Dimitri's Forbidden Submissive (Submissive's Wish) (30 page)

A scream caught in her throat as he shot at her, but his aim went high and the plates drying in the rack above her head exploded in a shower of broken pottery. Another shot rang out, then another and another, bullets slamming through her kitchen one after another before the man fell to his knees. She watched in horror as he raised the gun at her face but when he pulled the trigger it just clicked. A look of rage contorted his features and he slumped to the floor, his blood spreading around him in a thick pool.

Out of thoroughly ingrained habit, the nurse in her noted the blood loss and calculated it, but all she could really think about was the blood touching her, how the pool was spreading closer and closer to where she lay, paralyzed by fear and shock. A high pitched whine rang in her head and she started to shake. Her arms and legs felt numb, but when she attempted to push herself upright she found that she could hold her weight. Eyes locked on the blood, she pressed back into the corner and drew her legs up, whimpering as it closed in on her.

As it crept forward she heard voices, shouts, but couldn’t look up. If the blood touched her she would die. She knew it.

Someone called her name but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the liquid, so dark in the moonlight coming through the kitchen windows. Just before it touched her someone picked her up and she snapped. Screaming and trying to wiggle free she fought the arms holding her with wild shrieks tearing at her abused throat. The familiar scent of her step-dad, motorcycle oil, cigarette smoke, and his cologne filled her nose, overpowering the stink of blood. He crushed her to his chest then sprinted to the living room, laying her on her yellow floral couch.

His lips moved and she blinked up at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. Panic filled his bearded face and as the ringing in her ears died down she realized he was saying her name.

“She’s in shock,” Terror, another one of the MC members, said when he crouched down next to her. He was an older guy, in his late sixties, who had been a medic in Vietnam and was now a nurse at a local hospital. In addition, he handled the Club’s medical emergencies that couldn’t be taken to a hospital without questions being asked. Moving slowly, he stroked her hair back from her face. “Rya? Baby girl, you with me? Do you know who I am?”

“Terror,” she whispered, then began to shake so hard that her teeth chattered together.

“Baby girl, I gotta know, you hurt?”

“Hit…hit my head. He stepped on me. Choked me, hurt me.” She let out a wailing moan that made all the men in the room flinch.

Rock shoved Terror out of the way and lifted her into his arms. “I got you. You’re safe.”

At that she burst into tears and clung to her step-dad. “I-I have to tell Dimitri. They f-found m-me.”

Rock started to swear and held her closer. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Th-that man spoke Russian.” She took a deep breath and curled into a tighter ball. “I need Dimitri. You have to call him for me, please, Rock. I need him.”

Rock began to bark out orders, but she didn’t pay attention anymore, just kept asking over and over for Dimitri before she gave in to the pain throbbing through her skull and everything went dark.

Dimitri took a sip of his coffee and watched as Petrov Dubini gave his wife, Vera, a kiss while she served them a small tray of breakfast sweets. To the outside observer they looked like a typical, if rich, couple in their early sixties. Vera still possessed the pale beauty that had once won her the Miss Russia crown while Petrov was as fit and charismatic as ever. His dark eyes warmed ever so slightly as he looked up at his wife and gave her a small smile. Only the faintest hint of silver peppered his dark hair and goatee. Dimitri counted himself lucky to be one of the few people in this world who got to see Petrov Dubini, leader of the Dubini Bratva, smile. Then again, he’d known Petrov since he was a child and considered the man more of a father than his own flesh and blood. One of Petrov’s sisters was Alex’s mother. Dimitri had no blood ties to the man other than being the half-brother of his nephew, but Petrov never treated Dimitri any different than Alex. To Petrov, Dimitri was as much a member of his family as Alex.

Which was why Dimitri was here talking to Petrov instead of the dying monster who’d sired him back on his family’s ancestral estate. Dimitri’s father kept trying to get him to come visit, but he never wanted to return to that place where the old man had entombed himself. Too many bad memories. At one time, the massive ancestral summer and winter mansions on the Novikov estate outside of Moscow had been filled with the love and light of his mother and sister, but when they died darkness had taken over. As long as his father was there, Dimitri would continue to avoid those places.

