by Lucy Leroux
“You’ll be fine. You’re a scarier-looking motherfucker than your old man.” Jimmy nodded approvingly from seat across from him. “Just make sure they don’t lowball you on the settlement. The more you get, the more little Mary’s parents get. They’ll want to have more kids someday.”
Calen idly wondered how much of a cut his dad was going to take, but decided not to make an issue out of it. And personally, he found his father’s rounder and jovial-looking face incongruously intimidating. Much more so than the harder angular planes of his features, inherited from his mother’s side of the family. By comparison, Colman looked harmless, but appearances were deceiving. It was like getting close to a friendly rabbit—when it turned on you and savaged your arm, it was always a complete surprise.
Not that it mattered. He was here. Not his father. “Don’t worry. I know how to play hardball,” he muttered, still staring out the window.
If he hadn’t learned how to negotiate, he wouldn’t own a dozen nightclubs right now. All clean operations. Mostly. Here and there he may have made a deal in the shady grey area, but for a man in his business, that was sometimes necessary. But Calen was satisfied he’d always colored inside the lines.
They finally pulled in front of the right warehouse. Gesturing to Jay to wait outside with the car, he and Jimmy made for the door with Mike at their heels. His security chief walked ahead of him, busily scanning the area for potential threats. Some habits were hard to break when you had spent a decade in the military and almost as long as a mercenary.
Mike had spent half his life in some of the most hellish places on earth and Calen had jumped at the chance to hire him. Though Mike worked at Siren at the moment, his newest club, he was in charge of security at all of them. He preferred to move between them as needed, so Calen was glad he was still in town until Siren was better established.
Following Mike’s lead, Calen stepped into the dimly lit interior of the warehouse. Smaller rooms branched off a larger central open space. Next to him, a set of metal stairs led to a walkway that was also surrounded by smaller rooms. Another set of stairs at the back led to the walkway and a windowed supervisor’s office that overlooked the whole room.
It was dusty. Calen could smell mold and the bleach that was presumably used to treat it. Scanning the room, his eyes took in a mostly empty space. At the far end, four men argued in Russian.
His grasp of the language wasn’t as good as when he and Sergei lived together, but it was passable. Two men were berating a larger muscled man while a third fatter one stood there, seemingly unconcerned with the shouting. Calen paused in the shadows by the door, gesturing to the others to stay quiet.
“I’m going to the toilet. Bring her inside,” the fat one ordered as he walked away to a staircase leading to a suite of offices visible on the right.
“What the fuck is this, Viktor?” one man in a suit spat out as the fatter man disappeared.
The muscled man shrugged. “Timur wants to play with her a bit before he kills her.”
Timur. Calen recognized the name.
The other man sighed while the first one continued. “How much did she see?”
“Enough,” Viktor replied.
“Will she be missed?”
Viktor shrugged again. “Probably. She has a Harvard student ID.”
Calen’s ears perked up. What the hell was going on? Why did they have a Harvard student? If one went missing, it would make the news. Why take the chance?
“Is she worth anything?”
“Doesn’t look like she has money. Maybe to the right buyer, but Timur won’t take the chance of letting her live.”
The other man nodded, and a fifth man came down from the office. He and Viktor went out a door near them. It presumably led outside because he heard a door slam and then Viktor came in carrying a small bound girl over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. He pulled her off him to display her to the other men.
A thrill of recognition passed through Calen as he got a better look at the petite frame and orange-gold hair of the prisoner.
She was too far away to be sure, but he was almost convinced he’d found his fairy.
****
The crying girl had been shoved out of sight into a side room as soon as he stepped out into the brighter light in the center of the warehouse. He walked confidently to the men, emotionless mask intact.
“Gentlemen. I am Calen McLachlan. I believe you are expecting me,” he said coldly.
“Yes, please sit down,” the man in the suit said. “I am Peter. I represent the Komarov family.”
“Why isn’t Timur Komarov representing the family?” he asked flatly.
The men shifted in surprise, eyeing each other across the table.
“I speak for the family. Timur is...busy,” Peter said cautiously.
Calen took a seat and sat down in a deceptively relaxed pose. “Tell him to finish fuckin’ pissing himself and get out here.”
Peter and the others looked at each other again. Apparently the Komarov heir didn’t do business much. Whether or not it was because he wasn’t trusted remained to be seen.
Calen could tell that they didn’t want to agree. Even Mike was probably wondering what the fuck he was doing. He could feel Jimmy’s eyes boring a hole into the back of his head, but he knew the old man wouldn’t give any sign he thought Calen’s request odd. Jimmy had also taken a few lessons from his old man.
He crossed his arms and waited. He wanted Timur here, with him. As long as he was in sight, the fat fuck wasn’t in the side room putting his greasy hands on his fairy.
****
Timur was a pompous stupid bastard. He didn’t live up to his father’s cutthroat reputation. Neither did Calen, but unlike the piece of shit in front of him, he wasn’t living like a blood-sucking tick off his father’s largess. The man stank of sweat and lust.
