Owned by the Mob Boss

by Ashley Hall

  Yeah, that was definitely too much of a fairy tale ending. Wasn’t going to happen. I was all alone with three very big, very bad guys.

  We bypassed shops and restaurants and houses until we reached the outskirts of town. No other cars were around, and the houses looked poor and rundown, abandoned even.

  The driver turned toward one house set apart from the others and we drove around the back of it. Handsy pulled me toward him and out of the car a little too swiftly, and I stumbled. He prevented me from falling by tugging me close to him. “Better stick close to me,” he whispered in my ear, grinding his pelvis against me. “The others aren’t as nice as I am.”

  I jerked back as far as his hand on my waist would allow. “I don’t need nice,” I hissed.

  He laughed. “You’ll wish for it soon enough.”

  My stomach twisted at that thought, and I was afraid I’d get sick right then and there, but Handsy on one side and Brute on the other led me to the back door. The driver unlocked it, and we filed in.

  The house was dark, no lights on. Even though it wasn’t dark outside, the black curtains prevented any light form filtering inside, so I stumbled along between the guys. They led me to a staircase, and we entered the basement. The walls were concrete, the floor too. It was unfinished, cool and damp, without any furniture or rugs.

  No, wait. After we rounded a corner, I spied a chair, and they promptly sat me in it. In the corner, I noticed a coil of rope. Thankfully, none of the three guys walked over to collect it, but Brute made a point of looking at it before giving me a shrewd smile.

  “This can be easy,” Handsy said.

  “Or this can be hard.” Brute shrugged as if the matter was out of his hands.

  “Your choice,” the driver said.

  I stared at them each in turn. All of them were fairly tall and muscular. None of them were the one who had approached me at the hospital. Brute had a small scar beneath his left eye. Handsy was the only one with gel in his hair. The driver wore black gloves. He toyed with them as he approached that back corner with the rope, but he just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze on me.

  “What…what do you want from me?” I demanded. Yes, I was scared, frightened beyond belief actually, but I was also angry that I was in this situation, furious that Ivan had gotten me into this mess without being upfront with me about the danger I could be in, livid that people would go to such lengths because of money or whatever it was that was motivating them. Power? Revenge? Who knew what went on with mobs behind the scenes. I didn’t want to find out. I just wanted to be free.

  “Just for you to answer a few questions,” Handsy said, kneeling in front of me, his hands on my knees.

  “Without lying,” Brute added.

  “I don’t know anything,” I said calmly. “I don’t even know why you took me.”

  Handsy squeezed my right knee painfully. “You know why we took you,” he said, shaking his head.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Make a guess,” Brute snapped.

  I had a guess all right, but I didn’t want to say. I didn’t want to be right. Because if I was right, that meant I was in the hands of very dangerous men. Men who might hurt me. Men who might hurt the baby. Men who might kill me.

  But my fear morphed into anger and even hatred. How dare they take me! As much as I had started to feel like I wasn’t trapped in Ivan’s house after I talked to him and told him I would go and still visit my mom even after that guy accosted me, I had hated having to go everywhere with bodyguards. I hated the need for them, and I kind of was growing to resent Ivan for my needing them.

  But Ivan had the right of it. I had needed the bodyguards. I had been foolish to leave him, to leave his house, to go anywhere without them.

  I had been even more foolish to fall for him, for Ivan, for a mob boss.

  Because of his job, because of my stupidity, I was here, trapped. Ivan might not even know yet that I had left him, let alone that I had been taken. I eyed the men each in turn. They didn’t strike me as the kind to hold back. Handsy might rape me, and Brute wouldn’t have a problem torturing a woman. The driver…I didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. Something told me he might be the worst one of the trio.

  “I asked you to make a guess.” Brute brought up his hand, preparing to slap me.

  I didn’t flinch, and I stared him down as best as I could with me sitting and him towering over me. “Ivan Kovalsky,” I said, proud my voice didn’t shake.

  Brute kept his hand raised. I was starting to think his scowl was permanent.

  “What do you know about him?” Handsy asked, crouching beside me. He brushed my hair back from my neck and started to massage my shoulder.

  I jerked away from him and winced inwardly. I didn’t want to show that they were getting to me. I didn’t want to react to their touch, their threats. Just answer their questions because otherwise they would hurt me, but maybe if I cooperated…yeah, right. They were gonna hurt me regardless.

  “What do I know about Ivan Kovalsky?” I shifted my gaze from Brute to Handsy. “I know that he’s fantastic in bed.”

  The slap was harsh, and it surprised me that the slapper was Handsy and not Brute.

  Tears prickled my eyes, but I didn’t cry, and I didn’t rub my cheek either. Instead I stared Handsy down. “He is. One time he—”

  This time, Brute went to slap me, but I turned my head to the side, and he just clipped my ear.