Petrov watched his wife leave and close the door to his study behind her. They were seated near the window on the third level of Petrov’s townhome, a room that had the feeling of being lived in, filled with books and mementoes. The leather chairs where they sat were comfortably broken in, and the table where their coffee cooled was slightly scarred here and there from use. This wasn’t a room for presentation, but rather for family and Dimitri appreciated that Petrov allowed him into his inner sanctum like this.

Studying Dimitri, Petrov steepled his fingers and tapped his chin. Today the man wore a dark grey sweater with the arms rolled up. “So you and Alex have managed to secure an alliance with the top eight Bratvas in Moscow.”

“We have,” Dimitri acknowledged, trying to hide his pleasure at the feat. It hadn’t been easy, especially with keeping the knowledge from his father, but the Novikov Bratva was solidifying its role for when Dimitri’s father passed. That included forging new friendships and breaking the old, toxic alliances.

For a long moment Petrov was silent, then he gave Dimitri a small smile that made Dimitri’s pride swell. “You and Alex have done very, very well, Dimitri. And more importantly, you did it without my help or your father’s. That says a lot about a man.”

“Thank you.” He tried to keep his face as blank as possible as he held Petrov’s gaze. “I am honored you consider us among your friends.”

The corner of Petrov’s mouth twitched. “While I wish I could have convinced you and Alex to leave your Bratva to join mine, I am honored to consider you my family. You will always have a place in my heart and my home.”

Dimitri couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief. Petrov could have easily refused an alliance, the Dubini Bratva was one of the four most powerful in the world, while the Novikov Bratva had suffered from years of corruption and weak leadership. Dimitri and Alex had done what they could to mitigate the damage, but their father had surrounded himself with powerful friends who were loyal to the death and very narrow-minded. It had become a delicate balancing act between saving the Novikov Bratva and not angering their father.

But over the past four years, after Jessica’s death, Alex and Dimitri had begun to build their own inner sanctum of men and women who were loyal to them. When Dimitri’s father passed one of two things would happen: either Alex would assume the role of the Novikov
Pakhan
, or Dimitri and Alex would split off from the family and form their own Bratva. With the alliances they’d formed and the additional support of the Dubini Bratva, that dream was becoming reality. Even if their father disowned them in a fit of mad rage, they would still survive and those loyal to them would be under Alex and Dimitri’s protection.

Petrov gave him a rare smile and saluted Dimitri with his coffee cup. “Well done, Dimitri. You have exceeded my expectations and grown from a boy into a man I am proud to call a friend.”

This rare emotional display from Petrov made Dimitri’s chest burn. “I could not have done it without you.”

Petrov took a sip of his coffee, then set it down with a sigh. “Once, long ago, your father was my good man. I wish you could have known him before the loss of his wives. He was a different man, someone I was proud to call a friend. How is he?”

Dimitri had often heard this, but since he’d grown up with the monster he could only shrug. “Still breathing last time I saw him. Evidently the deal he made with the devil is still in effect.”

Shaking his head, Petrov sat back in his chair. “I do not understand why he hasn’t named Alex as his heir yet.”

“You say that like my father is a sane man. Who knows why he does anything.”

“Do not discount him. While he may indeed be crazy, he is also very crafty.”

There was a knock on the door, and a moment later, Vera opened it with a concerned expression. “Forgive me for interrupting, but Dimitri, Alex called and asked that you turn your phone on and check your messages.”

Schooling his features into a polite mask he nodded to Vera. “I will, thank you.”

Petrov stilled and exchanged a look with Dimitri. They both knew Alex wouldn’t interrupt this meeting without a good reason. Adrenalin began to rush into his veins and his senses sharpened as he geared himself up for dealing with whatever shit had hit the fan.

“Pardon me, Petrov.”

Without waiting for the other man to reply, he stood and pulled his phone out. As soon as he turned it on his heart clenched at the sight of the last three incoming calls from ‘Rock’, Rya’s step-father. He’d given the man his and Alex’s private numbers just in case anything happened to Rya and she needed him. The sight of the man calling three times in the last ten minutes made his blood rush in his ears.

