The Russian Bodyguard: A Dark Mafia Romance (Krasnov Brothers Book 3) Page 5

  How had I not known Maksim had sliced out his own space here?

  Why? He had perfectly decent accommodation back at the estate. Was it just to get away from me?

  Did he bring women back here?

  I’d always teased him about his celibate life, but it had just been another way to goad him.

  At twenty-nine and as a Bratva man, I acknowledged—in one part of my subconscious—he probably had as much sex as he wanted whereas I had to jump through hoops just to get away from him in order to get laid.

  Another grrrrr.

  The double standards in the mafia life were mega.

  When he punched down the kickstand inside the enclosure at the back of the new nightclub, I peeled off of him and waltzed toward the door. I waited for him to bring my bag like he was my servant just to piss him off more.

  Sometimes I didn’t know when to stop.

  And if I stopped, I might just break.

  I didn’t hear Maksim approach, but I sure did feel him when he moved up behind me. He pressed against my back, a wall of muscle, caging me in. One arm swept around me, and he opened the door. After letting me enter first, he locked us in then flicked a light switch.

  Soft lighting illuminated the interior of The Hammer and the Sickle, shedding more light on the place that was to be my jail until Papa decided otherwise.

  I got my bearings from the bar that had been installed to the custom plastered walls to the booths and seats wrapped in padding and pyramided in huge stacks near the kitchen entrance.

  Everything was brushed, tarnished silver—like Maksim’s irises—and rich dark colors.

  Although I’d expected Lucia’s handling of the treatments to be on the feminine side, she’d surprised us all with the gritty, modern palette for the venue.

  I made my way straight to the bar and located a bottle of chilled vodka alone among the refrigerated area.

  “I need a stiff drink.”

  As Maksim lifted an eyebrow at my choice of words, I wasted no time tanking a shot.

  The chill went through me, followed by the heat. Exactly what I’d experienced before the wedding with this man in front of me.

  I poured one for him. Then I set out a flight of shots. I figured we could both use the burn.

  I glanced around The Hammer’s main floor again instead of watching Maksim’s Adam’s apple dip up and down in his corded neck while he drank.

  So this was to be my prison with the man I hated most. The one who knew exactly how old I was yet treated me like a willful child. The man who never trusted my decisions and despised my actions, not to mention the hate he usually heaped on my choice of clothing.

  Taking one final shot, I hopped up onto the bar and rolled the stiffness from my neck.

  Maksim finished the flight as though he drank down much needed water before stalking around like a wild animal kept in captivity.

  I wondered if he was still disgusted with me because of Jimmy and the tunnels.

  Looking up at him through the fan of my eyelashes, I asked, “Am I forgiven yet for putting you in this predicament?”

  He swiveled suddenly, seeming surprised at my presence or at least my question. “I do not think you knew, Sashenka.”

  For once, the nickname on his tongue didn’t sound like an insult.

  It sounded almost intimate.

  “The pakhan is not telling me something.” Maksim’s mouth thinned, the sculpted fullness hardening.

  He didn’t want to say anything else, that much was clear.

  “About Oleg you think?” I whispered.

  “Da. Perhaps. Don’t know.”

  I knew. I knew Maksim thought there was something Papa had neglected to share with us.

  Despite being my bodyguard and the youngest Krasnov brother, Maksim had enough cunning and cold calculation to be the underboss.

  I knew it.

  He did too.

  Maybe that was why he detested me so much he couldn’t even look at me.

  “I do know one thing.” Setting down his shot glass, he started shedding clothes right then and there in the middle of the club. “I am fucking sick of this suit.”

  Kirill and Arkady were always impeccably dressed. Not that Maksim was a slouch, but his style was more militaristic. When he wore suits, they were nearly always black. Black shirt, black tie, black glower except for his wedding finery . . . and that smile he shared with Valeria earlier.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It was late. I was so damn wiped out for once . . .

