Recklessly His: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance, page 4
“The problem isn't the Russian behind bars. He's got two brothers walking free. They're all very much alive and active, I'm sorry to say. Tell me, Brina, what do you think would happen if he found out who you are? Hm?”
I swallowed. He had me. Nothing good.
“That's right,” my uncle whispered, standing up. “I get it. You're young. Hungry to make a name for yourself. Maybe do something that'll get this family some positive buzz in the press, outside the trendy reviews section, I mean.”
Our clubs always got glowing reviews. I wasn't sure if he bribed them, or if the quality was really just better than everybody else's. It almost made up for the odd story that slipped out about our mafia doings.
He crossed the room and kneeled. He grabbed one hand with both of his, held it. I couldn't suppress the shudder. He was so damned cold, his fingers like stubby icicles.
“You got your interview, my niece. Two of them, and that's plenty. No more followup. Visiting him twice was dangerous and stupid,” he said coldly, pinching my fingers in his. “This will be a one off, an exclusive, whatever the fuck you call it in your business. And if you ever decide to have talks with an Ivankov associate again, you'll come to me first. I'm not going to treat you like a kid, Brina. You're a mature, beautiful woman now. But I'm not going to be the idiot responsible for something bad happening to you while you're young and stupid. I promised Gio I wouldn't let that shit happen, and I'm sticking to it.”
I turned my face away. Hearing him talk about my father hit me harder than it should in this state. The alcohol numbed everything else, but not this, apparently.
“Uncle, don't.” I extracted my hand from his, warming it in my other palm.
“I won't, Brina. I don't need to. I know you understand, don't you?”
It took me a good ten seconds to meet his eyes. Finally, I nodded.
The glacial frown on his face thawed, and broke into a smile. His small, too perfect white teeth glistened in the dim light.
“Magnifico! There's my good girl.” He reached around me, pulled me out of my seat, and held me tight. “Stay away from the Silver Pear for awhile. Don't let an Ivankov poison your good mind, Brina. Drink some water. Get some sleep. I'll have Silvano take you home. He's waiting for you outside.”
His grip was cold, but it was reassuring after the day I'd had. What could I say?
I wasn't making promises I had no intention of keeping. I hated being looked after like a kid, but I couldn't deny his intentions were good. Uncle Gioulio was more experienced, a man who'd spent his whole life precariously perched between two worlds, criminal and civil.
“Thanks, Uncle.” I gave him one more squeeze and then headed out to the sleek black sedan with the chauffeur out front.
When I looked through the Silver Pear's glass just before the car pulled away, he was still standing there, thumbing his knife's handle. The big flat blade tapped on his thigh the same way an angry cat thumps its tail.
I took my vitamin and guzzled several big glasses of water before I collapsed in a long, dreamless sleep. Richard's call woke me the next day way too early.
The hangover almost killed me when I sat up, but I managed to reach the phone. “Hello?”
“Brina, baby, this is fucking gold! And it's going live today.”
Mission accomplished. So then, why did that make me feel so nauseous?
“I'm glad you like it. He said something about a followup on my way out, right after the part where he scared the hell out of me.”
Richard laughed. Easy for him to chuckle when I'd done the hard part, feeding content to his fifty million daily viewers while he hadn't done an interview himself in the past decade. And never one with a savage creep like Ivankov.
I shouldn't have said anything about the followup, my last heart pounding moment with Anton. Richard said the dreaded words.
“We'll make this a three parter!”
Fuckity-fuck. That headache rumbling in my head growled louder. “I don't know. Are you sure people really want that much on the Chicago bomber? I didn't know the appetite was so strong.”
“What? You kidding?” He sounded like I'd just spoken complete gibberish. “I've been in this business a long time, Brina. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the people love freaks. They want their killers, psychos, and terrorists up close and personal. Candid or off-the-walls crazy, it's all good. It's our job to keep the carnival running as long as possible.”
“Okay. One more interview,” I snapped. “Next week. Then that's it.”
He paused. “Brina, what's going on? You sound stressed.”
