Fake Bride With Benefits

by Riley Rollins

  The elevator door closes automatically. I re-holster my gun, turn, and walk away.

  I take the stairs.

  There's a White Bear meeting the next night. The boys all gather around the table as usual, waiting for pakhan Petrov to show up and start the meeting. Everyone except Igor, that is—which I don't like at all. An image flashes through my mind of Igor abducting Penny on her way home from Fascinations. The thought enrages me.

  Yeah, I can admit it to myself, I'm worried about that girl. I know it's only a matter of time before that fuck Igor gets her in his sights. Lately I've been watching him as much as I've been watching the club. And that's why I didn't react fast enough to stop the stabbing. I'm thinking too much about Penny, the tormented girl who's too good for the lowlifes who surround her. She's got a kindred spirit. She should be far away from me, Igor, and the rest of them. Helping sick people in the hospital who deserve her attention, making something real out of her life.

  It's not like me to worry about a piece of pussy. Pussy is disposable.

  But there's something about Penny that's very much not disposable. Something that needs my protection.

  "Heard you really fucked up Ovechenko," says Luka with a grin, popping a dumpling in his mouth. "HazMat was scrubbing that elevator all morning after a little old lady found him in there."

  I smile grimly at the thought of his corpse rotting, the hot morning sun pounding down on the metal elevator. That's what happens to enemies of the Bratva.

  To enemies of Vladimir Vladimirovich Ivanov. This kind of shit is how I earned my nickname. Havok.

  Luka, Valentin, and I bullshit for a few more minutes until Petrov finally shows up.

  "Hey, boss," says Valentin. "You hear what Havok did to Ovechenko?"

  Petrov smiles. "Another job well done by our man Havok."

  He sets his briefcase on the table, snaps it open, and pulls out a manila folder. "Havok, glad I rely on you, soldier. Because you have new mission."

  "I'm on it," I say.

  He opens the manila folder, pulls out a stack of paper, and slaps it down on the table in front of me.

  "First girl job. Be easy."

  On top of the stack of papers is a photograph of a woman on a stage.

  It's Penny.

  My mission is to kidnap Penny.

  11

  Penny

  The next day, I'm working the afternoon shift. Mackenzie corners me in the dressing room five minutes before my shift. "Here," she says, opening the utility closet and pulling me inside. It's cramped, musty, and stale in here.

  "What's up, Kenzie?" I ask as she pulls the door closed. A mop handle jabs into my back, and I twist uncomfortably, trying to shove it aside.

  "Remember what I said about Marcy and Jen?"

  "Yeah."

  "It's getting worse."

  I furrow my brow. I don't have time for this right now.

  "Those two new hires from last month—Ruby and Mandy—same story."

  Okay. Well, maybe that is a bit weird. Now that I think about it, the turnover has been really high lately.

  "You're telling me you can't find any trace of them?" I say.

  "None. No answer to texts or calls. All moved without warning. Landlords have no clue."

  My heart beats faster, and acid burns in my stomach. For some reason, this is actually giving me really bad anxiety now. I need to stop by my locker and grab some pills to calm myself down.

  I want to believe that Mackenzie's just being Mackenzie, but this is getting a little too strange to be a coincidence.

  I glance down at my cell phone, toggling the screen on. "Shit. I'm on in one. I'll find you on my break."

  Mackenzie nods at me, worry in her eyes.

  When I come out on stage, I see the one thing I always hope not to see. Brock's paying me a visit at work.

  As if that's not complicated enough, Havok is working security tonight. It's going to be a mess of a night if they recognize each other.

  "Hey babe," Brock calls out from the audience. I can practically smell the booze on his breath from here, and I have no idea how he got into the club like this.

  I give him a small, reluctant wave as I swing my weight around the pole on stage. I'm naked from the waist up, and my nipples are pebbled against the cool, dry club air. Right now I wish I could just dance for Havok and tune everything else out.

