Cazzo, I’d deserved to get shot.
Fortunately, I’d caught her little game at the last second, before it was too late.
Two days of watching her every move, making sure she didn’t so much as blink an eye without my approval, and I’d almost slipped up right before I had to take her back to her piece-of-shit brother.
The order, when it had come from Saint and Priest earlier, had shocked me, not going to lie. I’d expected to keep her longer, to use her as leverage against Mikhail Sidorov. To drag this out and make him pay.
But somewhere along the way, the Bratva had gotten their hands on Saint’s girl, Isla. When word came to me from Saint and Priest that I had to return to the city, bringing Ekaterina with me, I had packed up like I was on fire and threw together a salad and the frozen bread I’d baked this morning, courtesy ofZiaMaria.
I realize I’m tense as I roll my shoulders, taking stock of my surroundings. There are no signs that someone is lying in wait, preparing to clip me. But I wouldn’t put it past those Bratva bastards to try something. Especially after what went down when they blew up one of our restaurants. Not long ago, there had been a truce between us that we’d worked hard to build. A pact I’d made with Dmitri Sidorov, the middle sibling, not the youngest hellcat or the oldest batshit-crazy motherfucker.
We had an understanding. More than that, I’d counted Dmitri a friend. But then Mikhail Sidorov had been crowned Pakhan, and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
“Mrrrrfffrrrr,” Ekaterina protests from the back seat.
“Look, I need you to stay calm and do what I tell you,” I order her sternly. “If you do that, you won’t get hurt.”
Her eyes are wide and raging with angry fire. Even in the dark shadows of the parking garage, I can see that. She’s not happy about being cuffed and having duct tape on her mouth again. I won’t say it didn’t kill me to cover those fuckable lips with shiny silver. But she’s a means to an end. Blood comes first. The family comes first. And when it comes down to it, I’m another Andriani soldier, willing to do anything my brothers ask of me.
I get out of the Navigator, holding my piece. I’m not stupid enough to believe I’ll be able to get it past the first set of doors we enter, but I’m not leaving it until I have to. Still keeping an eye out, I open the back and haul out my hostage, who’s still yelling unintelligible protests at me like it’s going to get her anywhere.
Spoiler alert: it’s not. The only place she’s going is back to big brother’s side. Let him be her keeper instead of me. I’m fine with it. Ekaterina Sidorova is a colossal pain in the ass, even if she does have a body I could worship for days on end.
We make it halfway across the parking garage before she starts digging in, trying to get away. I don’t know why she bothers. She’ll never outrun me, and she’s no match for my superior height and muscles, even if she is strong as fuck with the spectacularly honed body of a ballerina.
Annoyed, I bend and catch her midsection with my shoulder, hauling her over it in one efficient motion. She hangs there like a rag doll for a second before it sinks in, and then she starts flailing. I don’t give a fuck. She can kick and scream all she wants. I’m not dragging her into this goddamn meeting by her hair.
True to my suspicions, a pair of Bratva goons greets us at the first door.
“Andriani,” I tell them. “Here to deliver the package to Pakhan.”
They are expressionless, unsmiling. One of them takes my gun, while the other pats me down to check for additional weapons. Ekaterina lands a kick in his gut, and he grunts but otherwise acts like nothing happened. The other gets on his phone and says a few terse words in Russian. We’re given the all clear, and they guide us deeper into the building. We make it past checkpoints until we finally reach the inner sanctum, Ekaterina fighting me every step of the way.
She’s even landing some solid blows.
Bratva guards are stationed on either side of the door, along with two Andriani guys I recognize. The angry ballerina slung over my shoulder isn’t any more impressed with me now than she was on the car ride back to the city.
I nod to our men, then turn back to the Bratva muscle. “I come bearing gifts.”
Ekaterina starts protesting even more fiercely, no doubt cursing me or threatening my balls, legs starting to kick. She doesn’t want to go through this door any more than I do. But like me, she doesn’t have a choice.
“You’re expected,” bites out one of the Bratva goons, and then the door opens.
I stride inside, my eyes instantly going to my brothers across the room. Their expressions are carefully neutral, but I can read them both well enough to know that shit’s gone sideways and not at all according to plan. Also that they’re both furious with me.
Fine. We’ll deal with that later. For now, I have a Russian hellcat to deliver.
She’s still wriggling and squirming, her shouts muffled by the duct tape. I spank her ass soundly, something I’ve been wanting to do since I first laid eyes on her. Unfortunately, we aren’t alone in my bedroom, and this is all for show.
“Behave,” I warn her harshly.
Sidorov is presiding over everything like a despotic king, looking entertained. I fucking hate the bastard.
“I have a present to deliver,” I tell him before depositing a still-thrashing captive into an empty chair in this makeshift meeting room.
It’s not her brother she’s pinning with a glare as she shakes the silky, dark hair out of her eyes. It’s me. I have no doubt that if she could disembowel me here before everyone, she would.
She may be a gorgeous, elegant ballerina, but Ekaterina Sidorova is made of thorns and teeth and claws. Reluctantly, I look away from her, prepared for whatever comes next.
