Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (15 page)

S
he's naked
.

She's in my bed.

She's about to be mine.

I've always been yours
.

Jesus Christ, I almost came the second she said those words. I stalk toward the bed, the moonlight streaming in from the windows, turning her fair skin porcelain.

It hits me how soft, how sweet, how breakable she is.

I don't want to break her.

But the animal in me—he wants to try. On our bed. Now.

"Gray," Kat leans up on her elbows, cracks a smile. "Get out of your head."

I laugh. Goddamn, and she's funny. She's beautiful, smart, funny and fiery. I lo—

"If you don't get in bed right now and take control, I'm going to fucking hurt you!" Kat moans.

We'd kissed the entire way to our bedroom, me pushing her up against the wall, on top of the dryer, laying her out on the bench at the foot of my bed and slowly removing every single piece of clothing she had on.

I crawled up over her naked body, my treasure, my prize.

"Kat," I whisper, my lips ghosting over the rise of her breast, the curve of her neck.

"Gray," she whispers back, holding onto me, writhing against me. Her legs are spread wide, allowing me between her. Soon I'll be inside her. The thought makes my cock pulse and my balls tighten. I grind against her, her wet core setting me on fire. Then she glances down at the monster between us. "Gray, you're so big. You might be...too big."

I'm almost certain she's a virgin, and the caveman in my head is fucking glad of it. The way I feel right now—illogical, possessive, completely on fire—I'm liable to order a hit on any other man who's ever seen her pristine skin, touched her ample curves.

If they'd fucked her? They'd be dead.

"I just need to get you ready," I say, kissing my way down her neck to her amazing tits. I roll one pert, pink nipple between my teeth, making her moan and shake underneath me. God, I've craved that sound for so long. I want her, wild and wanton and just like this, every damn day.

Every damn day for the rest of my life.

I kiss my way down her stomach, spreading her legs wide.

"Gray, you don't have to—"

"Shh, Kat. I'm ready for my dessert now." I push her hands out of the way, not liking that she'd be embarrassed by her scent, her taste. "You're fucking gorgeous,
Katya
."

She closes her eyes, blushing.

"Watch me," I order. I inhale deeply between her legs, getting to know my woman's scent. Then I look up and hold her gaze as I take my first long, slow, wet taste of her center.

"Oh God," Kat moans, her head falling back onto the bed.

That's fine with me. That's where I want her, really: spread-open, blissed the fuck out, because my hands or my tongue or my cock is inside her, driving her crazy.

As crazy as she drives me.

I tease her, licking her everywhere down there
except
the tight little pearl I know she wants me to touch.

"Gray!" Kat cries out, rolling her hips, trying to get me to touch her harder, deeper. I grin and stick my tongue inside her, my cock leaking precum against the covers. I can't wait to fuck her, own her, make love to her.

Because in truth, she owns me.

I work her nipples with one hand, teasing and tugging, making my girl moan and shiver. My other hand goes to work in her wet, hot pussy—she's so tight, and I'm not small. I finger her g-spot, Kat's hips moving faster and faster.

"Come for me, baby," I say, right before tonguing her clit hard and fast. She comes apart with a cry, her thighs clamping tight around my head, shaking me, shaking my world.

"Stop, oh stop," she moans as I keep licking her, lapping up her sweet honeyed come, enjoyed the aftershock-tremors that race through her body.

Finally I climb up over her, feeling like a fucking god rising up out of the ocean, my curvy virgin sacrifice splayed out before me. I kiss her with my salt-covered lips, letting her suck on me and see how fucking good she tastes.

"I'm gonna fuck you now, sweet girl," I kiss her once, hard, branding her.

Kat stares up at me, green eyes dark in the shadows. "Gray, please." She's still breathing hard, her skin lightly dewed with sweat.

I position my cock at her entrance, rubbing the head over her clit and in her juices. She moans even at that, and thrusts upward, wanting, wanting…

"Wait!" Kat grabs my arms. "Condom. I'm not on birth control. We need a condom."

The animal in me raises its hackles; I want my bare cock inside her, balls-deep, pumping and filling her with my seed.

