Dirty Hearts: The Lion and The Mouse (Book Three)

by Wright, Kenya

  Smart, Emily slowly lowered, letting my cock leave her and separating us. Whoever was in here, they didn’t notice.

  The bedroom light came on.

  The gun remained against my head.

  The gun-toter was lucky there were things bigger happening tonight, things more important than the lion’s reputation. My mouse could be pregnant.

  Had Emily not been here, I would’ve risked my death, turned around, and tried to disarm him. But Emily was too close. I couldn’t have them do something to her. I couldn’t live through it. I would never survive it. I had to keep her safe, even if I died in the process. My child possibly grew within her.

  Emily lowered again.

  Not yet, mysh.

  Her hand was under the pillow, probably reaching for her gun, when the other guy spoke.

  “Leave her. We need to talk.”

  Where did they come from? Are all my men dead?

  From the second statement, I recognized his voice.

  Goddamn it. I should’ve killed Jean-Pierre in the bathhouse.

  I slowly moved away, but kept myself between Emily and him, guarding her. I slipped the sheets over her. A man like Jean-Pierre should not get to see her naked. No one should.

  He’s seen enough. He’ll be dead soon. Come closer, Jean-Pierre. Have you ever flown off a balcony?

  Turning around, I scanned the room.

  The French crowded the space.

  The funny one—the one who’d been naked in the bathhouse, Rafael, walked over to the bed with his gun pointed at Emily’s head. “Sweetheart, could you do me a favor and stop reaching for the gun under your pillow?”

  Don’t reach, mysh. They’re idiots.

  Emily moved her hand and froze.

  Still pointing the gun at her, he winked. “Thanks, sweetie. By the way, my name is Rafael, if you ever want—”

  “You don’t talk to her.” I glared at him. “You only talk to me.”

  “That’s all the thanks I get, lion?” Rafael grabbed the gun from the pillow and tossed it to another man. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten to come.”

  What the hell is he talking about?

  I kept my focus on Rafael, but I was talking to his idiot cousin, Jean-Pierre. “What do you want?”

  “Eden was kidnapped tonight by your men,” Jean-Pierre said on the side.

  What the hell is wrong with this idiot? Is he on drugs?

  “My men didn’t kidnap anyone tonight.” I turned my attention to Jean-Pierre. “And who the fuck is Eden?!”

  “Get Misha on the phone. His people tracked Eden. He’ll have her.”

  “Misha wouldn’t have anyone tracking anybody without letting me know.”

  “He’s using the Devil.”

  “Haven’t heard of him either,” I growled. “Are you noticing a theme? I’m above all of them. Like I’m above you. Do you think this is wise, Jean-Pierre? Have you really thought this through?”

  “I’m done with the games.”

  Jean-Pierre had the gun pointed at my head. It didn’t matter. The only people I wanted to survive in this room was my mouse and our child inside her. I just needed to get the focus back on me.

  I turned back to Rafael. He continued to point his gun at Emily’s head. It terrified me, and there was only so long Emily would allow it before she acted. With this crew, I didn’t want them to be more erratic.

  Rafael stirred a little as I watched him. It gave me hope.

  At least someone knows this is stupid. What’s wrong with your cousin, Rafael? Is Jean-Pierre insane? Did the voices tell him to do this?

  Whatever addiction Jean-Pierre had, I would end it along with his heartbeat and those of anyone he loved. The French had finally got on my radar. They’d now become top priority over everything.

  You wanted my attention, Jean-Pierre. Now you’ve got it.

  Jean-Pierre gestured for Rafael to come to him.

  I continued to watch Rafael.

  That’s right. I’m going to kill you too.

  With Rafael and Jean-Pierre further away from Emily, I calmed for the first time. I slid a few inches forward, putting me further between the idiots and my mouse.

  So what now? You have me naked. What was your plan?

  I didn’t know what drugs Jean-Pierre was on, but it was something. His eyes looked red like he was exhausted or had been crying. But his actions said there had to be something chemical in his system.

  Why would you think this was a smart move?

