Page 5 of Owned By The Bratva King

Officer Blake knows he has to jump when I call if he wants his perks. He thought he wanted to be an honest cop but soon got dollar signs in his eyes when he saw how deep my pockets could be for the right people.

I’ll never understand why people insist crime doesn’t pay when it so obviously fucking does; I just gotta keep law enforcement, courts, and judges sweet. It’s well worth the several billion a year it costs to prevent me and my trusted associates from landing in the joint.

Blake is pleased with himself; if he had a tail, he’d wag it. “It’s all clear, Mr. Kazanov. I called your people, and they’re sending a car.”

“Good.” I hand over a sheaf of bills. “You fuck off now.”

Blake snatches the money and departs. I turn and see Quinn behind the counter, waiting. For what, I don’t know. Does she think this might all disappear if she returns to her usual patterns? There’s no way she’ll get rid of me that easily.

“Get your stuff,” I say to her, picking up my coat and pulling it over my bare back. “You’re coming with me.”

She doesn’t move, and I glare at her. I’m not used to being disobeyed, and I’m about to insist when a gasp of terror escapes her, stopping me in my tracks.

When I was ambushed, I grabbed my gun from the glovebox of my car; it’s hardly inconspicuous, but I didn’t have my holster. She saw the weapon in my inside pocket.

“I won’t hurt you, Quinn.” I take a step toward her. “But I’m not a man who makes requests. Don’t kid yourself; I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

With that, she darts into the back, reappearing a minute later with the backpack over her shoulder. “What am I gonna say to my boss? When she finds out I shut the shop?—”

“She’ll be fine,” I say, interrupting. “I’ll see to that. You’re not sleeping here, and that’s the end of it.”

I hand her the key, and she doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she joins me on the sidewalk and locks the door behind us. A black sedan pulls up, and I open the passenger door for her.

“Shall we?”

4

Quinn

Icould refuse to go with him, but something tells me he’d brush off my reluctance like a fly. He clearly never heard a ‘no’ in his life that he couldn’t flip. Who am I to defy a man who has cops at his beck and call and sewed up his shoulder like he’s done it a thousand times?

It’s not only that. Something in the universe is moving me toward an unforeseen future. I have no idea what the stranger wants with me, but his eyes are filled with penetrating intensity like he’s dropped an anchor into my soul and intends to remain.

What do I have to stay for? I will be fired for this, so I may as well consider myself destitute. I have nothing left to lose except my life. Well, fine. Que sera sera, as they say.

I climb into the car and slide over the seat, enjoying the velvety feel of the upholstery beneath my palm. To my surprise, the stranger gets in beside me and closes the door. Without a word, we pull away from the curb, and I avert my eyes as he taps away on his phone screen.

“I should introduce myself,” he says, turning to me. “You can call me Roman.” He smiles. “Don’t panic. You got me out of a tight spot, and I always return favors.”

“Where are we going?” I say, irritated at the shakiness of my voice.

“Somewhere you’ll be safe and able to get some rest,” he replies. “There may still be people out there looking for me, and I’m not prepared to risk your safety.”

“Why?”

His eyes soften. “Because you’re innocent, Quinn. So utterly and completely naive. I already wish I hadn’t gotten you involved, but dirt has a way of sticking, so here we are.”

I fall silent. God knows what he’s talking about, but it may be unwise to ask too many questions.

Roman glances at me, his gaze sliding down my body, and I tense, pinned by his attention like a butterfly to a board. He leans over to me, his arm crossing my chest, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

He’s gonna touch me. Oh no, what do I do?

He tugs the seatbelt around me and clicks it into place. I open one eye to see his face inches from mine, his breath warm on my face.

“Silly girl,” he says as he sits back in his seat, his voice a deep rumble of rebuke. “Safety first.”

We stop outside The Mandarin Oriental Hotel, and I never felt more ashamed of my smudged apron and sugar-dusted hair. Roman helps me out of the car, and I can’t help but stare. Of course, he is so accustomed to such luxury that it barely registers.

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