Chapter 7
MILA
I don’t expect the jolt that runs through me when our fingers touch.
Or the strength he uses as he rips me up off of the floor and pulls me close to his massive, hard body.
He cradles me against him while his other arm swings out and knocks one of the bikers backwards.
Nikolai picks up a chair and crashes it down on the prone body, then turns me away from the fight.
His wide palm braces against my stomach, pinning me against his thick thigh as he moves through the room.
He’s like a tank, moving methodically forward, fighting in every direction.
A beer bottle flies across the room directly towards me.
I see my chance.
Tossing my hand up, I slow the glass down before it collides with my head, jarring me enough to bring stars to my eyes.
“Oh, God,” I say, adding a touch of hysteria.
Well, shit. I might have let it hit a little too hard, blood tinges my fingers when I pull them away from where it clocked me.
Letting my knees go weak, I get a little thrill when his powerful grip tightens around my waist.
Men love to take charge, so I’ll give him a chance.
How he manages to scoop me up and hold me nestled against his chest, and then push us outside into the hot night is a mystery.
He drops me onto my feet and brings me to face him.
“Are you okay?” His Russian accent is fairly thick.
I’ve practiced my English for much longer, and can sound like an American easily.
Now’s my chance.
Summoning fat tears, I let them spill down my blood crusted cheeks. “I have to get away! Those men, they…they…they kept me! I was trapped! Please!” I clutch onto his thick forearms. “Don’t let them take me back!”
Throwing myself against him, I let the sobs shake me.
He stands still, unmoving except for his broad palm resting lightly between my shoulder blades.
A long exhale washes down over me as he shifts. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he texts someone, then grunts.
“We have a safehouse. I can take you there.” He sounds reserved.
Or, maybe he’s just always serious.
I have to ramp this up.
Clinging to his shirt, I look up at him and blink rapidly. “I was in a safehouse when they took me. Nevermind. Thanks for saving me, I’ll be fine.” I try to give the best terrified look I can.
Widening my eyes, I let my lower lip tremble.
I hope I look like I’m on the edge of absolutely losing my shit.
His dark brows furrow and his jaw clenches.
“You’re hurt. I can take you to a clinic?—”
“No! My ex, the one who sold me to those monsters, he works at a clinic! And, his brother is a cop! I’ll be fine. I just need to hide for a little while, then I’ll leave town.” I think that lie should take out most of the options.
Sniffling, I go through the motions of limping away from him a few steps before turning back. “Um. Do you know which way to the women’s shelter?” My head really does hurt. Gingerly, I let my fingers explore the wound and wince.
His left eye twitches while he watches me. “Come on. You can get cleaned up at my place while you figure out where to go.”
I have to tread carefully.
“You don’t have to. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy if you brought home some strange woman.” I pretend to look away, but sneak a glance to see his expression.
His dossier said his wife died years ago. But, he might have someone new.
Nikolai straightens almost imperceptibly before shaking his head. “Not an issue.”
Whew. One less obstacle.
It leaves the door open for other tactics to get the information I need.
I don’t think torture would work on him.
Na myod poymayesh bolshe mukh, chem na uksus. Will catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
“Okay. I just don’t want to get in the middle of any more shit.” I smear my blood on my torn pants.
Damn. Those guys really did get a couple of hard hits in.
The pain is starting to sink in.
His firm hold on my elbow startles me at first. But, there’s something comforting about the way he’s helping me.
He’s gentle, but direct. And, seems to be conscious about how far away to keep himself, yet is still useful.
I hate that he’s such a damn gentleman. If he was a complete hound, it would make this easier.
The clock on my brother’s life is ticking.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to save me.” Slowing my movements, I let out a few groans as I slide into the front seat of his Hellcat.
He waves his hand nonchalantly. “Those vermin should not have been there at all.”
Tyler helped me lead them there, knowing that particular bar was enforced by Nikolai’s boss, Mikhail.
It’s been frustrating for Tyler to try and gain any information about the players here in Vegas. He said everywhere he turns, there’s some sort of cyber wall blocking his queries.
