from my mind and reminds me that I’m his. I’m no longer bound to the abuse I suffered at the hands of those who stole me. Every time Nicolai touches me, speaks to me, or looks at me with those vibrant blue, possessive eyes, a little bit of me heals.

  I wonder where the woman who ran went. If she’ll find her way back home, if she even remembers where she came from. If she’ll go to the authorities and report them. She poses a threat, but I don’t blame her. What we’ve experienced is an utter crime against humanity, and it’s only natural to want to escape from whatever comes next.

  What will happen next? How will Nicolai and I free ourselves once and for all from the grip of those that threaten our safety? I want to run as badly as she does, but I’ll never run from him. Never. I don’t care if they kill us. I’ll die by his side rather than spend another minute apart from him.

  Two armed guards bring me, Nicolai, and the other two into a massive building. It’s luxurious, set apart from the inner city on a grassy knoll, surrounded by the tallest gates I’ve ever seen. There are cameras positioned at odd angles, and I get the distinct impression this place has maximum security. Even if someone did get through these gates, I couldn’t imagine facing the men who escort us now. They’re huge, muscled, and intimidating as hell.

  “This way,” one man says. His accent is similar to Nicolai’s, but a little more subdued. Like the rest, he’s large and muscular, dressed in black jeans and a sleeveless black shirt. Like Nicolai, he’s covered in ink.


  He brings us to a large door with two panels to the left, swipes a card through, and the door clicks unlocked. He jerks his head for Nicolai to go in first. I follow.

  “The infirmary,” as the leader called it, looks like a small, but well-equipped medical room. Hospital beds lay side-by-side, and the glass fronted cabinets in front of us display a variety of first aid materials. These guys don’t fool around. I stifle a shiver. What sorts of things do they do that require them to have an on-site medical facility like this? I grew up familiar with Bratva life, but I suspect now I didn’t know the half of what actually went on.

  All of us from the ship take our places beside tables and chairs in silence. No one knows what to expect in this new place, under new leadership. It scares me to even make eye contact with any of the Bratva brotherhood. What if someone recognizes me?

  For the millionth time, I want to go with Nicolai and run. Escape the danger that threatens to tear us apart. I don’t care if we have to live in a hovel and take on new identities. I don’t care. As long as I’m with him.

  The door opens and a woman comes in. She’s tall with wavy red hair, and wears glasses perched upon her nose. She’s on the younger side, probably late twenties or early thirties, and wears a stethoscope around her neck.

  “Are you the nurse?” Yakov asks, his arms crossed on his chest. He can be intimidating, and right now, he’s wearing his most vicious glare. I suspect he dislikes being forced to seek medical attention, like someone’s supposed to survive a car crash unscathed.

  The pretty redhead smiles widely. “Oh, no,” she says. “We don’t fool around with nurses here. I’m the doctor.” She pats an exam table. “Why don’t you hop on up first.”

  Yakov quirks a brow at her, as if “hopping on up” the table is beneath him, but he does what she says. She begins examining him, then talks to us over her shoulder. “The rest of you sit and prepare to tell me in explicit detail what injuries you sustained.”

  Nicolai looks at me curiously and points to a chair. He sits beside me, and Yakov’s woman sits on an exam table. Erik is apart, in another room altogether.