He didn't know the fucking half of it. Anton was a murdering thug who sent chills up my spine. I could explain that, but I'd never admit to the sharper chills electrifying my bones whenever my brain was free and unchained at night. I wasn't about to tell a top ten roller in the new wave media that my sick brain wouldn't stop having sex dreams about the fearsome Russian killer.
“I'll get through it,” I promised, taking a deep, silent breath. “These sit downs with him are very intense.”
“Oh, no doubt, girl. And that's why I love 'em. Just keep doing what you're doing. Rest up and be ready for the final act with him next week. I know you won't let me down, Brina. This is your big break. And I'd be saying that without a third act to look forward to.”
“Thanks, Rich. I needed that.”
No answer. I held my phone away and saw it was dead. Great. I angrily slapped the key and headed for the shower.
A nice, hot steamy fog would do a lot to sweat out the fever Anton fed in my skin. Then maybe I'd have the strength to face the next few days sober, right after I called the correctional facility and set up the Wednesday afternoon he'd suggested.
If I wasn't such a scared, high strung virgin, this would've been the perfect time to go out and get laid. In the shower, I couldn't stop craving a man's thick, strong hands roaming my curves, all the dirty yearnings I'd been too scared to face head-on.
Big mistake. Little by little, those imaginary hands became his. Anton's fingers pinched my ass until I cried with pleasure, slamming me against his hard, rough body, pressing my face to his hard, unapologetic lips. His tattoos were a hypnotic world on his skin, alive and dangerous as the rest of him. And his cock – when it brushed against my belly, hot and big and brutally hard, I melted.
Fantasy Anton moved like lightning, fisting my hair in one rough pull, holding my face underneath his. “Stop fighting this shit. I know all the nasty things you think about me. I know you pretend to be a good girl, Sabrina, divorced from the shit you were born into. Stop fucking fighting it. Stop fighting me. You're a crime girl, babe, and a starving little slut to boot. You want your goddamned exclusive? Then I'm gonna give it to you hard and deep, just like those Latvian chicks. I'll pry your pretty eyes open, make 'em see everything with one hard fuck.”
I screamed when he pushed between my thighs, taking me, driving me insane. It should've hurt, but my clit hummed pleasure, throttling beet red ecstasy to my head.
“No. Yes! I mean no!” My fingers were shaking. Wet, clammy, and not just from the water.
The fantasy bad boy was gone.
I jerked in the shower and hit the wall, wrinkling my nose when I pulled my hand out from between my legs, Anton's rough features still burning in my mind.
Jesus.
I had to finish this crap next week and check myself in to see a shrink if the sadistic fantasies didn't stop. I couldn't go on like this. He'd struck nerves I didn't know I had, twisted them in knots.
All these years avoiding the shadows of what my family was and what it did hadn't truly saved me. I was drawn to the darkness like a mirror to my own black soul, and Anton Ivankov promised to reveal everything.
I survived the week. Lots of drinks at home, bad TV, and then some sobering up with good Thai takeout. I got up early Wednesday, ate breakfast at a good greasy spoon place a few blocks down the street, and told myself I'd kick this interview's ass.
I'd kick it so hard Anton would stop invading my dreams. I'd leave my bad boy fantasies to action shows and romance novels, maybe invest in a really big dildo until I was ready to hit the dating scene again. I'd heard those vibrating wands could do wicked things.
The prison was strangely quiet when I arrived. The prisoners tucked back in their cell blocks barely raised their eyes as I passed, too wrapped up in something heavy hanging in the atmosphere, like the charge before a storm. Charlie seemed more solemn than usual as he led me into the visiting room. I noticed a small dent in the glass about half a foot above my head.
“Hey, what happened there?” I asked, pointing. “Don't tell me that's from him last time?”
The graying warden smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Don't worry. Another guy named Rasch went ballistic a couple days ago. His brother told him his wife was screwing around on the outside. He snuck in a hammer, started beating on the glass. Bastard took a few swings at my guys' heads before we managed to get it away.”