Almost like they’re protected from someone better than Tyler at hacking.
But, that’s impossible. He’s the best I’ve ever seen.
I’m lucky he’s my cousin and on my side.
We’ve made an unbeatable team for years. Let’s hope that streak continues.
Nikolai makes a call while we’re driving. He speaks in Russian the whole time.
“Lara? I need you to pick up Elena and take her to your home.” He pauses and glances at me. “Yes, now.” He ends the connection and tosses his phone in the center console before staring out the front windshield.
He wouldn’t know I could understand him.
Who’s Elena?
Who’s Lara?
I thought he didn’t have a woman?
“What is your name?” He doesn’t look at me.
“Melissa.” I’ve been practicing for the last few days so it rolls off of my tongue easily. Despite my Russian heritage, I lived long enough in California before my parents died to easily slide into my American accent.
Tyler has it all sprinkled online, just in case anyone checks.
Which they will. People don’t gain the kind of power they have without doing their due diligence.
I just hope Tyler’s efforts are effective against whoever it is that they have.
“I’m Nikolai. Where did those men take you from?” He slows down and turns into a long driveway that ends at a small Spanish-style house.
I have this part rehearsed. “I was driving across the country after my parents died. Someone took me at one of those rest stops on Interstate Eighty. I think it’s been months.” I let tears taint my voice and toss in a sniffle for good measure.
I need him to believe I’m alone.
He just grunts before grabbing his phone and climbing out of his door.
My hand is closing around the handle when mine flies open.
“Here.” He offers his palm.
Another spark sizzles down my arm when my skin touches his.
How can he make the inside of my body feel too warm?
Crap. I’m supposed to be hurting.
I let out a cry as I put my weight on my injured leg.
It’s just a flesh wound, but I’ll use it.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” Making a show of pushing his hand away seems to earn a flash of compassion in his blue eyes.
He sets his jaw and leans over before scooping me up.
It’s like I’m being carried by a granite statue into his house.
“I can walk,” I squeak.
“I know,” he grunts.
Pushing through a heavy steel security gate, he sets me down gently onto a plush couch. “Stay.”
His command is emotionless as if he was talking to a dog.
But, I obey, taking a moment to look around.
There isn’t much to go off of. He’s got to be a bachelor. There’s nothing on the walls, just a couch with a table and TV. I can see the edge of a counter that marks the kitchen, and the hall he disappeared down.
It isn’t long before he brings back a weighty trauma kit.
“Are you a doctor?” I’m not supposed to know anything about him. “Or, maybe just injury prone?” Flashing him a smile doesn’t prompt any change in his expression.
I need to find someone for him to chop a head off of. He did have a cute grin doing that.
He sits on the coffee table and methodically begins pulling out supplies.
This guy is like a robot as he snaps on medical gloves.
“Hold out your arm.” His blue palm sticks out patiently.
I don’t even realize I hurt my arm until he begins to dab it with alcohol.
Shit, it stings badly enough it brings tears to my eyes.
That’s what I needed, a reminder.
“Thank you for helping me.” I let a tremor into my voice.
I should be crying. If this doesn’t work, Daniil will pay for it.
My chest aches thinking of it, lending the pain I need to make this more believable.
Nikolai’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t reply. He wraps my arm with a crisp, white bandage then gestures for me to lean over.
“Could use stitches,” he grumbles. “I can staple it if you wanted?”
Oddly, I trust his judgment.
“Um, sure? Will it sting?” I know it will, but have to keep up the charade.
He nods, then reaches into his bag for the small tool.
Tugging on the top of my hair, he moves a few strands and clicks twice in rapid succession.
Okay, it does bite a little, but he did it so fast, it barely registers.
I’m too busy paying attention to the span of his collarbones under his snug t-shirt. How the fabric hugs his defined pecs and abs.
Is it too early to try and seduce him?
I let my hand fall onto his muscular thigh while he inspects my wound.
My eyes settle on the bulge in his jeans.
Maybe I’m not quite ready for that big of a project.