  Brock knows I don't want him coming here when I'm working. But of course he doesn't respect that. It's just another way for him to lord power over me, because when I'm working, I can't say no.

  Yeah, I could tell Igor he's bothering me and have him kicked out, but the consequences at home wouldn't be worth it.

  "Get down here and gimme some love," he says. The club is so empty that I don't have an excuse not to. It's just him and one other customer, who's having drinks with a girl at the bar.

  "Pull your chair up here," I say. He scoots up to the edge of the stage. I drop down to my hands and knees, crawling toward the edge.

  "Great tits, babe," he whispers, slurring his words. He tries to put his face in my hair, to get close to me, but I pull away. To anyone else in the club, it must look like I'm handling an unruly customer. But the truth is, he truly repulses me.

  "Be nice," I say, trying to scold him gently. With Brock, it's a constant battle to walk the line, to stand up for myself without pissing him off too much.

  "Don't you fuckin' sass me," he growls in a low tone. Looks like I failed anyway. The wretched smell of booze billows around my nostrils. He reaches into his pocket, digs around, and withdraws a handful of one-dollar bills. "Be a good girl and get on my lap."

  My face reddens in humiliation, and I suddenly feel sorry for myself. Those bills are from my last shift. He's paying me for a lap dance I don't want to give him, using my own money.

  For a split second, I think of leaping off the stage and going to Igor. But I can't. That would be too stupid. Best to just get this over with.

  I climb onto his chair and grind on his lap, focusing on the music. Over Brock's shoulder, I see Havok. He's wearing a dark blue button-down shirt tucked into well-fitting slacks. He's so handsome tonight. And he's watching us intently.

  "Hey," Brock hisses into my ear, "I got somethin' special for you tonight."

  I don't reply. I don't want to know what it is.

  "I'm gonna give it to you in the ass. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes," I reply flatly. Not with you, I think to myself.

  As I dance on Brock's lap with my eyes closed, I feel his hands wander over my thighs, up my sides, and onto my breasts. My skin crawls. I open my eyes, and right as I'm about to tell him off, Havok storms toward us.

  12

  Havok

  I'm on fucking edge during my next shift. This assignment is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it's me who got the assignment to kidnap Penny. That means I control what happens to her.

  But it's also a curse. Because it forces me to make a call, and make it fast. Either I betray this beautiful, innocent girl and sell her into a lifetime of suffering, or I betray the Bratva. And that's more deadly than a bullet to the heart.

  I can't betray her. I just can't. So I need a plan, and it needs to be good, and it needs to come together fast. Petrov is expecting delivery within 48 hours.

  So the last thing I fucking need is when Penny's fat, piece-of-shit boyfriend waltzes into the club. I try to control myself, but when Penny's set starts and she comes out on stage dressed in a sexy-as-fuck red lace piece, I can barely contain my rage. Being in the same room as the piece of shit who's putting his dick inside her every night, I just can't fucking handle it.

  My hands ball up into fists, and my teeth grind together like gravel.

  When the first song hits its chorus, she slides her shoulder straps off and pulls the fabric below the bust of her breasts. I swear she's staring right past her boyfriend, looking me in the eye.

  But then the son of a bitch catcalls her, and wave
s her down for a dance. And when I finally catch him groping her breasts, that's all I need. The club maintains a strict no-touching policy and grants no exceptions for boyfriends. Under normal circumstances I'd give a warning first, but not this time. I've got the discretion to do what the fuck I want, and what I want is to kick this asshole out.

  So I do, and it all happens in a blur.

  Penny stands aside and watches from a distance as I push her boyfriend toward the rear exit behind the stage. The other dancer in the room side-eyes us as I force the cocksucker toward the door. He resists, so I give him a hard shove against the crashbar latch, opening the door with his body. The paint is nearly all scraped off and the door is dented all over, battle damage from thousands of customers being pushed out into the alley over the decades. This shithead is just the latest in a long line of evictees.

