You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (32 page)

LENNY

C
ome on. The lift doors opened, and this exotic, raven-haired, green-eyed beauty literarily crawled up to my feet and gave herself to me. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t arrange for her to be kidnapped and raped and thrown to grovel at my feet.

I mean, what would you have done?

Taken her to the police and walked away?

No fucking way. I’m no Good Samaritan.

Besides, I didn’t want the police crawling all over my hotel, minding my business for me. The way I saw it, she was like a gift from heaven. Yeah, of course she was covered in bruises. Jesus, the bastards sure worked her good. Six, she told me later. But even with her entire body covered in bruises she was a raving beauty.

So I took her back. I patched her up. You have to understand she was no walk in the park. She was bloody, fucking hard work. Those first few months were no joke. She wandered around mute and half-crazy. She used to try to scrub herself clean, scratching her skin like an animal until it was raw and bleeding. And then there were the nightmares, the waking up in the middle of the night screaming in agony as if she had a wound in her body and her soul was pouring out, the shaking, the crying, the catatonic trances.

But the funny thing is, I never thought to throw in the towel. She had been given to me. And in this shitty life it’s not often that you are given anything that special. You have to fucking fight for every last inch, let alone a jewel like her.

My father used to say, you give a donkey a page from a fine book and it will eat it, you give a child the same page and it will scribble all over it, you give a learned man that page and he will read it. I always knew she was a page. The donkeys had tried to eat her. I knew I could never read her. But I could scribble on her for a while.

It took time before I could scribble on her. Months.

But the day came when I could part those white thighs and enter her. Fucking her was different than with any other woman. I can’t explain it. When I fucked her it was like fucking a child or a dumb animal. Not that I have ever fucked either. Just what I imagine it could be like. She never responds because she doesn’t enjoy sex. She never climaxes and I never try to make her enjoy it. You see, I kind of like that she gets no pleasure from it. It’s kinda virginal and pure. Like in the olden days, when they grinned and bore it. That kind of woman doesn’t exist anymore.

Now every fucking bitch is shoving a ten-inch vibrator up her wet cunt every chance she gets. No class at all. And I’m all about class. It’s perverse, yet it excites me to think she doesn’t want me in her body, but she allows me to because she’s grateful. Because she belongs to me. The way your pet belongs to you. You can do anything because you’re the master.

I enjoy being the owner of such an exquisitely beautiful human. I’d buy her a collar and take her out to town to show her off if I could. Maybe one day I will. I’ll take her to one of those kinky places where the men come bringing their women on leashes. And the women have to crawl on their hands and knees like dogs. The problem with those clubs is that you have to share. And I don’t think I could do that. Mine is the only dick that’s going up that girl.

Everywhere we go I see men looking at her hungrily, but I don’t see any interest in her eyes. Sometimes though, not often, maybe once or twice, I feel her wanting to fly away. She gets that look in her eyes, and those times I remind her again of that day I found her. I deliberately make her cry.

I make her realize that she’s irreparably damaged and she needs me. I’m the one who took care of her. I’m the only one she can trust. In the beginning I used to tell her that no other man would have her once they knew she was so defiled. I mean six men in one session. No man wants that. 

But don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I don’t care about her. When I don’t see her for a few days I start to miss her. I miss her distant smile. I miss the taste of her skin. I miss her vacant eyes while I am pounding away into her dry little pussy. I miss the smell of her hair. I miss the way her tears roll down her cheeks.

Yeah, I’m missing my little pet right now.      

SNOW

T
he sound of a woman’s voice wakes me up. I sit up. There is a toweling robe laid on the bed for me and I slip it on and go to the door. I open it a crack and hear a peal of laughter. She comes into view and I realize that she must be a relative. She has exactly the same coloring as Shane, tall with long dark hair. She is visibly pregnant. Since she can’t be much older than me, she must be his sister, Layla.

‘Well, where is she then?’ the woman demands. ‘I’m dying to meet her.’

‘Asleep, but she won’t be for much longer if you carry on laughing like a demented hyena,’ Shane says.

I open the door and step outside. ‘Good morning,’ I say awkwardly.

‘You’re up,’ Shane says with a smile.

‘Yeah,’ I say. I feel embarrassed and strange. After last night I don’t know how Shane feels about me anymore.

All I know is that I was awful. Enough to put the most ardent suitor off. I vaguely remember falling asleep in his arms after taking my pill.

‘So you’re, Snow. I’m Layla, Shane’s sister.’

‘Hi,’ I say with a small wave.

‘I hope he hasn’t told you anything horrid about me, because I have far worse secrets about him,’ she says and, coming up to me, envelops me in a huge hug. She is definitely not the typical reserved, stiff upper-lipped, English person. In fact, she is very much like an Indian, who has no real concept of personal space. I, of course, immediately warm towards her.