  In fact, when Maksim’s black suits were at the dry cleaners and he had to suffer with midnight blue, he’d grumble-grumble-frown all day long.

  So insufferable.

  I’d never told him the dark blue looked good on him, that the deep color brought out pewter flecks in his irises.

  Buttons popped open down his shirt right before his wide tanned and tatted chest appeared.

  He acted like I wasn’t even there!

  The shirt sailed from his huge shoulders and down his arms as he pulled his undone tie free.

  My mouth suddenly dry, I couldn’t look away and I had no sassy remarks.

  What was there to insult about a perfectly virile male specimen in the living flesh? Those big rippling muscles tapered down to his waist, and his thighs formed muscular sinews within the bespoke suit.

  For all the times I’d made fun of his sexual prowess, faced with this, him, I had no doubt he was fucking hung.

  Seeing Maksim’s bare torso and the top of the V formation at his pelvis, I was reminded he was no Jimmy or Petey or one of the other bozos from earlier.

  Here was the Russian man my life had been entrusted to since he came of age. And, with his impressive build and killer instincts, with good reason.

  When he caught me licking my lips, his entire demeanor changed.

  Man.

  Pure man.

  Pure menacing man.

  His approach predatory, I suddenly felt way overdressed in my sweats.

  I was undone by his harsh, angular features and the sinister smile curving one corner of his masculine lips.

  With the tie in his hand, swishing along the floor in his wake like a poisonous snake, Maksim spread my thighs wide.

  He wedged himself between my legs, and the hard hot heat of him pulsed clean through me.

  Snapping the tie between his hands, he leaned closer. And closer, and I thought he’d kiss me, and I was just barely clinging to my sanity as it was.

  “Those American pizdas should have tied you up and gagged you in the first place, Sashenka. I would have.” Dark words, nastier threat, deep voice.

  I wanted to arch away.

  I wanted to climb up his body and hang on for the ride.

  I did neither of those things.

  Instead I held my ground and purred, “I dare you.”

  “Careful.” He threaded the silk length between his fingers like a game of cat’s cradle.

  Then, unraveling the tie with ease, he hooked both ends around my neck and dragged my face closer to his.

  “Yury’s not here to save you this time.” One corner of his mouth tilted up.

  He could choke me out, jerk me into a kiss.

  Gag me.

  His light but heady cologne wafted up to tease my senses, and his bare chest brushed against the unfathomably hard buds of my breasts.

  “I need no man to save me.” I lifted my eyes to Maksim’s.

  With one quick maneuver, he changed the angle of the tie.

  He used the silky length to anchor my neck back, and his breath pelted across my cheek to my ear. “You weren’t saying that earlier and you won’t be saying that soon.”

  Another feint of hands, and he released the pressure on my neck only to stuff the wadded bulk of the tie into my mouth!

  My scream muffled, I tried to punch him. But my world tipped upside down in the next instant. He heaved me up then spun me around and tossed me over one shoulder like I was a frigging rolled-up rug on del
ivery day.

  With my head hanging down along his front and my waist balanced on his shoulder, I tried to punch him, but he simply secured my hands in one of his.

  Bastard.

  He marched through the bar, but I couldn’t see anything except the front of his torso, and my nose kept banging against his unyielding musculature.

  Then we were going up and up, around and around. I glanced to the side to take in the tight spiral staircase that ascended to the second floor of the club at the back of the premises.

  I hadn’t been up here before.

  I didn’t much care for this topsy-turvy scenic tour now either.

  I kicked at his back.

  I tried to headbutt him.

  I wriggled and wormed and screamed in my throat, and still the bastard didn’t put me down.

  Once upstairs, he fit a key into a lock, opened a door, stalked through then slung me effortlessly from his shoulder.

  Thankfully I landed on a sofa instead of in a heap on the polished concrete floor.

  I jumped up immediately, ripping the tie from my mouth and flinging the bundle at him. “You asshole!”