  “You think you’re so funny, huh?” Brute shouted, his face inches from mine. His spit sprayed on my face, and his breath told me he had onions on a sandwich for lunch.

  “I think I’m telling the truth,” I said without blinking. “His cock is a good eight inches and…oh. You guys don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff, huh.”

  “No,” the driver said from across the room. “We want to know what you know about Kovalsky and his mob.”

  “Oh.” I tilted my head to the side. My ear ached, and my head was starting to hurt, and my cheek still smarted too.

  This was an interrogation. By Ivan’s enemies. This so wasn’t going to end well for me.

  I shrugged, trying not to show any sign of fear or worry. “Honestly, there’s nothing to tell you.”

  The driver walked away, out of view, around the corner of the basement. I could hear rummaging around, and my fear level spiked.

  “Honestly,” I said, my voice almost squeaking. “He doesn’t talk to me about the mob. Not at all. We just…we don’t talk about that. Just positions and what’s for dinner and stuff like that.”

  Damn. Damn it. I was telling the truth! But it wasn’t what they wanted to hear. I didn’t even know enough to be able to realistically lie.

  The driver came back into view, his hands behind his back. My heart sank.

  “I…I swear. I don’t know anything. I know nothing. I swear.”

  Handsy and Brute exchanged a glance.

  Handsy stood and touched my cheek, the one he had hit, and slid his hand down my chest, palming my breast through my shirt. “Maybe you need to be introduced to my cock and feel that to remember.”

  I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of my chair so that I didn’t stand and try to run away. If I did that, I was basically begging them to attack me.

  They always said the truth would set you free. Not in this instance. They weren’t going to believe that I knew nothing.

  “Out of the way,” Driver snapped.

  Immediately, Brute and Handsy stepped back.

  Driver approached me, a strange nasty-looking metal object in one hand, a knife in the other. He trailed the blade of against my jawline. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What do you know about Kovalsky and his mob?”

  I couldn’t handle this. I can’t keep quiet.

  “I know I’m pregnant with Kovalsky’s baby!” I blurted out.

  All three men took a step back, glancing at each other and then back at me.

  Oh God, did I just make things worse? I wished I h
ad kept my fat mouth shut. These guys weren’t going to turn over a new leaf just because I hadn’t kept my legs close. If anything, I just insured that I was going to be free anytime soon.

  Ivan…I never should’ve left you.

  But was it fair to think that? I had left him because I wanted to try to prevent something like this. Ivan had killed a man, maybe a friend of one of these guys. I had wanted to keep the baby away from Ivan and his lifestyle because I was afraid that it would end up just like this.

  What was I going to do? Would I get out of this alive? What about the baby?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ivan

  It had been a whirlwind of a few hours. I tried to drive north, but I couldn’t find them, so I gathered all of my men together and then sent most out to scavenge the city. I wanted Rachel found, and I wanted her found yesterday.

  Then I called Alec. He didn’t answer—which wasn’t a surprise. He normally didn’t, not when he was undercover like he was now, seducing Golovkin’s daughter. But I called him back again and again until he finally did answer.

  “What’s up?” he asked in that slow, lazy way of his that told me he had just finished seducing the daughter yet again.

  “I need you,” I snapped.

  “At the house?”

  “No. Our normal meet up.” I hung up. I couldn’t stand to be behind these walls another second. I left my servants and Leo strict orders to call me if Rachel returned and to not leave the premises. Then I called up another one of my men and sent him to join Rachel’s mother. I felt better if she had another bodyguard on hard, just in case.

  This is all on me. All of me. I never should have told her about killing that guy. Not unless I wanted to tell her everything.

  It didn’t take a genius to realize that she had wanted to leave me, and I couldn’t blame her. A few times, I had considered telling her everything, all about my past, all about my present, all about my desire for revenge, but I hadn’t wanted to be that open.

  Why?

  Because of fear. I didn’t think there was any way that she would want to stay with me if she knew the truth. I was a mob boss, heavily involved with fights and gambling. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was my life.

  It was also a dangerous life. I wanted to keep her separate, to keep her safe.

  But mostly, I just wanted to keep her. I wanted her.

  This was new—this feeling of wanting and needing another person. After losing my parents, my family, I had closed myself off to people. Other than Nicolai and Alec, I didn’t let people in. Not even them, not fully, and not the rest of my men either. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to feel helpless. I didn’t want to accept that I needed others.

  But I did. I needed my men to help me find the one I needed most of all—Rachel.

