Extreme Danger

by Shannon McKenna

  “Huh?”

  She licked her swollen lips, leaving a glistening film of moisture. “Who are you?” Her whispery voice was ragged from screaming.

  He dragged his cock out of the tight clasp of her body. She was dripping with his come. He willed his heart to slow down from that frenzied gallop. “Nobody you should be hanging out with, beautiful.”

  He broke eye contact before the tears welling into her eyes could overflow, and flopped onto his side, squished against the wall on that narrow strip of rug. He stared up at the ceiling fan.

  He’d cracked. It was predictable, after all the bad shit that had come down. But his timing sure sucked.

  He’d had good sex, great sex, even awesome sex, but he’d never had sex that made him think he was losing his grip on reality. He didn’t dare to look at her. He was about to start crying, for fuck’s sake.

  Breathe in, breathe out, asshole. Just keep it together. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s the way.

  She touched his chest. He recoiled from the contact. “Don’t get mushy on me, beautiful,” he muttered. “It was a great fuck. Leave it.”

  Dead, flat silence followed his whispered words. He got that just-kicked-a-kitten feeling again. It felt bad.

  She was no kitten, though. She was a bad joke, she was a knife in his back, she was the worst luck he’d ever had. Look at him. Death on every side, and he was fucking wildly on the rug and getting all emotional about it, like a thirteen-year-old who’d just lost his virginity.

  Although he did not recall being this emotional when he first did the deed. Even at thirteen, he’d been a tough little bastard. He’d just smoked a cigarette and played it real cool. Hey, babe. No biggie.

  Not an option here. He was destroyed.

  She was trying to sit up. He jerked her down onto her back again, struggled up onto his knees and lunged for her discarded blouse and jeans. He shoved them into her hands.

  “Show’s over,” he hissed. “Put these on before you get up in front of the camera.”

  She gave him a short, jerky nod. She tried to unroll the blouse, but it was snarled, rolled like a nylon stocking, and her hands shook.

  Seconds ticked by. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He yanked it out of her hands, muttering various imprecations in a muddled mix of Slavic languages until the wad of fabric resembled a blouse again.

  He yanked it over her head, tugged it down over her body. She rolled and wriggled until they got it over her torso, and batted his hands away with a catlike hiss when he tried to arrange her tits under the gauzy fabric. Her nipples poked through, without the barrier of a bra.

  She writhed on the floor like a lap dancer as she tried to get her jeans over her hips. Her skin was damp and they stuck to it. She took them off to start over.

  He didn’t even know what he was doing until he’d shoved her knees wide open. He wanted to look at her pussy.

  She struggled, but froze when she heard the low animal sound that came out of the back of his throat. A sound that said it’s my right, and I’ll look if I damn well please.

  She clutched his hands where he held her knees, vibrating like a tuning fork. But she let him look.

  His exhausted cock twitched and lengthened. Her cunt was as pretty as the rest of her. A miracle of nature, on the scale of sunsets, flowers, starry skies. He imprinted her on his visual memory, the way his fingers knew her, the way his cock knew her. The way his mouth wanted to know her. He was a connoisseur of women’s bodies, but Becca’s moved him beyond belief.

  They didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t stop staring at the gleaming dark curls, slick from sex, the pale glow of her thighs. The sinuous narrow slit, the pink inner folds deepening to crimson shiny and hot. Beckoning him. He whiffed her scent, mingled with his own. She was dripping wet with his come. His heart thudded. He’d never seen that before. He kept his sex life rigorously light. He didn’t want problems, repercussions. By definition, that made him a firm believer in latex.

  The sight had a strange effect on him. A tug in his chest, a fluttery emptiness in his insides. He wanted to lick and taste and suck and savor her, till she screamed. The woman was a live wire. He’d never had anything like this. He wanted more. Hours of it, but they didn’t have hours, or even minutes.

  He let go of her knees. They snapped shut, like a sprung trap. He hauled her up onto her unsteady feet and yanked up his jeans. “There’s an attached bathroom,” he said. “Go wash up.”

  She collected her jeans and underwear, and hurried into the adjoining room. He sank onto the bed, slack-jawed, and listened to water rushing through the pipes. A plan. He had to come up with a fucking plan, but his brain kept slamming against bricked-up dead ends. Break it down, asshole. Get outside the box. Think, goddamnit.

