Thrust

by Becca Jameson

  “Abram’s going to be pissed.” She cringed, worrying about what his manager must think of this prolonged absence.

  Ivan chuckled. “Abram isn’t pissed. He’s fine. Spoke to him before we left the hospital. He was worried about you. Sent his love, by the way. He understands what we’re up against. He’s supportive. Just wants us to stay alive. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  She let everything he said sink in for a few minutes before speaking again. “Ivan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Alena. Now sleep. Because I want you well rested for what I have in mind for tomorrow.”

  “A hike in the woods? Trip to the shooting range? Roof repair?”

  He chuckled harder, his chest shaking beneath her. “Hardly. We won’t be leaving this house.”

  “Then whatever would we do?” she asked in a silly teasing voice.

  “I have a few ideas.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” With that, she closed her eyes and thought of all the ideas he might have. Her body softened with each passing moment. Plus there was Taylor and Sergei’s possible relationship to ponder.

  Ivan was a genius. No way in hell was Alena going to have any bad dreams that night.

  About the Author

  Becca Jameson lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two kids. After years of editing, she is now a full-time author. With over 40 best-selling books written, she has dabbled in a variety of genres, ranging from paranormal to contemporary to BDSM. The voices in her head are clamoring to get out faster than she can get them onto “paper”! She loves chatting with fans, so feel free to contact her through email, Facebook, or her website.

  If you enjoyed this book, this author has other works available here:

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  Hartwood Publishing delights in introducing authors and stories that open eyes, encourage thought, and resonate in the hearts of our readers.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Torque, book 6 of this series releasing September 2016.

  Chapter One

  Sergei Zholdin lifted his gaze instinctively, grabbing the sides of the punching ball he’d been intent on battering to death to steady its movement. The gym was busy for a Thursday. But that didn’t keep him from sensing that someone had stepped into the sweaty, testosterone-filled room who didn’t belong.

  And he was right.

  Agent Taylor Brown.

  He stared at her, unable to take his gaze off her.

  She looked a little lost, as she should. This wasn’t her territory. As far as he knew, she’d never come to the gym before.

  She was certainly dressed to work out. But this wasn’t her kind of gym.

  He grinned. Taylor’s choice in clothing always made him smile. She was never dressed as an agent. Every time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing something that in no way fit her title. The idea that FBI agents owned nothing but black pantsuits and white blouses had been shattered the first time he met her.

  Taylor Brown didn’t keep her makeup subtle or her hair in a tight bun. She didn’t wear two-inch black pumps. She didn’t seem to own a gold watch. And he’d never specifically noticed a gun on her, though he suspected she was always packing somewhere on her body.

  As she glanced around the room, apparently looking for someone, he noticed something else about Agent Taylor Brown. She was nervous. No one else probably detected it, but the strong, firm, no-nonsense woman he knew to be investigating the Russian Mafia was a little out of sorts in this arena—a gym filled with mixed martial arts fighters, most of whom fought the underground circuits, not quite above the law.

  Sergei took a split second to glance around himself. He was the only one of the five close friends in his pack currently at the gym. The others had already gotten their workouts in throughout the day. Sergei had drawn the short straw that day and taken the evening shift.

  Every day was a juggle in his world. The goal—to catch his old manager from Vegas and Russian Mafia leader, Anton Yenin, red-handed engaging in whatever nefarious drug dealing he was involved in.

  All four of his local friends now had women, and that complicated things tremendously. That meant instead of just the five guys needed to watch over their shoulders, four women now needed attentive guarding also. And they all chipped in to cover the women every day, shuffling their schedules around to ensure no one was ever unattended.

  Not that each of his friends hadn’t started relationships with strong, self-sufficient women. Sergei knew that wasn’t the case. But he also knew that, like him, each of his friends was dominant to the point of overbearing when it came to keeping their woman safe.

  Since Sergei had spent the morning with Mikhail’s sister, Alena, he hadn’t been able to get his workout in.

  Alena wasn’t technically the girlfriend of any of the guys. Just as Ivan wasn’t technically attached to a woman either. But Sergei wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the way the two of them looked at each other. He figured Ivan was either biding his time until the storm passed, afraid to face Mikhail’s wrath for honing in on the man’s sister, or simply enjoying the thrill of the chase—because there was no doubt Alena was chasing that man down hard.

  Either way, whether Ivan was ready to accept it as gold yet or not, Alena belonged to him.

  So, what was Taylor doing at the gym?

  Her gaze continued to roam until it landed on him. She hesitated a moment, perhaps shocked to find him staring back at her. And then she gave a small smile and a quick wave.

  Was she there to see him?

  Interesting.

  The man who stepped up to her side and gently set a hand on her arm was Sergei’s current manager, Abram Gromov. The middle-aged, balding Russian was in excellent physical shape still, and he was always a sucker for a gorgeous woman.

  There was no other way to describe Taylor Brown. She may have shattered every image Sergei had of an FBI agent, but she was also sexy as hell and temptation on a stick. Thick dark brown hair normally hung in waves down her back. Her deep chocolate eyes bore into him every time he was near her. Her skin was always perfectly tan too. Was it her natural color? Or did she go to a tanning bed? Sergei would love to unveil her entire body and find that out for himself.

  As he watched, Abram obviously worked his moves on the woman, charming her.

  Taylor smiled and spoke to Abram, glancing again at Sergei.

  When Abram turned to look at his fighter himself, Sergei knew the lady was there to see him. And this was further confirmed when Abram held up a finger to Taylor and then made his way across the floor toward Sergei.

