Prisoner (Russian Tattoos Book 2) (12 page)

“I want to go home as soon as possible. I’ll do anything you ask to make it happen.” I meant what I said. I did want to go home, but I wished there was a way to take Vladimir with me. Drag him out of this life and get a fresh start back home in America. But since that could never happen, I had to stay focused on the objective and figure out an end game that worked for both of us. Boris was adamant that I was the reason for all the trouble, if that were the case, I also had to be the solution.

“Any more ideas, Carter?” Boris asked.

I snapped out of my daze and a brilliant idea popped into my head. “Maksim wants me alive, right? He’s searching for me right now, willing to drop a bankroll to get his dirty hands on me.”

The guys nodded.

“Perfect. We can use this to our advantage. In order to move to offense, we need to chum the waters and give Maksim something so outrageously bloody and delicious that he would stick his neck out just for a taste. I have a foolproof plan guaranteed to catch him off guard. Serve me up on a platter and deliver the sacrificial lamb.”

Boris scoffed. “How do you suggest we do that?”

“Ready for this? I have the best idea in the history of mankind—Vladimir and I need to get married.” I planted my hand on my hip and nodded, proud of my brilliant plan.

Vladimir closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Not married for real, of course, just to lure Maksim into our trap.”

“I like it,” Boris said. “What enemy of ours could resist murdering you in front of your virgin bride? I’ll start the preparations.”

“
Nyet
,” Vladimir said, followed by an angry rant in Russian.

“We’re out of options, boss. When they come for you, I’ll be ready. I take out Maksim, the bounty is off the table. She goes home, we get the
pakhan
back. You run Ekaterinburg, life goes back to normal.”

I touched Vladimir’s arm and stared into his eyes. “Please. Do this for me. I want to go home.”

Vladimir locked his gaze on mine as he considered my idea. “Our enemies aren’t stupid. They’ll know the wedding is a trap. We need to go public first to start the frenzy.” He tossed me a crooked smile. “How would you like to be my date for Dmitri’s boxing match?”

My jaw dropped. “Really? You’re on board with this? I get to go to the fight?”

Boris squelched my joy and pointed his big finger in my face. “The two of you will make a brief public appearance to show the happy couple is still breathing. Because of our security breach, the three of us are the only ones who will know the truth that the wedding is trap. Pasha, Dmitri, our entire family must believe your nuptials are for real.”

I was giddy knowing the Russians were on board with my plan, but I was not looking forward to serving as bait to lure in a cut-throat mob boss. My love for Vladimir made me desperate to save him. Just as he was willing to sacrifice his life for mine, I would do anything to protect the man I loved.

Chapter 17

Beloved

Once the decision was made and plans for our trap were set, the mood of the house lifted. Positive energy breezed through the dacha, and even Boris seemed to be looking forward to our night out. Vladimir insisted they show up to the big event in style and brought in tailors to make custom suits for them. Boris stayed true to his all-black ensemble, but Vladimir invited me to help him pick out the fabric for his suit.

The tailor’s assistants brought in bolts of dark fabric and wild silk patterns for the lining. They even had dress shirts in an array of colors, a billion buttons to choose from, cufflinks, ties, socks, and shoes. I ran my fingers across the silky patterns and admired the rich fabrics. The tailor presented a black sample and a dark gray sample, seeking Vladimir’s approval.

“What do you think, beautiful?”

“
Nyet
to both.” I selected a navy fabric for the suit. “I like you in blue.”

An arrogant grin spread across his face.

“I meant to say, blue is a good color for you. It brings out your eyes.”

“Blue it is, then.” He winked and said something to the tailor that made the guy blush.

Feeling my own cheeks warm, I turned away and chose a smoky gray liner, a crisp white shirt, and a loud paisley tie. “That should do it. Anything else?”

“We’re just getting started, angel.” Vladimir dismissed his tailor and waved over an entourage of stylists toting a trunk of elegant dresses and accessories. He spoke to them in their native tongue, and they responded by holding up dresses one by one. Vladimir dismissed each dress until he found the showstopper.

“That one.” He didn’t ask my opinion, but it was the sexiest style among all the samples. Once the dress decision was made, the stylists fluttered around and paired the dress with shoes, accessories and a luxurious fur stole. Vladimir approved each piece until the ensemble was complete. I was so attracted to him when he flipped over to boss mode, took charge, and poured on his domineering alpha male persona. I knew I had to ease out of our love affair, but it would be impossible for me to douse my raging hormones with a wet blanket of sensibility and pretend he didn’t light my fire.

