Chapter 16

Nicolai

She’s given me the most precious gift: her innocence and trust. Marissa and I have fought long and hard for this, but it’s still something I need to treasure. Against all odds, I claimed her virginity. And no matter what happens next, that matters.

“I love you,” I tell her one last time before I push myself out of bed.

“And I love you,” she says, her eyes filled with trust and hope as I walk to the bathroom to clean us up. There isn’t much else to say. We need to pick up our roles again, convince everyone of who we are. We need to make it back to Boston and prove to the men there that she is my slave and I her master. If I’m just the transport guy, it won’t matter too much. But if she’s grown close to me, and we prove to anyone who looks our way that we belong together…

I’m growing sentimental, and it will not do.

I grab a towel and washcloth, lather it with warm, soapy water, and return to her. Her hair is beautifully tousled, her cheeks flushed with color, and I’m pleased to see the pink marks I’ve left all along her neck and collarbone. They’ll show when we’re around the others, proving my ownership of her.

And if I put a baby in her… Khristos, it’s risky, but if it happens, it could work very much in our favor. I can’t think much beyond what we’d do if we had a baby. So much is left to the unknown, though. What if Tomas decides he wants to claim her? If he’s had me fetch her, only to make her his?

I will find a way to escape. To keep her. To prove to anyone that comes within ten feet of us that we belong together.

I kneel beside her on the bed and clean her, towel drying her off before I reach for her clothing. I can’t wait to see her in regular clothes again. I’ll burn this fucking sheath, and with it the memory of her captivity.

After a time, I bring her out for an early dinner. Erik and Yakov are both in the dining area but seated separately. This time when I bring her out, the pink marks on her neck and chest show vividly against her pale, creamy white skin. Yakov smiles approvingly, and even Erik gives me a lewd grin. When we finish, Erik walks past me and bumps my fist. He approves. He’s still a bastard.

“Too bad she isn’t yours to keep,” he says, before he drags his woman back with him.

Marissa’s gaze widens and she looks at me in shock.

“What did he say?” she asks.

I swallow hard. We haven’t discussed this. “He said it’s too bad you aren’t mine to keep.”

Her pale skin grows even paler. “What does that mean?” she whispers.

I clear my throat and finish my drink before I reply. “I’ve come to fetch you as a tribute for entry into the brotherhood,” I tell her. It’s as much as I can tell her in public like this, anyway. She holds my gaze. I suspect she has many questions to ask, but can’t risk any of them being overheard.

“What happens when we arrive?” she finally asks, her voice so soft it’s practically a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. I reach for her hand. “But I have a suspicion, and—” I realize the man beside us is watching us, and likely hearing every word we say. I squeeze her hand and assume the role of master once more. “The only thing you need to worry about is your obedience to me. Do you understand?”

If she follows my lead, and puts her trust in me, I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. She holds my gaze for long minutes before she replies. Nodding, she bows her head. “Yes, sir.”

I reach for her hand and squeeze it. There are so many other things I wish to say, but not here. Not now.

I take her back to the room and make love to her again, as slow and steady as before, but this time the union is even sweeter. After we make love, I pull her onto my chest.

I want to claim her body and leave my mark. Fuck her. Fucking own her. But not now. It’s too soon. She’s too young, too fragile.

So young.

My conscience plagues me. Marissa has her whole life ahead of her. Who am I to take that from her? Once I free her from this, from all ties to the Bratva and the captivity she’s endured, she could live her life unencumbered with a much older man like me. I come with baggage and the weight of the life I’ve lived.

“What are you thinking?” she says softly. I can’t tell her. Not if we’re going to keep our cover.

I smile slowly at her. “That I can’t wait to fuck you.”

She captures her lips between her teeth. “You just did.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “I made love to you, zvezda moya. That is very, very different.”

“The, um, movements are the same?” she offers helpfully. That makes me laugh out loud and hell, it feels good to do that.

“You will see.”

She falls asleep tucked up onto my chest with a smile on her lips. I hold her, and wish I could hold her forever. I wish I could erase what lurks in every corner. I could secret her away to the furthest corner of the earth and they could still find her. And no logical argument prevails. She was sold, for a price, the price her father likely had to pay. I paid that price. What happens to her next doesn’t matter.

