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“Ah!” she cries, but I could care less.
At some point before I made my way in, she peeled those skinny jeans off she’d been wearing—now down to a t-shirt and lace boy shorts. The shorts are black and red, and doing afinejob of riding up between her round cheeks I can’t help staring at.
Goddamn. How the fuck did this sexy little girl end up with Luca Gusev? The guy is a fucking moron, who spends his brain power more on how to steal from the Bratva and to get his next fix—whether that’s drugs or sex.
“Why—” Sara chokes out, wiggling against me. “Why are you doing this?” she half-begs, her sky-blue eyes locking on mine in the mirror. I’m a full head taller than the girl, and it’s been a while since my last shave, bringing my beard to add a tinge of menace to my look.
As I stare right back at the angel, she finally breaks eye contact and all of a sudden, I feel her body give up.Attagirl.
I pull the hood out of my pocket and drape it over her head. Instinctively, I gather her hair in my fist and shift it so that it’s not spilling over the front of her body haphazardly. It’s like a waterfall of silk in my fingers…mesmerizing. And for a moment, I forget why I’m here.
Then it all comes crashing back.
“You’re my final job,” I growl, spinning Sara by the upper arm, dragging the little girl from out of the room and down the stairs.
She’s my ticket out of this shit.
2
SARA
It’s impossible to know how long I’ve been hooded, but it feels like hours now…
Somehow, this giant man dragged me out of the building and into a car, and has driven us far from city limits. I can tell since the sound of traffic died off, and all I can hear now is the gravel pinging beneath the tires.
“Where are you taking me?” I try again, the edge gone from my voice. I’ve already asked abilliontimes, receiving silence as my only answer.
The car veers to the left, the gravel rumbling once more before everything comes to a smooth halt.
My kidnapper gets out of the car—I can feel the weight shift immediately, that’s just how big the guy is.
Looking up and finding those piercing gray eyes in my bathroom was like something out of anightmare. He was almost inhuman. His face emotionless as he moved toward me; every part of his figure perfectly in synch to stop what little fight I was able to put up. In the mirror, his height reigned over mine. His bodyeasilythree times the width of my own, and all muscle—that much was obvious.
The car shifts and rocks, then his door slams shut. A nervous breath later, my door pops open, followed by a large hand wrapping around my upper arm.Oh god.
Where are we?
I yelp as he pulls me out of the car, getting me up on my feet. At this point, I know fighting back isn’t an option. I know there’s not a chance in hell I can do any damage to this man.
He starts marching me forward, my clumsy feet stumbling on the uneven ground as I ignore the fact there might beanotherreason I’m not fighting back…
“Careful,” he grunts, and we step over a doorstep. With my vision shaded, it makes it a bit easier to concentrate on my other senses. And this time, I catch the hint of a Russian accent.
A shiver runs down my spine as I realize whose hands I’m likely in. Luca has a sea of enemies out there, but Kristina Kozlov makes the top of the list.
I’m turned around, and a firm pressure on my shoulder pushes me down onto a couch. I catch my breath, trying to keep calm while realizing this place smells like…man. A spiced, deep scent, almost like leather and sweat.
Desire pools between my legs, and I huff out of annoyance.Now’s not the time.
“Can I at least see who my kidnapper is?” I ask, my voice even as I fight the urge to be sarcastic.
There seems to be hesitation, but then the cover is finally lifted off my head. I stare at the hand holding the hood. On the back, running from his knuckles to his wrist is a black dove. The ink isbeautiful, unearthly and haunting—but now I know exactly who has me.
“Jude Baranov,” I whisper, panic behind my eyes as I’m well aware of his…reputation.
Too scared to look up, he grips my chin tightly, jerking my head to meet his dark gaze.
“How do you know me?” he demands, upper lip curling beneath his five o’clock shadow. I swallow down, and his rough digits dig in a little harder.