On the day of the big event, we got ready as if we were attending a formal affair instead of an illegal, underground boxing match. Vladimir thought of everything and had an array of make-up and styling goodies brought to the house so I could properly doll myself up and tame my wild blonde mane. I curled bouncy waves into my hair, brightened up my pale skin with a dusting of shimmer powder on my shoulders and chest, and accentuated my hazel eyes with golden shadow and heavy eyeliner.

When I was all put together, Vladimir met me in the living room, sporting a freshly trimmed beard and a glowing complexion. His stylist had chopped a few inches off his shoulder-length hair and restored his trademark sharp appearance, but it was more than just his style he had reclaimed. The boss was back and exuded a sexually toxic combination of supreme confidence, total domination, and a commanding aura that announced he was the reigning King of the Bad Boys.

As I wobbled toward him in six-inch stilettos, he undressed me with his eyes, taking in my form-fitting dress that accentuated my curves with a cascading bustle. Vladimir’s sex-appeal had me so flustered, I wanted to body slam him down on the couch, press my lips against that crooked smile of his, and strip the custom suit off his hard body.

Not only was I physically attracted to him, I also admired him for getting sober. His family gave him zero support, and still he managed to stay clean. He would forever have my respect for defeating his demons and making a positive change. But I didn’t want to make our situation more difficult than it needed to be. Despite my raging attraction to him, I played it cool and held out my hand for a polite, non-grabby greeting. “You look nice, Vladimir.”

He grinned at my attempt to dismiss my lust for him but played along. He gave me a nice business handshake, lifted my hand, and kissed the inside of my wrist.
God, he was wearing my favorite cologne.
His alluring bedroom eyes paralyzed my good intentions and penetrated my naughty side with a healthy dose of sexual tension. He guided my hand to his cheek and rubbed it against his scratchy beard. “You like it a little rough, angel?”

My palms were sweaty and I felt my cheeks flush from all the excitement. Vladimir may have been knocked down for a round, but he was back in fighting form and ready to rumble. He flashed me a naughty grin, totally digging my body’s nervous reaction to his hotness, and rattled off something in Russian that sounded incredibly daring and delicious.

I bit my lip and blinked away my embarrassment. “Are you going to tell what it means?”

“Close your eyes.”

I gave him a wry smile and shook my head.

“Trust me.”

I gave up and did what he asked. I imagined he was going to surprise me with some breathtaking bling to compliment my designer dress. His generosity knew no limits, and he loved to transform me into his best accessory by showering me with expensive jewelry and designer everything.

He had already set me up with a stunning pair of chandelier diamond earrings, a gorgeous necklace with exotic green and gold jewels to accentuate my eyes, and a wrist full of sparkly tennis bracelets. I didn’t have much room left on my body for any more bling.

“Open your eyes, beautiful.”

When I did, he presented me with his late mother’s engagement ring. The solitaire was a rare alexandrite stone mined from the Ural Mountains. In the daylight, it glistened a bluish green, but when the sun went down, it turned blood red. This was the not the first time he’d put that ring on my finger. In America, he proposed a couple days before he returned to Russia. At the time, Vladimir was the center of my world.

Back then, I was willing to leave my friends, family, and country to spend my life with Vladimir in Russia. In return, he promised to keep his aggression in check and never drink in my presence again. If he would’ve kept his word then, we would’ve been reciting our vows for real instead of planning a sham wedding to entice a murderer to blast a round of bullets in our brains.

Vladimir picked up my hand. “There is nothing in this world I want more than to be your husband, but my love for you is greater than my selfish desire to never let you go. This ring represents my respect, admiration, and undying love for you, Carter.”

He slid the ring on my finger. “As you wear this ring, know that you will always be my beloved angel. The only way I can show you how much you mean to me is to step aside and set you free. Live a wonderful life, sweetheart. I love you. Forever
.
” He kissed the ring on my finger and placed my hand on his heart. That had to be the most romantic, non-engagement letdown in the history of mankind.

***

It was a bumpy ride in the back of the Range Rover as Boris drove down a dirt road that would eventually take us into the city of Ekaterinburg. The sun was setting, and all I could see for miles was farmland and an occasional roadside produce stand or a dilapidated shack that housed vendors selling hats, blankets, and handmade baskets.