  What was it about her that made me need her so much? When she first walked up to me, I had been intrigued, curious. When she said she wanted to be the mother of my child, I admired her gumption. When I learned that she didn’t want the money for herself but for her sick mother, I knew she was the kind of woman that could spell trouble—that my walls might be in jeopardy—but I couldn’t turn her away. It would have been wrong to. It would have meant her mother’s death. And I had wanted her, to sleep with her.

  Once I got my first taste of her, I enjoyed myself far too much. And slowly, those walls came crumbling down. She offered to pay for food! No other woman I had been with had been so compassionate or giving. And she gave all right. With her body, her kisses, her caresses.

  She understood loss too. Her father had died, and it didn’t matter that his has been from natural causes and my parents had been murdered. We connected through loss and pain, and I didn’t want her to have to go through that with her mother. I had been in contact with specialists and those investigating new treatments to see what other options her mother might have, but I hadn’t made headway yet.

  Would I be able to save them both—Rachel and her mom? And the baby Rachel was carrying too?

  Life used to be so uncomplicated, back before Golovkin resurfaced, when I had no cares, no worries, and access to any woman I wanted.

  Did I want to go back to those carefree days?

  No.

  I rushed to my car and drove to our meet-up spot. Every month, I changed it to a new one. Couldn’t be too careful in this business, although my not being careful with my mouth was what got us into this mess in the first place.

  When I freed Rachel, I’d kill every last one of Golovkin’s men and then him too and be done with the lot of them. Then I’d sit Rachel down and…what? Tell her everything? I wouldn’t even blame her if she wanted nothing to do with me, and if that was the case…I’d let her go. With my child. I’d provide for them both, without a doubt, and it would kill me to do it, but I would step aside. I would never force Rachel to stick by my side. Next chance I got—once she was safe of course—I’d rip up the contract.

  It took me much longer to reach the meet up point than I would’ve liked. Traffic conspired against me. Fuck, it felt like the entire world was conspiring against me.

  As soon as I pulled into the vacant lot at the back of a bunch of foreclosures on the south side of the city, I knew something was up. I had a small scar near my ear from a knife fight when I was sixteen and had been too big for my britches. An older guy held me down and cut me with his pocketknife. In the end, I managed to knock the knife away and pin him in a wrestling move. Didn’t threaten him at all, just claimed his knife as my own. The scar he left behind often itched when danger was afoot, and it had happened too many times with eerie accuracy, enough to make it a legit warning system for me.

  The scar was itching now, almost burning in intensity.

  The feeling and my apprehension grew as I climbed out of my car. Alec’s car was parked a little farther back, and I rushed over. Why wasn’t he getting out of his car?

  I rounded the car to his side, and that’s when I discovered why.

  Alec was dead. A gory, bloody death. Around his neck was a rope and tied to it was a note.

  Another body will be delivered if you don’t give up the search.

  The search for Rachel? Or the search to discover the real motive for Golovkin’s return to my town?

  My cell rang. No number popped up. Blocked call.

  With a grimace, I answered. “Yes?” I asked tersely.

  “I take it you got my message.”

  Vanya Golovkin. I might not have heard his voice in years, but it was instantly recognizable—guttural, low, insanely deep.

  “What the fuck—”

  “Listen to me,” he barked. “We have your girlfriend. Your pregnant girlfriend. I know you will do anything to have your precious heir. Heard about your little offer about finding a woman to bang until you knocked her up. Your desperation reeks, little Kovalsky. I can smell it from here. How badly do you want your whore and your heir?”

  I was seething mad, practically foaming at the mouth. Before I could lay into him with a long and bitter foul-mouthed tirade, he started to laugh, the sound grating and irritating me to no end.

  “Either you get me ten million,” Golovkin added, “or your whore and your baby will die.”

  And he hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rachel

  Some time had passed. Those three guys hadn’t done anything else to me, hadn’t asked any more questions, hadn’t hurt me either, just huddled up and talked among themselves. The driver got a phone call and stepped out. Then he returned and ordered the other two to leave. He stayed with me, leaning against the back wall again, eyeing me.

  By this point, I was getting hungry. And lightheaded. And thirsty. But I didn’t dare ask for anything. I didn’t want their food. I didn’t want anything from them. I wanted to be home again.

  Strange. When I thought of home, the image that popped into mind wasn’t the house where Mom was living. No, I immediately thought of Ivan’s house. Strange. St
upid. I was so stupid.

  Ivan… Did he know I had left? Did he understand why I had? Did he think I just wanted to visit with my mom? Was my mom safe? Had she seen me be taken? Did the police know? Did anyone?

  There was no way for me to get out of here. I took a single self-defense class years ago. A lot of good that would do me. I wasn’t strong enough to handle any one of those guys, and I might not see any weapons on them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t carrying concealed weapons. The thought of one of them pointing a gun at me or touching a blade to my skin had my stomach cramping up.