Better him under scrutiny than me.
Leonid glances my way. “I told you. I’ll break her stubbornness. You’re too soft.”
I snort through my nose, causing them both to stop and glare at me.
. “You have something to add, Sonia?” My father’s eyebrows are raised, fingers tight around the glass tumbler.
I shake my head, no.
“You see what I mean, Sergey? She needs to learn obedience. When that happens, she’ll win the top prize, not until.”
Trembling, I look away and out the window, thinking of the drive sewn into my dress. Surely the FBI will send someone more competent tonight.
The limo pulls to the curb in Times Square, the driver pulls out an umbrella and I’m ushered under the marquee of ‘The Russian Samovar’. Inside, we walk through a gilded lobby, up steep stairs, and into a huge dining room. There, an exquisite ice sculpture of a skater begins to melt over a half-empty bar of caviar and crackers. The music is loud, the crowd noisy, and the drinks flow freely.
Leonid hands me off to one of his goons. “See that she stays out of trouble.”
“Wait. Please, can I have one glass of wine?” I do my best to look subservient, and not ready to kill him.
“Fine. However, if tomorrow’s practice is lacking, it will be your last. Do you understand?” He turns to the big bodyguard, Bluto. “Get her a glass of Chard.”
I say loud enough for many people to hear, “For goodness sakes, Leonid. I can surely walk over to the bar by myself and get a drink. I’m not your prisoner, dearest. Am I?”
His eyes narrow and he nods in a way that I’ll know there’s punishment in my near future.
Out of Leonid’s control, I glide over to the smiling bartender.
“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have a Long Island Iced Tea.” For a moment, I let myself pretend I’m any young woman in New York.
His brows crease and I fear he’ll not make it for me but then he grins and mixes a concoction I’ve only read about. “Slowly? Okay?”
Nodding, I smile. I need this fortification for what I’m about to do.
“Well, well, well. Hello, princess.” The familiar low voice sounds behind me and I groan. What the hell is he doing here? Surely the FBI would not again send this potato-head.
“Go away. Please.” I sit down on the bar stool, trying to look cool and collected. I will not let Kit Tufek ruin my only chance at freedom, at happiness.
The handsome God stands behind me, orders a beer and says, “You have something for me?”
This cannot be happening. Are all Canadians this stupid? I need a field agent, not a hockey player. Everyone at this party is a friend of my father. How the hell did he even get in?
Worst is, how my body responds to his nearness. Like this morning, I find myself wanting to touch his hand, his cheek, taste those plump lips. Kiss that smirk off his face.
I give him a honey-sweet smile and say loud enough for the approaching Bluto to hear, “Mr. Tufek. I had no idea you were invited.”
“Don’t you remember? He holds up an engraved card. You gave me one this morning. I wish I could have brought a companion but it was late notice. It was so kind of you to invite me. Would you make some introductions? My agent wants to make sure I have some good press.”
Bluto’s hand comes out of his jacket, where I’m sure there was a weapon. He gives a slight nod to Leonid, which means Mr. Olympic-Gold is not getting kicked out. So, this is the FBI’s idea of a good plan? Maybe I should have sent them instructions on how to stage a handoff. Certainly, I’ve witnessed my father do enough of them. In fact, I’ve done many for him in foreign countries. No one expects espionage from a small ice princess. This fiasco, on a scale of one to ten, registers nine point five.
“We have to ask Leonid, first.” My whole future lays in the hands of a sexy, self-centered, hockey player.
Kit gives me a look with a raised eyebrow. I know what he means, yet cannot give him an explanation.
Instead, I wave my hand at Bluto. “Shoo. Shoo. Go ask Leonid or my father if I’m allowed to introduce Mr. Tufek to some of the press.” I already know they will agree for it will add some credibility to this farce of an engagement party.
I sip on the strong drink, not liking it in the least but determined to drink it down. Who knows if I’ll ever order another, once I’ve moved in with Leonid.
“Do you have to ask permission for everything?” Apparently, Mr. Stud Muffin is more perceptive than I imagined.
