Prisoner (Russian Tattoos Book 2) (13 page)

Maksim’s lip twitched. His lust for my blood was palpable. “You’ll be on your knees begging for this, sweet pea.” He tugged on his crotch. “You’re mine.”

“You wish.”

Chapter 19

Victory Kiss

Maksim’s brutes let us go and we settled into the VIP section of the small arena. Vladimir grilled me about what Maksim had said, but I played it off like it was nothing. In reality, I knew I had majorly messed up. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut for five seconds, but instead, I catapulted my way to the top of Maksim’s list of Smartass American Girls Who Need to Learn Their Lesson. If he ever got his hands on me—
God help me
.

The lights dimmed, and a spotlight flashed across the ring. The band played an energizing theme song that brought the crowd to their feet. Dmitri emerged from the back of the room in black shorts with orange stripes bejeweled down the side. The crowd cheered as the spotlight led him to center stage. An announcer introduced him, but he remained stone-faced and flexed his muscles as a sound effect of a tiger roaring played.

The crowd clapped in unison and the spotlight searched the arena and shined on Dmitri’s opponent.
Good lord.
A greased-up giant that had at least fifty pounds on Dmitri hulked his way to the ring to a divided chant of cheers and jeers. Dmitri was a street-smart fighter, but he was busted up from our near abduction, and that behemoth from Team Ovechkin looked healthy, well-fed, and ready to rumble.

The champion and his challenger faced off in the ring. The announcer explained the rules while the fighters traded nasty faces. Dmitri was the champion, but his opponent had the advantage of size and was probably meaner than Dmitri, judging by the array of prison tats inked on every inch of his skin. I tugged on Vladimir’s arm. “Dmitri’s going to win, right?” The crowd was so loud I had to shout.

“I hope so. I made a little side bet with Maksim.”

“How much is a
little
side bet?”

“Ten million. He’s not the only one who can toss money around like confetti.”

My mouth gaped. “That jerk will lose millions
if Dmitri wins? How much will Dmitri get?”

“With all the bets tonight, his share will reach seven figures. He’ll have no trouble starting a new life in America.”

Looking at it from Dmitri’s standpoint, beating up this chump was his way of earning his ticket to freedom. It wasn’t fair to judge the Russians by my way of life or experiences, and Vladimir was helping Dmitri get out of the family, which by his own admission was nearly impossible.

Even though I didn’t condone this type of human dog fight, I supported Dmitri. I said a prayer for his safety and sent him all the positive energy and kick-ass vibes I could conjure up. The bell rang and the fighters went to their corners. I glanced across the ring to see if I could find Maksim. He was spying on me through binoculars from his private box on the other side of the ring.

He lowered the glasses and blew me a kiss when I spotted him.
God, he’s despicable.
Vladimir was a good man trying to do something decent, and that little shit was over there plotting his assassination. The bell rang again and drew my attention back to the ring.

Dmitri and The Ox came out swinging and trading blows. Dmitri pounded the side of his head, and his opponent responded with a rapid round of punches in his eye. Their knuckles were wrapped but they fought without gloves. The Ox reared back and pounded Dmitri on the side of the head. My stomach lurched at the sickening sound of his fist pounding my hero’s skull. I closed my eyes and buried my face on Vladimir’s chest. I couldn’t watch. That blow alone could’ve given Dmitri a concussion—or worse. I felt nauseated as the crowd cheered for the thug who delivered a beating to my sweet
droog
.

The crowd reacted with a mix of groans and cheers as if they had witnessed something gruesome. Dmitri was probably all bloody or he was passed out flat on the ground or his head was caved in…

The applause reached a crescendo and even Vladimir started yelling. I peeked over to the ring and saw Dmitri pounding the life out of his challenger. It was a horrifying sight, but exhilarating to see him winning. Blood squirted from the guy’s mouth and the guttural sounds of pain and agony mingled with the excitement from the high rollers.