  He let out a low whistle when he got close enough that no one else would notice. “Man, that woman’s on fire.”

  Sergei chuckled, though part of him felt a twinge of aggravation toward Abram for displaying such obvious interest in the brunette. He reined the reaction in, along with the stiffening cock he sported. “What’s she doing here?”

  Abram shrugged. “Didn’t say, but she’s here to see you.” He winked, his face splitting into a grin.

  Sergei sobered, narrowing his gaze at Abram to nip this in the bud. “You do realize we’re in the middle of an investigation right? I don’t think this is a social call.”

  Abram shrugged again. “Who the hell cares? Social or otherwise, if I were thirty years old and that woman came to see me for any reason, I wouldn’t be standing where you are still holding on to a punching ball as if it were anchoring me to the earth.”

  Sergei flinched, releasing the ball and wiping his hands on his shorts. He was a mess. He’d been at the gym for three hours. Sweat poured off his face and ran down his chest.

  “How about I settle her in a chair with cup of coffee and you go take a shower? If there’s even the slightest possibility she finds your sorr
y ass attractive, it will vaporize in an instant if you approach her smelling like you do.” He tipped his head back and chuckled louder as he walked away, not waiting for a response.

  Sergei realized he hadn’t stopped staring at Taylor for more than a few seconds at a time, and he jerked his gaze away from hers to gather his belongings, stuff them in his gym bag, and flee the room for the showers in the far corner.

  Was there a chemistry with the sexy FBI agent? Hell yes. It had been there from the moment he first met her. He’d only been in town a little over two weeks, having left Anton Yenin’s compound in Vegas to move to Chicago and join his friends. He and Nikolav had been the last of them to transfer their alliances to Abram.

  It was also well-known that Yenin had moved part of his business from his drug lab in Vegas to his lab in Chicago. Why was still a mystery. The Russian drug lord had created some sort of super-human serum that would boost people’s immune systems and help them heal faster.

  Sergei was no foreigner to the concept. Since coming to Chicago he’d been brought up to speed on everything, especially with regard to his own blood work. It would seem he and his friends had all received a similar injection almost thirty years ago in six different orphanages in Russia.

  It unnerved him to think he had abilities that went beyond the norm. But worse was the constant fear that whatever he had running in his blood could possibly go south and take him down.

  Taylor Brown was assigned the job of solving this mystery and nailing Anton Yenin to the wall. Hopefully she would accomplish those two tasks before any of them were actually killed by the Russian Mafia in an effort to conduct further testing or silence them.

  Sergei showered quickly and put on street clothes. His usual. Faded worn jeans. Boots. A black T-shirt. Nothing fancy. Hell, he didn’t own anything fancy.

  He wasn’t a vain man and rarely took the time to look in the mirror, but for once he lifted his gaze to run his fingers through his damp hair and check out his general appearance. The strawberry blond waves lay in their usual disarray, and he didn’t bother with them. Women apparently loved his hair, especially since he’d been graced with darker skin than most redheads.

  And more than once a day someone commented on the clear blue of his eyes. He used that to his advantage every chance he got. And he’d never lacked for women or dates since he’d reached puberty.

  In fact, the last two weeks since coming to Chicago marked the first time he’d gone that long without a date. He told himself it was because he’d been too busy working out, finding construction work, and guarding women who weren’t his.

  The truth was a little bit less glamorous. Ever since he’d first set eyes on Taylor, he’d been a mess. And it was unnerving on many levels.

  First of all, the woman worked for the FBI. She had a high-power job that made her a force to be reckoned with almost twenty-four-seven.

  Sergei had no idea what her private life looked like. She could have a husband and ten kids for all he knew—though he seriously doubted both. She undoubtedly lived a nice lifestyle in a fancier house with fancier belongings than Sergei would ever own or even care to own.

  She was way the hell out of his league. He had what passed for a high school education, training in construction—thanks to Anton Yenin, and a powerhouse of a body that could take down most men in the cage.

  Women found him attractive. He knew that. He used it to his advantage.

  Hell, he even figured Taylor found him attractive.

  But that was where their relationship ended.

  And Sergei needed to ensure it stayed that way. Even though Taylor was a temptation that made his fingers itch to strip her random, incongruent assortment of clothes off so he could fuck her senseless, she had no idea what sort of man he was behind closed doors.

  He chuckled, still eyeing himself in the mirror. Though nothing was funny.

  There was every chance in the world that given the opportunity and the right guidance, Taylor could discover a submissive side buried under her need to control the world. It wasn’t farfetched. Many people who spent their days in high-powered positions liked to unwind at night by tossing that control out the window and turning themselves over to a dominant partner.

  It made Sergei’s cock hard thinking about Taylor stripped before him, her head bowed, her hands behind her back, her nipples puckered with desire, her pussy dripping with the need to be touched. On his terms.

  He had to adjust himself as he tried to shake the image from his mind for the thousandth time. She didn’t know he was a Dom. And he needed to keep it that way.

  Their relationship was strictly professional. Her job was to solve a crime. His job was to keep himself and his friends safe. Mixing pleasure into the scenario was a very bad idea.

  But more importantly, no matter how likely it was that Taylor could be submissive under the firm guidance of a willing master, Sergei would wager his entire winnings from next week’s fight that she didn’t know that about herself.

  And neither of them was in a position to test the theory while surrounded by bad guys, drugs, bullets, and kidnappings.

  Taking a deep breath, Sergei turned and left the locker room.

  After all, the woman who occupied his thoughts was waiting for him by the gym exit. Though Lord only knew why.