Force

by Becca Jameson

  D, last night was awesome. Don’t read anything into this. I need to work. I’m going stir crazy in this apartment. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. Your days of being so overprotective have to come to an end. I’m not a prisoner. I can’t live this way any longer. I’ll be home late tonight after my shift.

  L

  P.S. I took two hundred dollars from your wallet. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Why on earth are you carrying so much cash anyway?

  Dmitry had the note in his pocket. He fingered it now. He’d read it a dozen times. Alena had been of no help finding Lauren. She had been in on the sneaky arrangement to get clothing for Lauren in an effort to secretly help her find a job. But Alena had no idea where Lauren had interviewed—just that it was a bar.

  Dmitry felt certain the bar had to be within walking distance, so he began a concentric search, finally hitting the jackpot at stop number seven.

  Inked was a small local bar. Not a dump, but not upscale either. It was off the beaten path. The patrons were mostly from the neighborhood. Vacationers would be several blocks over in the Rush and Division street area.

  The lighting was dim, but not so dark he couldn’t see Lauren’s every move.

  While he watched Lauren load up her tray and expertly spin to make her way through the crowd toward a table, he slipped farther into the bar, hovering in the shadows.

  His chest pounded. It had been pounding all day worrying about her. She’d been gone for so long. What the hell had she done all day?

  Judging from her outfit, she’d gone shopping. The skirt she wore was black denim and sexy as hell. When she returned to the bar and leaned over to hand the bartender an empty glass, the hem rose up almost too high.

  Dmitry clenched his fists. Yeah, she was sexy all right. He’d known that for seven months. It wasn’t a news flash. The trouble was every man in the bar agreed. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicions. Dozens of eyes were trained to Lauren’s sexy long legs and tight ass.

  And then she spun around again to weave back through the crowd with another round of drinks. He’d known she had been a waitress before, but fuck, she was an expert. The way she held her tray in the air, sometimes over her head to avoid jostling against anyone, was amazing. Like an art.

  She was totally in her element. She loved this job.

  He swallowed, feeling like shit for the fact that he needed her to stop leaving the apartment like this—especially to make herself so easy to spot in public. Granted, the chances of anyone finding her in this off-the-beaten-path establishment were slim, but he didn’t want to take that chance at all.

  He continued to watch her glide between customers as if she were performing in a perfectly orchestrated ballet that had been practiced for months.

  No one would know she hadn’t worked at Inked her entire life.

  Except most of the patrons did know. It was obvious many of the men in this Saturday-night crowd were regulars. They trailed Lauren around the room with their eyes, licking their lips as if preparing to fuck the newcomer. Several of them even adjusted their crotches blatantly.

  Dmitry moaned. His own cock was also stiff watching her. He couldn’t blame anyone for looking. She was indeed smoking hot.

  She was also his. He might not have made that clear last night, but he certainly intended to the first chance he got.

  The next time she returned to the bar, Dmitry watched her tits. She was tall—taller still in her heels—with a narrow waist he could easily span with his hands. If he didn’t know better, he would have to assume her breasts were fake.

  But he’d never found her to be the kind of vain woman who would get a boob job, and since he’d tested the goods last night, he knew for certain now—those perfect tits were real.

  She wore a sheer white blouse unbuttoned halfway down to reveal a black tank top underneath. Any man would drool. As he watched, another waitress bumped into the back of her. A half-full beer teetered on the woman’s tray as if in slow motion and then toppled toward Lauren. The contents flew out of the glass and soaked the back of Lauren’s shirt.

  Lauren jumped forward, pressing into the bar on a sharp yelp at the shock. She turned toward the other waitress, who set down her tray and apologized profusely while she grabbed a towel.

  Lauren smiled at the woman and shrugged.

  Dmitry could picture her saying “no worries.” That was her manner. She wasn’t a vindictive bitch. And she certainly wasn’t the type who would start a fight over spilled beer.

