Saving the Russian Enforcer: Sokolov Brothers Book Three

by North, Leslie

  Kostya continued to tease her nipples while she ground against him, eager for the friction of his body and the girth of his cock. Maya closed her eyes and threw her head back amongst the pillows, chasing selfish pleasure. She knew that Kostya would take what he wanted, so she focused on herself.

  One of his hands parted from her breast. A finger tugged the crotch of her panties to the side, and the tip of Kostya’s cock found its way between her soaked lips. Maya opened her eyes and lifted her head, breathless, as he pushed into her body and filled her all at once. Pleasure raced through her, radiating from her core, and she pushed against him in an attempt to feel more of it.

  I’m wet. I’m dripping for him. It shouldn’t fit in this easily, he’s so big, but my body wants him…

  Kostya, who’d been upright, leaned down over her so they were chest to chest. He kissed her hard as he started to thrust, and Maya lost herself to the intensity of the moment. This wasn’t like the fucking she knew—it meant more than that. The passion between their bodies was met by the passion of their kiss, and it was made more important by it. Maya couldn’t get enough.

  With a startling thrust and a grunt, Kostya came. At least, Maya thought he had. She watched his features tighten and felt his body go rigid. But she wasn’t ready yet. As he came, she pushed them over so that she was on top, and then she rode him, knowing that he’d already given in to her, and that the power was hers.

  He was hers.

  Maya reached around herself, freed the hooks of her bra, and tossed it aside. She bore down on his cock, twisting and grinding until her pleasure spiked. Eager for it, she moaned, hung her head, and rode him hard. And it was like that, astride him, that she came.

  Kostya gripped her hips, and she lifted her head as wave after wave of pleasure contracted within her and she looked into his eyes. The lust was gone, and all that was left was startled emotion.

  “Ya lyublyu tebya,” he uttered.

  I love you.

  Maya knew that it was too early to make declarations, but that didn’t stop her heart from making a decision. As infuriating and terrifying as he could be at times, she loved Kostya back.

  15

  MAYA

  Maya, in control and on top of him, was intoxicating. Kostya couldn’t remember the last time a woman had asserted herself in the bedroom and forced him into the position she wanted, and seeing Maya do exactly that had flayed his emotions open and left him vulnerable. The walls he’d fought so hard over the years to build up were weakened. If she kept chipping away at them, he knew they would fall entirely.

  Ya lyublyu tebya. It had tumbled from his lips as she’d come for him, riding his cock to chase her pleasure. Kostya didn’t regret saying it, either. He knew that it was true. He was sure in everything he did, whether physically or emotionally, and he would not cloud his judgment with doubt. When he’d spoken those words, he’d meant them, and he refused to take them back.

  Maya slipped from him and curled up in bed by his side. It was late afternoon, but he had no desire to get up and start the day over. With her here next to him, he had no incentive to leave the bed at all.

  Without a word, Kostya closed some of the space between them and kissed her sweetly. She returned his affection, and soon enough, gentle kisses turned into exploratory groping. Maya’s underwear found its way to the floor. The tender affection they shared in the aftermath of sex bloomed into slower, more passionate lovemaking. By the time they’d finally exhausted each other, it was starting to get late, and Kostya knew that Maya had to be exhausted. It had been one hell of a day.

  As the sun set and the room was plunged into darkness, they lay together and appreciated the quiet. Then, Maya spoke. “Kostya?”

  “Yes?” he turned his head to look at her, only to find that she’d sat up and busied herself with something on the bedside table. When she was done, she turned back to the bed and handed him a scrap piece of paper. There was an address written on it.

  “Yesterday, when you saw me getting distressed in my office, I was listening to a message my father had left. I haven’t had contact with him in years, and yet, he called me out of the blue to say that he knew I was with you, and for me to remember who I really am…”

  Kostya looked from the paper to Maya, instantly alert. “Your father?”

  “He’s here in London,” she said softly. “He called from a local number. There are only a few places he would go if he went into hiding, and in London, that’s the only one I can think of. You will find him there.”

  Kostya looked at the paper, then back at her. The light had gone, and stolen with it the nuances of her expression, but he could still see the troubled look on her face.

  “I don’t want anymore bloodshed between our families,” Maya said. She settled back amongst the sheets, her face partially obscured by the pillows. “I want you to keep your end of the bargain, but I know that if I let my father walk free, there will never be peace for us. I trust you, Kostya, and maybe it’s a stupid thing to do… but I feel like you will honor me. I feel like you’ll make sure this turns out right.”

  Kostya looked down at the address. He didn’t know London well at all, but with minimal resources, he could figure out where he needed to go. He could leave tonight and have everything wrapped up in a few hours. He could avenge his father and be done with the Popovs once and for all.

  But staying here with Maya felt more important.

  Kostya reached over Maya and set the paper down on the bedside. He stroked the length of her bare arm once he’d settled back down beside her, hoping to soothe some of her concern. “You can trust me, zolotse. I am a man of my word, as are all Sokolovs.”