“Dimitri?”

He looked up at Petrov and whatever the older man read on his face had him standing and shifting into full on Bratva lord mode. “I will explain. One moment.”

Taking a deep breath, he hit the button to return Rock’s call and waited for the international call to go through. Staring out the window Dimitri said a fervent prayer over and over again to a God that had long ago turned his back on Dimitri long ago that Rya was all right. As the phone rang he was vaguely aware of Petrov moving across the room to his desk.

After two rings Rock picked up and said in his gravelly voice, “We got problems.”

“Rya? Is all right?”

“Yeah. She’s banged up but she survived.”

With his heart in his throat Dimitri said in a low voice, “Is connection secure?”

“My boys are jamming on my end and they say they we’re good.”

“What happened?”

“Coupla hours ago, someone tried to kidnap Rya, a Russian guy with Thieves in Law tats all over him.”

Rage, pure, unadulterated fury roared through him and he barely kept his voice calm as he said, “How bad is she hurt?”

“She’s banged up. Has a mild concussion, some bruised ribs, and her voice is rough from being choked, but she’s okay. We got her locked up tight in a safe house right now. But I need to know what the fuck is going on and who I have to kill for hurting my girl.”

“You question man?”

“Can’t question a dead man. Rya killed him. But we got pictures of his tats for you to look at.”

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain streaking through him. “Send them to me.”

“Hold on.”

Dimitri looked up and found Petrov watching him with a concerned look. He held up his hand and motioned the older man over as the images began to come through on his phone. “Someone tried to kidnap my woman.”

It didn’t surprise him in the least that Petrov wasn’t shocked that Dimitri had a woman. He knew Alex confided in his uncle and he would have told Petrov about Rya. Alex was as concerned about Rya’s safety as Dimitri. His brother seemed determined to keep Rya safe, as if that could somehow make up for the death of his own wife. Ever since that night back at the lodge when Alex played with Rya, he seemed almost as obsessed with his
zaika moya
as Dimitri. He wondered about the depth of Alex’s feelings for Rya, but that was a concern for another day. Right now, he had to worry about who had found Rya, and whoever
he
needed to kill.

As the pictures came through, he and Petrov examined them closely. The tattoos on the corpse revealed a man who had spent fourteen years in the Russian prison system, a killer for hire and a high ranking member of a Bratva, though they couldn’t tell which one. As the tattoos spelled out the man’s life Dimitri’s blood began to boil. Whoever hired this man to get Rya had sent an animal after her.

Petrov looked up, his gaze cold with anger. “I recognize him. That is Vitenka, a freelance assassin and a sadistic bastard. He works for anyone who can afford his fees. Your woman is very lucky he did not manage to take her. Her bodyguards deserve a raise.”

Dimitri didn’t think he’d ever been as furious as he was at this moment and even speaking was difficult. “She had no bodyguards. She killed him.”

The shocked look on Petrov’s face would have been comical if Dimitri wasn’t hovering on the edge of a homicidal rage. He lifted the phone back to his ear and said in English. “He was contract killer.”

Rock swore loud and long before he said, “What the fuck kind of shit did you get my baby girl into? You swore that no one would know she’d been with you, that she would be safe.”

Shame filled him and he took a deep breath. “I did everything I could to keep her safe. Everything, even if it killed me to leave her.”

“Yeah, well you obviously fucked up somewhere and someone figured out where she lived.”

It suddenly hit Dimitri that he had indeed fucked up. He’d sent Rya a package with his personally mixed cologne in it. The scent was made especially for him by a high end parfumier in Moscow and if someone was paying attention, which they obviously were, they would have noted the shipment. Fuck, he’d been so wrapped up in forging these alliances strong enough to protect Rya when he brought her to Russia that he’d gotten sloppy with his own personal shit.

Closing his eyes, he centered himself and cleared his mind of everything, using his training and experience to calm himself. Rya was in danger, and while he had no doubt her family and MC would do everything they could to keep her safe, she was his woman and he would die for her. Despite the terrible circumstances, a spark of joy burned in his chest.