Russian Bad Boy's Untouched Love (3 page)

The air was cold in front of the thin pane of glass. Mary squatted down beneath the window and then slowly raised herself up high enough to see. It was pitch dark outside with no moon to speak of. The streetlights cast an eerie orangish glow on the pavement. She couldn’t make out the shape of anything human out there. It was as if every living creature in the world had disappeared.

A crash against her front door made Mary drop like a rock to her bedroom floor. She put her hands over her mouth to cover her ragged breathing. Her heart was running away with her and her lungs worked like a bellows in an attempt to keep oxygen going to her brain. She could hardly catch her breath at all.

It was tempting to call out, maybe tell someone she’d already called the police. But she hadn’t and she wouldn’t. She could end up reporting nonexistent intruders because she was afraid of her own shadow after some thugs had tried to rob her. The police didn’t look with a friendly eye toward false alarms. And all of this had to be a false alarm. It
had
to be!

Crawling on her hands and knees, dragging the bat behind her, Mary made her way into the living room from her bedroom. The short distance felt like miles. She’d left her front lights on as well as keeping the living room lamps lit.

It was tempting to go peek through the peephole, but Mary had watched enough television to know that wasn’t safe at all. So she crawled over to her picture window instead. The beautiful bay window was one of the things she’d liked most about her apartment when she’d first looked at the place.

Now she was crawling into the window seat and trying to stay hidden behind the mound of pillows and blankets she’d left there after her long reading session the night before. Mary leaned to one side, trying to see the front stoop.

Gasping, she ducked back down again. There was most definitely a shadowy presence on her front steps! What was she going to do? She couldn’t very well face those thugs again, this time wearing nothing but her bathrobe. Yet she certainly didn’t want them standing on her porch all night either.

“It’s too bad I can’t drop boiling oil from a turret,” she muttered. “That would get rid of them.”

She shoved her wildly curling hair out of her face. It had been piled on top of her head for her bath, but now it was springing everywhere as though it had a life of its own. Mary didn’t care. She was completely out of options.

Clutching her robe tightly in one hand, she kept the baseball bat in the other. Half hiding the bat behind the door, Mary took a deep breath. “Who is it?”

“Mary?”

The semi familiar male voice didn’t inspire any more of Mary’s confidence. “Who is it?”

“It’s Vladimir.”

“What?” Mary reached for the door, pulling it open and wondering what had brought this man to her doorstep after he’d seen her drive off toward home less than an hour ago. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was going to come by and check on you, remember?”

Mary glared at him, feeling suspicious. “How did you even have my address?”

“Do you think a man like Vladimir Sokolov wouldn’t make it his business to know everything about anyone who has constant access to his child?” Vlad cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

VLAD COULD SEE he’d interrupted her at something. He’d just felt an overwhelming need to make certain she was all right. Then he realized she was wearing nothing but a terrycloth bathrobe. The old fabric was soft and worn. It hugged every curve and muscle of her very feminine shape, and Vlad realized the casual look she donned for teaching was hiding a body designed for enjoyment.

She seemed to guess the direction of his thoughts at least a little because she clutched her robe tighter at her neck. “You really shouldn’t be here, Vlad. I appreciate your concern, but this is over the top.”

She had called him Vlad. That was more telling than she could probably imagine. He tried to shake off his instinctive male response and at least react with some modicum of decorum. “Can I come in for just a second? I don’t want you standing here with the door open.”

“You could leave,” she pointed out.

“I could.”

Then she heaved a monumental sigh and stepped back to allow him to enter her apartment. Vlad felt a strange sense of victory at that concession. He was inside her space. It was a good start.

He glanced around at the comfortable arrangement of secondhand furniture and the lack of clutter. “You’re a reader, hmm?” He gestured to the small pile of books on a table beside her recliner.

“I’m a
teacher
.” She sat primly in her chair and pulled a soft fleece blanket around her shoulders. “It sort of comes with the territory.”

Vlad took a seat on the couch. “This a really nice apartment.”