  She closed her eyes and snuggled against him.

  What would he do to protect her? Could he bring himself to go back on his word if it was necessary? Anatoly Popov was a dangerous man, and while Kostya was confident in his skills, he couldn’t be sure what he was up against, or what he’d need to do to take Anatoly down once and for all.

  “Rest now,” he told her. “There will be other days to worry. For now, you need to take time to yourself. Don’t let your fear poison this. I’m here, and you’re here, and that should be all that matters.”

  Maya hummed. Her breathing slowed. Kostya was confident she’d fallen asleep.

  Part of him itched to get out of bed and follow the paper to the address—to make sure that the woman he loved would always be safe from the man who would never knowingly allow them to be together—but the other, more sensible part told him that he needed to stay in bed and rest. With her. Maya wasn’t the only one who’d had a hell of a day, and he could use the downtime.

  Besides, he was here with Maya. It was their first night sharing a bed. He couldn’t defile such a precious moment.

  Kostya closed his eyes and tucked his arm around her protectively. He refused to let her come to harm. In the morning, when he was rested, he would figure out what he was going to do. Until then, he was hers. All hers.

  Nothing would push him to leave.

  * * *

  Morning came, and Kostya opened his eyes to find Maya tucked against his chest, blissfully asleep. He smiled, kissed the top of her head, and then carefully untangled himself from around her and got out of bed. He showered, dressed, and helped himself to the address on her bedside table.

  Sleep had brought clarity. Clarity had shown him the way.

  He would protect what was his. He would make sure that no ill ever befell his family—or Maya—again.

  Kostya left Maya’s apartment and headed into the city. It was time he got back to work.

  16

  KOSTYA

  In the liminal space between sleep and consciousness, Maya cuddled the blankets closer to her chest and stretched out her legs, pointing her toes toward the foot of the bed. All of her muscles were loose, and her skin tingled like she was laid out before a sunny window. Spending the afternoon and the night with Kostya had been exactly what she’d needed to shake herself free
of her fears. Together, they were going to find a way through this mess. Kostya would make sure of it.

  “Mm,” she murmured, reaching lazily across the bed to find Kostya and cuddle closer to him. But her hand found the sheets empty. Maya opened her eyes to confirm what her hand already knew—Kostya was gone. “Kostya?” she called out.

  He had to have gone to the bathroom. Maya closed her eyes again, right on the brink of sleep. In a little while, she’d hear the toilet flush, or the shower turn on, or the sound of his bare feet as he came back to the bedroom. The bed would dip beneath his weight, and he’d draw her to his chest and stroke her hair.

  Pchelka.

  Zolotse.

  Ya lyublyu tebya.

  It felt like she was living in a fairytale, and her beastly prince was finally coming around and opening himself up to her. What a difference a few days could make. Maya had gone to work for New Beginnings so she could make a positive difference in the world, and now, she felt like she was doing the same with Kostya. Her Mad Dog wasn’t so mad anymore.

  Or is he still every bit as feral as he was before? A treacherous voice whispered in her head. What about the address?

  Maya opened her eyes and sat up suddenly. How could she have forgotten? Last night, she’d given Kostya the address she suspected her father was staying at, and now…

  Now he was gone.

  Maya checked the bedside table for the scrap of paper she’d written the address on. It was gone. So were Kostya’s clothes. Bile rose in her throat, and she scrambled out of bed and grabbed her bathrobe on her way out of her bedroom. Kostya’s shoes were gone. There was no note in the bathroom, or in the kitchen. The more she looked, the more she realized that there was no trace that Kostya had ever been there at all.

  He’d gone after her father. Was that all he’d been waiting for, all this time? Had he played her for information? She’d given him the note because she’d wanted to show him that she believed he could be trusted. Over the brief time they’d known each other, he’d demonstrated that trustworthiness again and again. The incident with Michael, the revelation of her identity, and his excellence towards her during their argument had made her believe that he would respect her word.

  But she’d been deceived.

  Maya sank back against the doorway of the kitchen and ran a hand nervously through her hair. After everything Kostya had done for her, and after everything he’d said, could she trust him? Maya had no way of knowing. He’d left without a word while she’d been asleep, and taken the address with him. Logically, she had to believe that he was going to finish what he’d set out to do, but her gut told her that whatever was going on was more nuanced than that, and that she owed him the benefit of the doubt.

  But, at the same time, how could she give him the benefit of the doubt when doing so meant bloodshed? If she did nothing, there was a chance that Kostya would kill her father, and as vile as that man was, Maya didn’t believe he deserved death. If she allowed him to die, then how was she any better than him? She’d vowed long ago not to go down the same dark path, and that meant that she needed to show mercy, no matter how hard mercy was to give.