  Something registered within Jean-Pierre’s eyes as he turned to Emily. “What’s your name?”

  Smart, my mouse didn’t answer.

  Still, I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. “You talk to me!” I fisted my hands. “You come into my bedroom in the middle of the night. I’d heard the French could be rude to tourists, but this is ridiculous.”

  “Get Misha on the phone.”

  I frowned. “You could have asked that anytime this afternoon or maybe after breakfast, and perhaps I would have obliged, but currently Misha has been avoiding me, and I don’t fucking like you right now.”

  “Celina stole something from Misha. Do you know what it is?”

  “I barely know Celina. My Uncle Igor would talk about her in passing. She was just one of his mistresses he helped out from time to time. Little projects to keep him from mourning his wife.”

  “Igor and I fought a war.”

  I sneered. “Not on any high level.”

  Enough with this.

  I rose from the bed. “I would cover myself, but let’s face it. We both know you hoped to see my dick.”

  Closer. I just need to get closer.

  I stalked over to him.

  His men raised their weapons and pointed at him.

  If you wanted me dead, you would’ve shot me long ago. No. You want me to do something, and all I want to do is kill you.

  I inched closer. All I needed to do was grab one of the important ones by the neck and drag them to me. Rafael or Jean-Pierre. Either one would do. I’d grab them, get the others to put their guns down, and then sling them all off the balcony.

  Paris will rain men today!

  I took another step. The other men looked unsure of what to do. Jean-Pierre kept his gun pointed. Death blazed in his eyes. This was not the calm relaxed man I was used to talking to. Still, I began to inch closer, but then Emily’s shaky voice stopped me. “Kazimir.”

  One more step, mouse. Don’t worry.

  I stopped in front of the Butcher. “So, how does it feel, Jean-Pierre? You’re here. Finally, I’m naked and in the bedroom with you. Was it everything you thought it would be?”

  “I’m done with games this evening.” He glared at me. “The clock is ticking. I want answers. Eden was kidnapped by the Bratva.”

  Who did Igor say that Jean-Pierre was stalking? Some sort of musician. Was her name Eden?

  I shook my head. “Is this all still about your flute player?”

  “It’s the violin.”

  I leaned in closer. “You start a war with me over a fucking musician?”

  “The war hasn’t started yet, but it might happen.” He signaled to his men. “Take him on the balcony.”

  I would like to see them try.

  “No,” Emily spoke.

  Jean-Pierre’s men widened their eyes as they looked her way. I did too. Emily rose from the bed with another gun in her hand. “You can talk to him in here. Not on the balcony.”

  No, mysh. I don’t want them to even know you’re in here.

  Jean-Pierre’s voice laced with edge. “Put the gun down.”

  My heart almost stopped.

  Emily looked scared. It wasn’t the best time to reason with her. Instead of putting the gun down, she shot at Rafael’s leg.

  Fuck it.

  I charged for Jean-Pierre.

  Violence erupted. I grabbed Jean-Pierre as his men rushed for me. It didn’t matter. As long as I had his neck within my hands, this moment would
be over. But Jean-Pierre slammed my head with the butt of the gun. Goddamn it. Pain burst, but not enough to stop me. I shoved him up against the wall.

  So close.

  His men dragged me off him.

  Rafael yelled behind us. “You almost fucking shot me?!”

  Emily screamed.

  No.

  My survival was no longer important. Everything turned to my mouse. All my attention. All my energy. I shoved his men to the side and raced her way. Three men grabbed and grappled me to the floor.

  No! Get away!

  “Enough!” Jean-Pierre shot at the ceiling.

  Everyone else paused. I glanced Emily’s way. She had Rafael in a headlock.

  Pride and horror twisted in my heart.

  No, mysh. They can’t know you’re important.

  She let Rafael go. Terror filled her eyes as she stared back at me.

  Damn it. I’m so sorry, mysh. Your men should’ve been here.

  “I should fucking kill you.” Rafael rubbed his jaw and reached for her.

  She ducked his grip and slid off the bed.

