Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  That’s how this is going to end, isn’t it? He’ll kill me, and then they’ll kill Brent.

  Brent’s eyes flash in my mind. The way they turn dark and possessive and glow with an almost loving light while he’s pounding into me. There’s a connection between us that I can’t explain. The fire between us might be extinguished now, but the flame inside me?

  It’s still there, burning. Rising. Consuming me.

  It’s not going to end like this. I do not consent.

  In fact, I wholeheartedly, one-hundred percent, absolutely refuse.

  3

  He pulls off on a side road and into a curved, gravel driveway that ends with a small cabin perched between two massive pine trees like something out of a storybook. I’m not exactly sure where we are, but I do know we haven’t gone too far from the border crossing. There’s a lake to my left. It’s the same one that edged the border crossing. I’ve caught peeks of it through the trees while we were driving. The expanse of water is narrow enough that I can see the shadow of America’s shore on the other side. It gives me a displaced sense of security, for some reason, to be this close to my own country—which is ridiculous, considering.

  I don’t dare try and get out as he turns to look at me, pressing a cell phone to his ear.

  “Yeah, I got her. Okay.”

  His eyebrows wag as if this is funny, then gets out. He drops the cell onto the ground and stomps with his foot. There’s a cracking sound, then a bunch of crunching as he moves his foot back and forth.

  Satisfied that his phone is obliterated, he comes around to open my door. I don’t move fast enough, so he grabs my arm and yanks me out. A blast of hot air washes over me, and the sun beats down on my face. Wordlessly, he drags me along behind him to the cabin. Pushing open the door, he thrusts me inside and follows. I stumble into the dim interior and spin to face him.

  No way am I taking my eyes off this bastard. The flame is back, strong and hot inside me. I don’t want to die; I don’t want to give Brent and Georgios the satisfaction of offing me. I want to fight, to live, for every woman who has fallen under the shadow of a dangerous man.

  But more, I want to look Brent in the eye and show him that he didn’t defeat me. I might love him with everything inside me, but he will not take away my power.

  Not anymore.

  The perp and I side-eye each other as he moves to the kitchen island and takes out a glass. He produces the vodka from the back waistband of his pants and pours some.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. “I mean, there’s a lot of things I could call you but you probably wouldn’t like it.”

  He grins as he takes a hefty drink and smacks his lips. “You can call me Sir.”

  I narrow my eyes. “There’s only one Sir in my life, and you’re not it.” I have no idea why that pops out because I don’t need to think about Brent right now, but I go with it. “I’ll call you Asshole.”

  He’s opening what looks like prescription bottle while I taunt him.

  “So, Asshole, what’s the plan, here?” I’m being a brat, but to my huge surprise, he seems unruffled. He dumps pills into his palm and tosses them back with a greedy little sigh.

  I cross my arms. “Your boss doesn’t care that you drink and pop pills on the job?”

  “No.” The clipped word is heavy with his accent. “I took a bullet for him. These oxy are how I deal with the pain. And this,” he raises the bottle, “is how I deal with you.”

  Keep drinking then, Asshole, I think. My cockiness is like an armor that gives me a sense of protection, even though I honestly know it’s worthless. Whatever it takes to keep my confidence up so I can see this through alive, I’ll do. I don’t get a chance to retort as he storms up to me with the bottle in hand.

  He snags me and pulls me back to the counter, where he slides the glass of vodka to me and dumps out two more pills. “You need to relax that mouth of yours.” Ugh, gross.

  I’m not going to overthink that statement.

  He holds me tight and brings one pill to my mouth. I pull back and twist my head, but he jerks me forward hard and shoves it between my lips. It leaves a bitter trail over my tongue as I maneuver it to the side of my mouth and tuck it into my cheek. He comes at me with the second pill and that’s when I notice the bottle has fallen over. I can see inside it. There’s only one pill left and it’s lying just outside the bottle.

  “You don’t want to waste this on me. You’re out!”