I swallowed hard. “It's still safe? Even with this damage?”
“Safe as can be,” Charlie said with a wink. “This glass is designed to hold back a raging bull, Sabrina. Hey, I can post a couple extra guys outside the door if you're worried he's going to try something.”
“No. That won't be necessary.” I hoped to God it wouldn't.
Charlie shrugged and disappeared, locking the door behind him, standard procedure. One more layer of security I should've felt good about – except if something blew through the glass and the guards couldn't get to me in time, I'd be stranded here with him.
I waited, waited, and then waited some more. What was the holdup?
Footsteps thundered outside the door, and I caught a glimpse of something long and black moving through the hall. My heartbeat spiked. I stood, walked over, and pressed my face to the glass.
The faint buzz I thought was just in my head was actually an alarm blasting in the hallway, muted by the thick door. Orange and black blurs mingled like tornadoes, prisoners grappling with guards in uniforms. Some wore thick armor, the heavy black stuff I'd seen blurring by the first time. Riot gear.
Holy shit. I remembered the way the prisoners looked like they were sitting on a dynamite charge and my blood ran cold.
I was about to freeze up and let panic set in when there was a loud bang behind the glass. The door on the other side opened, and Anton stepped in, a knowing smile on his face. He was still in chains, but his fists were bloodied.
Oh, God. Oh, no. This can't be –
Can't be what? Happening? It sure as hell was.
He'd dropped Charlie's limp frame behind him on the way in. I didn't know if the warden was alive or dead, but his face was really red, like he'd had all the blood shuttled to his head and then abruptly cut off there.
Anton's heavy footsteps were slow at first. He waited until I was fully in his sights before he lunged, slamming more than two hundred pounds of pure muscle against the glass. He went right for the weak spot.
His wrist cuffs smashed the dented glass again and again, a thud like lightning striking a sheet of ice. I stood there watching dumbly, my heart throbbing in my throat. Eight deafening whacks and the entire sheet splintered, caving in the same way as a shattered windshield.
The entire wall separating us came down. He punched out the last few pieces and climbed over the table, slightly clumsy because the chains bound his wrists together.
I fumbled with the tape recorder in my pocket – all I really had to throw at him. It fell, smashed into a couple of pieces on the hard floor. I hit the ground after it, throwing my arm over my head, shaking.
He took a good look and laughed. “I thought I said no fucking tape recorders?”
“Please don't hurt me!”
“Babe, I wouldn't dream of it. But you're gonna help both our asses out right now by climbing over the glass and getting the warden's keys outta his pocket.” He waited, tapped his big foot near my face for about five seconds. “I mean now. Get the fuck up!”
I didn't comply. I was too numb.
This wasn't happening. But it was, and all the grim denial in the world wouldn't change it.
My worst fears had exploded too abruptly to process. I was really, truly in the middle of a prison break. No, worse. The man who'd stirred so much emotional shit in my screwed up brain was asking me to aid and abet his escape.
“Shit. Looks like I'm gonna have to drag you kicking and screaming. Good thing I like it rough.”
I looked up just in time for him to stick his bloody fingers in my hair and pull. Hard. I stumbled up on my feet, fighting him, screaming like a lunatic.
Soon as I was standing, he slammed me into the wall. Anton's enormous bulk was so much heavier than anything in my depraved fantasies. I couldn't have escaped it if I tried. He pressed hard, flattening my breasts with his immense chest, somehow forcing my wrists up above my head.
“I told you I don't even wanna think about hurting you, babe. But I'm not promising shit if you don't do what I say. Right fucking now.” His breath was hot on my face, his baby blue eyes burning like gas furnaces. “This isn't a goddamned game. I let you lead last time, but I'm the one calling the shots today. I'm in control. Every step you take begins and ends with me telling you where. I fucking own you now, Sabrina. Judge, jury, and executioner of how you're gonna spend your next days on earth. Is that crystal fucking clear?”
He rocked his whole body against mine. A harsh smile pulled at his lips. It must've been hard for him to force it down.