For the most part, Timur was paying attention, but periodically his eyes would shift to the side room where the girl was, like he simply couldn’t help himself. But it was to Calen’s advantage to have the enemy in front of him for assessment. And what he saw was mostly weakness and greed.
Peter was easier to deal with. He was a straight shooter that had been ordered to satisfy his demands…within reason. The McLachlans were older and more established in Boston. His father kept more neighborhoods in his iron grip than the Russians, and the docks were his. The Russians moved shit only with his father’s grace. Calen was in a stronger position, and Peter knew it.
“One hundred,” Peter said after twenty minutes of downright nasty negotiations.
“My price is two,” Calen replied, inflexible.
Peter shifted, betraying his discomfort while his men whispered in the background. The Komarov had probably set a fixed ceiling somewhere in between one and two hundred grand.
Calen went in for the kill, switching to Russian, “But I will settle for one fifty and the girl.”
“What girl?”
“The one you just brought in. I want her.”
The Russians fell silent. Then Timur started shouting bloody murder. The men behind him shifted nervously. Jimmy moved closer to Calen’s back while Mike flanked the Russians, keeping the larger Viktor in front of him.
Peter’s professionalism shone brightly. He, like Calen, didn’t move. He switched to Russian as well. “Your grasp of our tongue is very good. You honor us with your skill.”
“Thank you, but flattery won’t change my mind. I want the girl,” Calen continued in Russian.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Peter said, glancing sideways at Timur, who had quieted down after his initial outburst.
Not as stupid as he looks, Calen thought, shooting Timur a look before shifting his attention back to Peter.
“Then we’re done here. There is no deal. There is no more looking the other way at the docks, either,” he bluffed.
He didn’t have the ability to make that call, but the man in front of him didn’t know that. Standing, he turned,
noting with satisfaction that both Jimmy and Mike were stone-faced, backing his play even if they didn’t understand what was going on. He ignored the hissed argument between Timur and Peter.
“Two hundred it is,” Peter called after him.
Calen turned around. “Now it’s two hundred and the girl.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Our guest is unable to...leave us,” Peter said in an apologetic tone.
Calen smiled and walked back to the table. He leaned over it and braced his hands on the surface. “Your people cost me family. Now I expect you to reimburse me. I’ll be taking the girl with me. I can assure you, I will keep her close. She won’t be a problem. Why don’t you bring her out here.”
Peter and Timur began to argue again, but Calen waved them into silence.
“I give you my personal assurance—and my father’s—that you will not hear from her again. Whatever your reason for extending your hospitality to...” he paused and gestured to Viktor.
“Maia,” the muscled man eventually growled, crossing his arms.
“Yes. Whatever your reason for keeping Maia here, it’s now moot. She will belong to me and my family. You won’t hear from her again. Now bring her out here.”
It took a lot more arguing, but Calen refused to budge. Eventually Peter nodded in resignation, and Viktor was sent to get the girl. Timur was nearly apoplectic, but Calen didn’t care. He’d won. Two hundred grand for Mary’s parents and Maia for himself.
He stepped back, his body tensing slightly as the girl was brought out. She was wearing jeans and a black puffy coat that was dirty and torn. She was still gagged, and her hands were still tied in front of her, but her feet were unbound. Calen walked closer to her as she stared at everyone with wide eyes, trembling in the larger man’s grasp.
His insides twisted as he saw her more closely. It really looked like her. His fairy. The one he’d spotted that night in his club.
Only once in real life had he caught a glimpse of the girl he now referred to as his fairy; she’d been walking past him in the hallway at Siren a few weeks ago. She had looked so out of place. She was small, with curves proportional to her frame, and that night she’d been wearing a loose, knee-length dress. Every other girl in the place had on something skintight and short enough to make a whore blush. But not her.
Her hair was such a strange shade—gold and orange. It had caught his eye right away, and when he lost her in the crowd, he’d looked for her in the club’s security footage for the night.
She’d only been in the frame for a minute, in the midst of a group of girls the cameras had caught better. But he’d seen enough. It had been her discomfort with the scene around her that had cemented his interest. That and her sweet fey looks. She looked like a wood nymph, or a Christmas elf.
Now here she was, still beautiful in a strange, unconventional way. Her fragile-looking nose was completely red from crying. Her features were dainty, with a little chin that was a tiny bit pointed and these huge eyes. Except right now she wouldn’t look at him, as if she had suddenly realized that looking at them directly would make her chances of survival worse.
Calen couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch her. She flinched as he touched her small cheek, but he didn’t stop.
“Hello, Doll,” he said quietly in English, trying to comfort her with his steady, even tone.
Startled, she looked at him for the first time. He was careful to show no reaction as he saw her eyes. They were remarkable, a blue-green close to teal. At least what he could see of them. One of them was swelling shut. He lowered his head.
“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear. “Take my property out to the car,” he said more loudly, gesturing to Mike.
