ROMANCE: MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Biker's Baby (Bad Boy Alpha Male Motorcycle Club Romance) (Contemporary MC Biker Pregnancy Romance) (161 page)

When Slava's fist slammed into Moltov's mouth, he saw a tooth fly out, and plop down into the water below the pontoon they were standing on. Moltov sank to his knees, rolled his eyes and passed out. Octavia, curious to know what Slava was doing, came on deck and looked at  the man lying on the ground.

''Slava, what on earth?''

''He's come on behalf of my father. He wanted to send you back to the US. He was rude, so I knocked him out. I think I must have hit him very hard . Indeed, he's lost a tooth.''

''Oh my God,'' Octavia cried. ''They're going to split us up. I can feel it. They want me back in America and you back in Moscow. I'll never see you again. I'm going to call my father and tell him where we are. He'll get someone here to protect us.''

Slava went back onto the boat and took her in his arms ''No. They'll take you from me. I couldn't bear that. We'll leave and go somewhere else.''

''But Slava, if they found us here, they will find us in any other place. At least, my father can keep us safe.''

''Okay. But I want to speak to him as well.''

Octavia opened her laptop and dialed the number. The Presidents secretary answered. ''June it's Octavia. Can I speak to my father?''

''Octavia, where are you, everyone's so worried?''

''I'm fine. Obviously our secret service isn't as fast as the Russians in finding me. I'm safe and well.''

''I'll get him, please wait.''

When Octavia's father came onto the screen, he looked ashen, and Octavia instantly knew that she had caused him a lot of anxiety. ''Hi Dad. Listen I'm.....''

''Octavia for God's sake where are you? Your mother is having a nervous breakdown and me too come to that.''

''I'm fine. I just want to talk to you. If you'll let me.''

''Okay baby, talk. You know we love you more than anything in the world, and we only want the best for you.''

''I know, and I love you guys the same. This is Slava, do you remember him?''

Slava shuffled along the sofa and into the President's view. ''Hello Mr President.''

The President seemed as if he was going to explode into a rage, but he took a deep breath and controlled himself. ''Yes, of course, Slava. I remember. you. I would be grateful if you would please bring my daughter home safely. I could send a few armed men to get her, but none of us want that. Just bring her home, please.''

''Sir, I love your daughter and she loves me.'' Slava was resolute, and it seemed he had no fear of who he was addressing. ''I have all the respect in the world for you. But Octavia and I have taken a decision. Neither of us wants to continue our studies. We are bored stupid by them. We each have a dream, which we intend to follow. We ask your blessing in doing so.''

Again the President drew breath. ''I understand. Maybe if we had all talked about this in the first place, we would have been able to work something out. I am first and foremost worried about her safety. It's a dangerous world, and somebody could quite easily kidnap her. I ask you to think of the consequences of that.''

''Sir, I have done, and I understand.''

Octavia decided to intervene when she noticed her father's voice change tone. It had taken on a more conciliatory tone, one that he used when he wanted to reach an agreement.

''Dad, what we are saying is give us a chance. Both of us have enough money, and we have a home. I don't want to be part of the political world. I'm artistic, and I want to write. Slava wants to sail and design yachts. We're not dropping out. We're just following what we really want to do.'' She paused and decided she would tell him. ''I'm having a baby Dad. You and Mum are going to be grandparents.''

The President was torn between congratulating her and flying into a rage. ''That's great, honey,'' he said. ''Listen how about we make a compromise. Come home with Slava, just for a few days if you like. Come and talk to us. Tell us what you want, and I promise I'll support you in any way I can.''

''No tricks?'' Octavia said suspiciously

''None at all. Come home, talk to us and if you want, go off again on your boat. But one thing I will not budge on, is the security aspect. We'll talk about that at the time, though.''

Octavia looked at Slava, and he nodded. ''Okay sir. Octavia will come home for a few days, and I'll join her when I can.'' When the President had gone, Octavia was angry with Slava. ''What do you mean? I'm not going anywhere without you.''

''Listen to me. My father will have you killed. I am convinced of it, after the visit we had. The last thing he wants is to see is me marry an American. He hates Americans and everything they stand for.''

''Jesus. Do you really think he'd......'' she stopped in mid sentence as he nodded. ''And how the hell would he kill me? You heard Dad; he wants to help us with security. Your father would never get near us.''

''Did you see how they murdered Andrey Yevchenko? They put poison in a cup of tea. Or what about Yuri Davydov? They stuck the poisonous umbrella into his ass when he was walking across London Bridge. There are so many examples where good people have been murdered, and nobody noticed the killer.'' He looked at her, and the distress in her eyes, and he decided there and then he was going solve the situation. ''Listen, I want you to go back to your parents. They are good people; they will let you do as you want once it all been discussed. I'm going  to St Petersberg.''

''No you mustn't, what if I never see you again?'' Octavia said, now more worried than ever.

''I need a few days there. I will have my father returned to Russia in disgrace, and we will be able to get on with our lives.''

''And how do you propose to do that?''

*****

Slava sat in an office overlooking the River Neva in St Petersberg and looked at the young man in front of him.

''Slava, it's so good to see you. We haven't seen each other since graduation day at school. How are you?''

''Igor, I am very well. There are things happening in my life now that are so fantastic; I can't begin to tell you.''

''You must. How about dinner this evening?'' Igor asked. Igor Krasnoyarsk was born on the same day and in the same year as Slava. They went to school together and had been inseparable friends. As often happens, their lives took them separate ways. Igor went to work as a trainee journalist in St Petersberg and Slava to University in Moscow.