But the Boston Bratva may think otherwise.

Soon, she falls asleep, but I can’t. I go over every scenario in my mind, some that could possibly work, and some that border on the insane. But in the end, I come back with the same conclusion I have since the very beginning.

I can’t run from this danger.

I need to confront it head on.

When the fingertips of sunrise begin to creep beneath the window covering, I fall into a brief and restless sleep. I wake with her curled up on me, her knee crooked up and her hair spread out on my chest. I bend down and kiss the top of her head.

“You awake?” she asks.

“I am. Are you?”

She giggles. God, it’s the cutest thing. But I quickly sober. Today is the day.

“You’ll have to be on your best behavior today. If anyone suspects you aren’t well-trained, it puts us at risk.”

She sighs. “I will, sir.” But there’s a note of chagrin in her voice. I take her chin between my fingers and lift her gaze upward.

“What is it, zvezda moya?”

“You keep telling me to obey you,” she says, and to my horror, her voice wavers and her eyes shine with unshed tears. “But I am trying the best that I can. I haven’t defied you. Not at all. I slipped up once by accident, and a few times I’ve been too shocked to obey you immediately.”

My heart squeezes and I want to kick myself. She yearns to please me so much, and I haven’t honored her obedience to me.

“Sweet girl,” I say, holding her even tighter. “You please me more than words can say, in all that you do. You are beautiful and kind, and such a very good girl. It isn’t you that worries me.”

She basks in my praise like a flower in the sun, blooming to full brightness under the rays. “Tell me again, sir? Please.” Her voice is choked with emotion. How could I have overlooked this before? How desperate she is for my approval?

“You are such a good girl,” I tell her. “I can’t imagine how you could please me more.”

And then she’s crying, tears falling down her cheeks, sniffing into my chest.

“Marissa,” I whisper, but she shakes her head.

“Years,” she manages to choke out. “I’ve wanted you for years. And it isn’t fair how hard we have to fight to be together. But it doesn’t matter. None of it does. We fight harder than anyone else, and when we finally can live in peace, we will appreciate it more.”

My throat is tight. I swallow hard to keep my emotions in check, to remain strong for her.

“We will,” I agree. “Hell, we already do. Now let’s do what we need to today. Let’s follow the script. Trust me, sweet girl. Will you?”

She lifts her face to me, her eyes bright with conviction.

“I will. I do.”

We prepare in silence. There are too many things to say that no one else can overhear. Now that our next step is here, I’m eager to take it.

I don’t like that when we leave, Erik and Yakov will be joining us, but it’s the smallest detail of what I dread next. I brought nearly nothing with me when I boarded, so only a small bag of my essentials remains when I take her off the ship. We’ve arranged for a rental car to be waiting for us when we leave, large enough to accommodate all six of us, and Yakov brings clothing for the girls. We’ll get more permanent transportation when we arrive at our new compound.

So many questions trouble me about what happens next. Will anyone in Boston recognize me? Or her? Are any of the Boston Bratva in league with her father? How will I manage to keep her from being shared by the other men if I offer her as tribute?

We exit the ship and a large black SUV waits for us beside the wharf. Erik, Yakov, and I load our luggage and situate the girls. I’m driving, Marissa is in the passenger seat, and the other four remain in the back. Tomas and the rest are waiting for us at the compound, the directions already loaded on my phone. I buckled Marissa in myself. It’s a hot, humid summer day in Boston, the wharf teeming with tourists and vendors. I need this but hate it at the same time. The busier it is, the less likely we are to being noticed or identified. The busier it is, the easier it is for someone to touch her. Look at her.

I want her alone in a tower, hidden from anyone else’s eyes but mine. I want to hold her to me and shield her from anyone and everything that could harm her. But to save her, I have to bring her to the heart of where the most pressing danger lies.

It’s a beautiful summer day in Boston, bright and sunny. Vendors sell their wares: t-shirts and souvenirs, hot dogs and cotton candy. Full blooms and greens decorate archways that cover walkways, and just beyond the busyness of the wharf, cobblestones line old-fashioned streets.

