Russian Enforcers Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

by Nic Saint

  Seated on the bed, side by side, he felt he had failed Ariel. He should simply have never brought her to Moscow—should have found a way to spirit her away to safety when he had the chance.

  He knew this was merely idle thinking. If he hadn’t volunteered for the mission, Roman would have abducted her himself, and he wouldn’t have treated her with much kindness either.

  Only one man could help him now, he knew. It was a man he’d only heard whispers about from Roman. One of the few people who’d been able to escape the game. Vitaly Loganov, former lieutenant of Yury Abraskamov, a Gornakov associate, was now living a quiet life in a small town called Lincoln. How he had managed to settle down, no one knew, though it was rumored he’d befriended a Gornakov rival after his own boss had died under mysterious circumstances.

  He’d imprinted the man’s name on his mind and would go in search of him the moment they arrived in America. If he’d been able to escape the clutches of organized crime, perhaps he could help them do the same.

  He grasped Ariel’s fingers in his and gave them a tight squeeze. Her small hands were cold, and when he looked into her face, he found that the blush that had appeared there earlier had vanished and been replaced by an unhealthy pallor.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked quite inanely. Of course she was.

  She gave him a brave smile. “As long as I’m with you, I know everything will be fine.”

  He brought her fingers to his face and breathed on them. The room was cold, no heating having been provided. He laid her down gently and held her close, providing her with the body warmth she so desperately needed.

  “I love you,” he suddenly heard her murmur, followed by the even, deep breathing that told him she’d fallen asleep, the exhaustion of spending a day running about Moscow having wiped her out.

  He didn’t know whether she’d actually spoken those words in full awareness but he would take them and tuck them away in his heart.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered against her hair, and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

  Holding vigil, he stayed wide awake, listening for sounds of his friend arriving home. The moment all the arrangements were made, they would have to move fast, but then they’d be safe, their place on the ship guaranteed. No one would know who they were or be able to get to them once they were on board.

  First he would take them in his car to Lomonosov near Saint Petersburg, where they would board the Aida, the cargo boat his friend worked on. The trip would take them via the Gulf of Finland and the Baltic Sea to Denmark, then on to Scotland and across the Atlantic to New York.

  Twelve days on board a cargo ship with a small crew of experienced Russian sailors. Well, at least they would be safe.

  CHAPTER 19

  Dora Liverpool liked the theater. She liked being the center of attention. But this new husband of hers, she didn’t like one bit. Nor did she like the assignment he’d saddled her with.

  He was tall, dark, and an absolutely horrible man to be around. Above all, he didn’t appreciate the fine-tempered woman that she was, the sweetly nurtured soul that rested at the heart of her being.

  He was, in other words, just what she could have expected from a rotten manager like Nikosj Markasov.

  The man had arrived in the middle of the night, and it had taken her several minutes to gather her courage and see who was banging away on her door, raising cane and generally scaring her into a decline.

  When she detected the slim form of Nikosj through the peephole, she’d cursed the little rat.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than to harass people?” she’d yelled even before she slid back the bolt and allowed him entrance. Only then did she see Nikosj had come bearing gifts. Or rather, one gift in particular: some huge, hulking dangerous-looking male.

  Without a word of apology for interrupting her beauty sleep, the man had waltzed in and had immediately set about a survey of her small apartment. It wasn’t much, but the two room apartment in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood was home and had been since she first moved in three years ago.

  Nikosj had muttered some sort of apology, then introduced the man as Roman Loginovsky. Her eyes had widened into saucers. It’s one thing to work for the Russian mob, it’s quite another to get a visit from their main muscleman, a known badass and killer.

  She’d clutched a hand to her heart—and extensive bosom—and had given the man a more careful scrutiny.

  He stood hovering in front of her window, checking through the drapes, as if expecting company. His broad back was turned to her, and she thought she’d never seen a more impressive male specimen.

  His neck was one column of power, his shoulder-length jet-black hair tied into a ponytail, his beetling brow adorned with eyebrows that rose expressively when he scowled, like he was doing now, and his dark eyes seemingly made of the blackest coal. His lips were thin and hard, his nose crooked and hawklike.

  Dressed in black from head to toe, the man exuded raw power and dominance, and he both scared and exhilarated her to a degree. He gave her the impression of a panther sprung from the local zoo. No, not the zoo. This man had clearly grown up in the wild, and had never seen the inside of a cage.

  Next to him, Nikosj was positively mousy, just a tiny scared little man.

  She decided not to show fear, the best defense against hulks like this.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, tugging her nightgown closer around her body. “It’s the middle of the night. I need my beauty sleep.”

  The man merely gave her a cursory glance, then proceeded to stare out the window.

  “He’s proposing a deal,” whispered Nikosj , nervously licking his lips.

  She frowned. “What kind of deal?”

  “He wants you to be, ah, um…”

  “Spit it out, Nikosj.”

  She saw the manager’s Adam’s apple ride up his throat. “He wants you to be his bride.”

  Her eyes widened, her pretty mouth opening and closing several times before she managed to vociferate, “What!”

  “Yah,” nodded Nikosj. “You remember that couple we talked about? The American dame and the Russian oligarch?”