But it's been a fucking week.

Seven years…and a week
.

"Hold on, babes." I lean over and open the bedside table drawer, snagging a Magnum and ripping it open with my teeth. Kat follows my movement, biting her lip, watching as I position my now-covered dick at her entrance.

"You ready for your first—and last—dick, little wife?"

Kat frowns, and I can tell she's ready to argue. But then I slowly move, rubbing up against her, lubing the condom with her own come. She moans, and we both watch as I push, push, push just the tip inside her tight, hot core.

"Oh," Kat moans, the excitement and heat in her voice running up my spine like lightning.

I move down, cover her with my body. I stare into her eyes and then I move back, and thrust—deep, hard, all the way inside my woman.

"Gray!" Kat clenches her eyes shut, instinctively grabbing me and tensing with pain.

"Fuck." I put my forehead against hers, breathing hard. I don't want to hurt her, ever. But holding still inside her core is the hardest damn thing I've ever done. Every instinct I have is screaming
move, thrust, make her mine
.

"Kat," I whisper. "It'll be okay. Tell me when it's better." I kiss her closed eyes, her lips, each freckle on her cheek.

Then the tension in her body releases, suddenly. I move, back, forward, small motions. She cries out, this time with pleasure.

"Yes, oh Gray, please don't stop." She kisses me, wet and hungry, and I kiss her back while I move my hips, faster and faster. Kat's head falls back, her tits bouncing as I enter her harder, now. She's moaning and her pussy is clenching me, tighter and tighter.

I grab her leg and lift it up, over my shoulder. I can't hold back—I should hold back, I should make it last—but at this new angle she's shouting and whimpering and calling out my name. I can feel her starting to come, her fingernails digging into my arms, and her sweet pussy starts convulsing, milking my cock.

It's more than I can take. I go wild, ramming home, coming as she screams my name. I keep thrusting even after I empty myself, her arms and legs wrapped around me, her lips against mine.

Moments after I come I'm hard again. It's like I can't get enough of her.

"Again," I growl.

Kat smiles, her cheeks and chest pink from exertion. "Maybe one—or one hundred—more times, and I'll be satisfied."

I wrap my arms around my wife and kiss her. I don't say the words, but I know now: I'll never let her go.

"
Y
o
, Gray." Chase knocks and walks into the bar's office, making himself comfortable on the couch. I immediately think of Kat, and how I fucked her on the couch at my apartment this morning.

She's been wearing just my t-shirt as she made me breakfast. I'd bent her over the back of the couch, her ass in my hands…

She's fucking ruining my concentration.

And ruining me for any other woman, ever. It's been a week since I claimed her, and we can't keep our hands off each other. Kat says she can't believe we make love all the time. She blushes when I say we fuck all the time.

Either way, I can't keep my mind off of her.

But I need to, especially tonight. I'm supposed to meet Solonik and his crew on the docks at eight. Well, not meet them exactly—but he wants me hidden, watching, my rifle ready. But only me, which is sending fucking warning sirens off in my head.

Either he wants to kill me, or he doesn't want anyone else to know what he's receiving. Either way, this isn't good, and I need my head in the game.

Both
of my heads focused and in the game.

Chase puts his feet up on the shitty coffee table someone threw in here, and relaxes like he's one of our fucking hipster customers. No one would know he just returned from scoping out the docks. Motherfucker keeps his cool, all the time. Which is just one reason he's one of only three people I trust in the world.

Declan and Kat being the other two people.

Jesus, I need to stop fucking
obsessing
over her. But in order to do that, I want to make sure she's safe and taken care of while I do this fucking job tonight.

"How's it look down by the water?"

Chase shakes his head. "Totally normal for a Saturday. Nothing out of the ordinary that I could tell. Found a good spot for you to hole up."

I nod. "Great. Now I need you to go pick up Kat in a couple hours. Drive her back to my place."

Chase nods, but he's got a pensive look I don't like on his face.

"Spit it out," I order.

"Anyone can pick her up." At the look on my face, he changes his tone, but not his message. "Anyone you
trust
can pick your woman up after she's done shopping with her friend. I would do it every fucking week and twice on Sunday if you wanted,
Pakhan
."