‘I’ve brought you some clothes. They’re not new, but they are clean. I brought all stretchy stuff so it’ll be like free size. Of course, you’ll have to fold up the jeans.’

‘Thank you. I’ll just change into them and join you,’ I say, taking the bag she is holding out to me.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen having a bit of ice cream,’ she says.

I look at Shane and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, are you OK?

I nod and, looking at Layla, say, ‘Great I’ll see you guys in the kitchen.’ I go back to the room and close the door, but not all the way. I hear Layla say with a laugh, ‘I thought you were never going out with any girl with white skin and black hair.’

‘And I thought you were never going out with BJ,’ he retorts.

I don’t catch her answer as they disappear into the kitchen.

I dress in the T-shirt and skinny jeans that she brought. The jeans are too long so I fold them at the top. I quickly brush my teeth with the brand new toothbrush Shane has left by the sink. I comb my fingers through my hair and make for the kitchen.

Layla is sitting at the counter eating ice cream and talking animatedly about her son. She turns towards me. ‘Would you like to have some ice cream?’

‘Layla,’ Shane says pointedly. ‘Snow is not weird. She doesn’t want ice cream for breakfast, besides, don’t you have somewhere else to go?’ he asks.

Layla slides off the seat with a sigh. ‘I don’t have anywhere to go to, but all right I’ll go.’ She grins at me. ‘I’ll grill you at my mum’s house at Sunday lunch.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Layla,’ Shane says exasperatedly.

‘Byeeeee,’ she says, and walks out of the kitchen. We hear the front door close behind her.

‘How do you feel this morning?’ Shane asks.

‘Yeah, fine,’ I say uncomfortably.

‘Good. What do you want to have for breakfast?’

‘Shane?’

‘Yes.’ He appears solicitous. A stranger.

I dig my fingernails into my palm. Wow! It’s been a long time since I did that. The pain of my fingernails dulls the other pain. The pain of thinking he regrets ever hooking up with me. Lenny accidentally revealed once that other men wouldn’t want me after they knew about what had happened to me, and I grew up in India where the shame of being raped actually causes women to be killed. He always claimed he didn’t care, but other men might not be able to take it. Some men are simply not strong enough to cope with such horror. Some marriages even break up after a rape.

‘I’m … sorry about last night. I haven’t had a flashback in months. It must have been the shock of what happened outside the club that triggered it.’

‘Don’t apologize for last night,’ he says harshly, striding towards me and stopping a foot away from me. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

‘Erm … OK,’ I say, taken aback by the sudden fury in his voice. ‘Er … Thanks for asking your sister to bring me these clothes. I’ll just pop back to my apartment and get some of my clothes later this afternoon … if you still want me to stay, that is,’ I say uncertainly, my gaze searching his face for clues of reluctance or a change of mind.

His eyes are like frozen blue orbs and his words as sharp as razors. ‘I’ve
not
changed my mind, and you’re never going back there again. I’ve thrown away your red dress. From now on I pay for everything that goes on your back.’

‘Oh,’ I exclaim, stunned by the intensity of his words. The more I know him the more I realize that beneath the easygoing charm and humor lurks a much darker beast.

His expression warms suddenly, confusing me. ‘Now, do you want blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, a banana smoothie, waffles, warm brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam, or a full English for breakfast?’

‘Oh!’ I exclaim, overwhelmed by the choice. ‘I usually just have toast or cereal.’

He smiles. ‘Yeah, I’ve got that too.’

I pause. Why should I have the same old boring thing? ‘Actually, the brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam sounds really good.’

His eyes twinkle. ‘It’s one of my favorites too. Sit and talk to me while I get it.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Nope,’ he says immediately.

So I sit at the able while he moves about preparing our breakfast. Soon the entire kitchen fills with the lovely yeasty aroma of toasting brioche and hot coffee. He brings the food to the table and I realize just how hungry I am.

I watch Shane’s large, capable hands tear apart the soft loaf and the steam rise from the middle of the bread. I watch him spread the jam on the pastry, not across the whole half, but just a corner. And on top of the jam a shaving of cold butter. Then I watch his strong white teeth bite into the piece and his sensual enjoyment of the complex tastes in his mouth, cold, warm, sweet, starchy, buttery, plummy.

As I watch him, I feel the thaw inside me. Ever since that horrible day I could not connect with anyone. I was frozen inside. I just felt utterly alone. Kim’s betrayal made the whole world frightening. I knew I could trust no one. Everyone wanted something from me. Even Lenny.

For the first time today I feel something deep and real.

I feel love. Great love for the man sitting next to me.

After we eat, I look at him. Somehow I have to explain away last night. I can’t just leave it like that.

‘About last night.’

He lifts his head and looks at me expressionlessly.