  “You don’t lay one finger on her!” I went crazy on the floor. Another man had to help hold me back. Still, with five of them on me, I moved them an inch forward, never giving up or calming down.

  “She’s crazy. And he won’t say shit or doesn’t know shit.” Rafael straightened his jacket. “What now?”

  Leave, so I can kill you later.

  Jean-Pierre looked at Emily. She’d wrapped herself in a bed sheet.

  “Take her.” Jean-Pierre glared.

  No. No.

  I still wasn’t sure I’d heard the right thing. Was it all in my mind? Was he really that crazy?

  Rafael widened his eyes. “You better be fucking playing with me.”

  “That’s not what you want to do, Jean-Pierre!” I shoved against his men, trying to break free. “You don’t want to take her. You’re smart, Jean-Pierre. Think this through.”

  Keep calm. Relax. Talk to him. What does he need? Who was it that was taken? Evie? I don’t care.

  I exhaled, ready to say something else or offer anything.

  “You heard me.” Jean-Pierre gestured Emily’s way. “Let’s go.”

  “Holy fucking shit.” Rafael grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door.

  No. No. This can’t happen.

  With no fear on her face, she didn’t turn my way, but I could feel the rage radiating off Emily. Her steps were careful.

  More men came in.

  Jean-Pierre touched something in his ear. It must’ve been an ear bud to talk to someone, because he said, “Plan B.”

  Silence passed.

  “Now there is...” Jean-Pierre turned back to me as I struggled with at least six men on the floor. Another had joined the party. “Have Misha call me.”

  “I told you.” Every one of my cells boiled in rage. “Misha has been avoiding me.”

  “So then what could Celina have taken from your Uncle Igor to make Misha avoid you?”

  Goddamn it. Did the mistress steal my babies or is it something less valuable? No. If people are dying, then it’s my babies. The nukes. Who cares? Give me back Emily!

  No wonder Misha wasn’t answering my calls.

  “Okay, Jean-Pierre.” I let out a long breath. “Let’s calm down. I’ll call Misha now. Don’t take her from me.”

  “You said yourself Misha has been avoiding you. Get him to contact you. When he does, he better be discussing Eden’s location and her safe return. I don’t give a fuck about what Celina took from you all. I don’t know what Misha’s tracking. I don’t care about anything else. You find the Devil. You find Eden. Or I’ll fucking play the most beautiful sonata on your lover’s spine. Her screams will be the sweetest melody.”

  My soul cracked. He had the power now. He had my mouse. He could do what he wanted, and I would wait by doing his bidding until she was safe.

  Dread saturated any part of me that might’ve been confident.

  All hope left.

  Do what he says. What else can I do?

  “I can get him.” I looked at the door. Emily was gone, but how far? My heart ached. She was in no condition to be taken away. The stress could harm the baby. It could mess with her. She’d just had a nightmare. I didn’t know why that fact bothered me, but no thoughts made sense.

  She’s gone. I lost her.

  In our world, when a woman was taken, she was almost never returned. If she did, it was chopped up and in a box.

  Please, God. Bring her back to me.

  My voice cracked. “You don’t have to take her. Anything you need—”

  “I told you what I need.” Jean-Pierre walked off.

  His six men kept me trapped on the floor. “If you touch her, if you harm her in any way, I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Jean-Pierre had already shut the door.

  No!

  Chapter 19

  Emily

  They’re taking me.

  Six men had Kazimir down on the floor.

  Terror hit me.

  They yanked me out of the bedroom. Out in the hallway, Rafael handed me over to Jean-Pierre. “Here you go, Mastermind. Your captive is all yours.”

  Jean-Pierre wrenched me to him and guided me forward. “What else could we do?”

  Rafael wrung his fists in the air. “There were a lot of things we could have done in these past minutes. Not one of them we did.”

  They’ve got me. For now. Focus. How many?

  I counted.

  Ten men. Could I get away? Have to. I can’t let them take me out of here.

  As if Jean-Pierre heard me, he increased his pace. “Let’s go!”

  He pressed the bud in his ear. Someone was telling him something.

