Force

by Becca Jameson

  She considered his words for long moments while his breath evened out. She thought he was asleep, and then suddenly he spoke again. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she whispered.

  “For trusting me to take you someplace new. For letting me in. I’ll never forget this night as long as I live. I’ve waited so long…” His voice trailed off as he slipped into sleep.

  Moments later, Lauren followed, snuggled tight against Dmitry’s side as her heart stopped pounding and she fully relaxed for the first time in months.

  »»•««

  “Bingo.” Boris grinned as he flopped onto his bed and crossed his legs at the ankles.

  Erik wandered out of the attached bathroom. “What?”

  “I just heard from one of my contacts, Franco, that Volikov fought tonight at an underground ring a few blocks south of here.”

  “Fuck. That’s great. Anyone know where he’s living?”

  “No. But he fights regularly and has been off the grid for a while. I’m betting Abram Gromov is booking for him. Can’t trust that guy. He’s slippery.”

  Erik lowered himself heavily onto his own bed. “Your guy have any info on Dmitry’s next fight? Or Mikhail Dudko? I assume they’re together.”

  “Not yet, but he’ll be calling as soon as he gets intel. And Dudko was with Volikov. I’m betting they live together.” Boris stared at the ceiling, hoping the next call would come through sooner rather than later. “And I offered Franco a hefty sum to follow either man the next time he spots them anywhere.”

  “Good. You talk to anyone in Vegas about this?”

  “Yep.” Boris twisted his neck to meet Erik’s gaze. “Grigory is having someone wire the money first thing tomorrow.”

  “He mention anything about improving our arrangements here?” Erik gave a short sardonic chuckle.

  “Not a word.” Boris knew how Erik felt. The two of them had become little more than lackeys now that Grigory was in charge. Yenin never would have put them up in such a low-budget motel, sharing a room, with a menial daily food allowance. But times had changed. Until Yenin got out from behind bars and sent his father packing up to return to New York, there was little Boris could do but wait out the transition and hope he didn’t get killed in the meantime.

  “Do you really think Grigory will return to New York when Yenin gets out?”

  “Yep. The man has been frustrated since he arrived. He spends half his time in that fucking lab Yenin has on the outskirts of town. I don’t know why the man has such a hard-on for a drug lab. Hell, I don’t know why Yenin does, either. What’s the big deal? Cook the fucking meth—or whatever they make there—and sell it. It doesn’t require babysitting.

  “Meanwhile Yenin’s six best fighters are running loose all over the place doing whatever they fucking feel like in their leader’s absence. It makes no sense to me.”

  Boris shrugged. “The other four are still hanging around Vegas. It’s just Volikov and Dudko who fled.”

  “And both of them left like they had a fire under their feet when Yenin went in. I can’t figure why Grigory allowed that to happen in the first place.” Erik yanked out the small desk chair and slumped into the uncomfortable lumpy piece of shit.

  “That old man is weird, if you ask me. I never understand a single decision he makes, but obviously he thinks there’s more money to be had from drugs than fighting.”

  “Yenin’s going to be fucking pissed if he loses two of his fighters. If Abram Gromov is booking for them, there’s a good chance he’ll put up a fight. He isn’t the sort of guy I would double-cross.”

  Chapter Five

  Lauren awoke with a start. The warm body next to her startled her for several seconds until memories of the last evening crept back into her mind.

  Dmitry’s body was like a heater against her skin. She eased off his chest. He didn’t move. His breathing was deep and even.

  She lay on her back for several minutes, pondering what had happened and where they went from here. Unfortunately, she couldn’t imagine how they were going to work out their disagreement. Even fucking hot sex didn’t change the fact she didn’t want to live like a caged animal anymore.

  And she doubted Dmitry was going to see reason. He didn’t seem willing to budge on the issue.

  Lauren eased from the bed and stood staring down at the gorgeous sleeping man. He had one huge, tattooed arm above his head, the other across his chest.

  She glanced at the clock and winced. Six-thirty. He would be pissed when he found her gone. Like flames-coming-out-of-his-head pissed. But she needed to get out of this apartment and do something with her life.

  The first few months had been gratifying and productive as she’d taught Alena English, but the woman was a pro now. She didn’t need Lauren, and the two of them were bored together. The difference was Alena hadn’t slept with Anton Yenin at any point in her life and then tried to escape the man.

  Alena was stuck in the same precarious rut as Lauren—except Alena really believed she was in danger, so she had no desire to leave the apartment. And there was a possibility she was right. What did Lauren know?

  No matter what Dmitry said about her own safety, she simply couldn’t imagine it was that bad. Maybe Yenin did have men looking for him. Hell, Anton could easily send people to track Mikhail also, but surely no one gave a rat’s ass about Lauren. It had been too long. No one had any idea she was in Chicago or with Dmitry and Mikhail. How could they? She’d never left the apartment.

  Chicago was a huge city with lots of bars. She was confident she could work in a random small establishment off the beaten path, live close by, and never be discovered.

  She had no other choice. She had to live. Hiding was over.