''You know why I'm here, don't you Igor?'' Slav said, in a somber tone of voice. Igor was just five feet five but  handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes.

''Yes, it's time isn't it?''

Slava nodded. ''Yes it's time. The day has arrived, as I knew it always would. He has to be stopped. My mother is exhausted by his regular beatings, everyone who works for him is afraid of him, and now he has turned on me.''

''Okay, I understand,'' Igor said as he stroked his stubble.  ''How do you want to proceed?''

Slava laughed. ''You're the investigative journalist. I thought you might tell me. But as you ask, here are the names and addresses of five people who can bear witness against him.''

''Do you think they would testify against him. Wouldn't they be scared?'' Igor asked.

''They will be scared, but they are old now and have little to lose. I will provide them all with the necessary security. And besides, the State Security Service won't protect my father once the accusations come out. They'll drop him like a piece of hot coal.''

''Alright, I'll go and interview them all. What about other evidence?''

''I have a weapon, which the witnesses say was used at the time and I have  a shirt.''

''A shirt?''

''Yes, the one worn at the time. It's got blood on it.''

''Great. How did you come across these articles?''

''They were sent to me by an old woman called Petrova Abdulova. I also have the letter she wrote at the time.'' Slava placed a bag on Igor's desk. ''All the things you need are inside the bag. I know you will do me proud, Igor. Thank you for your friendship over the years, and I do hope our paths will cross a bit more often that they have in the last couple of years.''

''Let's chat about old times this evening. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven.''

*****

''Octavia, oh Octavia'' her mother cried as the bullet proof limousine, dropped her outside the White House. ''What have you been up to, we were worried sick about you. Promise me never to run away like that again.''

Octavia didn't say anything. She looked at her mother, the First Lady.  A woman of average height and above average looks. A brunette, not a hair out of place, she had married Octavia's father when she was just nineteen. She was more popular than her husband among the public, because she was always on TV raising funds for children. ''Your father has canceled all his appointments this afternoon. We're going to sit down and have a nice chat.''

Octavia hoped the 'nice chat' didn't turn into a monolog lecture. She went up to their apartment and into her room. It was predominately white and full of cuddly toys that well-wishers had sent her at various points during her life. The journey from London had tired her, and she undressed, had a shower and slipped under the sheets. She woke when her mother called her at around three pm.

''Octavia,'' her father exclaimed. ''It so lovely to see you. Come here.'' He took his daughter in his arms and hugged her. She was surprised how warm he was towards her. They were in the sitting room in the Presidential Suit in the White House. It wasn't a large room; it was cozy. There was a large round window in one wall, and double doors in the other wall leading to the rest of the suit. There were two sofas, opposite each other and a glass table between them. Octavia's father sat next to her mother with Octavia opposite them.

''Your mother and I are so happy that you are having a baby. We're really proud of you, and we want to tell you we will give you all the support you need throughout your pregnancy. If you think Slava will be a good father, and you love him, we will support both of you equally.'' He looked at his wife who nodded in agreement. ''Where we do have a concern, is with you traveling around unprotected.''

''Mum, Dad,'' Octavia began. ''I hate Harvard and law. I want to be a writer. I want it so much I was prepared to run away from you. Slava and I have found a way to make our dreams happen. He wants to sail, and I want to write. That's what we'll do. Live on his boat and follow our dreams.''

''Alright, if that's what you want. What about your baby. He or she will have to go to school one day,'' the President asked.

''Of course, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we have our plan, and we're going to follow it.''

''Okay then. Now we understand what you want we can support you. Why didn't you tell us you were so unhappy at Harvard?'' her mother asked.

''Because I was worried what you would think. I could see the headlines. President's daughter drops out.''

''Leave the press to me. When I'm finished with them, they won't dare to mention you anymore,'' her father said.

*****

As he was about to leave for the airport, Slava's phone bleeped. It was an Email. He opened it and read:

Hi Slava, please find attached the first in the series of articles. I hope you like it.

Igor.

Slava clicked on the attachment and began to read.

St Petersberg 2015

Night of Knives - The First In A Series of Articles About The Unsolved Murder of A Woman.

She was a woman in her forties. A woman to whom life had not been at all kind. Neighbors remember her as being slight and extremely pretty. What stood out most, though, to those that are able to recall her, was her kindness. She was willing to help anybody and regularly looked after some of the older women in the street. The street where she lived was a just like most of the other residential streets in St Petersberg, apartment buildings, and play areas. It was a close-knit neighborhood, where people knew each other and took an interest in each other.

You could be forgiven for thinking that the woman in question worked in a local factory or shop, but you would be wrong. Illona Kuklov was a prostitute. On the night of thirteen January 1985, it was bitterly cold, and she had just let her last client of the day out of her apartment. Somewhere around ten pm, there was a scream. It was a scream that makes those I have interviewed about the incident, still have sleepless nights.

When neighbors rushed to her apartment, they found Illona struggling for breath in a pool of her own blood. She had been repeatedly stabbed, and the weapon was still poking from her chest. Illona's murder has remained unsolved ever since, but it shouldn't have. There is more than enough evidence to bring the murderer to trail. Several witnesses, a murder weapon, and a shirt are all pieces of vital evidence that have been ignored by investigators.

This newspaper has uncovered the truth about this gruesome murder, and we are able to reveal exclusively, that the chief suspect in the murder is Stanislv Kuklov, Illona's son. He is better known today as the Russian Ambassador to the United States of America.