Page 14 of Baby for the Bratva

“Yes sir,” he replies immediately.

“Good, now get these men out of here,” I say, waving vaguely at our messy congregation as I walk past them toward the exit.

I shouldn’t be rude to Chekhov, but the idea of having anyone in my room other than Stella enrages me. For once in my life, I’d like to spend the night not having to worry about the police or some idiot with a gun who thinks he can get rich by trying to kill me.

It takes more than a bullet to kill me. It’s not like I haven’t been shot before.

I comb my fingers through my hair, finding as much sweat as Chekhov had. This boat is way too fucking hot for the amount of coke we have on board. It’s like the air conditioning barely works.

One more thing to get fixed, but the only thing I feel like fixing is the bulge in my pants when I think of Stella. She makes the rage turn to lust, and my heart pulse with something other than spite.

After all this stress, I need a distraction, and she’s the perfect one. I don’t know her well enough to be bothered by any quirks in her personality, but I do know enough about the way her eyes sparkle in the sunset to know I want those eyes looking up at me when I cum inside her.

Turning this into a relationship? Not a chance.

Making her climax over and over again while she screams my name? I’d die before passing up that opportunity.

I ride the elevator up to our floor, passing a few cops in the hallway. The shooting happened on this floor, not that far from my room, which makes me suspicious. There’s a chance it was a targeted hit, but that moron should know better than to fire a gun on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. Unless he has a helicopter picking him up, he’s trapped.

I don’t envy the poor bastard. He’s thrown his entire life away for something that never had to happen. Whether it was a drunken impulse decision, a brewing resentment that finally reached a breaking point, or a poorly targeted hit, whoever did this is going to rot in prison.

My abs tighten as I approach my room. I can’t forget that the killer is still on the loose. For all I know, he could be hiding out in my room, waiting for me to return so that he can get the right person.

A million dollars isn’t worth much when you’re behind bars, though. Freedom is far more precious than money.

I key into my room, taking note of the temperature, the smell, and the tension in the air.

Nobody’s been here. I can already tell it’s fine, but I still reach for my gun as I turn the light on and step inside.

I check the bathroom, but there’s nobody there either.

I’m almost ready to relax and wait for the boat to continue on its way when a knock on my door causes my blood pressure to shoot back up. It’s not a loud knock, but there’s an urgency to it that can’t simply be ignored.

I really can’t catch a break. God must have it out for me.

I leave my gun out of the holster, but I keep it behind my back as I approach the door. Sometimes, if a person is really desperate, they’ll attempt to shoot you through the door if they hear you on the other side, so I have to move quietly.

There’s another knock before I even reach the door, and I hear Stella’s muffled voice from outside.

I let out a long breath, tucking my gun away where she won’t see it.

When I open the door, I see relief pouring down her face. She laughs a little, shaking her head while looking at her feet. Then she looks up at me and smiles. “I was so worried about you.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Why? Did you think the police might take me away?”

“What? No, you were… well… can I come in?”

I open the door wider, allowing her to step past me into my room. I check the hallway before closing the door, but it’s empty. Everyone has been told to stay in their rooms until this gets figured out.

But they won’t wait for long. I know how impatient crowds can be. Once one person breaks the rules, it won’t be long before a few dozen emerge, and then the entire ship will be crawling with people like nothing happened at all.

“Wild start to our journey, huh?”

Stella spins around, holding herself and looking me over like she can’t believe I exist. “Yeah, pretty fucking wild.”

“You look shocked,” I say, stepping closer to her.

“I am. I was told you might be dead.”

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