He turned to open the other door and Vlasenko blocked the path. More of his men ran down after them. Trapped. Dead-end hall. But if she was inside that door, he didn’t care.
“I have to see her.”
Vlasenko held a hand up, and at least no bullets started flying. “You’re that obsessed with her?”
Vincent tried to bring himself under control, but the killing urge still paced and roared inside him, pissed, hungry and ready to kill every creature in its path. He hadn’t even bled yet, but God help every man on this boat if he did.
Evidently his face spoke for itself, because Vlasenko stepped aside and opened the door. Vincent stepped to the opening and searched the interior of the dark room. Another brunette in the bunk. But no Mads.
They took her. They took her and they killed her.
Rage boiled through him. Gritting his teeth, he whirled back to Vlasenko, intent on ripping out his fucking throat with his teeth. Guns wouldn’t stop him. Not even a hundred bullets.
Something slammed into his back, knocking him off center. He automatically reached over his shoulder, seized a handful of clothing and hauled—
Mads.
She clawed at him like a vicious little cat. “You fucking son of a bitch!”
He held her away from him by the back of her dress and hoped she didn’t bloody him. Not yet. He had to find a way to get out first.
“I think she missed you,” Vlasenko said. The other two guards smirked. “See, she’s alive and well, though a tad bit angry it seems. Happy now?”
“Yes.”
Vlasenko’s smile sharpened. “I hope you won’t be putting any more of my men’s eyes out.”
“As long as she’s safe with me, no. I won’t.”
“Bring her.” Vlasenko strode down the hallway back toward the door. “You owe me a demonstration.”
Vincent pushed her along in front of him, keeping her at arm’s length. Playing along, she kept scratching at his arm, twisting and fighting to get free. He wanted to draw her close and make sure she was okay, but he didn’t dare. Not with two guards following behind.
Vlasenko led the way to a small yet elegant stateroom, the kind of old-fashioned den where men smoked expensive cigars and made billion-dollar deals over twenty-year-old Scotch. A fireplace lent a cheery glow to the otherwise dark room with paneling and leather chairs. He turned one of the leather chairs away from the fireplace and sat, facing Vincent.
The two guards took up position at the door, heavily armed with grim faces. These weren’t Vlasenko’s normal crew. If Vincent had to guess, he’d place money on new men from the boss’s primary contact in Russia. Probably enforcers—the kind of men who’d been born to kill.
Men like him.
“I don’t recognize Bill and Ted,” he said, jerking his head at the two guards.
Vlasenko smiled. “I thought it was time to bring in some new blood. Men who can’t possibly be betraying me.”
“You’re that sure of their loyalty?”
“They know nothing of my operation here yet, and so can’t leak any of that information elsewhere.” He splashed a little Scotch into a glass and sipped it casually. “They’re none of your concern. I shouldn’t even indulge you with this woman, because you haven’t accomplished the single most important goal I gave you.”
“I’ve been a little busy tracking down an escaped captive.”
Vlasenko’s upper lip curled. “Be that as it may, someone betrayed confidential information to a rival. Coincidentally, you disappear the same night for more than twenty-four hours, while someone strikes within my hotel and kills three men. I’d be a fool not to believe that informant is you, Ghost.”
Vincent threw his head back and laughed. “As I told Feliks, if I’d decided to turn on you, I wouldn’t have broken into the hotel just to kill a couple of men. Especially Luka. What would his death buy me? He’s your bottom man.”
“The weak link,” Vlasenko whispered, his eyes flaring with dark emotion. “He liked you. Pity you killed him.”
“Why would I kill Luka? Why would I come back with the escaped captive in tow, if I was your leak? Besides, what could I possibly leak to anyone other than how many men I’ve killed for you? I don’t know anything about your shipments. Don’t care to.”
“You make some good points. Perhaps you aren’t leaking shipment information to the Tkaczuks. Yet somehow I don’t believe your grand story about finding this girl. Not entirely.” Vlasenko focused on Mads. “The night we were attacked at the yacht, where did you go?”
“My boyfriend had been looking for me. He saw me running and picked me up.”
“What was this boyfriend’s name?”
She clamped her lips shut with a mulish look.
Arching a brow, Vlasenko looked at Vincent. “Do you know the man’s name?”
“She screamed ‘Andy!’ when I slit his throat.”
Mads whirled and started pummeling him. “Bastard! You didn’t have to kill him!”
Vlasenko snorted. “So touching, this romance of yours.”
Vincent grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm so that she was forced to turn around in front of him, and then he locked her against him, back to chest. “You haven’t even seen the best yet.”
Vlasenko jerked his chin up at one of the guards, and the big man walked over to hand him a knife sheath. Then the guard returned to his spot at the door. “There’s only one hole with your explanation, Ghost, but it’s a major roadblock as far as I’m concerned.”
“What’s that, boss?”
“You expect me to believe that she fights like a hellcat and cuts you up while you fuck her, but there’s not a mark on her.”
“I don’t need to hurt her. I need her to hurt me.”
