Barefoot With a Bodyguard (29 page)

His heart lurched when she asked the question. Her faith in him was strong. “They didn’t have a gun on me or a knife or anything. But if I didn’t do what they told me to do, Vlitnik said the deal with my dad was off and my mother was fair game.”

“That’s the guy’s name?”

Son of a bitch, he’d said it. No taking it back now. “Yes. And he always had a thing for my mother.” Revulsion rolled through him. “He made it perfectly clear what he’d do to her if I didn’t do what he said. He’d take her. Rape her.
Own
her.” He sobbed out the last words.

She swore softly, reaching for him, but he jerked out of her touch, shame burning.

“So I thought it was better that he owned
me
,” he said. “And as his slave, I had to do what I was told. And I was told to…beat that girl.”

He could still hear her high-pitched screams. Then her pleas. Then helpless, pitiful sobs
.
It all came back to him. The jolt of his fist slamming her tender stomach. The blood and snot and tears on her face.

He looked straight ahead, seeing that young girl’s disgust and knowing that, right then, Kate was no doubt looking at him the same way. As she should.

He was the worst scum of a human being.

After a moment, he continued. “That night, after they…took her away…Vlitnik had me branded. Tattooed my hand right there in that warehouse with these letters that sit on my knuckles as a daily reminder of my worth and my purpose. To kill.”

“Did she die?” she gasped.

He shook his head. “No.” He wiped his eye, the tear stinging. “And I was so careful not to hit her somewhere that would scar.” He had to swallow a sob on the last word, her pretty face still clear in his head. He’d never forget it. Or how he’d vomited when they dragged her away, and again when they jabbed his hand with needles full of ink and marked him as one of them.

“And he got away with this?” Kate’s question was cold and surprisingly unemotional, and then he remembered she was studying to be a lawyer.

“He didn’t do anything, Kate.” He finally looked at her. “That’s how he works. That’s how he manages to avoid the law. He never gets
his
hands dirty.”

“He’s still guilty.”

“No shit.”

“Was there an investigation? Did her family press charges? Did she identify you?”

He snorted a laugh at the naïve questions. “You don’t understand the power of the
Mafiya
. No, there wasn’t an investigation. Her father coughed up the cash and sent her somewhere to heal up. But I did get a visit from Grigori Nyekovic, and that changed my life.”

“Who is he?”

A guardian angel. “Gregg’s a Russian businessman who’s always, always on the good side. He was a fixture in Brighton, a guy who’d swoop in and give money instead of taking it, or build something that the community needed but couldn’t afford, and sometimes, he’d take kids under his wing to get them out of trouble and away from the mob.” He didn’t tell her that Gregg worked as one of the FBI’s top informants, using his insiders to get anything they could to bring as many members of the Russian mob to justice as possible.

“He helped you?”

That was an understatement. “He had someone convince Vlitnik I was too much of a wimp to do the job at that age and that I needed to toughen up. And I did, but not so I could help the mob. Gregg paid for me to take martial arts classes, and I almost immediately found my purpose. Jiu-jitsu in particular, but all martial arts in general, gave me the grounding I didn’t have.”

He took another chance at looking at her, bracing for her to be backing away, planning her escape, but her eyes looked soft and sweet and, oh, God, sympathetic.

“Jiu-jitsu isn’t really about fighting,” he told her. “It’s about balance and power and control.”

She gave a shaky smile. “I’d probably love it.”

“You would,” he agreed.

She inched closer, clearly not done with his confession. “So how did he treat your mom? And you?” she asked.

“He left us alone after that. I took my martial arts classes. I worked in the butcher shop. I kept my nose clean and graduated from high school, all the while thinking it was over. I wasn’t made of what they wanted, so I was safe.” And then, tragedy. “Until my mom died when I was in my first year at Queens College.”

“They got her,” Kate said on a gasp.

“No, she contracted a freakishly rare disease you can get from handling raw animal meat, called brucellosis. She had no idea she had it, an infection got too far, and she died in a couple of days.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “She was a good lady,” he said. “And when she died, Vlitnik came calling.”

“So he wasn’t done with you.”

“On the contrary. By then I was big, strong, and could kill anyone I wanted to. Except, obviously, I didn’t want to.”

“What did you do?”

Turned to Gregg, of course. “I dropped out of school, enlisted in the Marines, and got my ass over to Iraq as fast as possible, because it was clear to me I’d rather be on the receiving end of an insurgent’s bullet than do anything for that lunatic.”

He took a minute to rub the original tattoo. He’d gotten many more since then, but had never covered the first one. It reminded him of what he didn’t want to be.

“The war in Iraq was really heating up back then with a second surge, so I kept re-upping for more tours and ended up doing three until I got injured and had to come home.”

She let out a sigh, because it was pretty obvious Alec Petrov couldn’t catch a break.

“And wait till you hear what happened,” he said with a dry laugh. “Nothing heroic like I saved lives by picking up an IED. No, I fucking got hit in the head by a cement brick on patrol.” He tapped his skull. “I had a concussion, obviously, and actually couldn’t remember a lot of shit for a long time. They sent me back home, and Gregg put me up in Philly with a friend of his. He helped me get on my feet, literally, and lent me the capital to start a training studio, where I could use my skills but not really fight.” He turned to her. “I had a few years and really had my shit together, until Vlitnik found me, and that’s why I’m here. End of
The
Alec Petrov Story
.”

She reached for his hand, and this time, he let her hold it. “But the beginning of someone else’s story.”

“If Gabe Rossi can really do what he says, yeah.”

