Saved by the Outlaw: Motorcycle Club / Hitman Romance (43 page)

He shuffles his feet and fixes me with a hawk-like stare and I fold my arms over my chest in silent response. It’s some kind of bravado stand-off. A few tense seconds pass and then, to my surprise, he steps past me to sit down on the couch. He crosses a leg wide over his lap and stretches both arms over the back of the couch, taking up as much room as possible. It’s a compromise — he sits down first, but he takes the best seat.

Still, I feel a little smug as I sit in one of the silky gold-embroidered chairs, crossing my legs and setting my hands in my lap before fixing him with an expectant look.

“Today you owe a debt,” he begins.

“And you’ve come to collect it,” I respond quietly.

“Not quite,” he answers, swiping a hand quickly over his mouth. “I know there is nothing
for
me to collect.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. I’m caught. “Not at the present moment, no. But hopefully soon I can get the money—”

“There is another option,” he interrupts. I furrow my brows at him and cross my arms over my chest as though it could slow my heart rate.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

I can tell he wants to smile, and I’m not sure whether to be relieved or frightened by it. Then he leans toward me and opens those full lips to say, “Be mine.”

I sit for a moment in dumbfounded silence. Then I stammer, “Wh-what?”

“For a year, I will own you.”

F
ury gathers
like storm clouds in my head. I want to stand up and scream at him in indignation, tell him to go to hell. But this time, something stops me from speaking my mind. It’s a sensation of resolve. It’s the feeling of being backed against a wall. What can I do but listen to the parameters of his offer? It’s not like I have any better alternatives off the top of my head.

“What do you mean?” I ask gravely.

He steeples his fingers and I am momentarily distracted by his big, strong hands. I wonder what kinds of things those hands have done, and in the back of my mind I can’t help but remember what they felt like on my skin…

“You will be my woman for a year, servant to my whims and desires. I will not hurt you, unless you want me to,” he adds. There’s that smile again, not on his lips, but lurking in his deep blue eyes.

“In what capacity will I ‘serve’ you?” I ask, trying to temper my sardonic tone.

“Sexually,” he replies simply, totally unabashed. I wonder if he’s made this kind of offer before. How often does this happen? Or am I the only girl currently being offered the ultimatum of “pay up now or become an indentured sex servant?” Perhaps he’s only mocking me.

“Are you serious?” I prompt.

“Absolutely.”

“How can I know that those thugs aren’t just going to show up later tonight and beat the hell out of me? How can I know for sure that you’re not just conning me?” I ramble all at once.

He holds up a hand to silence me. “I am a man of my word.”

“And you have the power to call them off?”

At that, the smile finally appears, lending some surprising warmth to his face.

“I have that power, yes.”

“And when I met you before — was that just part of the job? Staking me out, doing some reconnaissance before moving in for the kill?” I continue. His smile disappears as swiftly as it came, leaving him stony-faced.

“I do not kill,” he replies, his voice deep and serious, but there's something restrained in it.

Something shifts in the air and suddenly I feel goosebumps on my arms. I had only meant it as a turn of phrase, not literally. I open my mouth to say something — I don’t know what — but he quickly stands up to leave.

“I will give you some time to consider my offer,” he says with an air of finality.

As he opens the door, I jump up and ask him, “Wait, I don’t even know your name.”

He turns and looks at me hard. “Ivan.”

“I-I’m Katy,” I respond, as if he doesn’t know.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, and with that he disappears through the VIP door.

I slump down onto the couch and sit there in stunned silence for several minutes, my brain running in a thousand directions at once. Then, finally, I walk out of the lounge and up to the bar, where Natalie is standing looking rather pale.

“What the hell was that about?” she asks in a fervent whisper. “You okay, short-stop?”

I tap the bar with my nails and she quickly pours me a shot of bourbon, which I toss back immediately. Licking my lips, I reply quietly, “I don’t fucking know. I’ll get back to you on that. Uh, could you do me a massive favor, Nat?”

“Er, yeah. What?”

I slide my purse strap over my shoulder and turn to leave. “Watch the club tonight, huh? I-I think I need a night off. Sorry.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You got it, boss.”

Charles and Ashton both give me slightly panicked looks as I pass by, and I can’t offer more than a simple, sheepish half-smile in response. But they’ll be alright. My crew is shockingly self-sufficient, and they can handle themselves for a night.