I pumped my fist and cheered for my hero. “Go, Dmitri! You got this! Come on!”

The Ox staggered, and like a mighty giant, dropped to his knees and crumbled to a heap on the floor. His head bounced when he hit the deck and he was down for the count. I cheered with the gamblers savvy enough to bet on the champ. Most of my joy was for Dmitri, but I relished the thought that Maksim had lost, and his money was going to help Dmitri and his sisters start a new life in America.

Feeling all kinds of awesome, I reeled Vladimir in and celebrated with a victory kiss. He reciprocated so passionately, I was certain I would have a bad case of beard burn on my cheeks by the end of the night. Over Vladimir’s shoulder, I could see Maksim seething with anger as he eyed us through binoculars and stalked our public display of affection.

The right thing to do was avoid eye contact and try not to do anything else to yank his chain. After my smartass comment, I got the sense Maksim wanted to get his hands on me even more than he wanted to end Vladimir’s life. But…that little pervert wanted a show? I was happy to oblige. I smiled sweetly at Maksim, made an L with my thumb and forefinger, and planted the universal “loser” sign on my forehead.

He lowered the binoculars and scowled at my insulting gesture. The rage emanating from his body was powerful enough to blow the roof off the barn. If he ever got his hands on me, he would make me suffer for my amateurish behavior. Terrified, I glanced away and spotted an even more formidable face glaring at me, attempting to melt my brain using just his venomous glare.

Oh, God. Boris is going to kill me.

***

After Dmitri’s epic win, we celebrated Russian gangster style. Vladimir invited all of his VIP guests to his private nightclub for drinks, dinner, and dancing. When we arrived, swarms of women and men wearing full-length exotic furs and designer accessories flocked to join the festivities. Vladimir’s security team escorted us through a cloud of cigarette smoke and inside the building. The manager greeted us at the door and led us through a crowd of socialites, who greeted Vladimir as though they knew him personally.

As we crossed the room, I gawked at the over-the-top opulence of Vladimir’s private club. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the entrance with a soft golden light, and paintings by the world’s most celebrated artists graced the walls. Beautiful people toasted, clinked, and sipped champagne as it flowed through the crowd like water. Vladimir would have to wrangle up some serious willpower to nix the alcohol and overcome the intense amount of peer-pressure bubbling over from his elite social circle. But if he chose to go back to his old ways, it wasn’t my place to stop him.

When we arrived at a private dining room, the table was set with
zakuski
and bread, but there were no shot glasses lined up between us, just some pitchers of juice and water glasses. Boris stood guard outside our door, and I rocked to the beat of the party music as we noshed on the appetizers.

One of the walls had a two-way mirror and a perfect view of the dance floor below. Dmitri and Pasha were in a private area marked off with red velvet ropes, sipping champagne with beautiful women and some of the high-ranking men from their crew. The music was pumping and Pasha held out his hand to a well-endowed brunette and escorted her to the dance floor.

“Want to join the guys?” I bumped Vladimir with my shoulder. “Show me some of those sexy moves you busted out in Miami.”

Vladimir sighed and I could tell I was about to get rejected. The only time he ever let his guard down was when we were alone. No way would he loosen his tie and party down in front of all of his high-rolling buddies. His cute and fun side was reserved just for me.

“I have to take care of some business. I’ve been absent for some time, and it’s imperative I sit down with my associates.” He picked up my hand and kissed it. “Go on without me, angel.”

Boris escorted me to the Ivanov party den and assigned a sharp-looking guy in a black suit to babysit me. A harem of opportunistic babes surrounded Dmitri, and I had to wade through a cloud of perfume to greet the champ. A pouty blonde stink-eyed me as I congratulated Dmitri using the few Russian words I knew, and I nearly started a cat-fight when I squeezed my way in and gave my hero a congratulatory fist-bump.