Using my fur stole as a pillow, I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes. It would take a couple hours to reach town, and it would do me well to get some rest. I wanted to sleep, but the rocky terrain made it impossible. My head bobbed every time Boris hit a bump, and there was no room for me to stretch out on the bench without using Vladimir as my body pillow.

Sensing I was uncomfortable, Vladimir pulled me over to his side, rested my head on his chest, and draped his coat over me like a blanket. I aligned my body against him, snuggled into the crook of his neck, and inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne. He caressed my shoulder and I hugged him tighter, snaking my hand under his suit jacket and lightly scratching his back.

His chest heaved and he released a primal growl. I recognized that sound. It was a telltale little noise he made when I turned him on. I combed my fingers through his tousled hair and pulled him to me so I could reach his lips. I slid my tongue inside his mouth and groaned as we made out and his beard scratched against my skin.

My body was humming
down there
. Our bodies were hidden under his coat, and I slid my hand below his belt and rubbed his erection. I loved messing around with Vladimir, holding him, kissing him, touching his body, but I felt the urge to give him more. I wanted Vladimir to be my first. I had vowed to wait until my wedding night, but if we lived through our mock-ceremony, I would lose my virginity with him.

One day I would get married for real to a man I could love without life-threatening consequences. Would I regret that I hadn’t saved myself for my future husband?
Never.
Spending the night with my sexy Russian would be the single greatest moment of my life. The thought of having
all
of him inside me made me flush with desire.

The terrain had gotten rougher since our scandalous make-out session broke out, and the truck bounced as Boris hit every dip in the road, probably on purpose, as he drove down the country road. Vladimir squeezed my ass as I touched him, and we made out with a sense of urgency like it was our last night on earth.
Maybe it was.

Chapter 18

Maksim

When we arrived at the big event, it was not at all what I’d expected. Boris rolled the Rover up to an enormous barn, an unassuming location with a long line of fancy cars, limos, and SUVs parked around the perimeter. Boris rolled down the window and waved at a gang of hefty bodyguard types stationed around the entrance. To my surprise, the guys opened the door and Boris rolled the Rover inside the barn.

A live band was jamming, and the place was packed with men dressed in flashy suits accompanied by beautiful women in furs and expensive jewelry like the models that graced the covers of Russian fashion magazines. Even though the location was technically a barn, the interior was elaborately decorated like a fancy dinner club surrounding a boxing ring and a plush viewing area complete with two luxury boxes on opposite ends.

As Boris rolled to a stop, a fresh round of beefy bodyguards swarmed the car. The sight of all those bad dudes, whether they were on our team or not, was more than a little unsettling. When Boris got out of the car, I grabbed Vladimir’s hand.

He squeezed me assuredly. “See those gentlemen over there?” He pointed to a group of eagle-eyed watchdogs guarding a mini casino and the betting box. “They represent the interests of Moscow. Millions of dollars are going to change hands tonight, and they are here to ensure the safety and satisfaction of our high-rolling clientele. If the Ovechkins make a move that will upset the flow of money, every member of their family will be dead before my body hits the ground.”

I scanned the crowd and noted the socialites were having a fabulous time drinking, snacking on
zakuski
, and gambling. I trusted Vladimir—completely. I even spotted Pasha behind the betting booth, running the gambling scene, and overseeing the operation. This was their world, and I needed to accept the dangerous element went hand-in-hand with the privileges associated with the family business.

Boris got out of the car and opened my door. The band was playing an upbeat song and I rocked my shoulders to the beat, ready to mingle with the high-rollers and enjoy my first taste of freedom since I got dragged to Russia. Before I stepped out, Boris ducked down and pointed a stern finger in my face. “Don’t smile, don’t speak a word of English, and do not draw any attention to yourself, understand?”

I snapped to attention like a loyal soldier. He was not as cool and casual about the evening as Vladimir.
Always on duty.
“Got it. Switching over to wallflower mode.”

Boris extended his hand and helped me out of the Rover. Immediately, I was flanked by two puffed-up guards wearing dark suits and black sunglasses. Vladimir slid out of the Rover behind me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and ushered me forward.

A rumbling sports car rolled up behind us. I turned to see a crazy looking yellow Ferrari parked a centimeter from Boris’s bumper. The car doors flipped open like wings, and a douchebag in skinny jeans and snakeskin high tops slid out of the driver’s seat. I could smell his obnoxious cologne from ten feet away.

