THE FIXER

“Couldn’t anyone just hire a hit here?” Pavel pipes in.

“They won’t be as connected here. It would be harder.”

“I can set up some data analysis and name matching on all passengers from Russia,” Dima admits. “It will be a pain in my ass, but it isn’t hard. It will take me a couple of days, but I can have it search retroactively. But what if they get a new identity before they come?”

“Who is it you think will come and why?” Nikolai asks.

“If she dies, the trust goes to benefit her mother but controlled by Vladimir as trustee. He got saddled with Galina.”This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“So you think Vladimir will send someone.”

“Yes.”

“So we hack the hell out of their cell and hopefully hear of any plan before it’s executed,” Nikolai says.

I shrug. “If you can.” It’s hard to cheat a thief. I doubt we’ll have much success hacking their cell, but then again, Dima is the best, and Nikolai is no slouch, either.

“For the phone, do you want the full stalker package? The Lucy?” Dima asks, referring to the complete access he gave himself to all the data input and output from Ravil’s pregnant girlfriend’s phone and laptop after Ravil kidnapped her.

“What’s the Lucy?” Lucy picks that unfortunate moment to enter the living room. She has a constant glow-both from the pregnancy, and, I have to assume by the amount of time they spend locked in the bedroom together, the number of orgasms Ravil rings from her.

Dima and Nikolai both clear their throats and look away in classic twin mirroring.

Pavel, our brigadier, says loudly, “Is that my phone ringing?” and gets up from the sofa and leaves.

“Nobody is tracking your data anymore,” Ravil says smoothly, coming up behind her and spreading his hands over her swollen belly. The two of them arrived on the same page while I was away in Moscow, but things were rocky there for a while. I was afraid Ravil put our entire organization at risk over his unborn child by bringing Lucy here as his prisoner. And he’s usually the most level-headed of all of us.

He kisses her neck. “I promise.” He sends Dima a warning glance. “Tell her.”

Dima holds his hands up in surrender. “I just do what I’m told.” His appeal is to Lucy, alone.

She twists to look over her shoulder at Ravil. “And you told him-?”

“I’m telling him now. Stop tracking her data. Except for the locator.” He nibbles her ear lobe. “I need to know where you are, kotyonok. For safety.”

“And safety, of course, is the only reason I’m tracking my bride’s location at all times,” I plead as if Lucy is our judge. In a way, I suppose she is. As an outsider of the organization, an American, and a female attorney, she brings an entirely new perspective and sensibility to the penthouse.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t intend to keep her locked up here, do you?”

“Not at all. I intend to help her make a life in Chicago. And not be killed by those who want her father’s fortune. She’s an actress. Do you have any theater connections?”

I spent most of the plane ride trying to figure out how to make things work with Sasha, and the one thing I came up with to keep her happy was to get her involved with theater. Give her some creative outlet to help her get over the burn of her father’s unshared plan for her.

“No, but I can ask around.” Lucy walks into the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for the perogies Ravil keeps on hand at all times for her.

“Where’s my phone?” I turn to see Sasha standing in the doorway to our bedroom, wearing a pair of jean shorts and-

“Fuck no,” I growl, launching myself toward her.

Fear and excitement flare in her eyes as I storm closer to my bride, who’s wearing nothing but a goddamn black lace bra on top, her tits spilling out like a joyful celebration of youth and sex.

I toss her over my shoulder and carry her back into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with my heel.

“Fuck no,” I repeat.

“What?” she asks, breathless, as I drop her onto her butt on the bed. “You said they could look.”

“I changed my fucking mind,” I growl. I scrub a hand over my face, pacing at the foot of the bed. She’s dewy and flushed and beautiful. Like a woman about to be ravished.

By me.

She opens those bee-stung lips to say something, but it dies on her breath when I grasp her ankles and yank her legs down until they form a wide V around my waist. I switch my grip to her wrists, pinning them down beside her head as I grind my erection in the notch between her legs.

“That policy is predicated on me not having blue fucking balls,” I snarl.

Her eyes widen, and she goes very still like she knows I’m a goddamn feral animal about to strike. About to claim my prey in a brutal manner.

I thrust against her, making her draw in a sharp breath. “And on me being at your side.”

“Got it,” she whispers, breathless.

“Yeah?” I’m still pissed-unquenched lust making my brain short-circuit.

“Yes.” She licks her pouty lips. “Sorry.”

I relax, half-sorry, myself, that I cowed her enough to apologize. I don’t like seeing her diminished. I don’t mind the push-pull between us-I like her fire. I don’t even mind her games-to a certain extent.

I brush my lips across hers, then bite the lower one and drag it between my teeth until it emerges with a pop.

“This problem between us could be easily solved,” I tell her. When her eyes search mine, I nudge between her legs again with my hardened cock.

Her legs tighten around my waist as she inhales. “Nyet.” She turns her face away, and I instantly pull back.

I honor a woman’s no.