The girl’s eyes flared in fear and surprise, and she whimpered slightly. Her eyes went glassy as Mike took her by the shoulders.
“That bitch won’t be worth jack shit on the street. She won’t earn piss,” Timur hissed in Russian. “Too skinny and ugly. No one will pay to fuck her,” he continued, not acknowledging the fact that he’d clearly been planning on fucking her himself—while he cut her to pieces, if Calen remembered his reputation correctly.
He didn’t answer as Mike guided Maia out of the warehouse. “I’m not planning on selling her,” he eventually replied in English. “I have other plans for her.”
Chapter 3
Maia didn’t know what to do. She thought about running, but the large man who looked like a boxer had her firmly by the shoulder. He’d tried to put her in the car, but she’d struggled until he’d stopped trying. He scanned the area for something—cameras, maybe—and propped her against the car.
After a moment, the other two men came out. The younger, nicely dressed one came up to her and removed her gag. He was tall with chestnut brown hair and icy blue eyes. Heart pounding, she waited for him to say something, but he simply stared down into her face. Running wouldn’t help now. She wouldn’t get far if she tried. He reached for her, and she flinched involuntarily, but he just went for her wrists. He untied the rope that bound them, then rubbed the red marks the rope had left gently with his thumbs.
“My name is Calen McLachlan, and you belong to me now,” he said, his pale blue eyes boring into hers.
Unable to stop shivering, she looked up at him. “W—W—What does that mean?” she stuttered.
She never stuttered, but she was terrified.
“It means you come with me. You live with me. You do what I say, and you stay alive. Or you stay here and die,” he said, opening the car door for her and waiting outside of it.
Fear coursed through her veins like mercury. Freezing cold, her gaze darted all around, and her breath came out in pants. Calen looked over her head to exchange a look with one of the guards before extending his hand, but she shrank away from it.
“You have to calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you. But you can’t stay here. You have to come with me now, or I won’t be able to do anything for you. Get in the car. Please,” he added, still holding his hand out to her.
Maia gulped down air, trying to slow her breathing. She looked at the door of the warehouse and back to the open car door. What choice did she have?
She wobbled on unsteady legs. Calen’s hand was still outstretched, but she didn’t take it, making her way to the car door in a slow, painful walk. She hesitated there, meeting Calen’s eyes in humiliation and shame.
“I can’t sit there. I...” she trailed off and looked away, embarrassed.
Calen’s eyebrows sank into a deep V, but then his eyes widened as if in realization. There was the faintest trace of urine in the air. She was mortified, but she hadn’t been able to help it. She had been tied up for hours.
Calen pulled off his leather coat. “It’s okay. You can wear this.”
She hesitated.
“Seriously,” he said. “It’s okay. I have four or five of them.”
How many?
She gave him a funny look, but took the coat and wrapped it around herself. It fell well below her knees. Stepping into the car gingerly, she slid into the seat, favoring her right side. Calen followed her and the older guard climbed in after him while the one that looked like a boxer joined the driver in the front. Maia curled into the corner of the car opposite the men, trying to make herself as small as possible.
“What’s your name?” Calen asked. “Your full name.”
Maia licked her lips nervously. “Maia Elizabeth Dahl.”
“Doll? Your name is actually doll?”
“It’s D-A-H-L, but that’s why I thought you knew me. It sounds like doll,” she whispered.
“And you go to Harvard? What do you study?”
She looked at him nervously. How did he know that? Oh yeah, her wallet.
“Entomology. I’m a graduate student.” After a moment, she continued, “They kept my ID. My wallet.”
“All of your belongings, including your car, will be delivered
to my people within the hour. We’ll have them moved to my place for you later.”
Maia watched him gravely. Was he serious? “Are you actually taking me home with you?”
“It’s the safest place for you right now.”
He switched to another language to address the older guard. Was he speaking Gaelic?
Maia sank into the seat and watched the two men interact. Whoever this younger man was, he was powerful. The older one was tough-looking with silver hair and an air of quiet menace, yet he deferred to Calen like he was talking to a young Michael Corleone.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
****
“Inform my father about my new houseguest and make sure the Russians return all of her things. I want them swept for bugs and toxins,” Calen told Jimmy as he watched Maia studiously avoid looking at them.
“Toxins? You think they’d cross you by poisoning her?” Jimmy replied in the same language.
His father insisted all of his top lieutenants and family spoke the mother tongue.
“I don’t know, but I don’t trust them. Timur is a crazy piece of shit. He might be stupid enough to take this personally.”
“Are you going to ask her why they had her in the first place?”
“Later. She’s in shock, and she needs a doctor. Some of the bones in her face may be fractured, judging by the swelling.”
Jimmy glanced at Maia. “Are you seriously going to keep her with you?”
Calen looked at Maia, too. She was huddled in his coat, probing at her swollen cheek with a shaky hand. But she wasn’t crying, and the trembling had eased to an occasional shudder. She was trying so hard to be strong. He had to admire that.
