Force

by Becca Jameson

  Doc was an older guy. He’d been a surgeon in his younger days. He was retired now. He’d also been a fighter. And he’d been tending to men like Dmitry under the radar for many years.

  Mikhail ushered Dmitry and Lauren into the brightly lit room and shut the door behind them.

  “What happened?” Doc asked as he scurried through the entrance room and through a second door on the far left. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

  Lauren spoke. “Someone attacked him in the alley behind the bar.”

  “Russians?” Mikhail asked as they followed the doctor to small exam room.

  Dmitry answered. “No.”

  Lauren gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He winced again as he settled onto the cot on one wall and blew out a breath.

  Doc leaned over him and pried one eye open to flash a light across his pupil. He did the same on the other side.

  Dmitry turned his head in the direction of the room and peeked at Mikhail through the one eye he could partially open. “They were Caucasian. And fucking mean.”

  “Coincidence? Robbery?”

  Dmitry gave a low chuckle before he could stop himself. His head pounded. “Hardly. They told me to throw the fight Friday night.”

  “What fight?” Lauren asked. “You haven’t mentioned another fight.”

  Dmitry closed his eyes again and turned his face toward the ceiling as Doc prodded his jaw. He spoke without moving his mouth more than necessary. “Haven’t told you yet.”

  “You just fought last Friday. You don’t usually fight again the following week.” She’d paid attention to that detail over the months apparently.

  “And you’re sure they weren’t Russian?” Mikhail asked.

  “Positive.” What he didn’t mention was their threat to Lauren’s life. He wasn’t about to give that detail in front of her.

  “Fuck.” Mikhail paced.

  Doc prodded. When he reached Dmitry’s side, Dmitry gave a sharp scream. Doc eased his touch, but continued to poke in silence.

  Dmitry held his breath, but there was no way to control his face. The pain was intense. Worse than anything he could remember in recent history.

  Doc walked away for a minute and returned, dragging a cart with an ultrasound machine on it. He tugged Dmitry’s shirt up and angled him to lie on his right side. When the cool lube hit his bare skin, he inhaled slowly and then held his breath while Doc roamed around his lower back and side with the probe.

  Finally Doc spoke. “You won’t be fighting this Friday night or any other in the near future. You took a kick to the kidney. It has to heal before you risk another blow. Takes months for an injury like this to heal.”

  “Not an option,” Dmitry muttered.

  “Dying is,” Doc responded. “If that kidney takes another hit, it could detach from the lining and cause severe injury. Fighting in this condition is out of the question.”

  Dmitry lowered himself onto his back as Doc pushed the machine out of the way.

  Doc spoke again. “Luckily you don’t have a concussion, but you need to let that kidney rest. If it begins to hurt worse, call me or go to the emergency room. Kidneys are serious. Don’t fuck around and play macho with this injury. Your life’s at stake.”

  »»•««

  Boris leaned over to grab the phone from his nightstand. It was the middle of the night, but he saw immediately the caller was Franco.

  “What?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Some guys jumped your man in the alley beside the bar he’s working at. Inked.”

  Boris sat up straighter, shaking the sleep from his mind. “Dmitry?”

  “Yes.”

  “What guys?”

  “No idea. I was watching from across the street on the fire escape. Two white guys jumped him beside the bar and beat the fuck out of him. He looked like shit, but he left through the front of the bar before the cops got there. And he was with that woman. I got dozens of pictures.”

  Boris rubbed his temple. “Of course. He wouldn’t want to go to a hospital or get questioned by the cops. Were you able to follow him?”

  Franco sighed. “No. I lost them while they were on foot. I couldn’t get down from the fire escape until they were around the corner. Someone must have picked them up somewhere.”

  “Shit. Go back to the apartment and see if they show up there.”

  “Already there now. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lauren helped Mikhail get Dmitry back to their apartment and into her bed. Since they’d slept together that first time, there had been no question about where Dmitry belonged from then on.

  Alena rushed around bringing Tylenol and a glass of water. She even gathered supplies to clean up Dmitry’s face where blood had caked around his eye and down his cheek.

  When Alena and Mikhail finally left the room and shut the door, Lauren helped him out of his shoes, jeans, and shirt, leaving him in boxers. She tugged the sheet over his body as his breathing eased.

  “Baby, stop fussing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. And don’t even pretend.” Her heart had been racing from the moment she’d found him outside. She flipped off the lights, peeled off her skirt, and gingerly climbed onto the bed to sit at his side. “You don’t think this is Anton’s work?” She set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She could see him well enough with the light coming through the window.

  He turned toward her, blinking through his good eye. It was a wonder he could see anything at all. “Not the Russians. They don’t leave warnings. They kill or kidnap first and ask questions later.”

  She swallowed hard. “Why do they want you to throw the fight?”

  He closed his eyes and set his hand on top of hers, even though she could tell it hurt him to lift his arm. “No idea. I’m sure money’s involved. Or perhaps it has something to do with whoever I’m supposed to fight.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Nope. Abram hasn’t given me the details yet. Apparently, there are others who know exactly what’s at stake.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “No. Neither is getting blindsided in an alley behind a bar, but it happened.”

