King’s Ransom: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  “Baby,” he groans, pulling himself nearly out of me then thrusting in again to the hilt. “Christ, Taara.”

  And then I shatter. I fragment. I push my wrists against his impenetrable grip as bliss devours me. He pumps in me and groans, and I relish his every sound as his own pleasure overtakes him while I’m still rocking from my own orgasm. He milks every drop out of me, thrusting and gliding while I lift my hips to meet him.

  It’s perfect and lovely and painfully sweet and lasts longer than I could’ve imagined but not long enough.

  And then he’s whispering things in Russian and weaving his fingers through my hair, kissing along my forehead and cheek and chin then mouth, his soft lips in such contrast to the roughness of his beard it gives me a happy shiver.

  I love this man.

  Will he ever love me back?

  It’s easy to love someone when you’re wrapped in the throes of ecstasy like this, but I know this is more, so much more, than sex-driven. Our lovemaking is only a culmination of what had to happen, a declaration of truth that needed to be said. He’s claimed me as his own, and I’ve claimed him, and it’s like we both think this at the same time, because he holds me tighter to him, and I return the embrace. His cock still hot between my legs, my body molded to him, we’re one in this.

  We lay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the sheets knotted and twisted around us like spun cotton, and still we don’t let each other go. I can’t, and he won’t. Our stolen moment together needs to last as long as it can, because if we didn’t capture this, the uncertainty of what lies ahead could tear us apart. His phone rings, and he doesn’t move, lying his head on my chest.

  “You should probably get that,” I say, running my fingers through his damp hair, but his eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavily. “Stefan? Are you sleeping?”

  A corner of his lips twitches, and I know he isn’t.

  “No, but whoever that is can wait a goddamn minute while I enjoy this time with my woman.”

  I smile and bite my lip. His woman.

  “It sucks we had to go through what we did to get here, though,” I muse. “I mean, all you had to do was knock on my door.”

  I know he’s laughing when his shoulders shake.

  “I wouldn’t have said no,” I continue. “Hell, I’d have given you anything you wanted.”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” he says softly, but the pleasure in his voice mitigates any correction.

  “Why not? It’s the truth,” I say, still weaving my fingers through his hair. His whiskers are rough on my bare chest, but his body is warm and cuddly, and this feels so right.

  “Because it isn’t right for a girl like you to be with a man like me.”

  “Since when do you worry about what’s right?” I tease, but he shakes his head to stop me.

  “Don’t, Taara,” he says. “Since it affects you.”

  “But if I hadn’t—”

  “Shh, baby,” he says. “Let’s not question this. Let’s not wonder what’s happening or what will happen next. Let’s enjoy this little bit of peace, hmm?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep, ragged breath. This little bit of peace. But his phone rings a second time, and he curses under his breath. Pushing himself off me, he reaches for his phone and answers it.

  “What?” he snaps. I give momentary thanks I’m not the one calling him. But as he listens, he sits up straighter on the bed, taking his warmth and whatever consolation that gave me with him. His brows are drawn together and his lips thin. “Do whatever the hell you need to,” he says. “And tell me as soon as you know anything.”

  He hangs up the phone and drags his hand across his brow, exhaling. “San Diego’s gone dark,” he says. “All our contacts gone, the neutral men we had in position say it’s like they vanished overnight.”

  “Vanished?” I shake my head. “How can that be? Don’t they have a large compound like yours?” I don’t know much about it except from what I once overheard Marissa say after a visit there.

  He nods. “Vacated. No one knows where they went.” He pushes himself out of bed. “I’ve got some calls to make.” But before he does, he reaches out and strokes the back of his hand along my cheek. “You make this easier, you know,” he says so softly I barely hear him at first.

  “What?” I whisper. “I make what easier?”

  He bends down and brushes his lips to mine before he answers.

  “Everything.”

  I watch him in silence, drawing the blanket up over my shoulder and laying on my side. I like that I make everything easier for him, and the knowledge fills me with satisfaction. I don’t really know what will happen to us next. But he asked me for forgiveness, and hell I granted that. The road he walks is narrowed and treacherous, and the position we found ourselves in compromised us both. But we won’t let it change who we are, or the fact that two are better than one.

  He gets dressed, and after a while I get up to take a shower. I catch bits of conversation as he makes call after call, and I can roughly gather that he’s confirming with his associates that San Diego has indeed gone dark.

  “This is like one of those military things,” I tell him, as I slide on a pair of shoes. It’s getting close to time for dinner, and I know Stefan wants to go to a little restaurant near the wharf.

  “Military things?” he asks. He’s tidying up our room and preparing our bags, since we leave first thing in the morning.

  “Like a covert operation,” I mutter. “Like a stealth bomber or something.”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Those planes you can’t see, they fly overhead so they can’t be sighted before they attack, right?”

  My backs to him, so I don’t know he’s come closer to me until he hugs me from behind.

  “Exactly, baby.”

  I swallow. I love the feel of him behind me, but I can tell he’s distracted and worried. “So how do you fight an invisible target?”

  He sighs. “You draw them out.”

  “And that’s what we’re doing tonight?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “But we will. Tonight, we find out who’s flying that plane.”