Now it was Vlasenko’s turn to laugh. Shaking his head, he poured a little more Scotch and sipped it while studying him over the rim of the glass. “The man who killed six of the biggest motherfuckers I’ve ever seen in my life with nothing but his bare hands wants the cute little blonde to hurt him? That’s rich.”
“There is a mark on me,” Mads retorted, jerking against his grip. “The motherfucker bit me. I’ve got bruises on my throat.”
“Hmm. Not convincing,” Vlasenko replied. “I guess I really am going to have to see more of this demonstration, Ghost. Show me what a good little slave girl you’ve found. If you’re especially entertaining, I might even allow you to keep her.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vincent
Vincent had already survived more death and violence than a dozen lifetimes, but nothing had prepared him for this. The last thing he wanted was for his adversary to watch him touch a woman. Especially Mads. What she’d given him already was incomparable. Impossible. Miraculous. It wasn’t something for anyone else to know. Let alone Vlasenko.
But if they didn’t impress him...
Their lifeless bodies would be tossed overboard and neither of their missions would ever be completed.
“If you give me that knife I’m going to cut his heart out.” Her voice rang with vicious intent that made his dick harden despite the circumstance.
Vlasenko tossed it toward them and she snagged it easily.
Maybe too easily, judging by the narrowed look Vlasenko gave her.
“Careful,” he whispered in her ear. “Too good.”
She let out a low growl and unsheathed the blade. “Let go of me, you fucking bastard.”
He smiled broadly. “Make me.”
She stabbed backward toward his shoulder, making him twist aside, but he didn’t release her. He slid his palm up and gripped her throat, holding her closer to him. They walked a fine line. She couldn’t show more skill than the average American woman might have. She had to hurt him—without actually causing him harm.
> Then, of course, there was the blood. He had to stay in control.
He squeezed her throat tighter, making her struggle and pant. And yeah, that made his dick swell even more against her buttocks. She snarled like a tiger and slashed at his forearm to loosen his grip. The blade sliced deep enough that he sucked in a deep breath and jerked his arm away. Blood ran freely. The intoxicating scent punched him in the gut, followed quickly by her fist to his face. She didn’t spare the blow, either. Blood filled his mouth.
He let his head fall back on a ragged sigh. His heart thundered. He felt the faint stirring of air in time to jerk his head back, or he’d have another wound across his throat.
If she’d landed that blow... He pushed the thought away. She trusted that he’d move and relied on his skill to protect himself. Though that was definitely closer than he cared to admit.
At least it amused Vlasenko. Laughing, he shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the like. The great Ghost, brought down a peg or two by a woman.”
Holding her gaze, Vincent raised his bleeding forearm to his mouth and licked the long slice.
“That’s fucking disgusting.” Thank God Vlasenko couldn’t see the way her eyes blazed with heat. “What are you? A monster?”
“Yes,” he growled, pacing toward her. “I’m a monster.”
She ran toward the door, but the two guards blocked the way. Looking about the room wildly, she charged toward Vlasenko. With a low curse, Vincent lunged between them and slammed her down to the floor beneath him. Maybe she thought she was letting him prove his loyalty to the boss, but it’d be far too tempting to let her stab him in the heart. He probably would have—if the two guards didn’t have a hand on their guns.
Screaming, she kicked and flailed beneath him. She tried to stab him, but he caught her wrist in his hand and squeezed until she dropped the knife. Then he pinned her hands over her head and ground against her.
She whimpered, her pupils large and dark. With his heightened senses, he breathed in her lush scent and fought to keep the last length of chain on the beast prowling and roaring inside him. Lurching up toward him, she tried to headbutt him. He ducked and her neck brushed his lips. The tantalizing silk of her skin called to him, a sweet scent he couldn’t let go. He rubbed his mouth against her neck, found the steady throb of her pulse and bit down.
She arched against him and he couldn’t stop. He bit harder, his mind locked on their night together. The perfect way she moved against him, how she felt, the raw beauty of her savage heart. Too late, he realized the blood he tasted wasn’t his.
But hers.
He threw himself backward, scrambling to his feet. Chest heaving, he fought to keep from throwing his head back and wailing like a wounded beast.
All his life, he’d been able to justify his kills. Either the government had ordered him to strike, or he’d been killing bad men who deserved it. That made him better than his father. His father had only slaughtered for one reason: so he could drink his victim’s blood.
Even as a boy, Vincent had been able to avoid that abomination by drinking his own blood. That made it a little less unforgivable, right? He’d only ever take his own blood, so he wasn’t as bad a monster as Clancy.
Until now. Now he knew exactly why his father had tasted the blood of his victims. Mads’s blood burned like a shot of pure molten energy through his body.
She climbed to her feet, face averted. Shivering, she cupped her hand over the ugly bite mark, her hair hanging down in her face, and it fucking broke what little heart he had left to see her so...
Broken. Because of him.
He wanted to rage with pain and tear the whole fucking boat apart with his bare hands.
“Very interesting,” Vlasenko said.
