by Zoe Blake
After I fucked her tonight, I would definitely have to put her on her knees so she could swallow my cock again. Maybe I would bring her to my meeting and let her suck me under the desk. It would certainly make meeting with the Petrov brothers more bearable.
Emma stood up and leaned on the counter as she reached for Dimitri’s coffee mug. Before she could take a sip, he pulled it from her hand. “You know the rules, no caffeine, little one.” He gave her a smack on the ass for good measure.
Emma sat back down with a huff as she crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, “Otvali, mudak, blya!”
My eyes shifted to Dimitri, not wanting to miss his reaction to his innocent pregnant wife telling him to ‘fuck off, asshole, fuck.’
Dimitri groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vaska is teaching her how to curse in Russian but not telling her the meanings, just to torture me.”
Emma’s eyes widened in delight as she clapped her hands. “Ha! What did I just say? Was it a good one? Tell me! Tell me!”
Dimitri grasped her chin. “No, it will only encourage you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Now go back upstairs and get ready. If you’re good, I’ll swing through the McDonald’s drive-thru before dropping you off at work.”
Emma squealed in delight and rushed off as she called out a hurried goodbye to me over her shoulder.
Dimitri called after her retreating back, “No mochas! Only a breakfast sandwich.”
I smiled. “You are fortunate to have a woman who is both beautiful and intelligent bearing your child. Make sure you hold onto her, my friend.”
Dimitri’s gaze darkened as his brow lowered. “Trust me. No one is ever taking her from me.”
I nodded in understanding. I had, of course, heard about the trouble in Morocco and how his woman was targeted. I admired Dimitri’s restraint in how he’d handled the situation. If it were the woman I loved, I would have burned the entire city to the ground to find her. Which was why it was best for all concerned that I had no intention of ever falling in love with any woman.
I rose. “I must go. I’m meeting with Vaska to inspect the shipment of Dragunov sniper rifles I brought with me from that contact in Belarus.”
Dimitri took a sip of his coffee, then set it aside to walk me out. “Are you going to join us for the Petrov meeting later?”
I buttoned my suit jacket, then shrugged back into my overcoat. The scent of Dylan’s perfume still clung lightly to the wool. It was a spicy scent that suited her. I would have to learn the name of it so I could buy her more. “Yes, but I’ll be late. I have dinner plans. So, what is the issue with those two idiots now?”
“They’re trying to flood the market with CQs and CQ-As.”
“The cheap knock-off M16s and M4s from China?”
Dimitri nodded. “Those are the ones. They’ll undercut half our business dealings throughout the East Coast and Midwest if they succeed.”
I shrugged. “Let our clients buy them. When they blow their dicks off from misfires, they’ll come back to us.”
“Vaska is concerned the guns will lead to some unwanted attention.”
“Oh, yeah, like that bullshit in the nineties when the Chinese tried to sell their crap knock-offs directly to the gangs?”
“Exactly like that.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We’re going to hear them out tonight and see if they really have the guns or if they’re just full of shit.”
He opened the door. I stepped over the threshold and turned. “Worst case scenario, we just kill the little fuckers. It’s been ages since you and I killed anyone together. It will be fun.”
“Killing the Petrov brothers is always a good plan. Why don’t you invite Dylan for dinner and drinks tomorrow at Red Star? Vaska and I will bring the girls.”
I chuckled. “My plans for Dylan do not include socializing with my friends. She is just someone to amuse me during my trip, nothing more.”
“Are you so sure? You realize this is the first woman you have ever mentioned to me by name in the fifteen years I’ve known you.”
His words startled me, but I waved him off. “That means nothing. I only mentioned her because they involved her with the money.”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “The money you don’t give a rat’s ass about and already recovered—that money?”
I flipped him the middle finger. “Fuck off before I shoot you for real this time.”
“Be warned, Ivan. American girls have a way of surprising you. If you are not careful, you’re going to find yourself happily committed like Vaska and me.”
I turned my collar up against the Chicago wind. “You both were soft and weak from living in America too long. That won’t happen to me. Dylan will do as she is told. We will both have fun and then I will return to Russia. No strings. Simple.”
Dimitri laughed.
My eyes narrowed. “What is so funny now?”
“You’ll see, my friend. You’ll see.”
Chapter 11
Dylan
I reached for my phone for the thousandth time before remembering I didn’t have it on me. The last time I saw it, Ivan had picked it up. He must have handed it to me, and I put it down either at the property or in his car. I was praying it was at the property because there was no freaking way I was going to try to retrieve it from Ivan’s car and I couldn’t afford to replace it.
I tilted my left wrist and glanced at the watch I had dug out from the bottom of my jewelry box.
7:31 p.m.
It would be another half hour before Ivan realized I was breaking our date.
Although was it really a date when the man simply demanded my presence like some savage Neanderthal? What would be on the menu for dinner? A raw mammoth steak with some boiled pterodactyl eggs? Would the evening’s entertainment be him bashing me over the head with his club and dragging me back to his cave? Where he would then tear off my animal skin dress, forcing me onto my hands and knees in front of a raging fire as he knelt behind me? His large hands gripping my hips as he violently thrust his hard cock into me while growling like an animal? He would then—
“Did you want to split a spinach artichoke dip appetizer?”