“If you tell me that you like what I’ve done with the place I think I’m going to laugh until I cry.” He voice sounded exhausted.

“Okay, then I won’t tell you.” He looked her over. Her features were pale and drawn. She looked stressed out. “Are you all right?”

“Other than feeling completely paranoid? Yes, I suppose I’m fine.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Every little noise startles me and I keep thinking that I hear people sneaking around outside.”

“It’s normal to feel that way after such a shock.” Vlad wished he could do something else to soothe her. In fact, he was really enjoying the idea of taking her in his arms and making her forget what had happened entirely.

“I don’t care if it’s normal,” she said stiffly. “I can understand all about cortisol and how it affects my nervous system. That doesn’t mean I want to be affected by this chemical process in my brain. I just want to feel safe enough to get some sleep. I have to work tomorrow.”

It was an interesting glimpse into her mind. “Are you particularly sensitive to cortisol?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I suffer from PTSD, the answer is no.” Mary cocked her head to one side, the tangled pile of long hair on top of her head curling around her forehead. “How is it that you know about cortisol and PTSD?”

He really didn’t want to get into that now that he’d opened the can of worms. “Let’s just say PTSD is an occupational hazard.”

“Yes. I suppose it would be,” she mused. “So what is it that you
do
exactly? Are you really a bodyguard? Or are you one of the enforcer types?” She seemed to be warming to the topic. “I could see you as an assassin. You’re certainly cool enough under pressure.”

“My function within the organization is as a bodyguard.” He didn’t see any harm in telling her that much. “I’m also my father’s oldest child which makes me his heir.”

“Okay that’s weird.” She wrinkled up her nose, looking even more fetching than she had only a second before. Her personality was really beginning to shine through the shell she wore like armor. Then she shrugged. “I suppose it’s really no different than having to inherit any other family business. I mean, I could say that the average heir doesn’t have to dodge bullets and administer beatings in order to earn his place in the company hierarchy. But the way corporate culture is going these days, that’s not really true.”

“You’re a very practical person,” he acknowledged. “Most people find my line of work either extremely disturbing, or so fascinating that they treat me like a character on the Sopranos.”

“The Sopranos were Italian,” she pointed out. “I’m going to guess that there are significant differences between Italian crime organizations and Russian ones.”

“Some,” he agreed.

She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle it. “I really need to get to bed.”

Vlad raised his eyebrows.

“Alone,” she clarified. “And really, I cannot imagine why would want to go to bed with me.”

“Is that actually a question?” he asked. “Because I cannot imagine why you would think that I
wouldn’t
want to go to bed with you.”

“Look at me,” she told him flatly. “Really look at me.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re not. You can’t find me attractive. I’m not your type at all.”

Vlad raked her with his gaze, wanting her to see that he was very much attracted to her. “You are a beautiful woman, Mary. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look. I just find it sad that you’re so convinced that you’re not my type.”

Her eyes grew round with surprise and he noticed in the warm glow of her lamp that her eyes were a beautiful shade of green. It was yet another thing she probably didn’t realize that she had going for her.

Vlad stood up. “I’ll go and leave you to your rest. Are you certain that you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She got to her feet, keeping the blanket tucked securely around her shoulders. “I do appreciate your help earlier this evening. And I also appreciate that you wanted to make certain I was all right. Now I believe our association is at an end.”

Vlad grinned, opening her front door and then offering her a little bow. “Oh I wouldn’t say that at all. I’ll be seeing you soon Mary Reilly.”

Chapter Four

Vlad arrived back at his father’s brownstone before the clock struck ten. After leaving Mary Reilly’s front door, he had circled the building and checked for signs of people prowling around. It didn’t make him feel good to have found evidence of someone looking into one of her windows. The freshly disturbed ground and broken twigs on the bushes suggested the unwelcome peeper had been there recently.

His father’s wife, Tatiyana, appeared at the top of the staircase. “Where have you been?”

“Out taking care of business,” he said evasively. “Where is Sokolov?”

“In the basement.” She was wringing her hands. A sure sign that something was very amiss. “He has Ioann with him.”

