Bearing His Sins

by Eve Langlais

  “Of course not. My contact in Moscow does, though, and he sent me the car fob signal so I could borrow it.”

  “You can do that?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the things I can do. And most of them don’t involve handcuffs.” He winked at her before opening the door with a flourish.

  She sank into the car, another luxury one. As he slid into the driver’s seat, she couldn’t help but say, “You must have the devil’s own luck knowing a friend with this level of car instead of a piece of junk.”

  “Had I needed something a little more rusty, I had another friend I could call. But, when possible, I like to ride in style. Buckle up. Or don’t. But I am going on the record now as saying I doubt this will be a smooth ride.” He peeked in the rearview as he started the car, his phone sitting on the dash blinking red and exclaiming, “Start the engine!”

  He revved the motor before slamming into reverse. She might have wondered at his quick movement except she heard the pop then crack as something impacted the car.

  “What was that?”

  “Gunfire. We’re under attack.”

  “And they’re shooting bullets? What happened to trying to capture? That was all they ever attempted before.”

  Crack. The shattered back window showed that wasn’t the case anymore.

  “How nice of them to aerate the car.”

  “They’re trying to kill me.” She pointed out the obvious.

  “You? That seems pretty presumptuous. I am sitting right here, you know. For all you know, it’s me they’re after. I am wanted by several countries and a few mercenary groups.”

  The crackle and pop of gunfire made her yell, “Fine, they’re trying to kill us both.”

  “No, they are wasting ammunition.”

  Screech. He turned a corner, and for a moment, the shooting stopped until they approached the barrier leading from the garage to the city itself. Parked in front of it, a utility truck and, on either side, more gunmen.

  Screech. The car skidded in a sudden sharp turn again, whipping around corners until Cole aimed the car at a pair of yellow concrete posts and said, “This might leave a dent.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Might leave a dent,” she muttered in a low tone from the passenger seat of the truck they’d commandeered. “Your little stunt demolished the car, and I got punched in the face by the air bags.”

  “Don’t whine like a girl.”

  Whack. She punched him. Like a man.

  He grinned. “That is more like it.”

  “You are completely insane. We could have died.”

  “And yet we didn’t. On the contrary, we’re alive, and they’re not.”

  Because she and Cole had pretended to be dead. Those who’d come to take a closer look never expected they enjoyed the last moments of their life. Cole didn’t waste his movements, quickly disarming the first fellow and snaring his gun, then carefully meting out the bullets. Each one counted, and in short order, he and Anja had left the scene, just moments ahead of arriving sirens.

  He’d saved her. That meant she owed him. “I look forward to your thanks.”

  “Not so fast there, kill-happy boy. Since we don’t know who they were after, on account of someone killed them too quick”—the minx shot him a disgruntled look—“don’t expect me to pay for those kills.”

  “Someone has to pay. I don’t work for free.”

  “Then next time leave one of them alive.”

  “You’re being bossy again. I don’t suppose you can save a bit of that for later. I know a place that sells leather catsuits that would go perfect with that attitude.”

  Unlike some women who would slap him, she reached out and placed her hand on his thigh. “No freaky sex until I get my ring.”

  “Does a cock ring count? I can get one of those too.”

  The hand left his thigh.

  “Where are we going since our flight is canceled?” she asked, peeking out the window, not seeing much. The day was rainy, leaving the world washed in gray and dampness, the moisture beading on the windows and rolling in jagged rivers.

  “We are going to hole up at a place I know while I ferret out a few answers.”

  “Answers to what?” She traced absently on the window, the tip of her finger dragging slowly. It shouldn’t have been so distracting, and yet Cole couldn’t help but wonder, what if that finger dragged down his body instead?

  Focus. He needed to remain focused, given the fact that the attacks kept coming, even though no one knew their plans. Someone had come looking for them, and looking hard. Why?

  “You can’t tell me all this effort is because you’re a runaway bride.”

  “Is this your way of saying I’m not worth it?” She angled a look at him.

  “Angling for compliments? Put your lips down in my lap and you’ll see how much I like you.”

  “I’m saving it for the man who puts a ring on this finger.” She waggled her hand. “Which looks like it might be Sergei at this point.”

  Did she seriously think he’d let her go to another man? Over his dead bear body. “Why does he want to marry you?” Men went to desperate measures only for a few reasons—greed, power, and lust.

  “Can’t he want to marry me because I have perfect birthing hips?”

  Her mere existence was enough reason to marry her, but he might be a tad biased, seeing as how she was his mate. Why this Sergei’s interest? “Do you have money?”

  “Would I work so hard on a farm if I did?” she replied with a snort.

  “Your house was better protected than most military buildings I’ve infiltrated.”

  “Babushka and I are lonely women out in the country. We like to feel safe.”

  “You’re playing me.” Like a fine fiddle, and he couldn’t help but admit that he found her deception kind of sexy. What secrets did she hide? There was something she didn’t tell him.

  “If I were playing you, I’d be a lot more naughty.” She leaned over and put her hand back on his thigh. She slid it upward, stroking the linen, the tips of her fingers just brushing the inner seam.

  “It’s not attractive to tease.”