  Lauren grabbed several items of clothing by groping around in the dark. And then she slipped out the bedroom door and headed for the bathroom. If she managed to get out of the apartment before anyone woke up, it would be a miracle.

  But luck was on her side. She showered, dressed, and packed several items in a satchel before seven. She wrote Dmitry a note and left it on the kitchen table. What she hated more than anything was taking money from his wallet.

  When she’d spotted it on the table, she’d hesitated a moment, and then decided she had little other choice. She needed clothes before she could go to work tonight. And she would need to eat during the day.

  What she hadn’t been prepared for as she opened the wallet with shaky fingers was the amount of cash Dmitry had. Holy mother of God. Why did he carry several hundred dollars?

  She took several twenties and added a P.S. to the note she’d written.

  With luck still on her side, she made her way to the door, turned to glance around, and then went for it. She eased the door closed as slowly as possible to avoid detection. The second it clicked shut, she ran down the hall.

  Her heart raced as if she’d pulled off a jewelry heist. Instead of waiting for the elevator, she took the stairs two at a time.

  Dmitry rarely slept this late. Even when he fought and stayed out late drinking with Mikhail, he was up early. He spent every waking moment either training or working construction.

  This was a Saturday, however. She doubted he had anything specific lined up for the early morning hours. And this bought her time to get out of the apartment.

  When she emerged onto the street, she inhaled deeply and headed to the right. She tried to slow her heart rate and her steps, but until she rounded several corners, she couldn’t calm herself.

  The first place she entered was outside of her means and too extravagant, but she didn’t care. It had been six months since she’d had her favorite coffee. Just this once she needed an expensive cup and a muffin. She even allowed herself to sit in the small shop and enjoy the warm latte, watching passersby through the window as if she did this every day.

  She wore jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt because that was all she owned. She needed to waste some time before stores opened and she could shop in earnest for approp
riate work clothing. And then she would start looking for a small apartment.

  Inked was several blocks from her current location. She would head to that area to look for more affordable housing and discount places to shop.

  By noon, Lauren had pep in her step and several bags hanging from her hand. She’d hit a discount store and easily found two skirts and four shirts before grabbing a pair of chunky heels that would be comfortable enough to wear for long hours, but sexy enough to show off one of her finest assets—her legs.

  She spent over half an hour in the closest corner pharmacy, perusing the makeup aisle until she thought she had the best bang for her buck chosen. There was no way she could show up at Inked without makeup, and the few items Dmitry had provided her weren’t going to cut it. She needed a good mascara for starters, and lipstick was a must.

  Exiting the drug store, she thanked God for the perfect spring weather and headed toward Inked. She hoped the bar was already open and the owner would let her stash her purchases there while she looked for an apartment. She couldn’t possibly afford the down payment yet, but she needed to at least get the lay of the land so she would be prepared.

  Her solemn hope was that Dmitry would let her back in and let her stay there until she could save enough money to move out. She would gladly take the couch and let him have the bedroom. All she needed was a safe place to sleep until she got her feet under her.

  Surely he and Mikhail wouldn’t kick her out. Right? After all, they’d had the best sex of her life last night. She probably should have felt uneasy about how intimate they’d been, but she couldn’t do it. She’d loved every second of their lovemaking. She had to assume from his reaction that he didn’t have any complaints either. But was it enough to keep him from wanting to throttle her for ditching him the next morning?

  When she reached the front door of Inked, she took a deep breath and pushed inward. A deep exhale escaped her lips as the door gave way. Good. The bar was open, or at least someone would be inside.

  It took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting after the bright sun, but finally she glanced around. There were two customers, both sitting at the bar as if they did so every day of the week.

  The bartender must have recognized her from the night before. He nodded toward her as he wiped down the bar. “Gill’s in the back if you need him.”

  She smiled as she walked by. “Thanks.”

  Gill was indeed sitting in a small office behind the “employees only” door. His feet were on the desk, his hands full of a stack of papers he was perusing. He lifted his gaze as soon as she stepped in. For a moment he smiled, and then his face fell. “Don’t tell me you’re already quitting on me?”

  She grinned. “No. Not at all. Actually, I was hoping I could leave my bags here while I look for an apartment.”

  He narrowed his gaze and lowered it to her packages. “Of course. Sure. That’s fine. Where have you been staying?”

  “With friends. But I’d like to get out on my own as soon as possible. I’m going to look around and see what I’m up against. I promise I’ll be back before my shift starts.” She lifted the bags before she set them down. “And I have clothes to change into.”

  “I see.” He didn’t look pleased.

  “If it’s too much of an imposition…”

  His gaze jerked back to hers. “No. Not at all. I’m just trying to figure you out. You seem like a nice girl. Clean. Healthy. No sign of drugs. Why on earth would you want to work at my small, out-of-the-way bar when you could get a job at any fancy bar on the main strip?”

  She swallowed. “Look, Gill,”—she didn’t even know his last name—“I’m a good waitress. You won’t be disappointed.” She shrugged. “I won’t be any trouble. I swear. I need a change is all.”

