Chapter 19 - Boris

Ripping the panties from Fiona is such a turn-on that I can't believe I haven't done it before. Chasing her through the club was also a turn-on, but she knew that.

From the start, dancing with that guy was part payback, part foreplay. It's hard for me to fathom Fiona thinking I could stomach the idea of being with anyone but her—she occupies my every waking thought. Other women aren't even appealing to me anymore.

I'd forgotten that Miranda was even flirting with me, just trying to talk to her about the upcoming arms shipment, when I noticed Miranda looking down into the crowd.

That's when I saw Fiona dancing like that, that man's hands all over her.

He's lucky I didn't cut them off and instead punished him with a firm roughing up from my guys in the alleyway and a warning to never return to Noch or else. He'll also go on a no-admit list for all our other clubs once they open.

It's perverse, I know, but thinking of the beating that guy is taking in the alley right now only spurs me on as I slip my cock inside Fiona, gasping against her damp skin at the feeling.

It will never not feel like the first time, taking her. I slide out slowly, then pound into her again, feeling as she flexes her walls around me.

Fiona is all hands, running her palms over my chest, grabbing fistfuls of my hair, digging her nails into my back. I slam her into the wall, hiking her little black skirt up around her hips, gripping her, and adjusting her so I can seat myself deep inside her.

She gasps and lets her head fall back against the wall, and I take the opportunity to bite and kiss her neck, leaving a hickey clearly visible above the collar of her shirt. I want everyone in this fucking place, and everywhere she goes, to know that she belongs to someone.

That she belongs to me.

When Fiona starts tipping her hips up against me, desperate to have me deeper, I only get in a few more thrusts before I shudder into her, my seed leaking out onto her thighs.

She's panting hard when I set her back on her feet. Grabbing my phone, I use the flashlight on my phone to locate some paper towels and help her clean up.

"Guess I just have to go without panties, huh?" she says, laughing when I ball up the towels and throw them in a garbage can. "Unless you have a pair I can borrow."

"That's a good idea," I say, crowding her against the wall. "I should carry a pair of yours with me."

"That's not what I meant," she laughs, but I know she likes the idea of it. Despite the fact that I just came, something doesn't feel finished. I lean down and kiss her, feeling how taut her body is under me.

"You didn't come," I whisper, looking at her. She stares back at me, not saying anything. I was so caught up in getting inside her that I didn't pay attention to her body. It's time to correct that.

I drop to my knees, not missing the way Fiona shivers. I throw one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her up to me, and trace around the sensitive skin between her legs with my finger.

She's already panting, her head against that wall, her hips rolling toward me, begging for more of my touch.

Slowly, I slip a finger inside her, reveling at how warm and loose she is. My cock really stretched her out.

When I press my tongue to her clit, I add two more fingers, turning my hand and feeling her adjust. When I hit that little spot inside her, her body jerks toward me, and I smile against her, knowing she won't last much longer.

I'm starting to know every part of her, know how to unravel her in record time. I circle my tongue around her clit, pressing her hips into the wall to keep her from bucking them against me.

After she comes, I stand, smiling and wiping my mouth with a paper towel.

"Was that supposed to be a punishment?" she breathes. "If so, I plan to misbehave more often."

"You wouldn't dare," I grumble. "The next time I catch you near another man like that, I'll lock you in a room for days."

"Excuse me," she says, faking like she's going to push past me. "I need to return to the dance floor right away."

I laugh and catch her around the waist, pulling her into me. She smells, like always, of warm vanilla. Comfort personified.

It's on the tip of my tongue. I love you .

"Fiona," I start, hearing how rough my voice is. She looks up at me, her eyes shining, and I feel it. After listening to her whisper for weeks, it's time for me to say it out loud. Proudly. I love this insane, intense woman with every part of myself. "I—"

My phone rings loudly, and I jump, making her laugh. I give her a playful glare and dig it out of my pocket, my pulse increasing when I see who it is.

"Roman?" I say, turning away from Fiona and feeling bad about it as I do. All she wants is to be included, but my instincts tell me to shield her from these conversations.

"Come to the office," he says, breathless, "we need to talk."

"Hey," I say, turning to Fiona after hanging up the phone.

"I know," she says, smiling and glancing up from her own phone. "I'm going to go find Anya."

I swallow, watching her push through the closet door. Her smile didn't hit her eyes—but I can't think about that right now. I have to see what Roman needs.

This morning, I gave him and Viktor specific instructions for how we would get even with Allard. I gathered intel about a trade Allard would be doing this afternoon—a few carts full of cocaine. Viktor and Roman were to infiltrate and sneak out the cocaine, replacing the cartons with empty ones, like Allard did to us.