I nod and whisper, “Not so loud, please, Mr. Tufek.”
“Kit. It’s just Kit.”
“Very well, Kit.” I point across the room to the exit doors covered in white crepe paper. “See there? Bluto has nodded at Popeye. That means I can escort you to several bloggers with cameras and pose with you. Be prepared. Things will move fast after that.”
He starts to open his mouth and I put my fingertip to his lips. That was a huge mistake because I begin to tremble when his eyes go dark. There’s no time for what my body craves from him.
I look away and hand him his beer. “Just follow my lead.”
When he takes my sore arm, I jump and he lets go.
Then he notices the four purple bruises from Leonid’s fingertips, and his face softens. This look is something so unfamiliar that it brings tears to my eyes. Dammit. This is no time for sentimentality. If I don’t hand over the data tonight, I may never get asylum and forever be Leonid’s prisoner. Already, there’s a joint bank account for any of my future earnings.
I always thought, when I hit twenty-one, I’d be free to leave my father’s wickedness but see where this is just the beginning. Once Leonid is at my side, I’ll be lucky to see anyone. I bet he’ll even insist on waiting outside the door whenever I need to pee.
Taking a deep breath, I take Kit’s arm and push over my drink, causing it to splash over my designer dress.
“Oh shit. Look what you did!” My eyes plead with him to follow along.
He steps back with excellent reflexes, grabs a napkin and begins to dap at the blue fabric. With that I tear at the hem, and press the disc into his palm.
Understanding pours into Kits face as my father, Popeye and Bluto run towards me, murder in their eyes.
Suddenly Kit stands in front of me and pushes me behind his huge body. I resist the need to cling onto his waist, wanting so much for him to take me out of my nightmare of a life.
His voice, thank God, for once is polite. “It’s my fault. I’ll of course, pay for her dry cleaning, or the dress.”
When my father tries to grab my arm, Kit dances as if on skates and I’m the puck pushed behind and under his control. “Let me buy her another drink. Please.”
“Obviously she’s had enough. Leonid, perhaps you should take her back to her room. She’s exhausted.”
“No. I’m staying.” Did that just come out of my mouth?
Kit winks my way, making me braver, and continues to stand like a human barrier between my father, Leonid, and me. Bluto and Popeye like well-trained Dobermans, stand close, waiting for someone to signal them to attack.
I clear my throat and climb onto a tabletop. When that doesn’t work, I clink a spoon on one of the crystal goblets “Excuse me? Attention.”
With all eyes on me, I deliver what may be my eulogy. “I have decided to call off the engagement to Leonid. I’m in love with this man, Kit Tufek.”
Chapter 7
Kit
What the fuck? She did it again. She set me up.
The ice princess jumps off the fancy tablecloth and into my arms. She wraps these long fingers into my hair, presses her body into mine, and kisses me like we’ve been doing it for years.
At first, it’s all a sham, until my cock decides it isn’t.
After, I’m not clear what happens, except I’m damn sure that I’m not letting her marry that asshole storming across the room with murder in his eyes.
With my hands on her tiny waist I push her gently o
ff my body and whisper, “This is your call. What’s next?”
Biting her lower lip and eyes wide, she slips behind me. “Actually? I’m not sure but please, don’t let him take me. Please.”
Incroyable.
Hopefully my new best friends, the fake Feds, have eyes on us. Who knows? If I was them, I’d let Dmitriyev’s goons kick my ass, just to teach me some respect.
Tucking a gun into the back of my waistband is a bad habit that I haven’t been able to break and tonight, for the first time in years, I’m glad for it. With my left arm I grab her by the shoulders and pull her close while feeling for my weapon’s handle with my right.
When I’m convinced I got this covered, I begin fast-talking to the gathering crowd. “I’m so sorry that my dear Sonia here has broken the news so publicly. She can be too rash.”
I give her asshat fiancé a sad look as I back me and her toward the closest exit. “I’m so sorry, dude. I had no idea, when she gave me an invite, that this was your engagement party.”
I pretend to look angry at Sonia. “You should’ve told me, cherie. We’ll talk punishment later.”