Me, on the other hand…

Neglecting my umbrella, I walk to my car in the rain, hardly even cognizant of the water soaking my clothes and hair. I drive home in silence, even more confused now than I was when I left this morning.

* * *

I
feel
like I’m pushing my way through a dream as I make my way up the stairs to my apartment, turn the key to my door, and enter the place I’ve called home for the past few months.

My eyes pan the living room as I walk through it, but it’s like my eyes are seeing everything through a fine mist, like the world is just a little bit out of focus.

Once again, that same question is haunting my every thought: why is this happening to me?

I slip my shoes off on the way in, and I set my purse down somewhere, but none of it really registers in my mind.

Why can’t I just have a normal life? Why couldn’t my dad’s failing club have passed to me with no strings attached? I could have sold it to the business douches at the club for a tidy profit and move upstate, maybe finish college and settle down for a quiet life at a desk job somewhere.

That wasn’t going to be my life, though.

Maybe I ripped a bunch of people off in a past life,
I decide with a laugh as I make my way around the living room, staring at all the crap Natalie and I had dragged out last night.

What even
is
some of this junk?
Looking around at all the possessions I had to sell, a pointedly empty feeling hits me from the pit of my stomach.

I hate having to deal with the Amber Room, but at the end of the day, it’s the only asset I’ve got.

There are some old designer clothes strewn about in boxes, some paintings that served no better purpose than maybe a conversation starter for guests, and some old jewelry I only ever wear for work in the first place.

My job is my life.

The anger that’s been burning low in the back of my mind flares up again, and I give one of the boxes of crap a sharp kick.

I don’t even know what to be angry at, really. Should I hate myself for letting myself get into this position? At my dad for dumping this on me? At Ivan for suggesting that I...that he…

I can’t ball my fists any tighter as I stomp into my room and slip out of my work clothes, just wanting nothing more than to be comfortable right now.

My bedroom is one of the few safe places I have left.

I flop back onto the soft mattress, spreading my tired bare limbs out on the comfortable sheets I worked so hard to keep clean.

“You will be my woman for a year, a servant to my whims and desires,”
I repeat Ivan’s words at the ceiling, mockingly exaggerating his accent and making a face.

Who the hell does he think he is?

The voice in the back of my mind reminds me that he might be the only thing standing between me and getting pimped out by Oskar and his gang of goblins.

The back of my mind is an asshole.

I turn over and bury my face in my pillows, wishing I could make all this tension just...go away, if only for a little while.

But as I’m lying there on my stomach with the thought of Ivan hovering in my mind, my imagination can’t help but drift back to that first night we spent together over three months ago.

After seeing what kind of body the guy has, not even that suit he was wearing today could keep me from remembering what’s under it. Those rippling muscles, the look of absolute assuredness in his eyes that he would have total control of the bedroom for the next hour. I remember running my hands over those tattoos of his before he pressed that rock-hard body against me.

Snapping to my senses, I stop that train of thought in its tracks when I feel a familiar, warm tingling in my body, and I catch myself even as I’m starting to grind my hips into the bed. Shame rises to my cheeks.

This is the guy who just asked to own me for a year. To deprive me of my freedom to act outside his will, outside his grasp for twelve whole months.

...but how bad would that have sounded during the night we spent together?

After all, wasn’t that half the fun of it, at the time? I’d shirked all responsibility, left all the stress and all the worry over the club behind me as I set foot into his bedroom. Now that I remember glimpses of it, it was a nice place, too. A lot nicer than what I have, that’s for sure.

That’s what you get from mob money, I guess.

That thought makes me angry. This guy is the
mafia
. He’s a monster. A criminal.

But he isn’t as bad as the rest of them, now, is he?

I turn over on the bed and stare angrily at the ceiling again, furious at the sensations plaguing my body. There’s no way I’m going to let myself be the possession of some mobster who has access to anything he wants.

So why am I so wet?

My hand wanders its way down between my legs, and as my fingers brush my swollen lips through the fabric of the thin cloth covering them, I feel a comforting warmth through my body.

I also hear a hard
NO
come from my better judgment. This is the man who could determine whether a bunch of thugs have their way with me.