  He huffs a laugh. “This is Canada. I can get more, no prescription needed.” With that, he shoves the pill into my mouth, releases me and hands me the vodka. Because he’s a stupid dumb-fuck, he plops down into a plush chair and turns it to face me. I tuck the second pill into my cheek and make a show of taking a swig from the glass.

  “Good, now sit down.”

  “Actually, I’d like another drink. You?”

  His upper lip curls. “Yes. I can tell you how you’ll die over drinks.”

  He watches me as I move to the fridge and yank it open. Ah ha. It’s actually stocked as if we might be here a few days. That thought makes my insides sink. One night with this creep is unimaginable. The thought of being holed up here for days makes me ill. I grab a bottle of orange juice and go back to the counter.

  He nods in approval. Rummaging for glasses, I set two on the counter. The pills are burning the inside of my cheek and I’m trying hard not to swallow too much. The last thing I need is a fuzzy head. Looking at the perp from under my lashes, I’m pleased to see he’s closed his eyes.

  I don’t think, I just work fast. Putting the jug of orange juice in front of me, I spit the pills into my hand and put them on the counter. They’ve already started to dissolve some, making it easy and remarkably quiet as I crush them with the bottom of a glass. He looks up, pulls a new cell phone from his pocket and proceeds to look at something there as he taps around on the screen.

  My heart is racing as I slowly scrape the crushed pills into a glass and mix in the vodka and orange juice. I make a show of looking for a spoon, wipe up the powdery mess from the counter, and mix another glass that I have no intention of drinking. Noticing the single pill lying on the counter, I quietly snag it with a finger. It’s too solid for me to crunch it up without him hearing. I pray the acid in the juice will break the pill down fast as I ease it into the glass I’ve prepared just for Asshole.

  “What the fuck is taking so long?”

  With a rise of temper, I pick up my glass and conveniently bump the bottle of vodka with my elbow. It crashes to the floor, spilling alcohol everywhere.

  “Shit, I’m sorry!” God, I’m a good actress. Grabbing the towel I used earlier, I get down and mop up the mess, praying I can drag this out long enough for that damn pill to dissolve. He spits something out in a language I can’t understand and turns back to his phone.

  Finally, unable to drag it out any longer, I get his glass, stir it with a spoon and walk over to give it to him. He slumps down a little and spreads his legs wide.

  “On my knee,” he says, not bothering to look up.

  “What?”

  “Sit on my knee since you made me wait so long.”

  The fuck? My nostrils flare as I fight to control my anger. Playing along is essential right now. That, and prayer that the pills have completely dissolved and the juice and alcohol cover any bitterness.

  He takes the glass from me and watches expectantly as I swallow hard and slowly sink down. I grip my own glass with both hands as I firmly seat my ass on his leg…and wait.

  Asshole takes a sip, smirking at me. Then another. I hold my breath for a beat as he sips, swallows, sips, swallows. If he can taste the pills, he doesn’t let on.

  “Georgios said you were an obedient little girl.”

  It takes all my will not to smack him. Instead, I bite back my fury and salute him with my glass. He follows along and tosses back more than half of his drink. I’m watching too intently, so I temper myself and take a small sip of my own cocktail. I’m goin
g to need it.

  “Maybe Georgios is wrong about me,” I quip. “Maybe he knows nothing about me at all.”

  Asshole snorts and polishes off his glass. Thrusting it at me, he smacks my ass and pushes me off him. “Another. He’s never wrong.”

  I hurry back to the kitchen area before he can touch me again. Another drink, coming up. I only need him stoned, but drunk won’t hurt either.

  “How can you be sure?” I find another bottle of vodka in a cupboard and mix another drink for him, sans pills. He’s grabbing me and putting me back on his knee before I’ve even handed him the glass.

  “He knew Masters would go soft for you. And look what happened?”

  My hand starts to tremble and I almost drop the glass. Luckily, he takes it but he doesn’t drink. His eyes look dull, lids drooping a bit. What happened? What does he mean, Brent went soft for me?

  Was Brent supposed to do something, but didn’t…like off me a long time ago? I have to get up.