  She stiffened, pulling away from him to lie on her back and stare at the ceiling. This was her fault. She’d been so pigheaded about taking that job and getting out of the apartment, she’d almost gotten Dmitry killed tonight.

  If they hadn’t been there in the first place…

  “Lauren.” His voice shocked her.

  “Stop it.”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Of course it was. You told me dozens of times how unsafe it was to leave the house. I did it anyway. You begged me not to take that job. I did it anyway.” She sat up abruptly and pointed at him. “Now look. You could have been killed in that alley.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not the point. You’re injured. You can’t fight for months. And it’s all because of me.”

  He reached out a hand and grabbed her wrist. “Lauren. I’m an underground MMA fighter. It’s not a safe occupation, in or out of the ring. There are people who have a lot of money resting on any particular fight. They want to make more money. It’s part of the business.

  “Besides, the men who attacked me tonight were American. I’d bet my last dollar they had nothing to do with Yenin. They probably followed me and would have attacked me anywhere I went.”

  She tried to slow her breathing.

  She eased onto her back beside him, wondering if he was telling the complete truth about what happened. She couldn’t shake the feeling there were more details. And she was convinced she had something to do with his attack.

  So much so that her resolve to put an end to this charade was strengthened. He would never consent to her leaving town if she requested it, so she would take matters into her own hands. Her life wasn’t the only
one at stake. Obviously he was in danger because of her also.

  If he was killed protecting her, she would never forgive herself.

  Dmitry’s breath slowly evened out as he fell asleep next to her.

  She lay awake for a long time, completely still. Waiting.

  It was almost morning before she had the nerve to risk easing from the bed. The entire apartment was quiet. She fumbled around on the floor for Dmitry’s jeans, pulled out his wallet, and took several bills without seeing them. Between that and the tips she had in her purse from the bar, she could make ends meet until she found another job. She grabbed her shoes and jeans and tiptoed from the room, careful to shut the door silently behind her.

  Feeling around in the dark, she managed to locate the backpack and plastic bags she’d left by the wall in the breakfast area yesterday. Pure luck.

  They’d argued about her leaving, but she hadn’t bothered to unpack her few things and put them away. Now she was glad.

  Opening and closing the apartment door was her final challenge. It snicked shut behind her softly, and she ran for the elevator.

  The sun was peeking over the horizon as she stepped outside and headed for the bus station. The first bus to Anywhere USA was her plan.

  »»•««

  “Son of a bitch.” Dmitry pressed his weight against the wall of the hallway leading into the kitchen. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He had never been so pissed in his life. Lauren had fucking given him the slip while he’d been sound asleep nursing his injuries.

  Mikhail pursed his lips. “Sorry, man. She’s sneaky. I never heard a single sound.”

  Alena eased past both men, her head down.

  “Alena…” Dmitry growled. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing.” She headed for the refrigerator without meeting either man’s gaze. “I had no idea she was planning to leave in the night.” She grabbed the orange juice and poured herself a glass.

  “Yeah. But you knew she was planning to leave. Where did she say she was going?” Dmitry gripped the corner of the wall and waited impatiently for Alena to cave.

  She pursed her lips. Mikhail grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around to lead her to a kitchen chair. “Sit. Talk.”

  She rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in the air. “Seriously. We never spoke about this plan. How could I possibly know where she is? It’s not as if she snuck into my room at the crack of dawn and whispered her intentions to me.”

  “Alena,” Mikhail warned, “no one’s suggesting that. Don’t be coy. What was her plan yesterday?”

  Alena blew out a breath and ran her finger around the top edge of her glass. “She wasn’t sure. She said she would go to the bus station and get a ticket to the first place she could.”

  Dmitry closed his eyes for a second and then spun on his heel and walked back to Lauren’s bedroom to grab his wallet. Two seconds later he stuffed his feet into his shoes and hobbled toward the front door.

  His entire body hurt like a son of a bitch. He had no business getting out of bed, let alone making his way to the bus station.

  Mikhail called him on it. “Dmitry, you can’t go off half-cocked looking for her. You have no idea where she might have gone. Let me call Leo and see if he can work on it. Go back to bed.”

  Dmitry leaned against the front door, his forehead on the cool surface. He took a deep breath through the pain throbbing in his temple and the intense strain on his kidney. “Can you call the bar too? Inked. Let them know we won’t be back. The owner’s name is Gill. I’m sure he won’t be shocked after last night.”

  Mikhail nodded. “Got it.” He pointed at the bedroom. “Go.”

  Dmitry continued. “Check with the bus schedule for this morning. Find out where and when they left the station.”

  Mikhail narrowed his gaze this time. “On it. Dude, I wasn’t born yesterday. Go back to bed. Take some Tylenol.”

  Dmitry lifted his head an inch from the door and slammed it against the surface before turning back to the bedroom. Damn that hurt.

  When he found that woman…

  »»•««

  Lauren awoke with a start. She sat up straight, winced through the crick in her neck, and stretched her head to the side to work out the kink. The sun dipped low on her side of the bus. It was late afternoon. A glance at her watch told her they would be pulling into Minneapolis soon.