He patted the seat next to him, inviting me to join his entourage, but I didn’t want to interfere with his status with the ladies. Even though Dmitri’s face was swollen from the fight, his body oozed bad boy sex appeal. He was lounging on a red sofa in a tight black suit, smoking a cigarette with an unimpressed “I don’t give no shit” expression on his face. I could see why his groupies were snarling over him and would yank out my hair if I tried to muscle in on their battle-tested, chiseled hero.

I passed on Dmitri’s offer and took a seat a few tables over to enjoy the scene as a spectator. The best thing I could do for everyone’s sake was to stay out of trouble and not bring any unwanted attention to myself. Vladimir had a bird’s eye view from his private room, and I didn’t want to be a distraction as he conducted business.

Pasha waved me over from the dance floor.

I yawned and shook my head.

Dmitri held up a champagne flute to entice me to join his fan club.

I lifted my water glass and shrugged. I would’ve loved to hang out with Dmitri, but with all those hot babes vying for his attention and fawning over him, I didn’t want him to feel like he had to babysit me. Plus, I didn’t want Boris to misconstrue my intentions.

Besides, I had the best, red velvet seat in the house for Russian mob royalty watching. I definitely didn’t need Pasha or Dmitri to entertain me, and considering my hulking bodyguard was standing so close to me I could feel his hot breath beating down on me, I feared he would follow me to the dance floor and loom over me if I got my groove on.

My first observation: Russian women were hardcore fashionistas when it came to shoes. Dancing and strutting around all night in stiletto heels while making it look effortless was a skill that earned my admiration. My feet were destroyed just from standing and strolling around at the boxing match.

When my friends and I went dancing in Cincinnati, we ditched our shoes, left our heels on the edge of the dance floor, and rocked the night away barefooted. I’m sure that act of hedonism would be frowned upon in this establishment.

The DJ cranked the jams and sent shout-outs to the crowd in between songs. The guests, mostly women on the dance floor, were having a fabulous time drinking, singing along with the music, and grooving to the beat. Everyone seemed to know each other, which made sense. I was certain the family kept tabs on every single person in attendance and would never allow an uninvited guest to stroll into their criminal underworld party palace.

An American pop song played and I cracked up as the partygoers chastised the DJ’s song selection. Pasha waved to me, once again inviting me to join him. How could I refuse? I hopped off the couch and sang along in English as I squeezed past Dmitri’s bitch-faced fan club to the dance floor. Pasha introduced me to his friends as we rocked to the beat.

As I shook it on the dance floor and let my guard down for the first time since I’d been abducted, someone tugged on my elbow. I turned and met Vladimir’s gaze. He took my hand, pulled me close, and smooched my lips. “Ready to dance?”

“Are you finished working?”

“Never.”

“Don’t stop because of me.”

“What kind of man would leave his beautiful fiancée unattended all evening?”

I smiled, wrapped myself up in his arms, and incorporated him into my dance. Just when we were getting our groove on, the DJ cut the music and addressed the crowd. Then he swept his hand over to Vladimir, leading the guests to clap politely. The DJ took a long, dramatic pause and pointed at me. He said something in Russian
then translated into English, “Introducing Carter from America. Vladimir’s fiancée.”

The crowd erupted with applause. Waves of people patted Vladimir on the back and congratulated us. He waved and smiled in appreciation and held up my hand to show everyone my flashy engagement ring. Dmitri’s entourage tossed me fake smiles and clapped on cue, socially aware that Vladimir was the king of Ekaterinburg, and I was about to be crowned his queen.

Pasha raised his champagne flute and toasted our velvet rope entourage, but Dmitri sat stone-faced with his arms crossed, not at all finding our impending nuptials a reason to celebrate. Boris had made it clear that we were to tell no one the wedding was a sham, but I felt guilty for keeping the truth from my bodyguard.

The DJ cranked up the jams, and Vladimir and I danced in the midst of his friends, family, and business associates. Publicly, Vladimir always stayed in boss mode, but I made it my personal mission to lure him out of his bullet-proof shell, to let loose, and to have some uninhibited fun for a change.