  “Sure. What about them?”

  “The thing fell through. Don’t ask me what happened, but now they want you to play the part of the American gal, and Roman over here will be your husband.” Nikosj directed a nervous stare at the man, as if afraid he might say something he shouldn’t. “Anyway, there you have it, babe.”

  She frowned, flicking her gaze at the monster hulking before her window. “You mean I need to pretend to be whatshername and Mister Moody over there will be the Russian billionaire?”

  “Sure. You’re the dame. He’s the oligarch. The thing is?” He gave her an apologetic stare. “He wants to do it for real, see? Make sure there’s no funny business? You know how the boys and girls of the press like to dig deep.” He shrugged.

  She frowned. “Speak English, Nikosj. You’re babbling.”

  Nikosj sighed. “He wants to marry you for real, so that there are no loopholes, see what I mean?”

  “‘What!” She was having none of it. “Are you nuts? I’m not getting married to this…”

  She caught Nikosj’s eye. It said, ‘Be careful, honey. Be very, very careful.’

  She raised her chin mutinously. “I’m not getting married. Period. I’m too young to marry! Besides, I always swore I’d only get married when I found my prince charming.” She jerked her thumb at the man’s back, and whispered, “And he ain’t no prince charming, Nikosj!”

  “I may not be prince charming, Miss Liverpool, but I’m your husband from now on.” Without turning, the mountain had spoken in a rumbling undertone, and his words left no room for misinterpretation.

  “Look, mister,” she began, but then he abruptly turned, and fixed her with a fiery gaze that pretty much knocked her sideways.

  “You’re my wife. I’m your husband. That is how it shall be.”

  She opened h
er mouth to speak, but then thought better of it when she caught his death ray stare amidships and almost toppled over.

  “Sure, sure,” interjected Nikosj pacifically. “Look, we’re all on the same page here, right? Right?” He’d directed a pleading look at Dora, and she relented. She knew what it meant to sleep with the mob. Sometimes you just had to lump it or sleep with the fishes instead.

  “Sure,” she muttered, not liking this deal one bit but seeing no way out of it. “What’s in it for me?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  Roman gave her a cold, hard stare. “Money. All you Americans want is money.”

  “Try to live without it, mister,” she countered. “You’ll see how hard it is.”

  He gave her apartment a pointed look. “You’re not doing too bad.”

  She planted her fist on her hip. “Well, I had to work damn hard to get it, buddy. Now how about you tell me what my cut is. Or the deal is off.”

  He gave her the dirtiest look she’d ever received, and she’d been on the receiving end of a lot of dirty looks, especially from the front row seats, reserved for the critics. “You will be paid one hundred thousand dollars now, one hundred thousand when the marriage is annulled.”

  “Oh, so there will be no happy end? No happily ever after?”

  “This is a business deal,” he pointed out with a scowl. “Two hundred thousand of your American dollars. Now come.”

  He took her by the arm and started yanking her along. She jerked herself free. “Hey! What’s all this?”

  “We take private jet to Vegas. We get married now.”

  She eyed the brute with an incandescent eye, then gestured at her nightdress. “In this? Are you nuts? I’m not getting married in my pajamas!”

  His eyes swept over her body, momentarily halting on her ample bosom that had come peeping out from between the folds of her nightgown. “You look fine,” he commented, then took a firm grip on her arm and steered her toward the door.

  Once again, she jerked herself free, and this time stormed off to her bedroom to get changed. “Tell Mr. Neanderthal I’ll be ready when I’m ready. If he wants an American wife, he’ll learn to have some fucking patience!”

  And with those words, she slammed the door to her bedroom shut.

  It was bad enough she had to get married to this—this caveman!—she wasn’t going to do it in her pajamas and bed hair.

  Shaking her head, she dropped the blue satin nightgown and stepped into the shower. She would make the brute wait. That would teach him to hustle her.

  Half an hour later, when she finally emerged from her boudoir, she found one extremely pissed off Roman Loginovsky and a very scared looking Nikosj. But when Roman saw the splendor of her dress, and the full regalia of her outfit, she noticed to her satisfaction that his eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly.

  For this special occasion, she’d opted for a full-length sienna dress with plunging neckline.

  Basking in his surprised gaze for a moment, she swept from the room, her head held high, and announced, “Let’s get married, Ivan.”

  “Roman,” he corrected tersely.

  She gave him a flick of her eyebrows and placed her small hand in his large mitt, allowing him to lead her out the door.

  “Whatever.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The journey was quite comfortable, Ariel had to admit. She’d been fearing the cargo ship, thinking they’d have to huddle in the belly of some metal box for the duration of the trip. Instead, they’d been awarded a cabin, three square meals a day, and a huge container ship to roam about in. What was more, the sailors were extremely nice, though Dimi had advised her to keep to herself and not socialize too much. You never knew who you were dealing with.

  The ship was actually used to taking paying passengers along. Some people loved to travel by cargo boat. It was less expensive than a cruise ship, and a way to see the world through different eyes.