Absolutely not. No. Under no circumstances.

All those thoughts do is make my heart race faster as I’m slipping my underwear off.

A little whimper escapes me as I part my lips and gently start to massage my clit. There’s more tension bound up in me than I realize, just like the last time I was with him. With Ivan. How did I not even get his name during the whole time we spent together?

My clit is reluctant to warm up to my touch, it’s been so long, but compulsion makes me keep massaging the sensitive skin as my legs move slowly up and down the sheets, relishing in the feel of the fabric against my inner thighs.

My fingers are moving a little faster as I get wetter, and then the night I’d buried under all the stress of work starts to come back to me. How strong Ivan was, how I had wanted to wrap myself around him and never let go.

He was just some gorgeous stranger, and I let him fuck me. I might not be able to imitate how his massive crown felt diving inside me, but my hips rocked up into my touch as I remember the way he felt grinding against me, holding me so lovingly even though it was a one-night stand.

He used me
, I think to myself as I feel my fingers wetten as they touch my desperate, needy cunt. My whole body has been wishing for that release again, I realize.

The thought makes my heart flutter. The body I’ve been wanting to press up against me, to hold me tight and hold me up with an inescapable grip while he fucks me has been that of a mobster this whole time. A hardened criminal.

I let out a soft moan, not sure where the transition from idly touching myself to torturing my clit happened, but now I’m squirming on the bed sheets, my fingers covered in my own wetness, and my heart is racing.

He wants me. After all those months, he thought of me and wants me in his bed, in his hands, and around his cock again.

Would it really feel so bad, a year under his ownership?

M
y muscles tense
and my toes clench as my mouth is forced open by the overwhelming cresting of the orgasm that follows that scandalous thought, and in a liberating moment of ecstasy, I let out a long, breathy cry of release as I feel my whole body electrified by the thought of Ivan looming over me again.

I keep moving my fingers and come again and again as my body writhes in a mixture of pleasure and shame at the thought of him, of his impossibly strong body and those dark blue eyes holding my gaze as long as he wanted.

Finally, my clit is almost too sensitive to touch, and I withdraw my hand, clenching my legs together as my body shakes and I turn onto my side to curl up as the sensations subside.

It’s a few moments before I can let my hand return to my pussy, slowly and gently nursing it through the orgasm’s subsiding.

My eyes crack open, and I look down at the mess I’ve made of myself.

Then my mouth starts to curl into a smile, and I bite my lip and turn my head into the pillows in disbelief at the silliness of the thoughts I just used to get myself off.

“You’re a mess, Katy,” I half-giggle at myself, wallowing in the enormous feeling of relaxation that pins me to the bed, “a perverted mess.”

A few minutes later, I’m in the shower, steam pouring over the top of the clear sliding doors as I lean against the cool walls, letting my hair get soaked. I might have gotten myself off, but I’m still slick between my lips. I can’t stop thinking about how great it would have felt to have joined Ivan in the shower that night.

As I start to wash the worries and pleasure of the day off my body, I can’t help but wonder what actually might have been different now if I’d stayed the night with him. Would I have found out who he is? What he does? Would any of this debt issue have come up again?

Would I have liked him?

Hot water runs down my body, and that thought lingers in my mind for a while. He seemed alright that night we spent together. I never would have known a thing was amiss if he hadn’t strolled into my club and announced that he’s a mobster, here to do mobster things at my mobster-owned club.

I put my forehead against the wall, hugging myself while breathing the hot air around me. Maybe my body’s impulses aren’t entirely wrong about Ivan’s offer.

I know I want this. I know myself well enough not to fool myself in that regard. But is this really the best thing for the club?

It would totally free me of my debt. I’d never have to worry about the mob breathing down my neck ever again. I’d be able to use that spare $4,000 a month for anything. Savings, maybe a new expansion, raises for all the staff of course, a decent place to live. Just the thought of all that makes me almost giddy, almost ready to forget what I’d have to do for that kind of freedom.

Almost.

What if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain? What if he decides I’m not good enough after a few months and sticks me back to square one? What if he’s not even being honest in the first place and this is just some ploy to humiliate me?

No. I can’t do this.

I nod to myself, the useless gesture a silent resolution to myself. I don’t want anyone else dangling charity over my head. If I’m going to weather this storm, I’ll do it on my own or not at all.