  His chance to worm his way into Zhoglo’s operation was already compromised beyond recall. He hadn’t gathered any intel, hadn’t planted gulper bugs or beacon locators into Zhoglo’s or any of his mens’ belongings. He hadn’t found out what they were doing, or where.

  He hadn’t found out anything about Sveti. And he had to swallow that down and let it go. Think purely in terms of salvage.

  Becca wasn’t going to last out the night in this snakepit. They would eat her alive.

  If you don’t have the guts to do what Zhoglo asks of you, you are dead. If you do have the guts, you are damned.

  Tam’s words echoed in his head. He’d thought he was dead enough inside to go all the way, get killed. A guy could get used to anything, even being doomed. But now—

  He heard voices in the bathroom…what the fuck?

  He was on his feet, bathroom door slapped open in a nanosecond.

  Becca cowered against the wall. The bidet swirled and bubbled. Zhoglo’s bulky body filled the doorway that opened onto the corridor. Soapy water streamed down her legs and puddled onto the shiny floor around her feet.

  She regarded Zhoglo as if he were a gigantic scorpion.

  Nick stared from one to the other, like a fucking idiot. Yeah, and what now? Come to her rescue? He wanted to wipe that vicious piece of shit off the face of the earth for the bulge in his pants. For that smile on his swollen, self-satisfied face.

  But there was a vid cam in the bathroom and four big guys armed to the teeth downstairs. He could kill Zhoglo with his bare hands, but even if they did manage to jump from the upstairs deck without breaking any bones, Becca was barefoot. They’d be mowed down at twenty meters.

  “Magnificent performance.” Zhoglo’s voice was oily. “Her orgasm, in particular, was extremely realistic. Continue washing, please. A beautiful girl with her hand between her legs, ah. I could watch forever. Go on, finish.”

  Becca flipped off the water. “Thanks, but I’m all done.” Her voice was cool. “I just need to dry off. If you two gentlemen would excuse me?”

  Nick was stupefied at her nerve and Zhoglo was startled, too. He stared at her blankly for a few seconds. Then he pulled a hand towel off the rack and held it out to her. “No, I will not excuse you.”

  Bright color flared in Becca’s pale cheeks, but she heard the menace in his voice and kept her mouth shut. She reached out to the towel rack where she had tucked her underwear and jeans.

  Zhoglo snatched them out of her reach. He examined the plain cotton panties, sniffed them, and tucked them into his pocket. “No, my dear,” he said. “You look charming just as you are.” He slung her jeans over his arm.

  Becca stared at the man and suddenly her face changed. She gave him a bright, professional smile.

  “Well, then. I was meaning to ask you, sir…would you prefer coffee or tea for your afternoon refreshment?” she asked. “And would you like Rum Caramel Swirl cake, or Lemon Cloud?”

  Wow. Good thought, bait and switch. Nick wanted to cheer.

  Zhoglo rubbed his chin. “Coffee,” he replied. “With cream. Both cakes.”

  “Thank you,” she said demurely. “I’d better run then. There’s a lot of prep work for dinner. Excuse me.” Sh
e shoved past Nick, into the bedroom. He listened to her soft, quick footfalls retreating out of the room. He hoped she wouldn’t make a break for it. Act like prey, and predators snapped right into action.

  Nick and Zhoglo stared at each other. “You are breaking her in nicely,” Zhoglo said, switching back to Ukrainian.

  For what, fuckhead? Nick’s jaw ached from staying silent.

  “Fiery, hm?” Zhoglo’s eyes narrowed as he observed the blood and scratches on Nick’s face. “I marvel at your restraint. Any woman who did that to my face would not long be recognizable as human.”

  You never have been recognizable as human, shithead.

  He swallowed the words back, and smiled thinly. “I barely noticed,” he said, turning to the sink. He splashed some water on his face. “I wanted you to eat well. I can’t cook.”

  “Your concern for my comfort moves me. But then again, a man can be generous with the world when he has just fucked a beautiful woman, no?”

  “On your orders,” Nick said.

  “An onerous task, was it? You seemed enthusiastic.”