  The other woman’s shoulders relaxed as she realized the newbie had no intention of chewing her a new asshole.

  Dmitry almost swallowed his tongue at what happened next. He watched in abject horror as Lauren unbuttoned the sheer white blouse and shrugged out of it, leaving her in the simple black tank.

  The tight black tank.

  The one that accentuated every aspect of her full breasts and left nothing to the imagination. Her bra straps showed on both sides, a black lacy bra she had obviously purchased today with the money she took from his wallet.

  He didn’t give a fuck about the money. She could have every dime to his name if she wanted. He also didn’t care if she owned sexy lingerie, tight tank tops, and fucking hot short skirts. What he did care about was everyone in the room eyeballing her like fresh meat.

  When he saw her nipples beading through the layers, he moaned and closed his eyes against the show, praying when he reopened them he would be mistaken about the entire beer-spilling debacle.

  No such luck.

  Lauren smiled at something the other waitress said as he narrowed his gaze on her again. She tipped her head back and laughed with an abandon he’d never seen in her as she handed her beer-soaked shirt to the bartender to stash behind him someplace.

  Dmitry swallowed, feeling a sharp stab to the chest as he watched her open up to these people she’d met only hours ago. He’d never seen this side of her. And he was well aware it was his own fault. He’d sucked the life out of her by condemning her to the apartment and then growling like she was an imposition for all these months.

  He wanted desperately for her to look at him with the same twinkle in her eye she gave these strangers. He would give anything to have that attention focused on him.

  It wasn’t going to happen tonight, however. Nope. By the end of tonight he could rest assured she would be completely pissed off with him. No way would she be happy about anything he had to say. And she sure as fuck wouldn’t be laughing.

  He breathed heavily as she filled her tray once more and then turned to make her way to the same section of the bar as before. By now he had a good idea which tables were hers, and as luck would have it, he stood far enough away on the other side of the room that she hadn’t noticed him.

  He had little doubt he could stand right where he was for several hours and not get caught. The bar was packed, and more people were spilling in by the minute. The dim lights, dark walls, and high, round bar tables kept him safe from view.

  The bar itself extended most of the entirety of the back wall, and it was packed from end to end with patrons waiting to be served. The place was amazingly clean for the location and age of the building. It was obvious the owner took pride in his establishment. It was after eleven. There were three bartenders behind the bar and six waitresses on the floor.

  None of the waitresses held a candle to Lauren—not in the looks department nor the service. The woman worked hard. She never missed a beat, hustling from table to table and returning with as much haste as possible to keep her customers happy. By this hour of the night, the bartender on her end of the bar was obviously impressed by her abilities and catered to her the second she showed up at his side.

  Hell, Dmitry was impressed also. He’d known she was a waitress at a casino in Vegas, but he’d never seen her in action. She was amazing.

  A small piece of him cringed to think he was about to royally piss her off by putting a halt to this thing she clearly ha
d a passion for…that made her cheeks flush with the adrenaline rush, put a pep in her step, and kept her head held high. He liked this look on her, and he hated knowing he was going to have to kill it.

  However, Lauren needed to understand the seriousness of her position. Perhaps he hadn’t made himself clear about what the Russian mob was capable of last night. He’d thought she understood. Now, he realized he’d taken her compliance for granted. The woman either had no comprehension of the severity of this situation, or she had a death wish.

  A vibration in his pocket alerted him to an incoming text. Without taking his gaze off Lauren as she made her way between a throng of patrons, he hitched his hip forward and reached into his pocket for his phone.

  With a flick of his thumb, he opened the screen and found a message from Abram Gromov. When Dmitry first came to Chicago, Abram was the only man he knew. And he’d been a godsend. First of all, the guy was Russian. That alone made Dmitry feel a level of comfort he didn’t often feel. He also lived slightly beneath the law, but didn’t seem to be involved in anything nefarious—at least not nearly as disreputable as Yenin. When Mikhail had followed Dmitry two weeks later, the two of them signed on with Abram as their manager. The man booked their fights and kept them in the loop about anything he learned relating to Yenin and his crew in Vegas. Dmitry had no idea how Abram knew so much about Yenin’s business, but he was grateful. Lately the information had slowed to a trickle. Either not much was happening in Vegas, or Grigory was doing a better job of keeping his dealings a secret.