When he stepped out of the car, he was surrounded by bodyguards. Gorgeous women flocked around his entourage, straining their necks to get a glimpse of the young superstar flaunting perfectly coifed black hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a serious case of little man syndrome. He appeared to be the most important person in the building, but there was no way. He barely looked old enough to have graduated high school.

An Amazonian goddess in a leather cat suit and thigh-high boots strutted to his side and eyed the crowd as if she were on a reconnaissance mission. She towered over the Ferrari guy, exuding a badass “don’t fuck with me” vibe that had enough bite to make a killer like Boris think twice before making direct eye contact with her.

“Who is she?” I asked Vladimir.

“Valentina. Head of the Ovechkin security team. She’s Maksim’s personal bodyguard.”

“Why is she guarding that little douchebag?”

“Because that little douchebag
is
Maksim Ovechkin.”

My mouth gaped. “You’re joking, right? That twerp is the guy who’s trying to kill you? Boris could step on him and all our troubles would be over—Hell,
I
could squish the life out of him.”

“Never underestimate your opponent, angel. His papa was a powerful man. When he died of cancer a few months ago, Maksim inherited his throne, and his papa left him well connected. For years our families were at peace, but that ended when control shifted to him.”

“This might be a stupid question, but why don’t you just, you know,
take him down
?”

“Maksim and I have similar
technical skills
and he is an important resource for our associates higher up in the
Bratva
chain of command. If we were to simply remove him, there would be consequences.”

The Moscow meatheads greeted Maksim as if he were a king, and then a sea of bodyguards swallowed him up and led him across the room. Boris ushered us in the other direction, parting the crowd as we cruised to a private VIP section beyond the betting area. The guards left us to Boris’s charge and stationed themselves outside the private entrance.

Scantily dressed cocktail servers delivered champagne and a sampling of
zakuski
to the VIPs while violinists serenaded the crowd. A staff member approached Vladimir and spoke as she extended her arm, inviting us to follow her. There were only two words I recognized—Maksim Ovechkin.
Holy shit
. Vladimir shot his gaze over to his
sovietnik
, seemingly to gain Boris’s opinion. They conversed and then Vladimir turned to me. “We’ve been invited to join Maksim at his table.”

“Feeling suicidal?”

“Keep your enemies close.” He extended his elbow.

I wrapped my hand around Vladimir’s bicep and followed the hostess to Maksim’s private room. Boris trailed behind and planted his hand on my shoulder. “Be polite, don’t do anything to provoke him, and play dumb.”

As we strolled to Maksim’s lair, a familiar face stopped me dead in my tracks.
Oh, God. Alexander.
Guarding the entrance, the thug
who sank his teeth into my neck in America flashed me a sinister grin when he caught me in the midst of a panic attack. Alexander was working for the Ovechkin
Bratva
now. He widened his stance, exposed his teeth, and snarled like a territorial predator.

Terror prevented me from taking another step toward the assailant who taught me a lesson about loyalty, following Vladimir’s alcohol induced order. Boris had said Vladimir had no memory of the night he hurt me, but I was there, and I knew without question he had tossed me to his
patsani
like table scraps. Whether Vladimir’s intention was to scare me straight or to end my life was debatable.

I dug my heels in, refusing to take another step. “What is
Playboy
, I mean, Alexander doing here?” Something was different about his appearance. His real teeth had been removed, and in their place was a golden yellow grill with pointy fangs like a wolf. “What happened to his
teeth
?”

Vladimir’s lip sneered, repulsed at the sight of his former employee. “When I found out what he’d done to you, I extracted every tooth from that vile mouth.”

“
Privet
, Carter Cook,” Alexander said.

I jumped back and knocked into Boris.

“He’s trying to rattle you, Carter. Don’t give that
mudak
the satisfaction.” Boris nudged me forward.

Maksim’s bodyguard Valentina strutted out of his private room like a supermodel on a catwalk with a scowl on her face. She had long black hair twisted up in a bun, and she moved with the grace of a ballerina. “Follow me,” she said in a thick Russian accent.

Vladimir squeezed my hand, then confidently guided us past Alexander and his crew to greet our host, the pipsqueak
pakhan
of the Ovechkin
Bratva
. Maksim was lounging on a white sofa surrounded by a bodacious squad of lingerie-clad working girls. He stood and dismissed the ladies when we entered the room.