  Anything Nick said could get his guts ripped out. He kept his mouth shut.

  “You are soft, Arkady,” Zhoglo said.

  Nick jerked his chin towards the bedroom. “That looked soft?”

  The guy stared at him, as if he were a bug on a pin. “I shall ponder that question when I watch the playback,” Zhoglo said. “I asked Kristoff to film it. Of course. Would you care to watch it with me?”

  The back of his neck crawled. “Ah, no thanks. I can remember it.”

  “You know why I insist upon electronic eyes and ears in every room, no?”

  He shook his head. “No, Vor.”

  “It takes away the element of uncertainty,” he said. “I do not have to wonder whether or not I am being spied on. No lapses. It keeps my employees discreet. And there is the entertainment aspect.” Nick nodded.

  “It’s time we had a conversation,” Zhoglo said. “Join me for the coffee and cake, no? I wish to know all about you, Arkady Solokov. Every last detail.”

  Two hours later, Nick felt like his brain had been hammered flat. The asshole was one hell of a relentless interrogator. No surprise, that.

  “Have another piece.” Zhoglo shoved the plate across the table towards Nick. “Tell me again about those years with Uncle Dmitri in Debaltseve.”

  Nick stared down and grabbed a gooey chunk of rum caramel whatever. Maybe a shot of sugar would help.

  “It’s Donetsk, not Debaltseve,” he corrected. “I worked for him there for six years. Then he sent me here to oversee his export operations. He got me a green card, in ’93. I’ve been based here ever since.”

  Zhoglo clasped his hands over his swollen paunch. “Brokering arms deals?”

  “Among other things. Heroin, hash, girls,” Nick said wearily.

  “And what was his wife’s name, again? Margaritka?”

  “Magdalena,” Nick corrected him, around the mouthful of crumbs.

  Zhoglo turned to Pavel, who stood behind him with the automatic rifle cradled in his arms, the barrel of which was directed more or less toward Nick’s head. “Pavel, isn’t your wife Marya from Donetsk? Perhaps you two are related. The world is small.”

  Pavel shrugged indifferently.

  “It’s possible,” Nick said. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there in over a decade.”

  “An interesting story, Arkady,” Zhoglo said slowly. “Consistent, plausible in every detail. And yet, I confess, there are things which perplex me.”

  Nick pulled his brain into focus, with a painful wrench of mental muscle. “What things are those, Vor?”

  Zhoglo steepled his fat fingers and frowned. “Subtle disparities between the man you describe and the man I see before me here.”

  Nick composed himself. OK. He was going to die. He’d been fine with that before Becca showed up and messed with his mind. Caring put a man in chains. He missed the floating freedom of indifference.

  He calculated the angle of Pavel’s gun, evaluated various suicidal strategies, seeking the one which would give him the best chance of killing that filthy bastard before Nick bought it himself.

  “You strike me as self-possessed, cool, clear-headed, and highly intelligent. You ought to have risen further in life than you have by the age of…forgive me, but how old are you, exactly?”

  “Thirty-seven on the eighth of April,” Nick said.

  “Thirty-seven, yes. I would think you would already be a pakhan in your own right, carving out your territory in our profitable global trade. Not just a middleman for minor arms and drug deals. Or a pimp.” Zhoglo clicked his tongue, staring at Nick out of slitted gray eyes. “Which brings me to the presence of this woman on the island. She does somewhat cancel out my impression of your intelligence.”

  Nick manufactured a hangdog look. Goon gone wrong. Play the part, he told himself. “It was stupid, Vor,” he admitted. “I ask your pardon.”

  “You do not wish to be in the position of asking my pardon again.”

  “I know. And I won’t.” Nick meant it.

  “It does perplex me.” Zhoglo went on. “That you would bring her here, knowing that she can never leave this place. I assume you have organized a pretext for her disappearance.”

  Nick tried to swallow, but his spit had dried up. “Ah. Um. Of course. But you have to admit that she is something special.”

  “Considering that she is disposable, I am surprised at your sentimental regard for her,” Zhoglo mused.

  Nick cleared his throat, clutching his mug to hide the fact that his hands shook. So their videotaped sex hadn’t been enough. The fucking shark wanted blood.