Vlad gave an inward groan. “Are they alone down there?”

“No.”

“Go back upstairs,” he told her. “I’ll go down and take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Tatiyana said softly.

Vlad heard her disappear into the upstairs hallway. He knew she would go back to her bedroom and wait. Perhaps that was a mother’s lot in life, to wait. But she shouldn’t have been waiting like this when Ioann was only seven years old.

Putting his hand on the doorknob leading to the basement stairs, Vlad took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. Moments like these had the power to drag him all the way back to his time as a boy.

Taking the steps at an even, unhurried pace, Vlad descended into the coolness of the basement. There wasn’t a lot of space. The house was old and the basement was fabricated of damp sandstone. The ceilings were low and Vlad had to duck to walk through the doorways.

He finally found his father and younger brother in a room at the end of the hallway. There were four other men present. Three of them were likely witnesses of some kind. The fourth was on his knees in the center of the room. His face was bloody and one of his eyes was swollen shut. His hands were tied behind his back with plastic strips that were cutting into his wrists. The entire room was filled with the coppery stench of blood and the acrid odor of fear.

Vlad took a sideways glance at Ioann. His little face was pale and his blue eyes were huge. His blond hair was messy and there appeared to be blood spatter in it. Vlad’s gut tightened as he empathized on a bone deep level with his young half brother.

“Ah, Vlad!” his father said heartily. “I’m glad you are here. Did you get everything squared away with the teacher?”

“She’s home safe. Yes.” Vlad sent a pointed glance to his brother and his father nodded as if he understood that Vlad could not talk about this in front of Ioann.

“Nikolas here was just explaining to us why he has decided it is within his rights to make the decision to cut our take of his business interests,” Sokolov said flippantly.

Vlad had to stifle a groan. What idiot would take a chance like that? Putting his hand out to stop Yuri from resuming the beating, Vlad squatted before Nikolas and looked him in the eye.

“I needed more money to feed my family,” Nikolas told Vlad through his ruined lips. “My expenses are too high.”

“Your family will suffer a greater loss if you don’t come home tonight,” Vlad pointed out. “Are they provided for?”

“If I die?” Nikolas’s breath rattled in his chest.

“Yes.”

The grimace on Nikolas’s face told Vlad what it cost the man to speak. There was a good chance Yuri had already broken the man’s ribs and punctured his lung. The blood on Nikolas’s lips suggested he was bleeding internally. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he
would
die. Not that Vladimir Sokolov senior was ever going to let a man live after stealing.

“He is being weak!” Yuri spat.

Vlad snorted, speaking in Russian to get his point across. “You punctured his lung with your ham fisted beating, you dolt.”

“Oh I am so sorry that I lack your finesse,” Yuri taunted.

Vlad stood up, casually backhanding Yuri and sending him staggering across the room. Vlad had never liked the ingratiating man with his flexible moral code and lackluster sense of honor.

Yuri rolled to his side before scrambling to his feet. “You can’t do that!”

“Are you going to stop me?” Vlad raised an eyebrow.

All this time Vlad was utterly aware that his younger brother was watching everything that happened. Vlad didn’t want Ioann to see such things. He remembered for himself how traumatic it was to be placed in these situations and told to act like a man.

Sokolov was laughing heartily at the altercation between Yuri and Vlad. Then he squeezed Ioann’s shoulder. “See boy? Your brother knows how to come right in and establish his place. He’ll take over and show Nikolas the error of his ways.”

There was no way Vlad was going to voluntarily beat Nikolas any more. The man was half-fdead already. Plus, there was no need to torture him any further. They all knew that Sokolov wouldn’t let him live. Yuri, however, was another story.

“Here, boy, I want you to hold this gun on Nikolas.” Sokolov offered his seven-year-old son a handgun.

Vlad had to swallow back the bile as he remembered this moment from his own childhood. He would do anything to save his brother from the same fate. Pulling his own weapon from the holster he kept at the small of his back. Putting the barrel right between Nikolas’s eyes, Vlad vowed to take care of the man’s family.