  The cabin itself was bare-bones and small, but it would do just fine. The walls had been painted a neutral beige, and the room held a bed at its center, a small table near the porthole, and even a television set bolted to the wall. Adjoined was a minuscule bathroom—just a washing basin, toilet, and shower.

  Her eye swiveled back to the bed. It was twin-sized but quite small, and she realized she and Dimitri would be a lot more intimate here than they’d been back at the Commodore Hotel in Moscow.

  When turning around to face her ‘husband’, she quickly stood on tippy-toes and pecked a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  He touched his cheek, looking confused. “What was that for?”

  She shrugged. “Just to say thank you to my savior.”

  He merely nodded curtly, his face carrying its customary look of blankness. She now knew that beneath that poker face there lurked a passionate heart, but lately she hadn’t been awarded more than a glimpse of it, Dimitri being quite an expert at keeping his emotions in check.

  She was grateful for his restraint. Now was not the time to get involved. They were being persecuted by the Russian mob, and their lives and the life of her father depended on their being vigilant at all times.

  She knew the fact that he was engaged in a death match with his own brother ate at Dimi, and she felt guilty for putting him in this position. Taking him by the hand, she sat down on the bed and patted the spot beside her. “Tell me, what’s going on? I can tell you’re brooding.”

  Reluctantly, he took a seat on the bed.

  Sharing his emotions was perhaps the hardest thing to ask from this man, but if they were going to live together for two weeks, and perhaps even longer once they were in the States, they needed to be on the same page, and keeping emotions bottled up was not the way to go about it.

  “Is it your brother?” she prompted. He merely stared before him with a blank expression on his handsome face, making no attempts to unburden his soul. “Do you blame me for coming between you two?”

  He slowly shook his head, then abruptly stood and walked to the door.

  “Dimi. Talk to me. Please,” she urged. “We’re in this together now. We’re a team, right?” She gave him a pleading look.

  He merely looked back, and she was struck by the pain in his eyes. Then he spoke. “I don’t blame you, Ariel. How can a bee blame the flower for existing? Or the grass the rain and the soil? I just wish…” He looked away at these words, unwilling or unable to finish the sentence. Then he was out the door, and she was left wondering what the hell he was talking about?

  As she curled up on the bed, she thought of her mother, and how terrified she must be. She wished there was a way to get in touch—to let her know she needn’t worry.

  Dimi had told her she shouldn’t try to contact anyone, lest she put them in mortal danger, but she wondered if there really was no way to get word across. Perhaps she needed to talk to this sailor friend of his. Maybe he could simply send her mother a message, telling her that her little girl was fine.

  Closing her eyes, she smiled as she made up her mind. It was imperative, both for her mother’s peace of mind and her own, that she send word. Then, exhausted from the tensions of the past few days, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When Dimi returned, she didn’t even hear him enter and crawl in bed next to her, placing his arm protectively around her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 21

  There’s something about the sea air that braces a person. Ariel hadn’t been on the ship two days before she started experiencing its effect. Standing at the railing looking out across the white-capped expanse of ocean, carefully bundled up against the cold, she breathed in the fresh air and felt refreshed by the new environment in which fate had placed her.

  Dimitri hadn’t left her side for a minute throughout the journey so far, and she only now understood the meaning of the word protector. He’d taken her on as his personal charge, and would see to it that nothing happened to her. She had to admit the feeling was quite exhilarating, especially since the initial attraction that had erupted back at the hotel had in
creased in the close proximity and the cramped space they now shared.

  Sleeping together that first night, she’d awoken feeling Dimitri’s hard body cupping hers, like a protective shell encasing her, and she’d reveled in his embrace.

  Not daring to move for fear of waking him up, she nestled closer against his chest and felt his hardness extending to other parts of his anatomy. It gave her a jolt of anticipation.

  The man was hard all over. Wiggling her butt against the saddle of his loins, she felt the instant twinge of response, and felt the heat extend within her belly at the promise of his morning erection poking her buttocks.

  She still hadn’t told him that she was actually a virgin, not wanting him to see her differently. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, with so much tenderness in his eyes, actually aroused her a great deal more than the physical proof of his excitement.

  Finally, unable to restrain herself, she turned around in his arms and placed a gentle hand on his stubbled cheek, his eyes slowly drifting open, the dark hazel focusing on her own cornflower blues.

  “Hey there,” she whispered, and the slow smile that spread across his youthful features was proof of their intimacy and attraction.

  For a moment, she was unsure how to proceed. Then she noticed the hardening of his eyes, the heat rising as he became aware of the warm softness of her body so close to him. The effect was exhilarating.

  But then he grumbled, “We better get up,” and abruptly rolled over and rose from the bed, leaving her confused and wondering what she’d done wrong.

  She watched as he strode to the bathroom, his broad back adorned with the tattoos of his trade, his bare buttocks flexing as he moved, strong and graceful like some animal of the wild.

  He slammed the door shut behind him and turned on the shower, and she rolled onto her back, wondering how he really felt about her.

  Did he care for her? Beyond this sacred oath he’d sworn to protect her and keep her safe from harm? What did he really think about her? That she was a nuisance, perhaps? Something to disturb his hitherto perfectly organized life?