It should send a clear message without provoking further retaliation. We aren't to be messed with, but we don't want a war.

When I get to the office, Roman is leaning against the desk, picking at his fingers. As soon as I walk through, he stands up straight, and the look on his face doesn't inspire confidence.

"What happened?" I asked, pacing back and forth. What could have possibly gone wrong? And where is Viktor?

My stomach drops, and a certainty settles in my stomach. There's no doubt in my mind that Viktor had something to do with the reason why Roman looks so worried now.

"Well," Roman says, taking a deep breath. "Switching out the cartons was easy enough. Despite all his planning and scheming, Allard doesn't actually have very good security around his shit. Viktor and I were able to get in and out, swap out the crates, and get the real cocaine on the truck headed to our facility for examination."

My breathing starts to slow.

"Okay, so what's the problem, then?"

"Well," Roman says, taking a deep breath. His eyes are tracking me as I pace, and they still when I come to a stop, crossing my arms. "As soon as the cocaine was on the truck, headed the other way, Viktor started laughing.

"Not good."

"Right—I thought he was just glad that we managed the switch and got it right away without any issues, but obviously, it wasn't that."

"Did he take more?"

"No."

"Kill anyone?"

"No."

"I just—what the fuck did he do?"

"Viktor…" Roman says, pinching the bridge of his nose, which reminds me suddenly of our mother. That's exactly the same gesture and tone she would use when talking about Viktor when we were kids. "He put something in the crates."

"An explosive?"

"He didn't kill anyone, brother," Roman says, and despite the seriousness on his face, he lets a small smile slip over the expression. "Fuck, dude—it's not funny, but it's kind of funny."

"What?" I say, mind racing, trying to figure out what Viktor could have done that didn't kill anyone and is funny to Roman, who is usually very serious and straight-forward.

"Viktor filled the crates with rubber duckies."

"…rubber duckies?'

"You know, like people use in the bath—"

"I know what rubber duckies are," I snap, laughing a bit despite myself. "That's not so bad, a little bit of a taunt, sure, but—"

"French rubber duckies."

"What?"

"They had little mustaches. And they were holding baguettes. He showed one to me after we got out of there. He spent his own money on it, dude."

" Fuck ," I say, laughing and shaking my head. "That is funny. But we were supposed to do empty crates."

"There's more," Roman says, swallowing, and I stop laughing. "We saw Allard—watched the deal go down. When he opened a crate, and there was no cocaine, just rubber duckies—"

"He was pissed."

"More than pissed. The guy shot his own guy right there and left him dead on the ground. Allard set the building on fire with everyone inside. He was completely off the wall, dude. Like nothing I've ever seen before."

I think about what my father used to say—rage is nothing without control. Allard is dangerous because when he gets upset, he just throws a tantrum. Like a little kid. Which can be lethal—but not just for his enemies. Eventually, he'll end up forgetting which way the gun is pointing when he goes off.

"Well," I say, taking a breath and chewing on my lip, trying to consider our options. "Double the security around all our properties. Nobody gets a day off for the next week. I'm sure he'll act soon if he's really that mad."

"He could be acting now," Roman says, "he stormed out of there and jumped in his car, leaving a bunch of people behind. That's why I wanted to catch you right away and let you know what happened."

"Good work. Where's Viktor?" I wince, wondering if he's causing further damage.

"Got a burn on his arm when the building went up. He's at the Family clinic to get it treated, I asked the doc to delay him a bit so we could have more time. Viktor's a bit like Allard, all hyped up, ready to go."

"I don't doubt it," I say, "that's something we're going to have to try and get under control. But not right now—right now, the focus is making sure Allard doesn't hit us where it hurts."

Right as I say it, it dawns on me that there's one spot that would hurt more than others.

"Fiona is with Anya," I say, returning to my desk and pulling up the security cameras, "go find them and take them home. Triple security on our girls, and just for good measure, send an alert to the cousins so they can put more protection around their families, too, if they want."

"Of course, you task me with contacting them," Roman mutters, but he turns dutifully, walking out of the room and heading back toward the club to locate Anya and Fiona.

I pull up the video footage from the cameras and scan the dancefloor, looking for Fiona's sparkling top and Anya's familiar, goofy dance style. But the longer I look, the more worried I get. I don't see them anywhere—not at the bar, on the dance floor, or outside the bathrooms.

They could be in the bathrooms, I tell myself, as I page one of the female bouncers and ask her to check for me. My heart races as I head to the dance floor. They have to be here.

Because if they aren't, that might mean Allard has his hands on them. I think of what Roman said, of the man lighting that building on fire, how he's killed women and children before.

But he knows Fiona. It even seems like he cares about her.

Would that stop him from doing something drastic if he knew it would hurt me?