The Devil's Russian Beauty

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  Phil’s inner wolf surged forward in his mind, ready to battle, to defend his leggy blonde. He wanted to rip out the jerk’s throat, watch his blood pour free as the asshole drew his last, ragged breath. Instead, he forced his animal back to its confinement. If there was one thing growing up with the Werewolves of Rebellion had taught him, it was how to fight defensively. Frank’s grandmother insisted all clan teenagers learn how to defend themselves through martial arts and hand-to-hand combat to lessen the desire to utilize their lycanthrope battle instincts so they were less likely to kill a human. The MC paid for the lessons, and he’d loved learning all he could about self-defense, even earning a black belt in a couple different categories. The lessons had given him an outlet for his grief after losing his parents in an accident when he was a teenager.

  He could handle this moron without killing him. After all, his clan was about controlling the beast, not letting it have free rein. A few soft sniffs from Daffodil reminded him this River Rebel had hurt her and had intended to do even worse to her. Again, rage welled up in Phil.

  The biker charged Phil, who vaulted over the Ford’s roof to the other side. The man was obviously human. Otherwise, the guy would have hit him with a lycanthrope ability. He kept half his attention on Daffodil, who was trying to tug her dress back down her legs. Phil waited while the River Rebel sauntered around the back end of the Ford to confront him.

  He reached into his back pocket and removed something. Holding it up in his hand, he flicked his thumb over it and a long, dark bade popped out with a schlick. “I’m going to use your tongue for a necktie, asshole.”

  He attacked, and Phil sidestepped him. Again, the guy threw himself toward Phil, slicing the blade in a quick back-and-forth arc that Phil ducked under both times. He dropped to one knew and delivered an uppercut to the guy’s stomach that resulted in a huge exhalation. The man dropped to his knees and flopped on one side. Strange, high-pitched wheezing sounds emanated from him as he struggled to regain the breath Phil had literally knocked from his lungs.

  Leaning over the biker, Phil said, “Come see me when you grow some hair on your balls, jackass. If I catch you bothering Daffodil again, I will kill you—or anyone else from your gang.” He squatted so he could look the man in the eyes. “Blink once if you understand.”

  More distressed squeaks and wheezes came from the biker, but he blinked slowly, once.

  “Good. Have a nice night.” He approached Daffodil, who stood barefoot, quivering from head to toe, snot-faced, tear-streaked, scratched, dirty and damn beautiful. “Come here, darlin’.” He held out his arms, and she walked into them with hesitation. For the second time that night, a sense of pride and a distinct thrill wound through him. “You’re going home with me, okay?”

  She jerked away from him. “I-I can’t!”

  “Why not?” Sorrow sliced him to the core at how quickly she’d torn out of his arms.

  “Ezra will kill me.”

  “He won’t touch you, Daffodil.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “You don’t understand. He’s not…normal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The instant the question left his mouth, she shut down on him. Her eyes dimmed. That gorgeous, pouty mouth flattened into a thin, gray line. All the color bled from her face.

  “I can protect you.”

  “It will only cause a gang war,” she said dully, her gaze pinned somewhere out over the valley.

  “I own a cabin on a little piece of property away from the Werewolves of Rebellion,” he explained, lowering his voice so Jackknife had no chance of hearing him. “Only three people know about it, and I trust them with my life. You can stay there with me.” Cupping her face, he used his thumbs to brush dirt from her cheekbones. His supernatural senses whispered to him, telling him to give her another option without scaring her. “My cabin is on the west side of the creek just up from the Foraker Covered Bridge. There is a wetlands refuge on the right, and at the end of it a narrow dirt road goes straight up the hill. Halfway up is a lane that’s no more than a four-wheeler path, and at the end of it is my place. I go there when the chaos at the main house gets too much.”

  She stood quietly as one second after another ticked by. He began to have hope that she may take him up on his offer. Then, without looking at him, she asked, “Can you just fix my car so I can go back to the MC?”