I blinked several times. Slowly the orange glow of flames flickering over prehistoric painted cave walls receded. I was sitting across from Oliver in some generic Italian chain restaurant. “I’m sorry, what?”
He didn’t even bother putting his menu down, but rather spoke from behind it. “Did you want to split the spinach artichoke dip appetizer? Oh, wait, no, it probably has garlic. You know how garlic gives me gas.”
I glanced at my watch again.
7:33 p.m.
I reached for my wineglass and drained the last of the Cabernet Sauvignon while raising my arm and signaling to the server I wanted—no, needed—another glass. “Listen, Oliver. We need to talk.”
He tossed the menu aside and reached for his domestic light beer. Of course he would drink light beer. I never really thought about it before, but somehow it made him seem less manly. Ivan probably drank vodka straight from the bottle.
Seriously, I needed to stop thinking about that man.
Against my will, I glanced at my watch yet again.
7:35 p.m.
I wondered what Ivan would do when he got to my apartment, and I wasn’t there? Would he be mad or just move on to his next female conquest? This was torture. I really needed to stop thinking about him. I had no intention of ever seeing him again. Considering he was a super dangerous Russian criminal, that was supposed to be a good thing.
7:36 p.m.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to harp on me again about that stupid miscommunication a few nights ago, are you?”
I raised my arm again, this time frantically waving to get the server’s attention. When he finally saw me, I lifted my empty wineglass. He nodded.
“First of all, it wasn’t a miscommunication. Y
ou invited me out on a date and then stood me up, but that’s not why I wanted to talk. Listen, you are a really great guy, but I just don’t think it’s working out between us.”
Oliver leaned back in his seat. His lip lifted in a sneer as his gaze traveled over me. “This is a joke, right?”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’m sure you’ll find someone who—”
“Stop. Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.” He gestured between us. “You didn’t actually think we were dating, did you?”
The server approached with a bottle of wine to refill my glass. I kept silent so they would not overhear our private conversation. Oliver did not have the same reservations.
He laughed. “I don’t know what’s worse. The thought that a low-class, second-rate bitch like you thought you were my girlfriend, or that someone like you thought you could actually dump someone like me.”
My cheeks flamed as the server cast me a sympathetic glance.
I reached for my wine and took a gulp, coughing when it went down the wrong pipe. Recovering, I said, “There’s no reason to get nasty about this.”
Oliver leaned forward as he warmed up to his subject. “I mean, look at you. Sitting there in some off-the-rack cheap dress putting on airs like you’re not the nobody cast-off orphan of a piece of shit criminal.”
My lower lip trembled as I reached for my purse. I rose, but his hand around my wrist kept me at the table. My gaze skittered around the dining room, afraid we were causing a scene, but the other diners didn’t seem to notice. “Let go,” I spit out through clenched teeth as I sat back down.
Oliver stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “What’s the matter? Is the whore going to cry now because she didn’t land herself a rich boyfriend?”
“I was breaking up with you, remember?”
“Yeah, right. This was probably all just a ploy, so we could go back to my place for makeup sex. What was the plan, Dylan? Were you going to convince me not to use a condom and then pretend I’d knocked you up?”
I pulled on my wrist. He strengthened his grip. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”
“Where do you think you’re going? Now that I know your plan, there’s no point in me wasting money on you. We can skip dinner and I can just fuck you in the back of my car. Maybe I’ll go bareback. It’s not like I’d ever give you a dime even if you had my bastard.”
“Oliver, let go.”
Carinna had been right all along. Oliver was not worth my time. Coming here and trying to formally break it off with him had been a terrible idea. Apparently, I was the only one who even thought we were pseudo-dating. How could I have been such a fool to think this asshole was above me? I can’t believe I actually thought I was lucky someone like him wanted to date me.
I wrapped my fingers around my wineglass and lifted it.
Oliver stilled. His gaze went from my face to the wineglass then back to my face. “Don’t even think about it, bitch.”
“Then let go of me.”
He twisted my wrist in his grasp. “You throw that wine on me and I’ll—”
Oliver stopped mid-sentence. His head tilted back as he focused on something behind me.
Before I could turn to see what had captured his attention, a pair of large, warm hands settled on my shoulders. The comforting spicy scent of a now familiar cologne wrapped around me.
Fear of repercussions and questions would come later. For now, I could have cried with relief. The tight, sick feeling in my stomach as I struggled to contain the increasingly dangerous situation with Oliver evaporated.
Ivan was here.
I leaned back slightly, resting the back of my head against his hard stomach. His fingers pushed my hair aside so he could gently caress the skin of my neck.
When he spoke, his Russian accent was heavy and lethal sounding. “And you’ll what?”
Oliver narrowed his eyes as he glared at Ivan, but he at least released my wrist. “This is a private conversation.”
Ivan remained standing as he towered over our table. “But now I am curious. I must know. What will you do if she throws that glass of wine on you?”