  “Who says I want to be attractive?”

  “Are you fishing for more compliments? Because if you’re feeling that unattended, we could stop on the side of the road. I got you a dress for a reason. Easy to slip it up and take you with your back pressed against the warm hood of the truck.”

  “Because fornicating in the street is supposed to tell me I’m hot?”

  “Depends on the guy you’re with. Trust me when I say any kind of outdoor humping is hot. As is indoor humping. Vehicle fucking is cool, but it can require some finesse with certain steering columns.”

  “Speaking of vehicles, did we have to take their truck? It reeks of salami.”

  “It reeks of more than that, and yes, we had to take it, or would you have preferred we remained there longer while I arranged for a new car? Perhaps giving the police a chance to appear and decide we’re all criminals?”

  “You might be afraid of the police. I, on the other hand, would claim you kidnapped me.”

  “You would have turned me in?”

  She shrugged. “I’m too pretty for prison.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, you are.” She was also too pretty to die, and way too pretty for him to share with the man who wanted to kidnap her.

  Was this Sergei now trying to kill her?

  Does this mean he got the memo I sent to every Russian newspaper stating, “She’s mine. Get over it”? Addressed to the Douche Nozzle in Russia who got dumped, signed by the man who is going to tap that ass.

  Childish? More like a taunt meant to draw out his enemy.

  It worked. Cole drew him out all right, with guns blazing and putting Anja at risk. For that, the man would die. He’d also die for a few other reasons, but that one was top of the list at the moment.

  Cole parked, and they spilled out of the borrowed truck, hiking over a few blo
cks until he could hail a taxi. He chatted with the driver as they went, inane stuff to keep him addled while giving him instructions to turn left here, no right there, oops, let’s do a U-turn. The fellow did it, and Cole watched for signs of pursuit.

  “Paranoid much?” she asked.

  “It’s what keeps me alive.” Said with a wink before he had their driver stop. A trek to a spot two blocks over and they hailed a second taxi, using this one to drop them three blocks from his destination, a condo. His condo, he might add. He actually owned or rented a place in most of the major epicenters of the world. They made good replenishing spots if needed on a job and good hideouts when he wanted to drop out of sight. They also provided a great means of laundering money and making him look like a legit landlord with the governments. Hiding his ill-gotten gains in plain sight. It was poetic.

  The condo he owned in Moscow was situated in a low-rise unit with the top level belonging entirely to him, along with the rooftop terrace.

  No one knew about it, except for Anja, and she perused it with a haughty air, windblown blond hair a wild nest around her face, her dress somewhat bedraggled and yet clinging to her curves in a way that made him jealous.

  I should be the only one allowed to hug that body.

  She sighed. “I suppose these accommodations will do.”

  “It could use a woman’s touch,” he noted with a smile.

  “Could it?” She dropped her hands as she sashayed her way to him. She peeked up at him through fine lashes as she cupped his hardness through his pants. “Is this your less-than-subtle way of saying you want me to touch you?”

  “I need you to touch me,” he growled. Needed her with a hunger that only grew. A hunger only she could sate.

  A hunger she seemed determined to deny. She walked away from him, choosing to go peer out the window. “No balcony,” she remarked.

  “Less access. Unless you can stick to walls and climb them like a certain superhero.”

  “A man concerned about safety and yet your door is wooden. Seems rather flimsy for a man whose foes play with guns.”

  “If they’ve made it to the door, then that means the systems I have in place failed.” He didn’t mention exactly how many systems. Automated and easily armed via his phone with the tap of a code, motion sensors went online. Body heat sensors watched who was in the area and if they carried guns. His protocols even monitored the dispatch channels of local authorities to see if any of them were too close to his hideout. All kinds of bells and whistles meant to give him a warning and head start. He’d need them because he planned to get very distracted.

  “It’s probably not a good idea I stay here. They’ll find us.”

  “I think you overestimate the enemy. I’m good. Very good.”

  “You’re also very cocky.” She returned to stand before him.

  “It’s confidence.”

  “It’s stupidity. My problems shouldn’t be yours. You can walk away. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want you.” Not I want to. He said “you” on purpose.

  Judging by the slight widening of her eyes, she noticed the slip. She leaned up so that her lips brushed his mouth with her next words. “Being with me is dangerous.”

  “Being with me is deadly.”

  “We are too different for this work,” she argued, each soft syllable a caress against his lips.

  “I want to lick those differences.” Lick and fuck and keep. Not kill. Not anymore.

  She’s mine.

  He understood that, but how to convince her she wanted him too?

  “I’m a farm girl, up at the crack of dawn feeding hateful chickens and milking a murderous-intentioned cow.”

  “I sometimes crawl in at dawn and would gladly murder the cow for steak so you could get some more sleep. With me. Naked. I like naked.”

  “If you want it, then you know what you have to do.”

  Of course I want it. And you don’t yet seem to realize. I licked you. You’re all mine.

  “Did you just say you licked me, I’m yours? Seriously?”

  Um, had he spoken that out loud? Given she’d pulled back and stared at him … “You didn’t have a problem the first time I said it to the guy.”