  He lounged negligently against a small island that separated the lounge area from the kitchen. “I needed to give you a taste of your new life now.”

  “Like I haven’t already been through enough today?” With my hands on my hips, I used my last scrap of energy to blast at him. “You are so unbelievably mean! My life might be in danger and all you can think about is controlling me?”

  A frown highlighted the dangerous angles of his face. “Do you think I’d ever let anything happen to you, Sashenka?”

  I was nearly touched, and again when he called me little Sasha it sounded more like an endearment than an offense.

  Then he ruined it all by betraying his true motivations. “Yury would never trust me again if any harm came to you.”

  Of course he only cared about his reputation in the Bratva, not my feelings.

  My shoulders sagged slightly, and I gave a long sigh. Glancing around, I took in the apartment that I’d expected to be little more than a hovel. Or a barren cell judging by the austere way Maksim kept his room at the mansion.

  Instead, I was greeted by a decently chosen suite of leather furniture, an antique-looking ottoman, a large area rug of thick pile in slate blue that was a perfect complement to his unusual irises.

  Dare I say it? The apartment—though not lavish or large—was actually tasteful. Even the kitchen, boasting sleek black appliances, was modern and fresh.

  “Well, at least this isn’t so bad.” I met Maksim’s gaze again.

  Something close to a smirk slanted across his mouth. “I don’t think you’ll be saying that for long.”

  Suspicion drifted through me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  In answer, he picked up my bag and all but dragged me down a wide but short hallway.

  He opened a door and motioned me in ahead of him.

  The bedroom was more than passable. The bedding looked new and the actual bed was luxuriously big.

  “This works for me.” I took a test bounce on the mattress.

  Again he wore that mysteriously amused expression.

  “What?” I chomped out.

  “There is only the one bedroom, Sasha.” He strutted in and opened the closet doors so I could see some of his clothing stored there.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  “I am not sharing a room with you!” I hopped off the bed as if it scorched my ass where I sat.

  And it occurred to me to wonder how many women he’d brought here. Fucked here.

  “Worse than that, Sashenka.” After removing his holster, he began unbuckling his belt.

  Still bare chested, he roamed tantalizingly close. “You are sharing the bed with me.”

  4

  Maksim

  I THOUGHT SASHA’S SCREECHING would never cease.

  As she prepared for bed, she slammed everything that could be slammed. The bathroom door, the lid of the toilet, presumably her hairbrush clanking loudly on the counter . . .

  A torrent of curses in both Russian and English accompanied each of her outbursts.

  I definitely should have kept her gagged. I might just yet if she didn’t settle down.

  At least I didn’t sleep on a cot here. She should be pleased I wasn’t making her bed down on the floor.

  Eventually, Sasha emerged. In spite of the day’s distresses, she looked fresh-faced and dewy not that she ever caked on the makeup. Her hair had dried into natural bouncy, bitter chocolate-colored curls from the shower I knew she’d taken earlier.

  She didn’t deign to look at me, but her swearing finally stopped.

  She still wore the gray sweatpants but, with the hoody missing, I now saw her top. The flimsy thing was a pink, lowcut tank top. Obviously she wore no bra, her nipples creating slight shadows beneath the material and her breasts bouncing with each step she took.

  I’d never really witnessed her in this state of undress and, even though a lot of skin showed, she looked entirely innocent.

  But I wasn’t fooled. Her attitude was her armor, apparent when she huffed dramatically, fluffed the pillows like she was imagining pummeling my face, and glared at the bed both of us would be getting into.

  Her presence here pissed me off.

  This apartment was supposed to be my space, some place entirely away from her.

  I wanted to make her as uncomfortable as possible since she never missed a beat when it came to getting under my skin.

  In the bathroom, she had already carved into my area. Her hairbrush, toiletries, moisturizers in a neat line on the counter and the scent of her perfume or shampoo or bodywash fragrant throughout the room.

  I wasn’t accustomed to such feminine items against the backdrop of dark marble.