Fuck. He hadn’t even remembered they had an audience. Let alone the boss and his very deadly guards. Vlasenko must have waved them over, because Vincent suddenly had a gun in his face. Ignoring the gun, he lunged toward her and tried to pull her away, but Vlasenko clutched her arm and jammed a pistol into her side.
“I know that you don’t care about what happens to you. Maybe two bullets in the skull will kill you. Maybe not. But I do know that I can kill her if you don’t let her go.”
Grinding his teeth, Vincent loosened his grip on her. She jerked away from Vlasenko too, refusing to stand by him. So he clubbed her in the face with his pistol.
Vincent surged forward with a snarl of rage and the guard fired a warning shot at his head, close enough he felt the burn of powder on his cheek. Mads stumbled backward, clutching her face. He seized her, whirled her around against him, giving the guards his own back. If bullets were going to fly, he’d take the first wave.
“That’s only the beginning of what I can do to her.” Vlasenko wiped her blood off the butt of his gun with a handkerchief. “Next time I’ll put a bullet in her. Not her skull, no. Probably her arm. Or leg. Just enough to really hurt. You screw up again, and I’ll shoot her other leg. Or maybe this time I’ll give her a gut shot. She’ll writhe and cry in pain for days before that would kill her. Give her to me or we’ll start shooting now.”
Braced for bullets to slam into his back, he tucked her closer to him, trying to keep them from getting a good shot at her. “Knife,” he whispered. “Right front pocket.”
She dug in his pants pocket, and then shoved the knife down into her bra. He’d picked a small, slim one that she could hopefully hide long enough to actually use it.
Slowly, he let go of her, held his hands up and backed off. Hoping to take the guard by surprise, he whirled and slammed his palm into the man’s chest. Ribs cracked beneath the pressure and he fell back to the floor. The other guard got a shot off. Pain burned his shoulder. Right shoulder. Couldn’t move his arm. But that didn’t stop him from grabbing the guard’s arm with his left and snapping the elbow joint.
He turned to face Vlasenko. He’d grabbed Mads again and had shoved the barrel of his gun into her mouth. Her eye was already swollen shut.
Chest heaving with the effort of controlling the urge to rip the man’s head off with his bare hands, Vincent paused the attack. “What do you want?”
Vlasenko tsked and shook his head. “I don’t think she likes you very much, Ghost. Every time she gets free, all she does is punch you. If you make the mistake of falling asleep with her, she’d probably cut your dick off.”
He didn’t say anything, not trusting himself to be able to come back with something Ghost would say, rather than Vincent, the man who’d willingly given her a blade because they’d already shared something special once and lived to tell about it.
“I have a guest on board tonight. You kill him, and I’ll give her to you. No questions asked. You can sail off into the sunset together while she guts you for all I care. If you fail to kill him...”
Smiling, Vlasenko dragged Mads back toward the door. “I’ll kill her. She’ll be dead before you can even think to get her. I’m going to keep her close to me all night and the safety’s off. Got it? One little twitch of my finger and blondie’s dead.”
“Who’s this guest?”
“A man named MacNiall who knows a few too many friends in the FBI and ICE. I want him dead before morning.”
Mads fell to her knees, which pulled the gun barrel out of her mouth. She looked back over her shoulder at Vincent and shook her head. MacNiall wasn’t one of hers.
Then who the fuck was he, and why did the boss want him dead?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ranay
I’d never been on a cruise liner before. On the short boat trip from Vlasenko’s house to the larger boat, he’d warned us that his ship was quite small, barely larger than a yacht, but to me, it was huge. I could only hope Charlie found his brother quickly and we were able to escape before I ended up seasick again. How that would happen...
>
I couldn’t think about it or I’d burst into tears, throw up, or probably both.
So far, Vlasenko continued to treat us like honored guests, only slightly under suspicion with a guard outside our door. He hadn’t even searched us, though we had no bags or luggage to worry about. We had a private luxurious suite, complete with several brand-new items of clothing for us both, still bearing tags. It freaked me out a bit, but Charlie encouraged me to change into a gorgeous deep green gown. “It will be rude to refuse his generosity.”
The sizes were a little off, which oddly made me feel better. The princess neckline was definitely made for a fuller-breasted woman, but the rest of the bodice was fitted tightly enough that I didn’t think it’d fall completely down. Maybe Vlasenko provided all of his guests with new clothes and he’d just given us whatever he had on hand, rather than sending someone to buy an expensive dress explicitly for me.
Strapless with a ‘50s rockabilly flare in the skirt, it was probably one of the cutest dresses I’d ever seen. The only problem: the bodice revealed the scabs on my chest.
Charlie studied me for a moment, and then stepped behind me and gathered my hair up off my neck. “Put your hair up tonight.”
The cut on my throat glared back at me in the mirror. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. We’re sending a clear message. If I do this to you, they’d better not fuck with me, or they’ll learn what I do to someone I don’t care about whatsoever.”
I did as he asked while he watched. The vanity table supplied a complete range of beauty products, including a box of bobby pins. I secured my hair in a loose, messy twist at my nape, leaving a few tendrils to hang down. I caught his gaze in the mirror and the dark, bleak look in his eyes made me turn and wrap my arms around him.
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