  We emerge into the afternoon sunlight in the alley. I twist my body and kick the door closed, locking it shut. There's no handle on the outside. This fucker won't be going back in.

  "Walk away, fuckface," I tell him. But he's too stupid to listen. Instead, he steps closer to me, trying to intimidate me.

  "I remember you, asshole," he says.

  "I remember you, too," I say. "You beat up on girls."

  "So maybe I'll beat up on you," he says, cocking his head and stepping even closer. Our noses are inches apart.

  I shrug. "Fucking try."

  He raises his arm to swing, telegraphing the punch from miles away, the sign of a man who's got no clue how to fight.

  I don't even bother blocking the punch. I just step back with one foot, bring my head and torso back, and then slam my head into his face with a brutal headbutt.

  There's a savage cracking noise, and I immediately know I broke his nose. But then he stumbles backwards, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  He falls, crashing down hard, and the back of his skull bounces off the lid of a metal trashcan behind him. Blood pours out of his nose, forming a crimson pool on the hot asphalt beside him. His wrists and arms rotate inward, like he's having a seizure.

  I'm no doctor, but I've been around the block long enough to know what that means.

  Severe brain damage.

  A few seconds later, he stops moving and goes limp.

  Behind me, the door swings open with a thud. I turn around, and it's Penny, topless in red lace panties. My dick's hard in my pants, and I don't quite know whether it's because of her or the thrill of the kill.

  She looks at the dead scumbag on the ground, then back at me, and then she screams.

  13

  Penny

  I let out a bloodcurdling shriek, then clap my hands over my mouth. Brock's body lies on the gravelly, sun-cracked asphalt, a pool of blood growing around his head. Havok watches, his face as emotionless as a mannequin's.

  "What did you do?" I cry out. I can hardly process the thoughts and feelings running through my head right now. The way he's lying there with his eyes wide open, he's obviously dead. My life has changed in an instant. I'm finally free from him.

  But he's just been murdered.

  Havok turns to me with a look of urgency. "Listen," he says. "We're in broad daylight. We have to move fast."

  My head spins, and I feel dizzy and sick. "But you killed him."

  Havok steps toward me, balling his fists. "Quiet," he growls. "You want us both in prison?"

  I gulp.

  "Go in the kitchen. Get gloves. And all the bleach you can carry."

  "B-but, it was an accident," I stutter. "Shouldn't we c-call the police?"

  Havok looks incredulous. "You think they'll buy that?" Blood steadily flows out Brock's nose and ears. "Bullshit," he says. "Go. Now."

  So many questions swirl in my mind. Was this really an accident? Why's he so worried about the cops? And what the hell am I going to do?

  But I don't dare disobey. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that if I do, I'll be next.

  But I'm still topless, and the back door is latched shut.

  "I can't," I protest. "I can't go around front like this."

  Havok's eyes dart over my body, and I swear they linger on my breasts longer than they should, considering the circumstances.

  "Goddamnit," he says. "Wait here. Don't fucking touch anything."

  "What if someone comes?"

  "Don't let anyone see," he says with a death glare. He walks away from me, hurrying down the alley toward the club's main entrance. He looks over his shoulder once, as if to make sure I'm staying put.

  I can't believe this is actually happening, or that I'm staying here and guarding a dead body. I think it makes me an accomplice to murder, or something like that.

  But I know why I'm staying instead of bolting. Havok. He's the only reason.

  I feel strangely unemotional as I watch droplets of blood trickle down from Brock's head. The flow is tapering off, and a metallic smell rises from the hot, bloody blacktop.

  My heart skips a beat as I hear the door open behind me. I whirl around, my chest pounding, not knowing what I'll do if it's a dancer from the club.

  But it's Havok, thank God. And his arms are full of... cleaning stuff. As if this is a kitchen mess that needs to be mopped up.

  He holds the door open with his foot. "Get your stuff. Clock out."

  I'm getting scared, and doubts creep into my mind. "Why are you involving me?" I say. "I didn't kill him."