  Abram was not mafia, but he wasn’t completely above the law either. He knew what the Russian were up to in most corners of the country. He had people everywhere who answered to him. It was a fair trade in Dmitry’s mind. He and Mikhail fought under Abram. Abram took his cut. And in exchange, Abram kept Dmitry and Mikhail in the loop about all things Yenin.

  Yenin wouldn’t be in jail forever. He would get out, and he would want to bring his boys back into the fold. They were part of his bread and butter, after all. Or perhaps the man just had a hard-on for fighting.

  Abram was in a similar boat. He wouldn’t give up Dmitry or Mikhail easily. After all, they made the man a fair chunk of change most weekends. Neither Dmitry nor Mikhail lost often, and their reputations reached Chicago long before their bodies. That was how the two of them managed to easily strike a deal with Abram. They were valuable. And everyone knew it.

  Dmitry shuddered to think what would happen when Yenin called to collect them. And he would. There was no doubt. The man had a hold on them that was inescapable.

  Over the years, it had niggled in the back of Dmitry’s mind. Why did Yenin bring six young men over from Russia? To fight? Dmitry knew they didn’t make that much money. Dmitry had chosen not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was in the US now, legally even. He worked. He lived well. Why question the reasons?

  In light of Lauren’s apparent need to leave the apartment at her whim, Dmitry texted Abram that morning to ascertain the current whereabouts of Yenin’s men.

  Not aware of any of Yenin’s men in the area right now, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.

  He sent a quick text in reply.

  Thanks. Keep me posted.

  He tucked his phone back in his pocket and ordered a beer from the waitress who passed him.

  Regardless of Abram’s assurances, no way in hell could Lauren work in this bar. It would be impossible to protect her if she was found. Even if Dmitry came with her every night—which wasn’t feasible—he couldn’t keep her safe in a public place like this.

  Oh, yeah. She was going to kill him.

  ∙•∙

  Lauren hustled her ass all evening. She was totally out of the habit of doing such a taxing job after months of boredom. As the night wore on, her feet hurt, her arms ached, and her brain grew closer to shutting down and leaving her unable to calculate even the simplest bill in her head.

  She would never let on that she was exhausted, but she glanced at her watch often and couldn’t believe how the time crawled. When the bartender announced last call, she nearly sighed. She wanted nothing more than to schlep herself back to the apartment and fall into bed.

  Inwardly she moaned at the thought of making her way back home and facing what she knew would be a very angry Dmitry. Even after the incredible sex they’d had more than once last night, she doubted he would feel a compulsion to forgive her for sneaking out on him that morning. Men simply didn’t think that way. At least none of the men she’d ever met. If there was any way to avoid the confrontation, she would, but she simply didn’t have the funds to stay someplace else.

  The bar was still crowded, showing no evidence that the last orders were being placed. Many of the patrons were drunk. Hell, she’d served so many beers to some groups of men, it was a wonder they were still on their feet.

  As she turned to walk away from a high round table after delivering the two male occupants their last beers, she was cut short. Something had a hold of the hem at the back of her skirt and tugged her to a halt, almost causing her to lose her balance and tip forward.

  She spun her head around to find a dark-haired man with a wry grin on his face and glassy drunk eyes pulling her backward into the V of his legs. “When do you get off work, sweetheart? Why don’t you join us for a little more partying after closing?”

  She narrowed her gaze, feeling the flames that lit up her face. “Not gonna happen, guys. I’m already taken.”

  The dark-haired man pasted a fake pout on his face as he grabbed her waist and hauled her up against his crotch between his legs. “Ah, come on. He’ll never know.”