  “I’m feeling woozy.” I put a hand to my head and slip off him. He just grins like he’s not surprised. Sitting on the couch, I glance at him as his eyes close and his head nods up and down. A few seconds later, his head lolls to one side and he breathes with loud, deep snores.

  I do feel off-center, but not because of any substances. My mind is whirling with his words about Brent. A sickening thought pops up. What if I was wrong about Brent?

  What if he really was trying to protect me?

  That doesn’t explain the expense reports I found on the flash drive, or Liz or any of the other doubts and suspicions I have. There’s no time to ponder it now. For all I know, Georgios is coming for me.

  I burst to my feet and hover over Asshole for a second. He’s breathing, so I know I didn’t kill him. Out cold. I can’t decide if I’m happy he’s still alive, or disappointed.

  I imagine he’ll be dead soon enough when his boss gets here.

  He doesn’t move when I search his jacket pockets for the car keys. I find them in the front pocket of his pants, disgustingly close to a bulge I have no intention of touching.

  I finally pluck the keys free, a cell from beside him—hopefully it’s the last one he has laying around—and hurry to the door. I don’t stop to congratulate myself. I don’t take a moment to be proud of what I’ve just done. Instead, I get into the vehicle, check that my passport is still in the console, and pull out of the driveway, carefully. I want to step on it and tear out of there, but I can’t take any chances of waking Asshole.

  As soon as the tires leave gravel and kiss pavement, I hit the gas, burning out onto what might as well be the Canadian yellow brick road. It might lead me back to Oz, or straight into hell.

  I won’t know until I’m staring Brent in the face.

  It’s time to go home.

  4

  I can’t stop looking in the rearview mirror to see if I’m being followed. I know Asshole can’t possibly chase me, and I have his cellphone so he can’t contact someone else to find me. But they could possibly track me through it. Every step I’ve taken since this morning has led to another false sense of security and I can’t start relaxing now.

  In fact, it’s time to ramp it up a notch.

  The plan forms in my head, though common sense desperately tries to talk me out of it. There might be a way to throw Georgios off my trail for a long time, possibly forever, if I can make him believe I’m nowhere to be found. Ahead, the road curves slightly and I recall this from earlier when Asshole drove me the opposite way. There are a series of S-curves coming up, and with the lake still on my left, it presents the perfect opportunity.

  Now to actually go through with it.

  A few cars pass me and then the road is clear. I don’t want witnesses when I do this…if I can see it through.

  Eyeing the edge of the road, I mumble to myself as I search for just the right spot. There! Just ahead, the edge of a sharp corner slopes gently down, though the drop seems steep enough to provide exactly what I need. It’s mostly clear of trees, so there’s nothing to stop me from going right in.

  I crack my window and pull my backpack and passport onto my lap.

  “This is fucking insane!” I step on the gas and crank the wheel hard left. The SUV slides to the left and hits the edge of the road, making a leap into the air. I scream as the front tires slam onto the embankment. My foot’s still on the gas and the SUV barrels down, hell bent on throwing me into the lake.

  The cold, gray lake. My burial place.

  The front hits the water with an enormous jolt that makes my seatbelt hug me in a death grip before I fall back against the seat. Instantly, water creeps up through the floorboard, and then I feel it, the vehicle slowly rocking back and forth as if it’s inching further into the water.

  I’m instantly frozen with fear. What have I just done? I’m a good swimmer, but the expanse of water between me and my home shore is bigger than my mind wants me to believe. I could get hypothermia, or hit an undercurrent, or get brained by a boat.

  Water sloshes around my calves and I know I don’t have much time. Prompted to action, I find the window lever and press it, praying it still works. It does, though the motor runs tortuously slow. I grab my bag and the passport. I have money and my credit card stashed in the small zipper pocket in the waist of my yoga pants.

  Pulling myself out of the window, I gasp and hold my panic in check as cold water envelopes me. It’s getting deeper by the second and almost covers my face as I break free of the SUV and push against it with my feet, propelling myself back and away from the small current caused by sinking metal.