  But even besides the fact that her father’s blood would be on her hands if he died, Maya knew she would feel equally as responsible if anything happened to Kostya. She’d given him the address in an act of trust, and if he followed it, only to die…

  The small, simple world she’d maintained since coming to London was crumbling to pieces around her, releasing her into the world she’d left behind. All of the connections she’d once had were too distanced to depend upon, and all of them were loyal to her father. She wanted to make sure Kostya lived, not that he died, and if she told anyone loyal to the Popovs that he was on his way, they would take measures to make sure that he never made it to her father.

  But Maya couldn’t do nothing.

  She couldn’t sit by idly while Kostya put his life on the line, and when the life of her father hung in the balance. She’d devoted her life to helping others, not to sitting on her hands when there was work to be done.

  No matter how uncomfortable it was, and no matter how much she didn’t want to, she knew that there were steps she could take to make sure that Kostya stayed safe. All she needed to do was get over her own hang-ups and accept that the past was the past, and that people changed. The past had changed her, after all.

  There was no reason that it wouldn’t have changed her older sister.

  17

  MAYA

  Kostya watched, and he waited. In matters like this, one wrong move could mean death. Kostya had flirted with it often enough to know that there was no glory in an early grave, and as aggressive as his upbringing had made him, he understood also that there was a time and a place for violence. For now, he bided his time and observed.

  He’d never seen the London safe house before—he hadn’t even known it existed—but now that he was here, he knew that he hadn’t been led astray. He’d passed by the automatic gates at the bottom of the driveway on foot and casually observed the concealed surveillance system, thanks to the glare of the lenses beneath the sun. He’d been careful to keep his face angled against the lenses to obscure his identity, and walked far enough away that he believed anyone who was watching the footage wouldn’t be able to differentiate him from any other pedestrian. Beyond the gates, at the main building, the place had been locked up tight. Kostya already knew the score—only those approved by the Popov family went in, and that was fine, because it meant only those approved by the Popov family came out, and he’d have his chance to see exactly who he was dealing with.

  Along the sidewalk outside the Popov compound were strips of green space where mature trees lined the way and provided shade to pedestrians. The street was a one-way, which Kostya thought was a clever tactical move—it was far easier to supervise traffic that only flowed in one direction.

  And, luckily for him, it was far easier to intercept one-directional traffic, as well.

  When he’d come to the corner of the street, he’d stopped and assessed his surroundings, then scaled the tree nearest the corner while avoiding detection from the quiet street. As far as he could tell, there were no cameras angled in the direction of his chosen perch. One of the tree’s sturdier limbs stretched out over the street right near the stop line, but for now, Kostya positioned himself against the trunk in a place where he could access the overhanging limb easily.

  He was ready. He would not let an opportunity pass him by.

  * * *

  Kostya would catch him and end the blood feud between their families. He would exact vengeance for his father.

  The question was, could he honor Maya while doing it?

  The question weighed heavily in Kostya’s thoughts and interrupted his observations. His heart was closed off at the best of times, but Maya had managed to rip down his defenses within the span of a few short days. Kostya’s affection was sudden, he knew, but his heart told him that it was true. Maya was strength like he’d never been able to embody, and kindness like he’d never had before. She saw past his cold exterior and through the terrible things he had done, and understood him as a man instead of as a monster.

  He would never let her go, and to think that he might have to betray her, even if it was for the good of their future, wounded him.

  Breaking into his thoughts on Maya, there came a sudden commotion at the gate. The doors opened slowly, allowing a black town car to emerge. Its windows were heavily tinted, and from what Kostya could see, its back seat was divided from the front with frosted glass. The driver was an elderly man—likely someone who Anatoly deeply trusted.

  Kostya couldn’t make out anything more than that, but it was enough. One old man wouldn’t stand in his way. Even without a weapon, Kostya was certain he could overthrow the driver, and once he did, he’d gain possession of the car and its precious cargo—Anatoly Popov himself.

  I’ve got you, you bastard.

  The car progressed slowly down the
street. Kostya tracked it from against the trunk of the tree, keeping an eye out for acceleration.

  As the car approached the stop sign, Kostya abandoned his post and climbed out onto the limb hanging over the street. As the car came to a gentle stop, Kostya executed his plan. He dropped down from the tree and landed on the roof of the vehicle, then hoisted himself up and smashed in the front passenger side window with a well-placed kick. Before the driver could speed away, Kostya slid inside.

  The driver, an old man with a long gray beard, didn’t take his eyes from the windshield, but Kostya saw the fear on his face. He let it feed his inner beast. “Get out.”

  “I’m not permitted to do so, sir.” To his credit, the old man’s voice didn’t waver. He had to have been a driver for the Popovs for quite some time—despite the fear on his face, he kept his gaze away from Kostya. The car didn’t move—traffic from the intersecting street prevented an escape.

  “Get. Out,” Kostya growled. “Or would you rather I find another way to get you to leave?”

  * * *

  Kostya had promised Maya that he wouldn’t kill her father. He hadn’t made the same promise about anyone else. If eliminating Anatoly’s driver was what it took to gain control of the vehicle, he would do it without a second thought. “You have ten seconds. Nine. Eight…”