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And then there was just her, Anton Kozlov, his two comatose friends, and the enraged Shlykov brothers.
Leonid yanked her chair back, and Roman pulled her up and was already half dragging her out. It was only then that her senses returned and she remembered to be outraged.
“What, are you crazy? What is wrong with you three?” she cried, trying to get herself free from Roman’s grasp.
Trouble had three new names for her now.
Chapter Twelve
Ansley tried her best to struggle out of Roman’s hold but it was always going to be a futile battle.
“Let me go at once, you—”
“Not one more word out of you,” Roman said quietly but she couldn’t ignore the subtle hints of threat in his otherwise smoothly enticing voice. She was instantly reminded of what his hand had felt like on her ass. Teasing and playful yet the sting was the same as if his approach had been hard and punishing. She couldn’t stop her nipples from swelling or her panties from getting wet.
In the next moment, the door to the café opened, and five more huge Russian men stepped in, their guns were already drawn.
The presence of the newcomers seemed to give Anton Kozlov more confidence and he rose from his chair, puffed out his chest, and started to talk. She was sure just a few moments ago he had an anxious, scared look on his face. What on earth was going on?
“I believe the lady does not want to go with you,” Anton said with a satisfied grin on his face. He pulled out his gun and aimlessly twirled it around his fingers.
Oh fuck.
She was in the middle of a showdown. With Russians.
Anton Kozlov was clearly also Mafia, and she had been naïve to think otherwise. But the thought that the Shlykov brothers seemed unarmed registered, and suddenly she was worried for their lives. What was happening?
Leonid picked off the Samurai swords from the wall which served as decorative weapons, ones the owner had bragged about the swords belonging to a real Samurai he once knew.
With graceful ease, Leonid swung them in a figure-eight pattern with such accuracy, she never once thought one of the swords would slip out of his hand and basically slice her neck off. She was always in a prime position for accidents like that to happen to her anyway.
It didn’t help that the motion of his hands, the brilliantly cool image he cut with his suit and swords, added to the wetness of her panties. She squirmed in Roman’s arms and his cologne hit her again. Oh God, help her.
The five men, even though armed, backed off and kept looking at their boss, Anton, for their next instructions.
“You come anywhere near her again. You touch her; you breathe the same fucking air she does, and we’ll take turns killing you, Kozlov. Do you understand?” Damien said.
“Does the lady belong to you? Are you claiming her as Shlykov Bratva property? Because if you are not, then she is fair game.”
The already tense atmosphere intensified to dangerous levels. Her gaze drifted to the brothers, to each one of them. Their jaws were clenched tight, murder rampant in their eyes, except when she turned her attention to Damien, then it became a different look. One that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t decipher, just that it was deeper, more sacred. Damien walked up to Anton, closing the distance between them, unafraid the man held a gun in his hand.
“I see you have not claimed her,” Anton continued. “I would never have thought she would belong to the men who want to take down her dear friend’s business for their own greed, she is more classy than that. And I believe she hates you, don’t you, Ansley?” He didn’t wait for an answer and she hated that he used her first name. That it felt vile coming from his mouth.
“So I will take her for myself and I’m sure her pussy is as soft as the rest of her,” Anton said, licking his fingers. Ansley wanted to throw up at the thought of Anton touching her.
“You think I won’t kill you right here and right now?” Damien asked. His tone so chilling, she shivered.
“You won’t. You still live by the old rules of honor and the Bratva, and that arrangement made by our fathers. Besides, killing anotherpakhanover a girl you haven’t claimed goes against that code,” Anton said. “And by that same rule, I will claim the slut for myself since she is free.”
“Touch her, and you and your whole fucking family will die by our hand.” He shoved the man aside, then strode toward the door.
“Empty threats, if the Shlykov Bratva hasn’t claimed her as theirs. But what have we here? The great Damien Shlykov seems a little off-balance. The man who rose the Shlykov Bratva back to the top when theirpakhan,their papa, was murdered in his bed by the same woman he was fucking,” Anton continued then laughed.
But Ansley didn’t find that funny at all. Her heart sank at the thought of their father having died such a death. An unfamiliar and fierce need to knee Anton in the balls overwhelmed her.
Damien stopped and turned around to face Anton again. She looked at him then at Leonid and Roman and she was surprised that any of the men present were still breathing.
“The man with the iron cock, isn’t that what they call you? And here we have the man with the iron cock falling for a little heiress whore who I will enjoy claiming for myself and my men. We will have a feast fucking every hole she is worth.”