  I don’t think. I just swim, kicking my feet and moving my arms until I’m separated from the vehicle by a couple yards. Panting, I slip my backpack off my shoulder and toss the passport to the side. This is all that will be left of me, pieces of my shattered life found floating in a cold Canadian lake.

  For all Georgios will know, I crashed the stolen car in my panic and drowned.

  I start swimming, moderating my pace so I don’t tire out any more than I already am. For a while it’s easy to stay close to shore, but to get fully across, I have to go out farther. Every horror movie I’ve ever seen starts flashing in my mind and I half expect something to grab my ankles and pull me down. Huge fish. Crocodiles. Zombies.

  All the ways I could die out here are front and center in my mind. Getting eaten by a monstrous fish isn’t quite the way I want to go. In the distance, I spy what looks like a small fishing boat. It’s far enough away that anyone aboard probably won’t notice me. I half wish they would. I wouldn’t turn down a ride to American shores, but explaining my circumstances would be difficult.

  God, I’m scared. My skin is covered in goosebumps and I can’t keep dark thoughts out of my head. Pausing for a few minutes to tread water and rest, I close my eyes and shiver hard as I rub my arms with my hands. In my mind’s eye, I see Brent’s face. It’s as clear as if he were really before me.

  The little lines by his perfect eyes go deep as his beautiful mouth turns down.

  He looks worried and I imagine he’s concerned about me. By now, he knows I’m gone. Of course he does. Does he worry and miss me, or is he hoping that I’ve been offed by now?

  Does he really want me dead?

  I think to what Asshole said, and it plants even more doubt. As terrified as I am, in my heart I don’t believe Brent would really do this to me or to Liz. He’s rough and stoic and a grade-A asshat most of the time, but he’s not a killer.

  Brent Masters is not a killer. What have I done?

  A sob lodges in my throat. I have to get back; I need to see him and make him tell me the truth. The drive to live is so strong inside of me, and that means existing with or without him. I can go on without Brent in my life. I don’t want to…but I can. First, I want the damn truth!

  I swim. Harder, faster, pushing myself forward. I don’t look around much anymore. I don’t care if there are boats or people or zombie fish. I just want to get to shore. A
soft curtain of purple-grey is falling across the sky when my toes finally scrape along bottom. I slog through the shallows, my legs shaking from exertion, and trudge onto a narrow beach. It’s littered with soda bottles and cigarette butts, but I don’t care. It’s solid fucking ground.

  I stumble to higher ground and flop down on the grass. For long seconds, I lie there and feel nothing but my chest going up and down. The tightness in my legs and arms begin to fade into a lazy weakness and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up.

  I hear voices, like people approaching. Opening one eye, I spy a small group of young adults coming closer. The sound of feet shuffling in the sand goes by, along with whispers. But no one stops to ask if I’m alright, and that’s okay. I couldn’t talk right now if I had to. Every time I close my eyes, I see Brent’s face so I keep them open and stare at the darkening sky highlighted with the glow of city lights.

  Finally, I find the strength to get up. I brush sand off my soaked clothes the best I can and hoof it away from the shore and towards the city. I’m not sure exactly where I am. The night air is getting colder and I’m freezing. Oh a whim, I go into a small touristy shop. Ignoring the crazy looks I’m getting, I find a pair of black sweatpants, a tee-shirt and some flip-flops and pay with soaking wet cash.

  “Our boat had a little accident.” I say to the concerned looking cashier. I don’t care how she might respond to that as I hurry to a dressing room and change. There’s a garbage can outside the store and I toss the store bag with my wet clothes into it, grab a hotdog from a vendor on the curb, and wave down a cab.

  I’m so ready to be home. And Brent is my home now.

  But first, he owes me a lengthy explanation.

  I have a moment of trepidation as the cab pulls up for me, but then I remember that Georgios will think I’m dead. No one is looking for me. I give the cabbie Brent’s address. I swear I see dollar signs in the man’s eyes as he punches it into his GPS and pulls away.