  Who? Louis maybe. He’s the security guy. Think. Think.

  “Come on!” Jean-Pierre picked up the pace to a soft jog. I remained with him, studying his movements. Kazimir had painted them as perfumed pansies. I’d seen them in the picture Blue delivered to me in the file. Close up, they were horror in human form. There was nothing soft or sweet smelling about them. They looked like deadly killers, especially Jean-Pierre.

  Kazimir needs to refresh his concept of pansy.

  Jean-Pierre glanced my way.

  I made a show of effort with keeping his pace.

  “Good. Stay with me.” Jean-Pierre pulled me along. “Everyone head out. Don’t kill the Lion.”

  I snapped my focus back to him.

  Don’t kill Kazimir? Good. I won’t kill you so badly now. I’ll keep you alive for him.

  I hurried a little.

  See? I’m a gentle little flower, Butcher. Worry about the lion. Don’t stress over me.

  Jean-Pierre touched his ear again. Whatever the man was saying to him made his face redden a little.

  What’s going on in the bedroom?

  We left the suite and hit the hallway.

  French mafia were already at the elevator, holding it open. Jean-Pierre had come to start a war. The Corsican had surely outnumbered the few men Kazimir had brought with us on vacation.

  I can’t let them take me out of the building. It can’t happen. This might be my only chance.

  Jean-Pierre shook his head and spoke to the person in his ear. “I don’t need them anymore. Tell them to run the other way.”

  Yeah. You don’t need them. You’ve got me. Don’t worry about it. Leave Kazimir alone.

  Jean-Pierre dragged me toward the elevator.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Rafael and two other men followed with their guns out, ready to shoot from behind. Terror creased Rafael’s face. They called him The Funny One. I could see why. I’d sure found the humor in choking him.

  I can’t wait to get you again.

  Rafael scowled at me.

  I turned around.

  Jean-Pierre’s voice came out shaky. “Once we get on the elevator, Kazimir will have no choice but to take the stairs.”

  But then I’ll be on the
elevator with you. Could I get him on there? No. Better not get on at all. Better safe than sorry.

  Less than ten feet from the elevator, I pretended to trip and fell to the ground. I did my best to feign pain as I rubbed my ankle.

  I’m so hurt. Come help me.

  Jean-Pierre lowered and yanked me to him. “Get up.”

  Fuck you.

  I rose a little and head-butted his forehead. His face screwed in pain. I punched his stomach and tried to slip away.

  But Jean-Pierre was faster than I thought. Faster than even Kazimir, he wrenched me to my feet before I could register that he’d caught me.

  What the fuck?

  He sneered, “You’ll have to do more than that to keep me down, sweetie.”

  Oh yeah?

  I slammed my knee into his crotch.

  He doubled over. I twisted. He grabbed me. Shit! I used my weight, pulling him forward and banging his head into the wall. There. He twisted. I turned. He grabbed at me. I bit him.

  Let me go!

  He kept that grip on me, even as beads of blood peeked from where I’d bit him.

  Rafael and the rest of his men stood watching, but I didn’t know how long they would.

  I’ll deal with them later.

  Jean-Pierre’s grip was hard and cold. Rage covered his face.

  You’re not taking me, asshole.

  He moved his hands, fast. Not knowing what he was doing, I punched him in the jaw. He shoved me against the wall. A voice sounded from his ear. I couldn’t get make out the words. Jean-Pierre grunted as I punched him in his gut.

  He spoke to whoever was in his ear. “Now’s not a good time.”

  He shoved me on the floor.

  Fuck you!

  I tripped him.

  Rafael snorted and waved the other men away as they stepped closer to help.

  Jean-Pierre shoved me against the wall, his body plastered against mine. A sweet smell surrounded me. I sniffed.

  Is that perfume? Kazimir was right. They are perfumed pansies.

  The voice garbled some more from his ear.

  What is the person saying? Did I hear something about Kazimir?

  I chose that moment to twist out of his arms. Jean-Pierre tightened his grip.

  Motherfucker!

  I resorted to the old days and scratched his face. He let me go and slapped my hands away.