The way her eyes widen and pupils darken is a big surprise and I grin. I might just do that, in a way that will have her screaming my name in ecstasy as she comes.
Soon, we’re at the swinging double doors to the kitchen. “Give us a few minutes, eh? Be right back.”
And the academy award for complete bullshit goes to…
I’m giving me a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of this alive as two of the guys from this morning approach. The closest bodyguard is bald, tall and thin, with an anchor on his forearm. The other guy is built like a grizzly bear on steroids.
When the latter reaches for her, I say, “Step back, s’il vous plait, monsieur.”
Okay. I didn’t really do that.
What I actually did was punch him once in the gut and to the jaw to knock him out cold. When the other pulls a knife, I kick it out of his hand then slam a knee into his groin. On his knees, I easily send him to sweet dreams with a kick to the head.
“Let’s go.” I point to the red EXIT sign.
From there, I take her hand and run across the street to the parking garage. As we dash underground, I pull out my gun, while praying there’s an idling vehicle.
Mon Dieu. A bright yellow Porsche is ready to go, so I insist on the keys at gunpoint. The second after Sonia jumps in the passenger seat, I put my foot down, and manage not to run over the attendants.
I drive on the sidewalk, jump the next couple lights, and maneuver my way crosstown. Soon, we’re zooming up the West Side Highway with no signs of being followed in my rearview.
“You got your phone on you?”
She nods.
“Toss it out the window.”
Instead she looks at me like I’m a big moron and pulls out the battery. “It’s off. What now?”
“This is your shit-show, princess. I was supposed to pick up some intel, give it to some fake Feds, then split. Now, I drop you off at whatever hotel you say. After? You call the real Feds, your embassy, or the holy ghost for all I care. They can come save you, eh?”
“About that…” She bites her lower lip as she glances out the window. “I rather left in a hurry, as you may have noticed… ”
I nod my head in the direction of her designer purse, the kind with stupid horseshoes all over a brown background that cost a fortune. “Surely, you got some kind of credit card in there?”
“They’re all in my father’s name. By now, I’m sure they’re cancelled.”
“Merde.” It’s already hard to stay in my lane while weaving in and out of traffic.
With one hand, I reach for my wallet inside my tux and hand her my phone. “Find yourself a hotel and book a room. I’ll drop you off.”
She looks at me as if I told her to find a spaceship.
“For the love of Christ almighty. Don’t tell me. You’ve never done that, either.”
She shakes her head, no.
“How old are you?”
“Oh, shut up.” She’s switched to Russian, crosses her arms and glares.
Meanwhile I drive glancing in the rearview mirror. There’s one set of headlights that may be keeping pace. It could be the cops, I did steal a rather expensive car, or it could be her overly-controlling family.
“Hold on. I press down on the pedal, my days as a car thief coming back as easily as riding a bike.
The adrenaline kicks in and I smile as I figure out my destination. I’ve got a hotel near the Ranger’s rink where the staff has my back.
“Do you think we’re being followed?” She twists in her seat, staring out the back window, pale as a ghost.
Again, I wonder what the fuck happened to the FBI agents, Poppy and Tory. I got a sinking feeling that I should’ve called in their badge numbers to the New York office. Fuck everything. I’m as naive as the princess, here.
The car that’s been tailing us comes into view. I slow down, letting them come right behind me, then crank the wheel. The back of the car twists to follow the front as we race across three lanes of traffic. Barely avoiding the cement barrier, we exit the highway.
Behind us, tires screech and metallic bangs echo off the brick buildings. After a moment of silence, sirens, honking, and shouting indicate that we most likely lost our tail.
Next, I need to ditch this bright yellow ride. “What the fuck have you got me into?”
“If you recall, I tried to get rid of you.” She glares. “There was supposed to be an FBI agent, not you.”
“About that. Tell me. Did you use your cell phone to place the call?”
She nods. “What else would I use?”
“I suspect someone’s made a copy. I don’t think the guys that asked me to help you were real FBI.”
“Oh shit. They can do that?” She pales, eyes wide, making it hard to keep my eyes on the road.