It isn’t worth the risk to put my life in the hands of some mobster who just wants a piece of meat to fuck for a year and toss aside. That’s how criminals work, after all. None of them can be trusted. They put Dad and me in this situation in the first place, and they’ll just put me right back in it when they’ve had their fun.

I finish washing up and turn the water off, stepping out onto the tile of the bathroom and wrapping a towel around my body. I wipe some of the condensation off the mirror and stare at my reflection.

I’m going to face whatever comes at me tomorrow, one way or the other.

* * *

T
he sky is
overcast yet again as I drive to work today. I’m wracking my brain for the proper words to say, unsure how exactly to explain to Ivan that I have to decline his offer. Not that it isn’t a tempting option, at least on some level I’m refusing to entertain at the moment, but my father’s influence is powerful over me. I know he would want me to say no. Of course. And any woman in her right mind
would
object to her being treated like a sex slave for a year, wouldn’t she? Seems pretty common-sense.

But then again, it’s not every woman who ends up in this kind of predicament to begin with. Who’s to say I’m not making a huge mistake in turning down my one chance at eventual freedom from these mafia thugs? It does sound wonderful — the prospect of being able to live my life without the shadow of the mafia hovering over me and shading everything I do, every choice I make. I could finally do the things I want to do with my money. I could fix up the club a little more, add some of my own touches. I could finally give Natalie the raise she deserves. Hell, I could finally put away some money to travel, see the world like I’ve always wanted to.

No
, I tell myself firmly,
it’s not that simple
. After all, despite his claims to the contrary, I am pretty damn certain that Ivan is a dangerous, dangerous guy. Probably not the type of man I want to be chained to for a year. His “whims and desires” might actually include some messed-up stuff that I should want no part of.

So here I am with my dilemma. How does one politely tell a Russian mobster no?

As I’m pondering all the miniscule variations of “thanks, but no thanks” I pull my car into the parking lot and cross the pavement to the front door of the club. Once again, the motorcycle has two helmets dangling from it and a smirk crosses my face. Are Natalie and Ashton just carpooling (bike-pooling?) or is there something else going on I need to address? I suppose that since I’m technically their boss, I might have to lay down some ground rules about dating your coworkers or something.

But when I get inside and settle into a seat at the bar, it turns out that I’m on the receiving end of an interrogation, rather than the opposite.

Natalie and Ashton are both leaning on the other side of the bar, nursing coffees and staring at me with gleeful expressions, looking very mischievous. And to think, Ashton was such a sweet, innocent girl when she first started here. I make a mental note to goad Natalie later about being a bad influence. At the moment, I am eyeing the pair of them suspiciously, waiting for the barrage of questions to begin.

Natalie starts, of course. “So what the hell is going on with that Russian guy?”

“He’s cute,” Ashton adds, looking a little bashful for admitting it. I can’t help but clock the slightly doleful look in Natalie’s eyes for a moment.

“I guess he’s kinda hot in a scary way. If you’re into that,” Natalie tacks on, trying her best to look nonchalant about it. “But for real, what’s happening, Katy?”

“Oh, nothing,” I answer quickly. Both girls open their mouths to retort, but I continue before they get the chance. “Seriously. Nothing you two need to worry about. It’s fine. I’m taking care of it. It’s
fine
.”

“Taking care of it? That sounds bad,” Ashton comments, her sweet face scrunching up.

“Taking care of what, exactly?” Natalie interjects, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“He’s not gonna hurt you, is he?” Ashton asks, wide-eyed.

“Is he gonna be hanging around a lot?”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? He looked real serious.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

I rub at my temples in frustration. I should have known this game of twenty questions was inevitable, with these two around.

“OKAY,” I interrupt, holding my hands in the time-out gesture. “Well, he might be coming back today so I’m gonna need you guys to play it cool, alright? Please? Just act
normal
,” I plead with them.

“He’s coming back?”

“Why?”

Both of these questions hit me at the exact same time and I sigh heavily.

“Right, see this whole ‘questionnaire’ thing you’re doing right now? Yeah. Don’t do that when —
if
— he comes by today,” I tell them solidly as I get up to leave the bar.

Just then there’s a loud bang from down the hallway to the front door. Ashton gasps.