“It’s beautiful here,” Marissa says, looking out the window. “So different from—”

I give her a sharp look. She may not speak of where we came.

“The ship,” she finishes. She swallows hard and doesn’t meet my eyes. I hauled her over my lap for a spanking when she almost spoke my name aloud, and it’s more imperative now than ever that we keep our identity hidden.

The streets are so crowded with people, I have to focus heavily on navigating safely to the on-ramp to the highway.

“When does Tomas expect us?” Erik asks. I spoke to Tomas this morning, and he put me in charge of bringing us to meet him.

“Noon.”

We drive in silence until I get to the on-ramp. I glance at the GPS on my phone. “It should only take about fifteen minutes. He says traffic may be lighter this time of day.”

The on-ramp is crowded with people, and I hate the slow-crawl. I want to be there already. Today is the day we pay tribute to the Bratva, and hopefully gain the entry we need.

“Jesus,” Yakov mutters. “Tak mnogo lyudey.”

So many people.

“Eto dolzhno proyasnit”sya,” I respond. It should clear up. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. I wonder why he speaks Russian now. One of the criteria for admission to the Boston brotherhood is fluency in Russian, and if we speak our native language, he’s likely assuming the girls won’t know what we say. What he doesn’t know is that Marissa is fluent in Russian and speaks it as well as I do. I give her a quick, sidelong glance. We haven’t discussed this, but I don’t want her to reveal that she knows the language.

The other girls look downward, but there’s a palpable nervousness in the air. Yakov’s jaw is tight, his hand clasped on the leg of the girl beside him. Even Erik’s typically arrogant demeanor has diminished as he stares out the window. His arm is around his woman’s shoulders, but her body is held apart and rigid.

“YA khotel by byt” za rulem,” he mutters.

I wish I were driving.

I give him a sharp look, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. The bastard. He doesn’t like that I’m controlling this.

“I can’t make the traffic go away,” I tell him tightly, “but according to the directions, it clears up after the tunnel.” I try to keep myself aloof, and not let on that he affects me, but I’m already on edge not knowing what will happen next. My pulse races, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Marissa reaches for my knee, and discreetly gives me a little squeeze. When she touches me, the tight coil inside me loosens a little. Still, I push her hand away casually, so the others don’t see. It wouldn’t do for anyone to notice any intimacy between us at all, though I can’t deny that even this little reminder from her helps calm me.

I ignore the way she tucks her hand in her lap, like she’s been rejected. I hate that. But hell, she can’t risk a damn thing.

The traffic clears after the tunnel, and I look at the GPS. We drive here for half a mile before we exit again, heading deep into the inner city. I glance in the rearview mirror. “Fuck!”

Huge headlights loom right behind me. There’s a goddamn tractor trailer on my heels. I look quickly to the left and right lanes to see if I can switch, but there’s no escape. I hit the gas, getting dangerously close to the car in front of me.

Yakov’s already unbuckled, his gun in hand.

“Jesus, Yakov, put it away,” I mutter, thankful the car in front accelerates, but the truck behind us only draws even closer. He’s trying to run me off the road.

“Fucking douchebag,” Erik growls, pulling his gun out, too. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Trying to run us off the goddamn road,” I tell him. “Who the fuck is he?”

“No idea. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hood.”

The last time we were in this position, I was running with Marissa to safety, and she recognized the man driving. I want to ask her now, but can’t risk either of the men knowing our history. Thankfully, there’s an exit coming up, but it seems he’s pushing me right off it. He’s on our tail, so close I hear the screeching of metal as his bumper scrapes ours and we lurch forward. I turn the wheel so hard the tires squeal as I exit the highway. The truck veers back on the main highway but doesn’t follow.

“What the fuck was that?” Erik asks. I don’t slow down. We’re in the inner city now, huge high-rises on every side. I’m driving way too fucking fast for an area like this, but I want to be sure no one’s followed us. I take a swift right turn and then a left.

“Fuck!” Erik screams from the back. A car swerves into our lane, and is heading straight for us. I yank the wheel, trying to get out of the way, but it’s coming at us head on. I hit the gas again, swerving hard, my pulse racing. This is no accident. Someone knows who we fucking are.