  Stunned, he could only stare at her. His wolf howled that he’d never see her again if he let her go. His rational side told him that she was terrified of this Ezra guy and brainwashed from years of being passed around MCs as a sweetbutt.

  “I’ll buy you,” he said. “But not to keep. I’ll buy you from the River Rebels, then you’re free to go wherever you please.” But he wanted to keep her, to make her his. Where the hell did that thought come from?

  She jerked her head toward him, her amazed eyes meeting his. She stared at him in wonder for a long moment, then said, “Please fix my car.”

  It took strength he didn’t know he had to walk over to the car. Once the hood was up, he soon found the broken wire and temporarily patched it with a Band-Aid Daffodil had in her purse. When he dropped the hood, he found her standing next to him with a gift bag.

  “Would you give this to Bernadette, please?”

  He accepted the tote. “Bernadette?”

  She nodded, her lower lip trembling. He wanted to kiss it into submission.

  “Tell her I can’t keep her gift. Ezra will just destroy it or give it to another sweetbutt just to hurt me. The shawl’s too beautiful to let that happen to it.”

  “You’re too beautiful to let that happen too, honey,” he said before he could stop himself.

  She leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his stubbly cheek. “See you ’round, Phil.”

  With that, she got into the car, started it and pulled onto the road to drive down the hill, the car’s headlights sweeping the curves.

  Watching her leave proved so painful that Phil almost felt like he was having a heart attack. Fuck, will she be all right? He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep one wink tonight worrying about his leggy blonde.

  Shuffling and the crunch of grit beneath hard-soled boots drew Phil’s attention. The big biker hauled himself to his feet. Upon seeing he had Phil’s attention, he held both hands up in compliance and shuffled half-bent over to his motorcycle. On the way over, he even stepped over his switchblade, leaving in the dust. The guy started his bike and rode around the bend and on down the twisting incline.

  All Phil knew was that if he found out the jerk had hurt Daffodil despite his warning, he would make sure he made good on his threat.

  Angry at the situation and the viselike grip that wouldn’t let go of his heart, Phil kicked up a plume of dirt, clenched his fists at his sides and let his inner animal free for a moment. The howl that tore from him echoed across the valley and bounced off the hillsides. Claws pushed out from his fingertips, and fangs dropped in his mouth, but before the shift could claim him any deeper, Phil forced his beast to obey and return to its dwelling place deep inside him.

  After stowing the tote and the colorful item inside it into a saddlebag, he straddled and started his bike. The strange sense of loss that settled over Phil clung to him all the way back to the MC.

  * * *

  When Jackknife caught up with Daffodil in the compound, he escorted her indoors, his stance half-bent and shuffling. As fate would have it, one of the prospects had botched a drug deal in Morgantown, costing the MC thousands. Jess and a new sweetbutt, a bubbly Latina whose name escaped Daffodil, informed her that Ezra was in a pissy mood. They didn’t know all the details about the sale gone bad, but they’d heard enough of Ezra’s screaming to piece together the gist of the situation.

  Stickman pointed for Daffi to sit with the other sweetbutts in the lounge, then motioned for Jackknife to follow him over to the bar. She caught bits of what Jackknife said as he explained what had happened outside Laings.

  “You let a Werew
olf of Rebellion get the best of you?” Ezra thundered.

  The silence that followed fired needles of doom into Daffi’s heart. She waited, knowing what would come next.

  “Daffodil Anastasia,” Ezra called as if he couldn’t wait to see her.

  “Fuck,” Jess whispered. “Be strong, girlfriend.”

  Approaching footsteps drew Daffi’s gaze to Ezra. He strode toward them as if he were the President of the United States instead of an outlaw biker gang. He stopped at their sofa and held out one long-fingered hand. “Come with me, my pretty little Russian.”

  “Aw, honey,” Jess said sweetly. “Why don’t you let her get herself all dolled up for you first?”

  The slap had so much power behind it that the force knocked Jess off the end of the couch. She sprawled face-first on the floor. She burst into tears, her nose pouring blood. Grabbing a handful of her shiny, black hair, Ezra jerked her to her feet, then flung her back on the sofa.