  She slouched into her seat and stared out the window. She’d never been more alone. Even after her father died and she moved to Vegas, she’d had a plan and quickly assimilated into a new life.

  But this time she was totally winging it. She had nothing to go on except the piece of paper full of notes she jotted down while researching waitress openings in bars on the outskirts of Minneapolis. She’d picked Minneapolis at random. It was far enough away to put some distance between her and Dmitry and the Russian mob. It was easy enough to get there in one day—and inexpensive. And it was large enough to get lost in.

  As the bus pulled into the station and came to a stop, she pulled out the page of information she had and prayed the same job postings listed earlier in the week were available. One in particular caught her eye in a small suburb to the north of the city.

  With relative ease, she grabbed her meager belongings, stepped down from the bus, and headed for the local bus transportation.

  She was exhausted, even after sleeping most of the day. All she wanted was to find an inexpensive motel, hunt down the bar, and get a job. If all went well, she could be working by tomorrow and making enough money to at least get by and be able to afford the motel and food for the time being.

  Luck was on her side for the next two hours. She easily located the bar in the ad, dropped her bags off at the closest motel room, and entered the establishment in her best outfit with a smile on her face.

  The owner was behind the bar, and he seemed genuinely pleased and relieved to meet her and find out how much experience she had as a waitress. He added her to the staff without a second thought, handed her a tray and an order pad, and visibly relaxed, knowing that for the first night in a few weeks he would have enough waitresses to cover the floor.

  The next time Lauren looked at her watch it was one-thirty in the morning. She was beyond dead on her feet, but she had tips in her pocket as she made her way back to the motel and dropped into bed. She didn’t have to be back at the bar until midafternoon the next day.

  Her heart beat rapidly as she showered away the smell of beer and alcohol and then climbed between the sheets. The second she relaxed her body, her mind went crazy. She squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing erased the visions of Dmitry.

  She knew he would be frantic and pissed. He didn’t need that on top of his injured kidney. He needed rest. Instead, he would be searching everywhere for her. A sob escaped her lips, and tears ran down her face at the incredible loneliness. After months of sleeping alone in the apartment she shared with a man who never spoke to her except to grunt, the last few days of having him in her bed had quickly erased the solitude.

  Not anymore.

  »»•««

  Boris spotted Franco in his usual spot at the diner as he and Erik entered. They took their seats across from him.

  Franco looked tired.

  “Talk to me.” Boris grabbed a napkin and wiped the damp table in front of him. Damn tables were always wet whenever they arrived.

  “Mikhail must have picked up Dmitry and that woman someplace when they left the bar last night. All three of them returned to the apartment early this morning. I watched the place for hours.”

  “Makes sense. What’s the emergency then?”

  Franco narrowed his gaze, exasperated. “The woman left again a few hours later. She was carrying several bags. I think she left for good.”

  “Great.” Erik lifted a hand to get the waitresses attention. “Who the fuck cares?”

  Franco leaned forward. “Listen, asshole. Don’t fuck with me this morning. I’m goddamn tired. I haven’t slept a single min
ute yet from running all over town chasing your targets. So, if you want to continue to employ me, stop acting like a douchebag and listen to me.”

  Boris set a hand on Erik’s arm to keep the man from jumping forward and taking Franco by the neck. They needed Franco. Even if he was a pain in the ass. He was the best at what he did. Follow people. “What else?”

  “Two hours later, Mikhail left the apartment hell-bent. I followed him. He went straight to the bus station.”

  “Interesting. Wonder why Dmitry would care about some piece of ass skipping town—enough to send Mikhail to hunt her down,” Boris said.

  Erik crossed his arms, but he sat back and no longer appeared to be willing to wring Franco’s neck. “She must be some fine piece of ass. Can’t think of any chick I would follow if she left me.” He chuckled. “At least somebody’s getting some. It sure ain’t me. Is she hot?”

  Boris twisted his neck to glare at Erik, not remotely interested in a description of whatever bitch Dmitry was banging when he wasn’t fighting. “Who the fuck cares?”

  Erik shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Franco growled. “I sure don’t give a shit. But I thought you might be interested in the pictures I took of the guys who jumped your man. Maybe they’re important.” Franco pulled a manila folder out of his bag and opened it on the table. He turned the stack of photos around and slid them toward Boris.

  Boris flipped through the first several, picking them up to get a closer look. “I don’t know who these guys are.” He flipped through several more, glancing at Erik. “You ever seen these men?”

  “Nope.” Erik grabbed the stack Boris was finished with and looked closer. “Probably just some assholes mugging Dmitry in the alley. Maybe they thought he would have tips on him or something.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Boris froze, his hands shaking as he stared at the next photo in the stack.

  Franco leaned forward. “Oh, yeah. I took a few of the woman also.” He glanced at Erik. “Now you can decide for yourself if she’s hot. Though these pics don’t do her justice. Trust me.”

  Boris held the photo out for Erik to see. “I’m pretty sure we know exactly what that bitch looks like.”