  He watched her face for a while. “Your language is educated. You aren’t a high school dropout.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Are you in college?”

  “I was, until…recently.” It still hurt that she’d abandoned her classes to flee Vegas. Her goal had been a degree in restaurant management—a goal that seemed elusive now. She’d been taking two classes at a time for several semesters, slowly working her way toward a degree. Getting an education and making something of herself was a top priority.

  He nodded, his mouth falling open, but then he closed it, seemingly deciding against giving her any more of the third degree.

  “So, it’s okay? You don’t mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “If I leave my bags.”

  Gill stood from his seat and rounded the desk in his tiny office. “Leave them right there behind the door. No one comes in here. They’ll be safe.” His brows drew together as he stared at her. “If you need a place to stay—”

  She shook her head, cutting him off. “No. I’m fine. I have an apartment with three other people. I’m good. Just ready for something new is all.”

  He nodded slowly. “Well, if something changes…”

  She turned to leave. Thank God the man was nice. He didn’t seem interested in getting in her pants, and his gaze hadn’t spent the entire conversation focused on her chest. He was one of the good guys.

  “Thanks, Gill,” she murmured as she made her way back toward the front and then out the door.

  »»•««

  The apartment shopping was a total bust. There was no way she could afford to live at any of the places she’d visited on her salary, even if she did have a down payment, which she did not.

  Her shoulders drooped, and she felt heavier as she made her way back to Inked that afternoon.

  A few dozen people lounged inside when she entered, every one of them turning their head to watch her traipse through the bar toward the back. She thought she heard the bartender telling someone she was the new waitress.

  Her bags were right where she left them, and she tagged a few and made her way to the women’s restroom to change.

  Ten minutes later, she was a new woman, stepping into the main section of the bar feeling far more like herself than she had in months. She had never been the sort of woman to wear jeans. T-shirts weren’t her thing, either. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn either of those articles of clothing before coming to Chicago.

  Now waitressing—that was her comfort zone. She’d been able to pour a draft beer since the moment she could reach the spigot. Before her dad died a few years ago, he’d taught her everything he knew. He’d owned a bar almost identical to Inked in her hometown in Kansas for as long as she could remember. And he’d practically raised her in it after her mom died when she was two years old.

  Her luck was shitty however, and her father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two weeks after her twenty-first birthday. He’d lived less than three months. She’d been so consumed with taking care of him, she hadn’t realized every last dime he’d ever saved had gone toward treatments. And then some. She’d had no choice but to sell the bar to pay off the medical bills after his death. And that left her homeless and orphaned when she should have been running around town with her friends or attending college.

  The decision to move to Vegas had been easy. She had two things going for her that she could thank her father for—her looks and her ability to tend bar and waitress. Her desire to own her own bar again one day had spurred her toward a degree in restaurant management.

  Now, as she glanced around the joint where she was about to start her first shift, she felt a renewed sense of calm. Sure, she was no longer enrolled in college in Vegas where she’d taken classes in hopes to one day finish her degree. Sure, she was essentially homeless with no more than a few dollars to her name. And sure, she was scared out of her fucking mind.

  But all that aside, she looked hot in her new outfit, even if it did come from a discount rack. And she was about to prove to everyone who worked at Inked or visited regularly that she had what it took to make the inside of a bar come to life and hum with excitement.

  “You good, Lauren?” Gi
ll asked as he emerged from the back. “You’re early.” He glanced at his watch. “Can you start now? Tina’s late. As usual.” He rolled his eyes. “You have any questions, see me or Mike behind the bar. He’s on shift all night.”

  Mike waved at her as she approached.

  “Got it.” She smiled at first Gill and then Mike. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve handled multiple drink orders and calculated them in my head since the moment I could walk and carry a beer.”

  “Awesome. Because it’s going to be busy in here tonight. Saturdays usually are, but there’s some sort of concert a few blocks down. When it lets out, the place will be hopping.” Mike grabbed a few empty glasses from the bar and leaned down.

  Lauren hoped there was a high-powered washer under the counter. It made things so much smoother than when the bartender and waitresses didn’t have to wash glasses by hand in between customers on a busy night.

  She rubbed her hands together and grabbed a short apron from behind the bar.

  Showtime.

  Chapter Six

  Dmitry leaned against the wall of the bar inside the entrance and took a deep breath. Inked was the seventh bar he’d been to that night.

  His emotions were all over the place. Relief trumped all of them as he watched Lauren lift up on her tiptoes and call out her order to the bartender.

  He’d found her.

  She was safe.

  He stuffed his anger deep inside as the relief transformed to frustration. This woman was going to drive him crazy.

  Why the hell had he thought she had listened to him and decided not to take this job and stay inside the apartment? He felt like a complete moron when he woke up and found her gone.

  Obviously he wasn’t nearly as persuasive with his cock as he assumed.

  At first he rolled over in her bed and breathed in her scent from the pillow, assuming she’d gone to the bathroom. After several minutes, he wondered why she never returned.

  His blood ran cold when he entered the kitchen and found her note.