  “That’s just a taste of what will happen to you if you ever talk to me like that again, bitch.”

  Jess cowered in the sofa cushions and muffled her cries against her hands over her mouth.

  Over at the bar, Stickman looked on with worry. As Ezra led Daffi across the MC and past the bar, she met Stickman’s eyes. He seemed truly afraid for her.

  In Ezra’s office, the punch to her face dropped her like a boulder tossed from an airplane. She lay on the carpet in a dazed state, pain stabbing her face and skull.

  “The only thing saving your ass is the fact you came back to me,” Ezra said as he paced the office. He paused at the minibar a few feet in front of her face. The rattle of ice bouncing into a glass was followed by the splash and glug of liquid. Dimly, she was aware of him turning so his heavy boots were facing her. His hand wrapped around a tumbler filled her sight.

  “Here, take a healthy swig,” he ordered.

  She rose onto one elbow and sucked in a mouthful of whiskey.

  “Where is the shawl that redhead gave you?” he asked softly. “We don’t want anyone giving you false hope for something better in life, now do we?”

  Daffi snapped her gaze up to meet his. “I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to the guy and asked him to return it to the woman.”

  He sneered at her. “There is little you do that I don’t know about, my sweet, but you made a wise decision. Luckily, since that biker from the Werewolves of Rebellion fixed your car to get you back to me, I won’t send anyone to maim or kill him.”

  Horrified by the idea of someone hurting Phil, she could only stare at Ezra and pray he wouldn’t make good on his tentative threat. And how in the fuck had Ezra known Bernadette gave her the shawl?

  “Ah, your fear smells wonderful.” Ezra leaned closer, his palms flat on the floor next to her face, and sniffed along her neck. “But I do like the raw scent of your arousal better.”

  He licked up the cord running the side of her neck. Hot need stabbed Daffi and she hated herself for it. She didn’t want Ezra any more than she wanted a rotting piece of steak. However he awakened the need for sex in her; she knew it was unnatural.

  “I really need to curb my temper and jealousy,” he told her seductively, the timbre of his voice rolling over her.

  More tendrils of need sliced into her core. She bit her lip to keep herself from moaning.

  Using his index and middle fingers, he dipped them into the glass, then smeared liquor over the place on her cheek where he’d struck her. “Did you know whiskey can be used for bruises? It’s one of the bases for homemade liniment. An old woman once showed me the trick. Well, she was old on the outside, but inside she was still 21. Sadly, that one didn’t last long, but over time I’ve realized how to temper my nature and not use a woman up until she…well…” He shrugged, then stood. The thump of the tumbler hitting the bar top followed. Ezra stooped again, hooked Daffi under her arms and hefted her into a standing position. “Come, my Russian beauty. Let’s retire to my quarters for”—he grinned from ear to ear, his pale green eyes shifting to bright red—“some stellar makeup sex.”

  He hooked his arm around her waist and walked out of his office with her at his side. “I’ll run a bath for you, make us some drinks and have one of the girls bring us a tray with some food.” He tucked his face to her neck and licked again.

  The throbbing in her pussy intensified. Tears slithered down her face.

  “Now, my sweet, I know you like me, but there’s no need to be emotional about it. Emotions are so frivolous.”

  If she survived the night, she had to escape.

  She had to… or die trying.

  Chapter Nine

  The late afternoon sun lowered to the treetops, forcing golden light to slant across the far side of the garden. Bernadette, her mother, Carol, Callie May, Puppy and Puppy’s mother all worked together harvesting pumpkins and gourds. They loaded them into a big wagon that Tractor had hooked to a rider mower.

  “I bet the children will love these,” Bernadette’s mom stated. “Luella said the pumpkins are raised more for the kids than to sell.”

  Bernadette smiled to herself as her mother chattered.

  “Will the MC do anything for Halloween?” her mom asked.