‘I know I was downright pathetic in the bathroom yesterday, but I guess I’m not a very strong person. I—’

‘Not a very strong person? What the hell are you talking about? Fucking hell, Snow. You’re one of the strongest women I know. You were strong even when your whole world was crumbling beneath your feet.’

He shakes his head.

‘You came to England on your own in search of a dream. That’s brave enough to start with. And then you endured an ordeal at
nineteen
that could have sent a grown woman mad. And the best part, you survived it all on your own, without any professional help, any proper medication or counseling to lessen the pain, and under the manipulative and insidious influence of a total psychopath.

‘That, in my book, makes you an incredibly strong person. Strength doesn’t always mean a woman never cries or has a breakdown, or a woman who never gives an inch to man because that could be interpreted as her being weak. But it definitely means a woman who quietly rebuilds her life after it is shattered through no fault of her own. You’re a fucking warrior, Snow.’

SNOW

T
hat day, Shane takes me shopping for some clothes. He seems very familiar with the art of taking a woman shopping. I quickly buy some cosmetics, a bottle of perfume, a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, underwear, and tights.

‘Right, you need something jazzy for tonight,’ he says, and takes me to a boutique where the two assistants seem to know him very well.

He makes me try on three different dresses and buys them all.

‘Have you got something for her to put her lipstick into?’ he asks the girls.

They come back with three different evening bags and he nods approvingly. Afterwards, we have lunch in a cozy little café nearby, then drop by a shoe shop to get shoes for all three dresses.

‘Tired?’ he asks.

‘A little.’

‘Come on, I’ll take you home and you can have a little nap. I’ve got errands to run.’

He drops me back to the apartment then goes out. I plan to clean the place, but someone has come in while we were out and cleaned the place thoroughly. I try to read a book, but I am too wound up. Despite everything Shane says about Lenny, I know I still owe him an explanation. No matter what anybody says, Lenny took care of me.

I sit down and write a letter to him. I tell him that I have fallen in love with someone else. I tell him that I will always care for him and be grateful for what he did for me. I tell him that one day we’ll be friends. And then I tear the letter to shreds and throw it away. I know what is bothering me.

There is no happy ending to this story. Lenny is going to be furious with me. And he’s going to want to know who has taken his possession away from him.

I sit on the couch and feel shivery, and frightened for Shane. What if Lenny hurts Shane? I know Shane can use his fists, I saw that in the car park, but this is different. Shane is too sweet to take on a ruthless gangster like Lenny. I see it in the eyes of all the people we meet, how wary they are of him. They wouldn’t be afraid if there was nothing to fear. 

By the time Shane comes back I am in a real state. I have convinced myself that Lenny is going to kill him. That I should never have started seeing Shane in the first place. Tears are pouring down my face. When he walks through the door he immediately comes to my side

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

‘He’ll kill you, Shane. I know Lenny. He’ll kill you,’ I babble hysterically.

He sits back on his heels and looks at me. He reaches out a hand and strokes my wet cheeks. ‘Do you really have so little faith in me?’

‘You don’t understand. I know him. I know what he is capable of.’

‘Then rest easy that you don’t know what I am capable of.’ And something lurks in his eyes.

‘Are you going to hurt him?’

‘That’s up to him.’

I cover my face with my hands. I can’t help feeling so guilty. That all of this is my fault.

‘I should have walked away from Lenny first. And then come to you. How stupid I’ve been,’ I sob.

He pulls my hands away from my face. ‘I couldn’t have waited that long. This is not your fault. I chased you. You were minding your own business. I knew what I was getting into.’

‘Nobody’s going to get hurt?’

‘Unless someone fucking asks for it,’ he says.

‘Promise?’

He smiles a little sadly. ‘Promise. Now go put on one of your new dresses. I’m taking you out on the town.’

I slip on a knee-length black dress with diamante straps, a tight bodice and a flaring skirt and go out to meet him in the living room.

He smiles softly. ‘Beautiful. Just beautiful,’ he says with great satisfaction in his voice.

We go out to dinner at Layla’s husband’s restaurant. Again we are treated as if we are VIPs. Nothing is too much trouble. The food is excellent and Shane is courteous and attentive, but he seems distant and preoccupied. And I realize that since my meltdown last night we haven’t had sex.

I start to wonder if Lenny was right. Knowing I have been gang raped would put even the most persistent man off. I start looking for little signs of change in his behavior. Is he looking at that woman? Why is he not reaching for my hand? Did he just avoid my eyes?

Then why is he helping me? Is it because he is just a nice guy and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings? The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that ever since last night he is definitely more distant. He has hardly touched me all day and all throughout our meal.

A woman comes up to him.

‘Shane,’ she coos.

‘Bella,’ he replies coldly.

‘You were going to call me,’ she says, one beautifully plucked eyebrow raised.