  "You're a witness."

  "L-let me go," I stutter. "I won't tell anyone."

  But part of me wants to go with Havok. This is the man I've been dreaming about for so long, who makes me horny as a schoolgirl, who's pure danger. And he's just saved me from Brock like I always wanted him to. It just happened way differently than I expected.

  He shakes his head. "I can't take that risk."

  I guess it's not even my choice, then.

  I hesitate a moment longer, but he interrupts my thoughts. "Go!" I push my fears and doubts aside, scurrying back into the club. Inside, I can barely see, my eyes having adjusted to the outside sunlight.

  In the heat of the moment, I'm trying to imagine life without Brock. And even though I know it'll be better in every way, I can hardly fathom it. I'm like a prisoner who's been released after decades in jail, who's more scared of going outside than staying inside.

  Mackenzie is up on stage, and gives me a quizzical look as I enter the club from the back alley, half naked. I try to look casual as I march toward the dressing room, praying that no one uses the back exit while Havok's cleaning up out there. No wonder Mackenzie's giving me funny looks. It's supposed to be me up there right now. She's probably pissed.

  I rush backstage and open my locker with trembling fingers. I've changed into jeans and a t-shirt when I hear Igor's voice behind me.

  "Where the hell were you?"

  I spin around, clutching my purse. "Igor... I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well."

  He eyes me suspiciously. "You lying to me?"

  I stare at my feet. I feel like every action is under scrutiny, that I must have guilt plastered all over my face. I'm paranoid.

  "I'm sorry. I feel really sick." I look at him with puppy-dog eyes. The best way to get mercy from Igor is to suck up to him and let him know he's in charge.

  "Fine," he says with a dismissive wave. "Be here tomorrow night, or you're out of a job."

  "Okay," I say, and he exits the dressing room. Something seems off about him today, but I can't put my finger on it, and I don't have time to think about it.

  Shaking, I grab all the pills from my locker—a bottle of maybe thirty or forty—and slam it closed.

  I head back into the main club area, slinking around the stage without looking anyone in the eye. When I get to the exit, I take a deep breath and push it open.

  Outside, the bloody scene in the alley has disappeared. There's no sign of Brock's body. Havok wears long rubber gloves, and is pouring bleach all over the ground, which is running off into a storm drain.

  "What did yo
u do with him?" I whisper, my eyes wide.

  Havok grunts and nods toward one of the metal trashcans.

  "Oh my god." I take a deep breath. "What happens now?"

  He stands up straight and stops pouring. "We're getting the hell out of here. I'm claiming you."

  14

  Havok

  "You're what?" she says, exasperated.

  "Claiming you. Protecting you."

  I snap the rubber gloves off and start to open the trashcan's lid. But I hesitate. Penny doesn't need to see this mess. So I turn my back to her, blocking her view, and crack the lid just wide enough to slip the gloves inside. Then I let it fall shut with a clang and turn around.

  She clutches her purse uneasily, holding it in front of her as if to protect herself from the scene she just witnessed. "Protecting me from what? You?"

  The poor girl has no clue she was about to be sold to an international human trafficking ring. No clue that I was the one ordered to kidnap her, and that I'm going against my own organization to save her. But what am I supposed to say? "Sorry, I was supposed to take you, but I just can't stop thinking about fucking that gorgeous, wet pussy of yours?"

  "You're not safe here," I say. "You have to trust me."

  "What if I don't?"

  I muster my most intimidating glare. "Then you're a liability. And, well..." I tip my head toward the trashcan.

  She looks terrified, and I don't fucking like that. I don't want to make her scared. And I'm bluffing. I'd never hurt her, not in a million fucking years. But fear is my best tool right now. We just need to get the hell out of this alley before someone stumbles on our pow-wow. I can figure out everything else later. Figure out how to explain this to her.

  "Fine," she says, her voice shaking.

  I grab her hand and we walk fast.