“How do you feel about that? About starting over as someone new?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “The past never goes away, regardless of the name on my passport or where I live or what I do. I still wake up and see her face. I still avoid anything that remotely stinks of a relationship. I still—”

“Why?” Her question cut into his speech, silencing him. “Don’t you think a healthy relationship with a woman would help you?”

He considered all the ways to answer that, but settled on the one she deserved to hear: the truth. “I’m not worthy of a relationship with a woman, Kate. I gave up the right the first time I took a swing at that girl. I wasn’t exaggerating when I say I hate my hands and, sometimes, the man they’re connected to. I don’t deserve the kind of…of affection you’re talking about. The kind you were offering before.”

She made a slow circle with her fingertip over the letters, the knuckles, the bumps and bruises and scars. For a long, long time, she said nothing, sitting silently next to him on the bed, staring at the skin he’d spent the better part of his life trying to hide. Finally, she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles, looking up at him with eyes so deep and sincere, he could actually feel himself falling into her.

Very slowly, barely breathing, she placed that hand over her beating heart and lay back on the bed, the invitation, the certainty, and the forgiveness in her eyes the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Kate pulled Alec into a kiss, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could squeeze out everything but the pleasure of his hard and heavy body on hers. She’d gotten what she’d wanted…mostly. She’d wanted to see inside his soul and understand all that darkness, and he’d shown her.

And now she wanted to take it away.

His mouth trailed fiery kisses over her throat and chest, her towel falling open to give him complete access to her naked body.

“Kate,” he murmured in between frantic, anxious kisses on her breasts, cupping them both and lifting them to his mouth. Slowly, he lifted his head, the pain on his face so real and raw. “Are you sure?”

She stroked his cheek. “Never been more sure of anything, Alec.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m doing my damnedest to prove you’re wrong about that.” She pulled him against her, intensifying every kiss and touch. Heat pooled inside her, driving her to slide her hand into his pants, hungry and desperate to touch him the way he was touching her.

He hissed noisily when her fist closed around his thick erection, his kiss on her shoulder turning into a gentle bite.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, getting a soft laugh in response. “You are,” she insisted.

She stroked the length of him with one hand, pushing him to his back with the other. “I think you’re beautiful and tender and worthy, Alexander Petrov. And hot. Did I mention really”—she kissed his mouth—“really hot?”

He just looked at her, a smile pulling, like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe her.

She straddled him, naked now that the towel had fallen, her damp hair tickling her shoulders. She unsnapped his jeans, delighted that there was nothing else to remove to get to him.

Lowering the zipper tooth by tooth, she finally dragged her gaze from the size and shape of his hard-on to his face. His gaze was on her, his jaw slack, his chest rising and falling, his big, bad, bruiser hands relaxed for once at his sides as he let her have complete control.

“Hot,” she repeated as she spread the denim to reveal all of him. She trailed a finger over the head, circling the droplet just to watch him shudder with pleasure. “And sweet.”

He smiled with the next breath. “Kind of short words for you, Smarty-Pants.”

“All the blood is gone from my brain.” She cupped his balls, and he grunted.

“I know the feeling.”

She scooted lower and dragged his jeans over his hips, his hard-on closer as he lifted up to help her. As she lowered her head, he answered with a moan, reaching for her, threading his fingers into her hair, guiding her mouth toward him. “Please,” he murmured.

He didn’t have to ask twice. She took him between her lips, loving the taste of him, the salty, manly taste. And the way he moaned, helpless and happy. And how he moved, in and out of her mouth, taking his pleasure, gripping her head, surrendering to her.

“Kate…” He mumbled more, incoherent, the sound of his words lost as her blood pumped with the need to do this right. To give him exquisite pleasure. To show him just how worthy he was—

“Kate!” He pulled out of her mouth, too fast, and she jerked her head up. “Someone’s here.”

Then she heard a sharp rap on the villa door, impatient and loud.

She just grunted and closed her eyes, the frustration like physical pain. “No.”

“Mr. Benjamin! It’s an emergency! Mr. Benjamin!”

Poppy. Really. Now?

“Please! Mr. Gabriel says this is really an emergency!” The words were muffled by the door and distance, but the message was loud and clear.

Alec sat up, his bodyguard face replacing the lost lover she’d nearly consumed.

“I don’t want to stop,” Kate moaned.

He stifled a smile and stroked her hair. “Neither do I,” he said, easing her back, rolling off the bed, and zipping up on his way out. “Wait here.”

Kate let out a noisy sigh and fell on the bed, a thread of worry curling around her heart at the idea of an emergency. She might be safe from threats, but was he?

She closed her eyes to listen to the conversation, really only able to pick up bits and pieces, enough to get that Gabe needed to see Alec right this minute.

Would she have to go? No, the threat to her was gone now, and she did not want to deal with smartass Gabe Rossi when she—

“I’m going to the security office,” Alec said as he marched purposefully back into the room. And, being a foolish and confused woman, she actually felt disappointed for getting what she wanted. “Poppy will stay here with you.”

“No, she won’t,” she said, pushing off the bed. She didn’t want to deal with smartass Gabe, but she
really
didn’t want to deal with Poppy scrutinizing and passing judgment. “Can I just stay here alone?”

“Poppy told me your dad’s still here,” he said, adjusting his jeans. “He’s staying at the resort one more day. You could go to him or…leave. I wouldn’t blame you at all,” he added quickly.

Leave? Why would she do that? “What’s going on? What’s the emergency?”

“There’s someone here from Brighton Beach.”

She shook her head, the information not computing. “Your friend Gregg?”

“Someone who is looking for me on behalf of Dmitri Vlitnik.”

A slow panic seized her. “And you’re just going to talk to him? What if it’s a trap?”