Damn it, the numbness in my nerves tingled sharper with him pressed close like this, sexy and dangerous as hell. My body betrayed me. He must've felt how hard my nipples were beneath the sweater and flimsy bra I'd chosen. All the modest clothing in the world couldn't hide how my flesh and brain and soul were mutinying against me, offering me up to this monster.
He swirled, still holding my wrists in one hand, his chain clacking near my ear. We both turned, and he marched me to the table, flattening me on the big desk previously separated by the busted safety glass.
“Climb the fuck over it, and go see Charlie.” Something heavy hit the door next to us, and a man's muffled scream came through the wall. “Hurry the fuck up!”
There was a certain peace in my surrender. My brain found its survival setting through the lust and terror obliterating the last few shreds of resistance and common sense I had left. I carefully climbed over the destroyed break in the rooms, listening as he followed me through the gap, and then walked over to Charlie.
He was warm when I touched him. There was a tiny bit of relief when I felt him breathing. Whoever Anton had beaten to a pulp with his monstrous fists, it wasn't this man. Charlie would live with nothing worse than a cold blow to the head and a few scrapes.
“They're on his belt. All that shit's there, fixed to the same chain.”
It all happened like a sickening, fragmented nightmare. My hands moved on auto-pilot, unclasping the guard's keys, finding the one Anton demanded, and unlocking his cuffs when he held them toward me.
Then he pushed me aside and dropped to the guard's limp body. I watched as he started undressing him, wondering what the fuck he was doing. I didn't completely shake off the stupor until Anton stood, and immediately began tearing off his bright orange jumpsuit.
He was naked except for the tight boxers clinging to his strong ass. The ink covered him more fully than anything I'd imagined, lining his entire body, sharp edges and furious phrases written in English, Latin, and what looked like blocky Russian Cyrillic.
He rolled the pants on before he started on Charlie's shirt. He turned, and I caught a flash of a huge predator bird on his chest. Maybe an eagle or a hawk, or else something more mythical. A phoenix wouldn't have been out of place if he actually pulled this off. His blue eyes flashed, and he gave me a grin, casual as if this whole thing were just filming a movie.
“What the fuck's the matter? You look like you've never seen a dude naked before. You always stare at guys who order you around like this, or is it just because I've got the biggest dick you've ever seen?” He reached for his crotch and squeezed.
Gross! Or, rather, it should've been, if only he didn't look like an Adonis who somehow used his sick confidence to look even more handsome. Infuriating was more like it.
I swallowed, fighting the tears. Bastard. How dare he.
How fucking dare he. How dare he accuse me of anything, remind me of this grotesque attraction, as if he hadn't already ripped my whole world apart by the throat.
He grunted, trying to do the buttons. The shirt was way too small. To my surprise, he shrugged, leaving it open and tearing the keys out of my limp hands.
“Come on. This shit'll do the job I expect, doesn't have to be perfect. We gotta move fucking fast. You follow me. Stay close. It's your only way outta here in one piece. One wrong move is all it takes to get hurt – and I'm not talking about me laying the pain on. There's a full fucking prison riot going on outside. You step outta line, you'll find out how fast it takes to find some fuck's knife in your leg or an elbow flying for your nose.” He reached out, still wearing his trademark smile. “Shadow me, Sabrina, and you'll never have to worry about that pretty face getting broke. I won't let anybody else near it.”
He walked behind me, pulling me close, protecting me from all my vulnerable sides. I moved with him dumbly, stopping as he unlocked the door leading into the corridor.
Hell waited for us.
Smoke burned my nostrils as soon as we were out. Half the sparse cells lining the little walkway to the visitors' room were open, empty. We went through another door, and then a split in the hall, leading me towards some place I'd never been in the prison.
The long delayed thoughts I had about escape were shattered the instant something heavy slammed into my side, tearing me from his grasp. It knocked me all the way to the wall.
“Anton!” I screamed his name, landed with an oomph! and felt fire racing up my shoulder.
“Stay the fuck off her!” Anton roared, slapping the fat prisoner who'd crashed into me.