I feel a burning in my gut. What a cheek? I am sitting here and she is hitting on my man. That brings me up short. Maybe he is not my man. And the thought brings tearing pain. For a year I felt no pain at all no matter what someone did or said, and now the ability to feel something more than just baffled sorrow at what happened to me that day in the hotel room is back. My body is responding to external stimulai again. 

Shane shrugs his wide shoulders in a gesture of casual disdain. ‘I figured that if I didn’t call back you’d get the message.’

She turns to me. ‘Don’t gloat too much honey. He’ll do the same to you one day.’ Her voice is acid.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

‘Sharpen your claws elsewhere, Bella,’ he says menacingly, rising to his feet. A gesture meant to dominate by his sheer height and presence.

‘Fuck you both,’ she spits, and flounces away.

Shane resumes his seat. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says, his eyes seeking mine.

‘It’s OK,’ I say lightly, but Bella’s words are burned into my mind.

After dinner, Shane takes me to a club called Gibran.

‘I’ve got to see someone quickly,’ he tells me.

There is a long queue outside, but he leads me to the front and the bouncers come forward quickly.

‘Good evening, Mr. Eden,’ they greet politely, unhooking the red ropes, and standing back respectfully.

Inside we are whisked past the entrance ticket queue by a small middle-eastern man. ‘This way, Mr. Eden,’ he says, and leads us through the doors.

He looks up to Shane. ‘How are your brothers doing?’

‘Good, thank you. How’s the family?’ Shane replies.

‘Very well, thank you.’

Hard rock music pulsates around us. Shane keeps a firm hand on the small of my back as we make our way through a sea of heaving, sweating bodies until we come to a VIP area. A group of people are sitting in a booth with low couches. There are brass lamps on the table.

My eyes are immediately drawn to a powerfully built man. He has shoulder length hair and eyes that are so light blue they look like chips of ice. He has a nasty scar that starts just under his eye and it zigzags down one side of his face. He is wearing a black vest that shows off an enormous tattoo of a fierce cobra with its hood and mouth open. It begins at the top of his muscular shoulder, its long body twisting around the length of his arm and hand, and its tail ending at the base of his wrist.

He looks menacing, very menacing.

He is leaning back on the low couches, but looking as relaxed as an animal about to strike. When he sees Shane, his mouth twists slightly. He makes a movement with his fingers and two half-naked girls entwined around him on either side stand and move away. His disregard for them as human beings is so blatantly callous it takes my breath away.

Shane pulls me forward and the man’s eyes flick over to me quickly.

His eyes are both stunning and scary. I find myself instinctively moving close to Shane. Shane looks down on me, and smiles reassuringly. The man sits forward, the movement so quick, that again I am reminded of a striking cobra. When he stands he is as tall as Shane, but he vibrates with a kind of dangerous energy. They bump fists, only it looks nothing like any fist bump I have seen. This one bristles with their combined energies. If Shane is white magic, this man is black magic. The difference is that stark.

‘Will you have a drink?’ he drawls. His voice is deep and his accent reminds me of Nikki, the nasty blonde I met in the ladies’ toilet at Eden.

‘Thanks, Zane, but I can’t stay,’ Shane says. ‘Just checking to see that everything is going forward as planned.’

‘Everything’s good to go.’

‘Good. Thanks, man. I owe you one.’

Zane smiles and nods slowly, and that slow nod makes me shiver. I can tell that the day will come when he will arrive to collect for whatever favor it is he is doing for Shane.

We walk away, my heart fluttering with tension. 

As soon as we are out of earshot I tug Shane’s sleeve. ‘I don’t like that man.’

Shane stops abruptly, leans down and takes my face in his hands. ‘Listen to me, Snow. I trust Zane with my life, and so must you if anything happens to me. I brought you here so you could see him and he could see you. You will be financially well off and he will protect you from Lenny.’

My heart crashes with horror and I cannot stop the fear in my voice. ‘Are you expecting something to happen to you?’

‘No, this is a contingency plan.’

I frown. ‘What about Jake? Why am I not going to him?’

‘I don’t want Dom or Jake to get involved. But especially Jake. He has been taking care of us for his whole life and that’s enough. He has a family of his own now and it is time he put them first. No, Zane will sort it out. He is being well compensated for anything he does.’

‘You’re scaring me, Shane.’

‘Don’t be scared. I’m just writing my will. Not because I expect to die tomorrow, but because if I should, I want to go to my grave knowing that those I … care about are protected.’

‘Why did you choose Zane?’

‘Because he is more, far more dangerous than Lenny.’

‘And he’s a friend of yours?’

‘As friendly as you can get with the Russian mafia,’ he says dryly.

‘Shit, Shane. I thought you said you were not a gangster.’

‘I’m not. But like I said, I know people.’