“Probably just Charles,” I say quickly.

“He said he’d be late today,” Natalie replies, looking bewildered.

A wicked male voice calls out mockingly, “Kaaaatyyyyy!”

My stomach lurches as I recognize Oskar’s voice. Immediately I turn on my heel and hiss at Natalie and Ashton, “Get behind the bar. Stay down and do not make a sound, hear me?”

Ashton whimpers in an undertone, “What’s going on?”

“Just hide!” I whisper emphatically, pointing behind the bar. Natalie nods and dutifully puts an arm around Ashton’s shoulders to force the both of them back down behind the counter, just as a chorus of rancorous laughter echoes down the hallway.

I turn back around and walk quickly to the middle of the dimly-lit dance floor, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to look tough. I should have known not to trust Ivan. He told me that the thugs weren’t coming, that he had the power to call them off. I know now that he must have lied to me — and I am suddenly relieved that I didn’t take his offer. I am so furious that the anger bubbling in my stomach almost overpowers the fear I’m feeling at the moment.

The three mafia guys come skulking around the corner, two of them wearing hateful, sadistic grins, while the quiet one Nic simply stares with those cold, dead eyes. I wonder if he even feels anything at all. Then I wonder what I’m going to feel in a moment…

What if they kill me?

I close my eyes for a brief second and hope desperately that at least they might spare my coworkers. Nat and Ashton are totally innocent of all this. They deserve to live.

“What are you up to, Katy?” snarls Oskar, a crude smile on his face.

“Got anything for us?” adds Konrad. He extends his hand and makes a motion like he’s rubbing coins together between his forefinger and thumb. “It’s collection day.”

“I told you boys I would have your money,” I say, willing my voice not to shake.

“Uh huh. And where is it, sweetheart?” Oskar growls, taking a few slow strides toward me. He snaps his fingers a few times with an expectant look on his face.

I can’t find the words. I have no idea what to tell him. Part of me wants to lie, to tell him I’ll have the money tonight, tomorrow, sometime in the future. Maybe I can run away, go to the police or something. But I know the mafia would only find me, and they certainly would never forget. They specialize in holding grudges and delivering harsh punishments.

A small, shrill voice in the back of my mind urges me to drop to my knees and beg for my life, offer them anything, everything I have. But I know I’m too strong for that, too stubborn.

“Still waiting, bitch,” Konrad barks. He walks over to the booth Charles fixed just yesterday and plucks up the little glass votive off the table. He throws it as hard as he can on the hardwood floor and it shatters into little pieces. There is an almost inaudible gasp from behind me and my heart races, hoping that the thugs didn’t hear it.
Be quiet!

“Nic, what do we do when someone is late on their payment, huh?” Oskar says.

The hulking henchman pounds a fist into his palm and grumbles in a tone that sounds almost bored, “We charge interest.”

“And if they can’t pay interest… what do we do then?”

“Find an alternative method of payment,” Konrad breaks in, shattering a second votive.

“For example, if you don’t have cash, sometimes we’ll take an equitable amount of flesh or blood instead. And let me tell you,
sooka
, the exchange rate is not so good,” Oskar hisses, cracking his knuckles as he approaches me. I wince as Konrad picks up a chair and throws it across the room, sending it clattering across the dance floor and smashing against a wall.

“What do you want?” I ask, holding my head high.

Oskar cackles and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing me up and down. “Well, this debt is quite a sticky one. I think we might have to split the payment between both flesh
and
blood, wouldn’t you agree, Konrad?”

“I’ll take the flesh if you want to stake a claim on the blood, Nicolas!” Konrad calls out over his shoulder. Nic nods and starts lumbering toward me, arms poised at his sides and his muscles rippling with every heavy step. I feel my throat close up with terror.

“And what do I get?” Oskar says, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Ahh yes, I get the pleasure of watching and the satisfaction of another business transaction carried out successfully. What more can a man ask for these days?”

He steps up to me and I freeze up as he lifts a hand to gently caress my cheek. Then he pats it a couple times and says, “Nicolas, Konrad, come.”

The henchmen rush to my side and each grab one of my arms, wresting them behind my back as Oskar continues to survey me with beady, mean eyes. He steps back a few feet and clucks his tongue as though weighing his options. Then he claps his hands together.