  I turn to him and lay my head on his chest for a moment, then go up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’ll do it,” I tell him. “You’ll find out where they are, and you’ll activate the men around you. I know it.”

  He smiles sadly at me. “Do you, Taara? Tell me how you know it.”

  “Because you’re the king,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “I’m no king.”

  But two can play at this game. “You sure as hell are,” I say. “I’ve watched how the pakhans of literally every other Bratva group in America pay you homage.”

  “Have you?” He runs his hand up and down my back.

  “I have. Tomas calls you for advice about everything he does. I mean, you even officiated at his wedding. I don’t know every detail, of course, but I’ve seen how they treat you with respect. And when we get to Moscow, I bet it will be the same.”

  He smiles. “We will see about that.” But I can tell by the way his eyes dance at me that he’s pleased.

  As we close in on the time when we need to leave the safety of this room, my heartbeat begins to quicken. I’m not sure what will happen next, but something tells me it’s going to change the course of everything.

  “Listen to me, Taara,” Stefan says after we’re ready to go. He’s got the location we’re going to mapped out on his phone and plans in place.

  “Yes?”

  But he doesn’t speak at first. He draws me to his chest and crushes my face against the black t-shirt he wears, then kisses the top of my head so fiercely, I draw in a sharp breath.

  “What is it, Stefan?”

  “This is fucking dangerous,” he says. “That’s what. Fucking dangerous, and I wish you weren’t here with me.”

  I push myself away from him and plant my hands on his chest. “It’s going to be
okay,” I tell him. “Trust me to help you with this.”

  He sighs. “Promise you’ll do every goddamn thing I say,” he demands in a tight voice.

  “I promise to do every goddamn thing you say,” I repeat.

  He narrows his eyes. “Promise if I tell you to be quiet, you’ll be quiet. If I tell you to hide, you hide. And if I tell you to run, you run.”

  “I promise,” I tell him, reaching for his hand and giving him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”

  His eyes probe mine for long minutes before he finally gives me a curt, reluctant nod.

  “Let’s go.”

  It’s slightly cool and breezy outside in downtown Boston, but the dogwoods are in full bloom, and everywhere I look, feisty green sprouts are poking out, unhindered by the chill in the air. Spring in Atlanta is much warmer than this, and I shiver when a chilly wind nips at my neck. Stefan wordlessly draws me closer to him, shielding me from the cold.

  “There,” I say, pointing to the restaurant that’s right near the wharf and open late. We’ll eat here and observe what we can before we make our way to the Wharf. If we can see anything from here, we may not rouse suspicion. Stefan chooses a table underneath the faded awning and gestures for me to sit. He’d probably prefer we sat inside tonight, but we’ll get better visibility here.

  I order fish and chips and a lemonade, and he orders a fish plate. We eat in silence, both of us observing everything we can. And at first, I don’t see anything at all. Where we sit, the waterfront spans out below us, dotted with couples and teens and parents with their babies. Someone plays a guitar and someone else sells large bouquets of flowers. Many ships are docked, quiet, lazy water lapping at their sides as the tide goes in and out. Few move at all.

  But as I take a pull from my glass, something catches my eye. I sit up straighter, pausing with my mouth still to my glass. Stefan notes my sudden stillness and his eyes follow mine. Three large black SUV’s have pulled up to one of the largest boats in the harbor, and several tall, tattooed men step out.

  I move on, pretending I don’t see anything at all. Ice hits my lips, and I swallow hard, when I recognize the man Stefan greeted the night before. The man he calls Mikahl. He’s with another man, and he’s gesturing angrily toward a boat, clearly upset.

  “All done, baby?” Stefan asks. I nod, and he places several bills on the table to cover our bill. “Let’s go.” To anyone else, it would look like a casual date night coming to an end, but I know it’s my signal that it’s time to move on the real purpose of our evening.

  We move swiftly, down to the wharf.

  “There were several pallets of deliveries and shipments on the main deck,” Stefan says. “You go there, and I’ll go aboard the ship when the other men of the brotherhood come.”

  “What if they know you’re not with them?” I ask.

  “I’ll mention the contact we have through Tomas.” I remember the man at the bar we met the night before. “And say he orchestrated this.”

  I go where he tells me, grateful for nightfall that covers my tracks, and he’s reluctant to let go of my hand. “I don’t like this,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Well I am,” I say stubbornly. “And you promised.”

  “Speak to no one,” he commands. “You have my cell phone number if you need it.” We both carry burner phones that he acquired before coming here, and his number is the only one programmed in. He holds my face in his hand and draws me to him, giving me a fierce, almost angry kiss before he lets me go.

  And then he’s gone. I take my place and crouch behind the cargo, listening to everything. And for long minutes, nothing happens at all. Men come and go, and some speak in Russian, so I know we’re in the right place, but nothing’s happening that would give us a clue at all. Nothing to go on. My legs are falling asleep, when someone stops just on the other side of where I’m hidden.