"Now I know you're blowing smoke up my ass, if you're calling me boss."

"
Pakhan
, godfather, sensei, whatever the fuck you want to be called, man. I'm just saying: tonight's shipment is important. I think I could better serve you by standing by your side." He makes a corny-as-fuck, rolling hand gesture when he says "serve," like he's an uptight English butler bowing down before me or something.

It's not easy to find a trustworthy, loyal sharpshooter who can always get the job done. A soldier like Chase is a fucking treasure.

But having one of those who can also give you shit and make you laugh?

Priceless.

"I'd rather be on the ground tonight," Chase says.

"I could send one of the younger guys, but it just doesn't feel right." I hate to admit I'm paranoid about Kat, but ever since Markov fucking lost it and attacked her, I'm paranoid. Even after Solonik reprimanded him and punished him—Markov had to give me a week of the brothels' earnings—I'm still not convinced that the fucker won't try something.

"Besides, you've already helped me by scoping out the docks. And Solonik—" we both involuntarily make a face when I say his name, "—only wants me and some of his immediate crew there."

"And that doesn't make you suspicious?" Chase says. "He knows you want out, right? Maybe he'd rather take you out than worry about you. How many more years did you promise him in exchange for Kat?"

"Ten." I take a deep breath. "And it's for the
bar
, not the girl," I say, making the storyline clear. I'd even let Viktor think my arm had been injured during a recent turf skirmish. While I'd been shot, I was fully healed. Total flesh wound. But Viktor didn't need to know that.

I'd let it be known—just to Viktor,
of course
—that I wasn't as confident with a gun. That I should probably work a steadier gig, for the family, of course.

If I was a bad actor, Viktor was fucking pathetic. He'd looked absolutely
gleeful
at the idea of my weakness. I'd said I needed a position with less conflict, more stability. A nice management position, like the bar.

And I'd convinced him that instead of selling a woman into slavery, me marrying her would make the whole money-laundering operation look much more legit if we were ever audited.

"After all, Viktor, how'd they take down Capone?" I'd said.

He'd nodded like he was a fucking sage. "Taxes. Paperwork. It's always the little shit."

"Noting certain but death and taxes," I'd agreed, seriously hoping for his death.

As well as the plan was working, Markov was pissed to hell he hadn’t been given the bar—or the girl. And I was fucking losing my mind with boredom at this shithole.

I glance over the ledger on my desk. I'd been running numbers all day, and it was a fucking drag.

"Of course it worries me. I don't trust him further than I can throw him. Actually," I grin and bend my arm, pretending to show off my bicep, "about half as far as I can throw him."

"They told me Gray Petrokov was dangerous. They told me you killed in cold blood and never missed a target. They told me you were smart as a fucking whip. They didn't tell me you were a corny-ass motherfucker."

I laugh and lean back in my chair. We share a companionable moment of silence, though both our smiles fade.

"What's in the shipment that's so damn important, that he wants you covering him?" Chase says.

I shake my head. "I'm assuming drugs, but you know how it is—when you're somebody's goon, you don't get to ask questions." Solonik wants my sharp-shooter skills. I'll be perched off the water, about five hundred yards from where Viktor and his crew are meeting with their overseas contacts.

"I don't like it," Chase says.

"I don't like any of this shit," I agree.

For maybe the first time ever, Chase suddenly looks nervous. Like he shouldn't say what he's about to say. "You could leave at any time, Gray. So could I. I know you came back for the girl, but is she worth sticking around for? To be told what to do? To have to do this shit for the next ten years?"

He gestures at the desk, the paperwork, the entire damn bar.

He might be the closest thing I have to a friend in this world, but my blood boils.

"Is she worth it? The answer is
fuck you
," I growl. Chase holds his hands up in surrender. "And who ever said anything about ten years here?"

Chase looks up. If he were a dog, his ears would be perked and his tail wagging right about now.

"I'm settling accounts. Making sure her failure of a father is out of the way. Then my girl and I are getting the fuck out of here."