“Don’t you watch TV? Movies?”
She curses in Russian. “I’m so screwed.”
“Why, what’s on that drive.”
“I shouldn’t tell you. It’ll put you in real danger.”
“Now? You’re worried?” Is she fucking serious?
I give her some credit for looking embarrassed. “Fine. It has some IP addresses, some passwords and a copy of an email. I guess maybe you’ve heard what business my father is in?”
I shake my head, no. “Just rumors.”
“You know the last big computer virus to hit the Ukraine?
I nod.
“That was him. Well, I should say, he brokered the deal. That’s what he does. Makes deals.”
About now, I’m wondering how long it would take to high tail it back to Canada. My life, recently worth millions, is probably worth shit, except to the hitman contracted to kill me.
When I’m certain we’re not being followed, I pull back onto 87, hopeful that the Porsche belongs to someone at the party, perhaps a friend of her father. They wouldn’t want GPS any more than I do right about now.
Staying within the speed limit, about an hour later, I pull into the hotel. Thankfully, the place has vacancies because a lot of people are down at the shore. When I approach the front desk, the lobby clock reads ten o’clock.
I show them my card, my VIP status pops up, and the young man at the desk smiles knowing how well I tip. “Very well Mr. and Mrs. Brown. You’re all set. Regular room?”
I nod and he hands us a set of cards.
Alone in the elevator, Sonia asks quietly. “So you’re pretty sure my father won’t be able to find us? Me?” Her eyes look to me as if maybe she no longer thinks I’m a worthless piece of shit.
I’m not sure I like how some protective instinct in my chest tightens as I step out of the elevator and swipe the key card. Inside, the room has a small kitchenette, couch, desk and king-sized bed. Just right for training and occasional fucking.
When I regard her wide-eyes, I wonder if she thinks I’d take her against her will and that pisses
me off. So, maybe I’m too gruff when I point. “The couch pulls out. You can sleep there. Use the bathroom but be quick about it.”
“I uh, have nothing to sleep in.” She shivers, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms.
“Well, princess, for the first time in your life, you may need to sleep in your underwear.”
She blushes from head to toe and yeah, I can be a bit dense. It takes me a few moments. That dress fits her like a glove. No doubt she’s wearing nothing underneath.
Oh shit. Blood rushes to my cock and my mouth goes dry as I stare. She’s so damn innocent and so damn beautiful. Way too good for the likes of someone like me.
I take off my tux coat, my dress shirt, and shrug out of my undershirt, not bothering to sniff. “Here. You can sleep in this.”
Eyes wide, she stares at my naked abs, and her pink tongue slips out to lick her lower lip. Like a deer in the nighttime frozen, she doesn’t move. Apparently now the foot is on the other shoe, eh?
I won’t fuck her, not after what she’s just gone through. However, there’s nothing wrong with a small taste. Walking into her personal space slowly, I fear she might spook but she stands firm, eyes all over me. Eager hands reach, small delicate fingers touch the pack of muscles on my chest, and circle over a few of the larger scars. I let her explore, holding back, because if I touch her, that dress is coming right off and onto the floor.
She lifts her lips, her eye lashes flutter, and she tastes so fucking good that I can’t help but want more. By the way she squirms against me, she wants it too. Her hands wrap around my neck, palms pressing in, long nails cutting into flesh, almost painful.
Osti.. Does she have any idea how rough I like it? Probably not. It’d no doubt scare her to death.
Mouth glued to hers, I rub my hands up and down her small curves. She’s tiny in comparison to the women I usually bed so I don’t get why I’m so strung out for want of her. As I thrust in my tongue, I lift the hem of her dress, almost undone by the feel of her naked ass.
Quickly, she wraps her legs around my waist, her slick core wetting my skin above my navel her lips still locked.
By all holy saints, I will have her.
For a split second, sanity hits, and I pull my mouth off from hers, panting. Never before have I lost control, forgot my surroundings, and allowed emotions to rule.
Kit: A Hockey Novella (Players Book 4) Page 3
