Page 49 of Taming Mika

“Fine.” I still have my gun.

The guard turns to give the door three sharp knocks, then opens it and gestures for me to enter. Giving my men a curt nod, I step inside, cautiously taking in the scene before me.

From the doorway, it looks as though Dominik is the only one in the room—aside from the stripper giving him a private dance from her small pedestal of a stage. Aside from her mile-high heels, she’s completely naked, though her long blonde hair reaches down far enough to partially cover her breasts when she whips it around just right. As erotic as her movements are—and despite the fact that she seems to be dancing just for him—Dominik appears less than interested. He’s hardly even watching her as he leans forward in his overstuffed black chair, his elbows braced on his knees as he scowls down at the floor—where I spot Romeo.

My stomach knots at the bloody pulp he’s made of my man’s face. If I had any doubts about who beat the crap out of my soldier, it only takes me a second more to notice the split skin across Dominik’s broad knuckles. Fury roars through my veins as I take in Romeo’s condition. He’s still breathing, but he’s too weak to stand, each exhale wheezing past blood-covered lips as Dominik keeps a foot planted on his back.

“I don’t like being followed,” Dominik says flatly, looking up from the man pinned beneath his boot. “It seems you didn’t get my message the first time around.”

“I’ve got the message,” I growl between clenched teeth.

“You’re sure?” The hulking Russian pulls a gun with casual disinterest, cocking it as he points it at Romeo’s temple.

Romeo groans, his fingers splaying against the bloody carpet like he wants to move, but he’s too beaten to defend himself.

“Let him go,” I state flatly.

Dominik’s sharp blue eyes flash to mine, icy and apathetic. An involuntary shiver races up my spine. His gaze promises violence, and I wonder if my assessment of Dominik was off. Nikolai might be lesspredictable, but I’m starting to wonder if Dominik is just as crazy as his father. If so, I might have just gotten a man killed with my overconfidence.

But after a long pause, the Russian lifts his foot, shoving Romeo away from him. “Crawl back to your don, then,tarakan,” he sneers.

Relief surges through my chest when Romeo does as he’s told, scrambling toward me as blood drips from his lips. As soon as he’s within reach, I grasp his arm and haul him to his feet. He sways dangerously, but manages to regain his balance and turns back to face Dominik with me despite his injuries.

“The next one won’t have a pulse when I return him—if I return him,” Dominik states, rising from his seat to face me. He crosses his thick arms over his massive chest, his muscles bulging against his sweater, and he looks me up and down. “Now, why are you having me followed?”

“You blew up my horse trailer—threw Molotov cocktails through the windows of my house. Why do you think I’m having you followed?” I snap.

He huffs, shaking his head like I’m dense. “This could all be resolved if you stuck to your word. Marry my sister—like you agreed to in the first place—and the fighting can stop.”

“Fighting? How can you call it that when I’m the only one under attack? I think I’ve shown more than enough restraint while I let your father have his temper tantrum. Now it’s time we sit down and resolve this like men,” I state.

Dominik’s humorless laugh releases ice in my veins. “It’s too late for that. There’s only one way you can save your little whore now.”

“You can’t touch her. I’ve made sure of that,” I growl, but his threat raises the hairs on the nape of my neck as a dark sense clouds my mind.

“You think you can keep her safe?” The Russian lifts his thick eyebrows. “Would you bet her life on it? We already know where you’re keeping her, and if you’re here with me, then you might already be too late.”

25

MIKA

Exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel as I hand over my last ride of the day. My muscles quiver with the need for a break, and nothing sounds better than a hot bath right about now. As I pull my helmet off, releasing my sweaty hair from its confinement, I know I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I can still feel the stinging marks across my ass cheeks where Alfie punished me, and that, combined with the persistent throbbing between my legs, has made it impossible to think productively today.

“You mind wrapping things up, Javi?” I ask as I make my way toward my office on noodly legs.

“No problem,señorita,” he confirms with a nod.

An awkward tension has lingered between me and the grooms since Alfie’s departure, and I know it’s because they must understand what’s going on between me and our boss now. It makes me even less comfortable to be in the presence of people than usual, and every time I get a sideways glance, my skin gets uncomfortably hot. At least Javier seems to be capable of treating me like he normally would—and Hector, but he’s probably one of the kindest, least judgmental people I’ve ever met.

Opening my office door, I step inside and am immediately metwith a vivid recollection as the lingering smell of spice, eucalyptus, and sex reaches my nose. My pulse flutters, my temperature rising as the sting of a riding crop across my ass cheeks floods my mind. Something about the incredibly overstimulating experience keeps triggering moments of what happened this afternoon, and every time it does, fresh arousal soaks my panties, leaving my thighs a sticky mess. I’m mortified by how much I liked it—all of it. From the punishment to the demeaning way Alfie made me count each stroke out loud, the rough way he fucked me, and then fingered my ass—I was so turned on, just thinking about it gets me excited. My breath quickens as I press my thighs together in an effort to get myself under control.

I still don’t know how I feel about Alfie dominating me like that. I shouldn’t want it. Idon’twant the violence or the fear that seems to come with his territory. But all the way up here, in my safe space, it’s hard to feel like what happened at Saratoga was even real. The shock of it is slowly fading, and in its absence, the pleasure of being with Alfie seems to be filling space in my mind.

I set my helmet on my desk, trying to ignore the way my core throbs at the thought of Alfie bending me over it once more. Take my hair down from its ponytail, scrubbing my scalp with my nails, and finger-combing the tangled curls that have only grown more out of control with the moisture. Then I bend to unzip my half-chaps and toss them on my chair.

Someone knocks lightly on the door, and I sit up, my heart skipping a beat as my mind automatically goes to Alfie—but he wouldn’t knock. I’m confident of that.

“Señorita, Joel’s trailer is at the front gate. Señor Bonetti’s men are holding it there,” Javier says through the door.

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