  “You know, I haven’t even thought about that,” Bernadette replied as she hefted a really fat pumpkin into the wagon. Once she had it in the cart, she paused to catch her breath. Again, she found herself scratching at her wrist. Nothing seemed to be there, but ever since the blue-eyed man had touched her, the skin where he’d rubbed his thumb seemed to continually tingle. “I’ll have to ask Frank or Luella,” she added.

  “I think that’s all of them,” Carol, a chunky brunette, called across the garden to everyone. “Load up what you haven’t yet, then we’ll go down to the community so the kids and their families can pick which ones they want.”

  Once everyone was finished, a few women, including Bernadette’s mother, rode in the cart among the harvest as others walked alongside the wagon, heading around the MC and down the long incline to the community. Instead of following them, Bernadette waved to her mom and ambled over to the outdoor wood burner that heated the MC. During the Claiming and Maiming, the backside of it had been mashed in and the blower that pushed the heat into the house had been damaged.

  “Where’s Frank?” she asked upon finding Phil sorting through a toolbox. “I thought he was helping you with this?”

  “He had to go into Rebellion for a part.” He turned his back to her, the howling wolfman silhouette in the center of his cut stark in the slanting sunshine. “He’ll be back anytime now.”

  “I haven’t seen you around all week.” She waited for Phil to look up at her, but he kept his attention on the tools.

  “Colder weather has upped the coal orders, so I’ve been working some overtime each evening.” He shrugged. “Plus I haven’t been fit company to be around people. Been staying at my cabin the past few days.”

  Intrigued, she said, “I didn’t know you had a cabin.”

  “When my parents were killed in a car wreck, I found out they’d left the place to me.”

  “I didn’t know your parents were gone,” she replied, sympathizing with him. It would kill her if anything happened to her mother.

  “Yeah, lost ’em when I was 16.”

  “Well, I understand what it’s like to need a private place to go.”

  He finally looked up at her. “You do?”

  “Well, sure. I grew up with four older brothers who were usually a pain in my ass.” She laughed and sat on the cool, unkempt grass next to him. “There were times I’d crawl into the hedgerow behind our house just so I had a place that was all mine and no one would bother me. Had a little bare spot under it where I clipped out all the branches except the ones that kept my secret getaway hidden. Sometimes living here reminds me of growing up with my brothers.” She handed him a socket that had fallen out of the box. “I love everyone around here, but there are times the constant chaos and people coming and going can b
e too much.”

  He snorted. “Yep, exactly.”

  The tenseness in his shoulders, his jerky movements and the sour look on his face told her there was more behind his weeklong moodiness. “So what else is bothering you?”

  Phil jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “Nothing. Why?”

  “Remember?” She held her fist up, acting as though she was about to bonk him on top of the head. “I grew up with four brothers.”

  At that, his face crinkled into a warm smile and he laughed. “Let’s just say it’s a woman.”

  “Really?” She leaned over conspiratorially, winning another laugh from him. “Do I know her?” She glanced around. “One of the women gathering pumpkins?”

  “No.”

  “Aren’t you going to give me any hints?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  His laughter deepened and grew longer. “Frank’s lucky. He has an awesome woman.”

  At that, heat flooded her cheeks. “Aw, thank you.”

  “You’re thanking Phil,” Frank said from a few feet away.

  She looked over her shoulder at her sexy mate as he closed the distance between them, his long, muscled legs peeking through rips and tears of his old, tattered work jeans. He wore his cut over a flannel. The sleeves of his shirt, the black and blue checkers of it flattering his dark hair and eyes, were rolled halfway up his tanned arms, and his bright tattoos almost audibly clashed with the patterns of the garment, but on Frank they gave him a working-man look that Bernadette found super attractive. He’d let his goatee grow into a full beard that he kept trimmed neatly, giving him an even more dangerous look that almost made her cream her panties. Damn, she had one fine-looking mate. She smiled at him, putting all her physical desire and happiness to see him into an award-winning smile.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “Why aren’t you down at the community passing out pumpkins?”

  “Well, I initially came over here to see you and cop a feel,” she retorted, prompting a guffaw from Phil, who just shook his head, “but I didn’t know you’d left for town.”