There’s nowhere to go. This car is going to hit us, and I can’t stop it. There’s a fucking suicidal driver heading straight for us.

I brace right before we slam into the car coming after us. Metal crunches, glass shatters, Marissa and I slam into air bags that instantly deploy as we spin out and finally screech to a stop.

I push myself out of my seat and take immediate inventory. First, Marissa. I turn to her, thankful that she’s conscious, though bloodied.

“Are you okay?” I demand. She nods.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice tight. She’s bleeding from a gash on her cheek, but her eyes meet mine. “Get them.”

I immediately look to find the driver of the other vehicle. My gun is in my hand. Fuck recognition. Anyone that drives me off the road and threatens Marissa, I’ll kill him no matter who gets in my way. I tear open the door. Someone hits the ground running, the driver’s side door to the vehicle that struck us swinging crazily. I pull out my gun and shoot, hitting his knee cap. I want him fucking conscious. He screams and hits the ground, his face contorted in pain as he writhes on the sidewalk, clutching his knee. Pedestrians scream and scatter. I hide my gun and run after him.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask, holding him by the hair.

“Fuck you,” he growls. I don’t recognize him at all and he has no ink that I can see. I drag the fucker back to his car that’s in better condition than ours and hold him in my grip before I do inventory of the rest of the passengers. Yakov stands outside the car, the blonde woman next to him, and Erik’s girl with the dark hair is climbing out. Marissa watches me with wide eyes, and the sight of blood dripping down her face infuriates me. I slam the man in my grip against the car, enjoying the way he howls when his head crashes into metal.

Goddamn motherfucker.

“Where’s Erik?”

“He’s fucking jammed in there,” Yakov says. “We’ll have to get him out.” Flames leap from the hood of the car. Our time is limited. Fucking Erik.

I look at the man in my grip and back to Yakov. Yakov releases the blonde and trots over to me. Yakov reaches in his pocket and pulls out a fistful of zip ties.

“Secure him first,” Yakov says, glaring at the man with the promise of vengeance. In seconds, we secure him with the ties and toss him in the back of the car, before racing to the wrecked rental.

Erik screams for us to help him. He’s pinned beneath twisted metal, writhing in pain, his leg pinched.

“Fuck,” I mutter. Sirens wail in the distance. Someone’s called emergency vehicles. We have to get out of here.

“We’ll have to pull him out,” Yakov says with a grimace. The pinned metal could be working as a makeshift tourniquet, and removing him could make him bleed out, but we can’t risk staying here. Yakov stands on one side and I the other. Erik’s growling in pain, white as a ghost, and he looks on the edge of passing out.

“Hold fast, brother,” I tell him. “Breathe. We’ll get you out.”

The guy might be a douchebag, but Bratva men defend one another to the death. I’m bound by honor and loyalty to save him, as is Yakov. Yakov meets my eyes and gives me a nod.

“On three,” I say. “One, two, three.”

Erik’s scream rings through the air as we lift the car off his leg. He’s bleeding, and heavily, but thankfully it isn’t as bad as I feared.

“We’ll have to make a tourniquet,” Marissa says. She’s by my side and the blonde is by Yakov’s. I tear off my shirt and wrap it around his leg.

“Fuck!” Yakov growls.

I look up and see Erik’s girl running as fast as she can two blocks away.

“We chase her, we risk cops coming here,” I tell him. “Gotta get you to the compound.”

“Go,” he says through gritted teeth. If Erik survives this, he’ll have to face Tomas empty-handed. I look to the blonde who sits by Yakov and Marissa, who watches everything with wide, curious eyes. They didn’t run.

Sirens wail just seconds away. The car that hit us is still running, and it’s our only means of escape.

“We’ll take his car,” I tell Yakov. Bystanders watch us on this busy street, but we wave off help. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

Yakov and I take Erik to the car, then I slide into the driver seat, Marissa sits in the passenger seat beside me, and Yakov restrains the man in the back on the floor, his foot pressed to his back. The man growls and tries to get up, but he won’t move.