Chase looks at me warily. "Gray, man, what are you saying? You're just gonna cut and run? They'll chase you. Solonik can't let you dishonor him like that. He'd send Markov after you. Fuck, Markov would volunteer. You really want to take your girl on the run?"

I stand, packing up my guns. "No," I say. "But I don't feel like starting a war."

Chase laughs. "Well, that'd be a first."

I smirk. We'd both been ordered to start inter-family wars before. "Well, the difference here is who would be left to clean up? Do you really want to be in charge of a fucking
mafia
family? I sure as fuck do not."

Chase stands. "You know me, boss. I don't want to be in charge of shit except whatever girl I'm fucking that night, and whatever fat deposit I'm making to my bank account." He grins suddenly. "Hey! I like that! Fat ass, fat wallet."

"Yeah, you could write a country song. Now get the hell out of here and go get my girl."

He nods and heads out.

I clean my gun and hope to fuck I haven't made a mistake, going alone.

* * *

T
he pier is quiet tonight
. The only sounds are traffic from the highway far above us, and the muted voices of Solonik's men. They've driven here in three luxury SUVs, and two bakery trucks.

That's fucking odd.

Solonik had told me to position myself at the top of some parked cargo holds, and I'd agreed. I had felt him and his fucking goons watch me as I'd stalked into the shadows, my rifle case hitting my back with each carefully measured step.

As soon as I was under cover of darkness, however, I'd circled back and taken a position about 60 degrees south. There was a parked semi-truck Chase had mentioned, one I could easily scale, its bed away from any light sources. I unpack my rifle, the movements cool, precise, practiced. I could do this blindfolded.

I settle into position, the steel of the truck cold against my chest and stomach. I flip open my scope and survey the scene.

Solonik was nowhere to be seen; apparently he didn't want to have to shoot the shit with his subordinates while they waited for the shipment. I swing my scope from face to face; fifteen men gathered in a loose gaggle of shit-talking and incompetence. If it were me, I'd have had seven men on the ground, and another fifteen in the shadows, like me.

A vision of my father suddenly dances through my head.
Solonik's a fucking fool, boy
, was what he'd always said. They'd grown up together, come up in the ranks together.

Fought together, fucked together, stolen together.

But only my father had died.

Chase's words come back to me:
why don't I just fucking leave
?

I could take Kat, we could run—but what did running ever solve?

But if I took my revenge for my father being killed, for me being ensnared in this life, for Kat being caught in his web—if I took revenge and finally killed Viktor, was I no better than a hired gun entering enemy territory, taking out the current leaders, then leaving a vacuum for even worse criminals to fill?

I had enough money. Kat and I could retire to an island somewhere in the South Pacific. Fuck, I could buy our own private island.

A horn sounded out on the water. And then, coming up from the south, a truck drove slowly toward the small gathering of SUVs. It was unmarked, no plates. A door opened from one of the Escalades and Solonik stepped out. I focused my sight on him, on his ripe fucking head.

It would be so easy
.
What's stopping me
?

I could take them all out.

It's what my father would have done.

That thought makes me take my finger off the trigger, though I press it back down, lightly, waiting, as the mystery truck's driver appears and walks over to Viktor. He's a middle-aged white guy in a baseball cap, completely nondescript. They greet each other with a handshake. Two young men follow the driver, and at the stranger's word, they unlock and pull open the truck's back doors.

"Holy fucking shit," I whisper. It's not drugs. It's not stolen computers.

A young woman's face appears in the moonlight, blinking. Like even the watery light of the shipyard at night is too intense, too bright, for her eyes to comprehend.

They slowly lower the woman to the ground, running her from one truck over to the bakery truck.

And that's when I realize the woman isn't helping with the cargo.

She
is
the cargo.

As are the dozens of other young ladies who are now standing, confused and terrified, in a large huddle.

It takes everything I have not to fucking make soup out of the back of Viktor's head. Human trafficking. Human fucking trafficking.

I make a decision right then and there. I'm killing Viktor Solonik.

Then I realize that Markov, Viktor's favored
brigadier
, isn't here.

I have the sudden, cold fear: am I only here so I'm out of the way?

Is Markov going after my wife?