  “I have news that impacts our plans.” The voice is clear and lyrical, and I immediately recognize it as belonging to the violet-haired woman. I hazard a peek through a tiny space between the pallets, blinking when I see that her hair is no longer violet but black. Her back is to me, and she’s pointing toward a ship. “The shipment’s delayed.”

  Ugh. My stomach drops. If the shipment’s delayed, we may not find any information at all.

  “Why?” I can’t see the man beside her, but his shadow shows him to be large and formidable.

  “Complications in Moscow.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t make our plans happen,” the man beside her says.

  She nods. “Indeed.”

  “You’re the boss. You give the orders, and all this ends.”

  She turns to him, and her voice takes on a chilling edge. “Why would all this end? Do you think I’ve come this far to give up now?”

  “No, of course not,” the man says.

  “Then shut up before I silence you myself,” the woman says. “And find Stefan Morozov. My sources say he’s in a hotel room in the city. I don’t trust him. I want him dead.”

  My pulse spikes and I stifle a cry. I’m vaguely aware of the man agreeing to do just that. I stand stock-still, my hands trembling as I reach for my phone and I send a text to Stefan.

  Get out of there. Now.

  I hear her heels clicking as she walks away. I’m shaking so badly I can’t think straight, but when my phone buzzes back I look at the screen.

  Are you okay?

  Of course, his concern is me. I want to shake him.

  I’m fine. MOVE.

  Heavy footsteps fall on the dock, and I hold my breath. Someone’s getting closer to me. I take another peak, but it isn’t the familiar face I hope to see, but the man Stefan calls Mikahl. He’s glaring in front of him, pacing back and forth. He pauses once just beside me, and I hold my breath. What will he do if he sees me here?

  I can’t leave my place and Stefan can’t come to me if he’s here. What do we do now? I bite my lip and look for some way of escape but see none. I text Stefan again.

  You’ll have to create a diversion. There’s a guy here and he’s not leaving.

  Got it.

  I wait impatiently, tapping my foot and biting my lip, because I’m that afraid that someone’s going to get to Stefan before he can leave.

  A loud, obnoxious blaring sound pierces the night air. Shouts come from a few paces away, and there’s the scuffling sound of someone running.

  “Fire!” someone shouts. I’m holding my breath, waiting for Stefan, when a hand comes over my mouth from behind, and I stifle a scream. But a second later, I smell his familiar scent and know that it’s only Stefan.

  “Easy, baby,” he says in my ear. “You’re alright.”

  He releases me and pulls me to him. “We need to move.”

  I nod, and we both creep away from our hiding place, immediately toward the restaurant where we dined earlier. I feel as if everyone’s watching me, as if someone’s going to pull a gun on us at any second, but it seems all are distracted by the fire alarm. When we reach the restaurant, I take a near-empty glass off the table and pretend to drink it. Stefan follows suit, and the two of us pretend we belong here. We’re not going to run. We’re sitting right here until we know we can leave safely.

  I lean over the table, bracing myself on my arm, and whisper to him, “They’re after you.”

  He doesn’t react, but feigns a yawn, leans in closer and whispers back, “Who, baby?”

  “I’ll tell you after,” I promise. “But the person in charge ordered you dead, so they’ve got to be after you.”

  “Let’s get back to the hotel room.”

  “It isn’t safe.”

  He frowns. “We need to get to Moscow.”

  “We do. Can you have your jet ready to go now?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. Aren’t you listening to me at all?” I’m feeling desperate. Sirens get louder around us, and emergency vehicles pull up outside the restaurant. I don’t need him t
o tell me he pulled this on purpose to cause the distraction.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “We’ll grab our things and go.”

  “I’m telling you, it isn’t safe,” I insist, but he shakes his head, as if he’s some kind of mind reader and knows we’ll be okay. A guy stands beside me and gives me a once over, the jerk, and Stefan gives him such a withering look, the man literally cowers and backs off.

  “Whoa. Easy, there, killer,” I mutter. He only growls in response while he makes a call.

  “Have the jet ready to go. We aren’t waiting for the morning.”

  Chapter 15

  Stefan

  I call for a car to take us to the airport, and everything passes in a blur. We have a long flight ahead of us.

  “Our bags, though…” Taara’s voice trails off.

  “There’s nothing of importance in any of them,” I tell her. She looks out the window and doesn’t respond. Everything of importance to her is back at the compound.

  We need to talk, but not until we’re in a place where we have total privacy. “Wow,” she whispers. “That quickly you summoned someone to fly us over the ocean… I didn’t really think you’d be able to do it.”

  But we don’t have time to talk. I take her by the hand and drag her to the runway, and in minutes we’re secured. Soon, we’re high above it all, heading to Russia. It isn’t until we’re settled back in our seats that I breathe more easily, though I know that even in Russia we may not be safe. I don’t like operating without my brotherhood physically near, prepared to defend. When we get to Moscow, we’ll be that much closer to bringing down the operation, and I’ll have Demyan at my back.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Taara isn’t in danger, but this is the first step.

  “Tell me what you heard,” I ask her. We’re both disheveled. Her hair’s wild and crazy, her eyes wide. I reach over and smooth her crazy hair out in the pause before we continue speaking. I don’t want this for her. I want her to be safe and secure.