  “She’s not my usual type,” he said sullenly. “I reacted, that’s all. She took me by surprise. And it was of prime importance to keep her in good working condition. As I told you, Vor, I wanted you to eat well—”

  “Yes, yes, your care for my creature comforts has been duly noted. Even so…” Zhoglo dug into his jacket pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out, and held out the pack to Nick with a benevolent smile. “Please, Arkady. Indulge. You look tense.”

  Nick lit up and sucked in a lung-blistering drag.

  Becca came in with a fresh pot full of fragrant steaming brew. She leaned over Zhoglo’s shoulder, did her graceful geisha routine. The gurgle of liquid in that fucker’s cup sounded sexual. Nick’s jaw ached as she came around and gave him the same treatment. Her tits bouncing under sheer fabric, that whiff of violets—did she have to look so fucking good? Was it necessary? The eyes of every man in the room followed her until the door clicked shut.

  “Mmm,” Zhoglo murmured. “I love that air of haughty innocence. Attractive, if short-lived, by its very nature. It is always enjoyable to watch a woman learn her true place. I look forward to it.”

  The smoke left a bitter taste, like a mouthful of dirt. Nick coughed.

  “You must keep your cook presentable until this evening,” Zhoglo informed him. “A guest is being brought from Shepherd’s Bay. I wish dinner to be served to the two of us at seven-thirty.”

  “Do you need someone to pick up your guest, Vor? I—”

  “Yevgeni will handle that,” Zhoglo said smoothly. “Becca will provide just the right touch of decadence, half-dressed as she is. And my guest might enjoy her. I’ll offer her to him first, while she’s fresh and dewy. It is civil to share, no?”

  Nick choked on smoke, and coughed again.

  “For now, your duties shall be simple,” Zhoglo said. “Until I know exactly who I am dealing with, you will restrict yourself to setting tables, chopping vegetables, polishing silver. And live sex shows, of course.”

  He swallowed. “Ah, yes, Vor.”

  “Speaking of sex shows, I had regretted not organizing sexual entertainment for my new associate. And behold, my desires are neatly fulfilled. Convenient. She will do beautifully for my guest.”

  Nick nodded. “I’m, ah, glad.”

/>   “After he leaves, however, it will no longer be necessary to, how did you put it? Keep her in working order? We will leave tomorrow morning. She can be put to good use before she is dispatched. My men enjoyed her performance. They have been sitting on a boat with their dicks in their hands for days.”

  Nick forced his mouth to open. “And your breakfast, Vor?”

  Zhoglo shrugged. “I was tempted to wait until after breakfast. She has such a way with eggs. But I would prefer to conclude this business tonight. Even I am capable of forgoing my luxuries now and again.”

  “I see,” Nick said.

  “You will do the final honors. Any method you like. The procedure will be taped, of course. What arrangements have you made for disposing of the body?”

  Nick cleared his throat again. “Ah…”

  “I see. You do not have a plan,” Zhoglo said. “Now it is clear why you have not risen high in life. You are a man who thinks with his cock.”

  “No,” Nick said. “I have a plan.”

  “You are pale,” Zhoglo observed. “You are attached to the girl?”

  Nick shrugged. “No. But she is an excellent cook. It seems a waste.”

  “You should have thought of that before you brought her here,” Zhoglo chided. “But it is better that the loss be painful for you. One cannot have something for nothing, no? Sacrifice is necessary to obtain something of value. It makes you value it all the more. My trust, my confidence—they have value, Arkady. Incalculable value.”

  “Yes, Vor,” he muttered.

  “This shall be your sacrifice,” Zhoglo said briskly. “Look upon it as an initiation ceremony. After tonight, you will be one of us.” Zhoglo leaned over, and slapped him heartily on the back. His hand thudded against Nick’s body, jarring him as if he were made out of cement.

  “You shall see,” Zhoglo encouraged. “It will be worth it.”

  Chapter

  9

  If she kept her mind on a narrow wavelength and charged forward in a state of constant activity, she could function.

  Drain the marinade. Roll the beef in the peppers and spices. Cut radish roses. Trim yellow bits from the parsley sprigs. Peel and shape the baby carrots into perfect, uniformly smooth bullet shapes—