“Go, Aleks,” Yakov says. “I’ve got him.” He points his gun at the man’s temple low enough out of the view of any bystander and cocks it. “Call Tomas.”

I call him on my phone and swipe at my head.

“Yeah?”

I tell Tomas what happened as succinctly as possible. I don’t mention to him that Erik’s tribute fled, but tell him we’ve captured the man who hit us and we’re bringing him in for questioning.

“I’ll send men out for recon,” Tomas says. “Get in here.”

We’re ten minutes out from the compound.

“Who the fuck are you?” Yakov asks the man on the floor, but the man doesn’t respond. Yakov kicks him. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Question him later,” I tell Yakov. “Keep him secured for now.”

Marissa freezes. I look to where she does as we turn to get back on the highway. Hidden between two trash barrels, crouched to the ground, our escapee hides. I glance in the rearview mirror, but Erik’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t see her. Marissa and I share a look. We stay silent.

Erik can deal with Tomas himself. I saved his fucking life, and he’s lucky I did.

“Yakov, tell me your injuries,” I demand.

“Bruised my leg, maybe sprained my wrist,” he says. “Otherwise fine.”

“Your woman?”

“A few scrapes and bruises but nothing broken.”

“You?” I ask Marissa.

“Gash on my cheek, but alright.”

“We’ll need to see a doctor to be sure no one sustained internal injuries.” I curse under my breath. This is not the way I would have chosen to make our entry to the brotherhood, but it could have been worse.

We survived.

I reach to Marissa and run my thumb along her thigh. The bastard will pay for marring her.

“I want to know how the fuck he knew who we were and how to get to us,” I say. I want a chance to question him myself.

We drive to the compound in silence, and when we arrive, half a dozen men stand outside, arms crossed like soldiers ready for battle. Tomas stands at the very front, the largest and most formidable of the group. He’s well over six feet tall, his nearly-black eyes boring into me. He wears a sleeveless black t-shirt, his arms revealing signature Bratva ink, silver scars mark his battle wounds along his upper arm that goes all the way to his neck.

I park the car and go straight to him.

“Aleks,” he says with a nod. “Tell me everything.”

I tell him about the truck on the highway and the car that followed us. “We have the driver secured in the back. Yakov’s got him. But we need a doctor, brother. Erik’s bleeding profusely. He’s unconscious now, either from lack of blood or pain.”

Tomas curses under his breath but nods, then barks out commands to the men behind him to take the prisoner and bring Erik inside.

“There are three of you and two women,” he says to me. His eyes are as hard as flint, and I realize immediately our new pakhan doesn’t fuck around. “Explain.”

I tell him how Erik’s tribute escaped.

“And yet the other two did not run?” he asks, eying them curiously. “Either they’re not as brave as the other, or you’ve treated them better.”

Tomas turns to the men behind him and issues orders in rapid Russian. Four men leave at a trot. He’s commanded them to find the escapee.

I don’t respond. I don’t want him to know I have any attachment whatsoever to Marissa.

“Bring them in. Have them seen to.” I look to Marissa. Her eyes are wide in panic. I want to reassure her that everything will be fine, that I won’t let any harm come to her.

“She’s a little skittish,” I tell Tomas. “Might be more cooperative if I bring her in myself.”

“She’s beautiful,” he says, giving her an appreciative once over. My blood thrums through my veins, molten and dangerous, my pulse quickening with the need to kill anyone that even looks at her.

“She is.” My voice is tight. Is he testing me?

He holds my gaze for long seconds.

“No longer a virgin?”

I shake my head once, keeping my temper in check with difficulty. “No, sir.”

His eyes go to her once more. “Is she well trained?”

If I show she isn’t well trained, I risk him wanting to do the job himself and outing myself as incapable of following orders. If I show she is, he might want her for himself. Hell, he probably already fucking does.

Instead of telling him, I decide to show him. I snap my fingers to Marissa and point to the ground in front of me. Head bowed, she walks to me and stands beside me.

“She is,” I tell him. “But she needs medical attention.” If I can get her away from him, I buy us time.

“You all do. Take them to the infirmary,” he tells a man beside him. He looks quickly from me to Yakov. “We’ll talk tonight during your induction.”