  The press of his cock against her belly made her cringe. She dropped her tray onto the table and pushed at his shoulders with both hands. “Listen, asshole, I said no. Now let go of me so I can get my job done.”

  The guy chuckled and wrapped an arm around her middle, tugging her chest up against his. “You’re even sexier when you’re pissed.”

  Lauren opened her mouth to protest further, but she never got a chance. Two hands landed on the shoulders of the guy from behind and yanked him backward over the stool he sat on, forcing him to release her.

  “What the fuck, man?” The guy turned around with his arms up in a guarded stance.

  Lauren’s gaze rose from the shithole harassing her to the taller man behind him. Fuck.

  Dmitry.

  Her mouth fell open, but she never got a chance to utter a syllable.

  Dmitry grabbed the front of the guy’s shirt and fisted the material. “The lady said no. I’m pretty sure she meant it.” Dmitry was fierce. She’d seen him this angry once before—the night he rescued her from Yenin’s men and whisked her out of town. His brow furrowed, and veins popped out on his forehead and the top of his closely shaved scalp.

  “What’s it to you, fucker?” the guy asked, pushing against Dmitry as if he had even a tenth of the strength Dmitry had. “It’s a free country. I can ask a woman out any time I want.”

  “Not this one,” Dmitry gritted out. He leaned closer until his forehead almost touched the other guy’s, his eyes wide and scanning up and down the man’s face.

  The guy had the audacity to smirk as he stared at Dmitry’s face. “Looks like you aren’t half as good with your fists as you profess.” He nodded toward the cut over Dmitry’s eye. “Somebody else already worked you over.”

  Dmitry fisted the asshole’s shirt tighter. “Want to try me?”

  Lauren closed her mouth and tucked her lips between her teeth. Dammit. This was not how she wanted her first night at work to end. How long had Dmitry been in the bar watching her? Knowing him, hours. She released her lips to speak. “Dmitry, stop. I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding.” She didn’t want to cause a scene. In fact, she refused to look away to see if her boss was paying attention. The last thing she needed on her first night on the job was for her boss to think she wasn’t worth the trouble if her boyfriend was going to pop in and start fights with the custome
rs.

  Dmitry didn’t take his gaze off the stranger’s. “I don’t think there’s any misunderstanding,” he stated calmly as if discussing what they might have for dinner tomorrow. His accent was more pronounced than usual, indicating he was severely pissed.

  The other man at the table scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go, Jeff. She’s not worth it.”

  Dmitry still held on to the man named Jeff. “Apologize to the lady, and then get the fuck out of here.” He tugged the man onto his tiptoes by the shirt. “Now.” His voice was lower, menacing, demanding. The muscles in his arm bulged, accentuating the geometric tattoos that wrapped around his biceps.

  Someone brushed against Lauren’s arm, making her jerk her gaze from Dmitry to her side. Dammit. Her boss. One day on the job, and Gill was now privy to a fight between the man he would perceive as her boyfriend in about two seconds and a customer. Great.

  “You okay, Lauren?” He wrapped his fingers gently around her forearm and pulled her back a step. “What’s going on?” His dark eyes narrowed on the crazy drunk man in the clutches of Dmitry.

  Dmitry didn’t glance at Gill as he spoke. “This joker thought perhaps it would be a good idea to fondle the staff. I’m just showing him to the door. Right?” He lifted a brow at Jeff and then turned toward the entrance to the bar, towing the smaller man alongside him.

  Jeff’s friend followed behind, shuffling back and forth as if he couldn’t get out of the bar quick enough.

  Patrons cleared a path as Dmitry made his way through the crowd toward the door, undoubtedly not wanting to become the recipients of his wrath. He was huge. Bulky. Domineering, and intimidating with his head shaved. How had she not realized before how incredibly massive he was? He had never seemed as imposing inside the apartment as he did right now.

  “Lauren? Do you know that guy?”

  She turned her head once again to face her boss, shoulders slouching. “Yeah. Sorry.”