Oliver bristled. “Hey, buddy, if you don’t leave us alone, I’ll be forced to call over the manager.”
Ivan laughed. He pulled a chair from an empty nearby table up to ours and straddled it. Tipping his head in my direction, he gave me a wink before focusing his intense blue gaze back on Oliver. “So, the weak American boy expects another man to fight his battles? I have asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
Oliver’s narrowed gaze shifted between Ivan and me. “Is this some kind of setup? You really are a stupid bitch if you thought I’d fall for some bullshit shakedown.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Ivan placed his hand over mine, immediately silencing me. A tic in his upper cheek twitched as the scar across his lip seemed to become even more prominent. “Apologize to the lady.”
Oliver snorted. “What lady?”
Ivan’s arm shot out. He wrapped his hand around the back of Oliver’s head. He then wrenched his arm forward, slamming Oliver’s head against the table. Oliver’s torso bounced back as blood gushed from his now broken nose. There was a collective gasp around the dining room. A manager approached but backed off the moment he met Ivan’s hard stare.
The paper napkin Oliver held under his nose was quickly soaked with blood. “My nose! You broke my fucking nose.” His arm snaked out to snatch the napkin in front of me. “You’re going to pay for this—both of you.”
My heart seized. Oliver was an accountant at a law firm that did business with my boss’ brokerage firm. That was how we first met. If word got out about this, he could ruin my career. Who would want to work with the real estate agent who had a Russian thug following her around beating people up?
Ivan picked up one of the steak knives on the table. He deftly flipped it until he was gripping the handle with the blade point down. Without saying a word, he grabbed Oliver’s wrist and forced his hand flat on the table.
Oliver’s eyes widened as his voice went up several decibels. “What are you doing?”
Ivan pressed the tip of the knife into the back of Oliver’s hand. The skin turned white, then a few drops of blood beaded up on the surface. Oliver screeched. The manager tried to approach again.
Ivan growled, “Back off.” He then returned his attention to Oliver. “I’m going to need you to listen very closely to what I say because I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”
Oliver ignored him as he twisted in his seat, begging the staring customers for help. No one so much as shifted in their seat yet all were transfixed by the spectacle playing out before them like a macabre dinner theater.
Ivan pushed the knife in further. Oliver screamed.
Despite the pain and chaos he was creating, Ivan remained dangerously calm. “Do I have your attention now?”
“Yes. Yes, whatever you want. Take my wallet. My car keys.” Oliver nodded toward me. “Take her. Take whatever you want.”
Ivan smiled. “I don’t need your permission to take what I want, but I do need you to apologize to Ms. Prescott here.”
I leaned forward. “Really, Ivan, he doesn’t need to—”
Ivan’s glare stopped me.
He focused back on Oliver. “Apologize to her. Now.” He twisted the knife in deeper.
Blood from Oliver’s nose poured over his lips, sending small flecks onto the tablecloth as he spurted out, “I’m sorry! All right? I’m sorry!”
Eager to end this, since there was very little chance the cops weren’t already on their way, I nodded. “Fine. I accept your apology.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Okay, Ivan? Let’s just leave.”
Ivan kept his gaze on a freaked-out Oliver. “Not good enough.”
With a forlorn glance around the room, I sat back down, clutching my purse to my stomach.
Oliver again cried out for help, but no one in the restaurant moved.
Ivan pushed the knife in furth
er. By now, he’d sunk the knife tip through Oliver’s hand and into the table. Oliver whimpered as his eyes rolled back in his head. His body slumped in his chair.
Ivan slapped Oliver across the face. Somehow, him slapping Oliver instead of punching him seemed yet another insult to Oliver’s supposed masculinity. “Wake up, pussy boy.”
Oliver’s mouth opened and closed as he nodded numbly.
Ivan grabbed Oliver’s head and forced him to look at me. “To kill you and dispose of your stupid body is more of a hassle than I need right now, but if I ever hear you have so much as uttered her name, I will hunt you down like the pitiful dog you are and put a bullet between your eyes. Do you understand me?”
Oliver’s jaw bobbed a few times as he tried to speak but couldn’t, so he just nodded.
Ivan nodded. “Good. We have an understanding. Now, I’m going to need you to leave the city tonight and never return. Otherwise, I will forget how nice I’m being in letting you live.”
Again, Oliver only gave a slack-jawed nod.
Satisfied, Ivan stood.
I kept my gaze trained on the table. Was it too much to hope that he would just simply walk away?
His large hand slid over my shoulder to stop possessively on my back. “We are leaving, malen’kaya kukla.”
Snatching my wineglass, I briefly thought about tossing the contents on Oliver just for spite, but decided I needed the bracing alcohol more. I drained it before rising.
As Ivan’s hand guided me through the dining room, all that could be heard was the scrape of chair legs as people scurried out of his way.
A pair of Chicago police officers met us near the door.
Ivan placed me behind him. “Can I help you, Officers?”
They both placed their hands on the butts of their handguns as they eyed Ivan’s large imposing form. The one on the left spoke. “We had a call of a disturbance at this address.”