  “I thought you were trying to distract him, not save the last piece of cake.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. “You’re better than cake.”

  “I’m better than a lot of things.”

  Couldn’t argue with that so he shut her up the best way he knew how, with his lips.

  She didn’t protest unless the stab of her tongue in his mouth was meant to start a fight. Just in case, he sent his own tongue to duel, the wet slide and suck a frenzied descent into the arousal he couldn’t help when near her.

  All of him ached to have her. His balls hung tight, full and heavy. His cock strained behind the hated barrier of his clothing, ready to sink into her.

  She pushed away from him, and he might have protested until she gripped the fabric of her dress and pulled it upward. Up over her firm calves. Over her trim knees. Higher still, revealing those precious thighs.

  Then she dropped in a crouch. “Let’s see what we have,” she purred in the vicinity of his groin.

  His slick tongue had no reply as she made quick work of his clothing, soon having his erect shaft springing into the open. It didn’t bob for long. She quickly grasped it, stroking her strong hand up and down its length.

  “Don’t I owe you for that shower at the airport?”

  If he were a dog, he might have wagged his tail and lolled a tongue. He was a bear. They had more manners than that. He grunted.

  Her hand tugged at his shaft, back and forth, exploring the length of him. “My, what a big dick you have.”

  “Wrong fairy tale,” he managed to mutter, his eyes closed and head leaned back, as he allowed himself to enjoy it.

  “That’s right. You’re not a wolf but a bear. Which means, if I’m lucky, you’ll taste just right.” She leaned in and let her lips slide over the tip of him. It proved his undoing.

  Coherent thought fled, and he barely remained standing. He might have uttered a manly groan. He definitely enjoyed a very masculine shudder.

  Crouched before him, Anja paid homage to his member, taking it deep into her mouth on the downward stroke of her hand. Leaving it wet and bereft as she slid past the tip and let it pop free.

  Then back into that sweet mouth of hers again for a long suck and pull and more sucking and more … Fuck, it felt good.

  Sensations bombarded him at her sweet ministrations. His fingers threaded the blond silken strands of her hair, but he let her control the cadence, simply enjoying the oral pleasure. Enjoyed her obvious love of the act. He could smell it, her pheromone perfume surrounding him in a cloud.

  His balls tightened, and his cock readied itself. His hips arched and held. She sucked him hard and yes

  …

  He spewed his seed hotly into her mouth, marking her with his essence, and she took it. Every last drop.

  And then, for the first time during the glow of after-sex, a woman made him laugh as she said, “I licked it. I own it.”

  In that moment he realized what perfection truly was.

  They might have indulged in more coital fun if the grumbling of her hungry belly hadn’t taken them from the moment. “Is this a hint I should feed you?”

  She snickered. “I thought you just did.”

  “Apparently, that wasn’t enough, so I’d better get you something you can chew because we all know you have swallowing down pat.”

  “I can hold on awhile longer if you want to show me the ceiling in your bedroom.”

  The hint almost swayed him. After all, he had the coolest ceiling and the best mattress; however, once they got in there, they might not leave for hours. “If you faint during the marathon sex I have planned, I’m going to be emasculated. So food first. Then sex. Then maybe more food with sex.”

  Of course that plan would have worked better
if, the moment he went to check the kitchen for something, the door to his place hadn’t been kicked open and men dressed in dark suits and sporting guns hadn’t barreled in.

  All of them leveled on him. They looked at him and saw a threat.

  Wow, were they wrong.

  Hands planted on her hips, looking every inch an avenging blond goddess, Anja spat, “I see you hiding behind your goons. I should have known you were responsible for my problems.”

  “That’s Sergei?” Cole asked, eyeing the elderly man dressed in an impeccable suit and smelling of pussy. The big cat variety, not the between-the-thigh kind.

  “No, that’s not Sergei. That’s my grandfather. Matvei Tygrov.”

  The fucking Russian mobster king himself. Holy shit. Cole stuck out his hand. “An honor, sir, to meet a legend.”

  A legend who wasn’t impressed that Cole’s pants were still undone because his granddaughter had blown him.

  “Bring the bear. And don’t be gentle.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Don’t you dare harm him,” was her imperious command. Anja stood in front of Cole as she faced her grandfather, acting as a shield. But the dumb man just had to talk.

  “That’s your grandfather? The renowned Russian mobster? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It never came up.” Because, really, how was that conversation supposed to go? Hi, my name is Anja Helga Tygrov, and I’m a Russian mob princess who is in hiding from my family because if they knew I was alive they’d kill me. Or someone not of the family would try to marry her and become part of the family. The name Sergei came to mind. A previous attempt by another suitor had failed. Antov died during his courtship. A mishap with her grandmother’s cooking. The cops could never prove how the poisoned mushroom ended up in the benign batch her babushka had bought from the grocery store.

  “It never came up? That’s bullshit,” Cole hissed at her a moment before they got into the backseat of her grandfather’s limo parked in front of a hydrant at the curb. “Maybe you could have tried, like, ‘Hey, Cole, I’m the granddaughter of the biggest criminal gang in Russia.’ Do you have any idea of how sexy that is? I mean, I am hooking up with fucking royalty.”