Vladimir greeted him with an authoritative handshake and a quaint smile as the two exchanged pleasantries. I supposed both of them had to be on their best behavior with the big daddies from Moscow in the house. Vladimir introduced me, and Maksim’s ghostly blue eyes widened, surprised Vladimir had the gall to flaunt me out in public.

“At last, the elusive Carter Cook.” Maksim’s thin lips twisted into a grin, and his aura flipped back to overconfident douchebag mode. I got a close-up look at the tattoos on his neck. There was a bull with pointy horns on one side and a growling bear on the other. The tats appeared to be the bear and bull symbol of the New York Stock Exchange. His shirt was unbuttoned a few notches and I could make out the face of a screeching bald eagle peeking out from his shirt.
Why all the symbolic American ink?

“I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make your acquaintance, and here you have walked willingly into the lion’s den,” Maksim said.

I held out my hand for a formal greeting and smiled, playing dumb as Boris had instructed. “Nice to meet you, Maksim.”

He captured my hand and held it cautiously, yet firmly, as if I might break—or escape. He ran his thumb across the ligature mark on my wrist and licked his lips. “I trust your visit to Russia has been a pleasant one, love.”

Love?
It was weird hearing a Russian dude speak with a full-blown British accent. He didn’t have a trace of his Ekaterinburg heritage in his voice. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve taken him for a bloke from London. “Vladimir should be ashamed for leaving you unattended in America, allowing you the freedom to live a dangerously predictable life.” I pulled my hand away and wiped it off on the bustle of my dress, unnerved by the way he was scanning my body and admiring my curves.

“Early morning workouts, routine class schedule, karaoke on Sunday nights followed by a junk food frenzy at the gas station and a tipsy stumble home to your apartment off campus. If someone had the inclination to do you harm, your lackadaisical behavior could prove to be your downfall.”

How Vladimir possessed the self-control to resist the urge to rip Maksim’s head off and slam dunk it in the chocolate fountain across the room was a testament to his commitment to our game plan. “I’m embarrassed. You seem to know so much about me, but I’m afraid Vladimir hasn’t mentioned you.”

Maksim lifted his hands in mock surprise. “I’m hurt, Vladimir. Our families have a long history. We practically grew up together.”

“Really? Then we should tell you our big news.” I held up my hand to show him Irina’s ring on my finger. I tilted my head and smiled at Vladimir, doting on him like a love-struck fiancée. “Vladimir proposed this afternoon. We haven’t even told his family yet.” I turned to Vladimir. “It’s okay I told your friend, right?”

Vladimir’s jaw clenched. I couldn’t tell if he was acting or if he was legitimately ticked that I was going off-script. “Of course, angel.”

Maksim smiled like I had whispered a dirty little secret in his ear. “Then we must celebrate.” He snapped at a server who then delivered a round of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila to his table. He leaned in and winked. “Don’t worry, I will keep your secret about your American boyfriend, but the
pakhan
will know if he’s not your first.”

The snarky little weasel was chewing through my last nerve. Why Boris was letting this twerp breathe was beyond my comprehension. “Wait. Your last name is Ovechkin? I do remember the guys talking about you. Boris was reminiscing and said he knew one of your family members back in the day. Arcady Ovechkin was your uncle, right?”

Maksim’s arrogant smile faded and his face burned with anger. Mentioning his dead uncle, the one Boris killed to save Vladimir, struck a nerve. “American girls and their sassy mouths. Now I see why Vladimir had to knock some sense into your pretty little head.”

Vladimir lunged at him, but Boris held him back. A pack of goons surrounded their leader, threatening WWIII if Boris didn’t get the boss under control. Valentina swooped in and wrapped her arms around me like a steel trap, as if I were a threat to her cocky little Napoleon.

Maksim leaned in and gave me an ultimatum. “Vladimir is a dead man. You’ll suffer the same torturous fate if you stay with him. Leave with me tonight, and I’ll let you live.”

I tried to wrestle out of Valentina’s vise grip, but I was no match.

“You’ll need to learn some manners, but I’ll break you in. Teach you how to respect a Russian man.” He ran his fingers along my jawline. “When I get between those skinny legs and claim your
pizda
, you won’t have the strength to walk for a week.”

Unable to physically claw his eyes out, the only weapon I had was my smartass American mouth. “Those tight jeans don’t leave much to the imagination. Doesn’t appear I have much to look forward to,
love
.”