  After cleaning myself up, I reentered the bedroom. I crossed to the closet, noting she’d set her duffel inside but hadn’t unpacked yet.

  Good.

  This stay of hers had better be short-lived, or I couldn’t guarantee she’d live through it.

  At least not without the ass-beating I’d promised on so many occasions.

  I didn’t care if she watched me taking off the rest of my clothes as I undressed down to my briefs. Usually I slept naked, and I considered doing so like normal. But nothing was normal about sleeping next to the sassy printsessa.

  I stepped out of the closet, and her head shot up, very pale eyes enormous.

  “Is that all you’re wearing?” She scanned my mostly bare body then sucked in her cheeks and lifted her gaze to mine.

  I wondered if I detected a hint of approval over my physique, the tight briefs highlighting a lot more than they hid.

  And there was a lot to see.

  My gaze roved over her, halting at the well-formed hills of her breasts before rising again. “Is that all you’re wearing?”

  She tossed that luxurious hair over one shoulder, swiveling to sit fully on the bed. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes, Maksim.”

  Hmm.

  Then I hooked my thumbs in the waist of my black briefs and started lowering them.

  Eyes flaring wide and cheeks flushing bright, she shouted out, “Fine! Ugh. The briefs are fine.”

  She flounced to her back then dug her way under the covers like she was burrowing into a hole.

  My dark chuckle rumbled through the room as I joined her. The bed dipped beneath my weight, causing her to roll in my direction. Sasha squeaked then scurried back into place.

  After checking my Sig Sauer handgun—the little brother to my sniper rifle—and placing it on the bedside table, I dimmed the lights. I punched a pillow behind my head and lay on my back too.

  In the dark, our stilted breaths punctuated the stillness.

  The heat of her body so close radiated off mine.

  Already I knew I’d never get the soft sensual smell of her perfume out of my sheets.

  I might never forget the feel of her mash
ed against me on the back of my bike either. With her ripe tits crushed against me, her legs pressed against the outside of my thighs as I roared down roads, I’d been angry when my body reacted to her.

  The way she’d clung to me, wrapped around me, was not something she’d normally do. Unfortunately, I found the sensation not unpleasant.

  Entering that shitty little ramshackle shack earlier in the night after taking out the two idiot guards, I hadn’t known what to expect. Had she been raped?

  What if she’d been killed?

  Following her tracker signal, I’d been driven by pure fury and pulses of adrenaline.

  I definitely had not anticipated seeing that dead pizda with his throat punctured by her dagger.

  Sasha’s calculating kill prompted an admiration I would not admit.

  Only after I’d ghosted the last cunt with a snap of his neck after my one blow left him skewered on a pipe . . . only then did I feel satisfied in my vengeance.

  Usually Sasha made me want to slap the motherfucking impudence from her. She angered me and annoyed me, but today . . . today she had disturbed my deeply rooted control.

  Especially now that she lay in bed next to me.

  I could acknowledge she was a uniquely beautiful woman. Her eyes—the irises a sometimes indescribable color—had a captivating cat shape about them. And her lips were the plump and pouty kind any man could imagine sliding smoothly, wetly over his cock.

  Not me.

  Her stubborn streak was apparent in the slight dimple on her chin in her otherwise delicate face.

  Sasha wasn’t tall but her ever-present high heels accentuated the rich curves of her legs. Her thighs were plump, her ass even juicier, and her breasts made a man want to drown between the lush mounds.

  Not me.

  Her waist, though, was so small. I had not touched that slim indent until today, my hands reaching bare skin beneath her dress.

  I had very large hands, and she had very luscious curves.

  In the thick darkness of my bedroom escape, my breath had grown ragged.

  My cock had gotten infuriatingly hard, the rigid length fighting against my briefs.

  That had not happened before over Sasha. Not that I’d admit.

  She was still awake too. I could tell by the absolute stillness of her body and the shallowness of her breaths.