Page 15 of Bound by Blood

“Mine now,” he rumbled down at her, bringing his arm up and swiping it across his mouth, wiping her juices off on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“No!” she snapped, glaring at him.

He reached for her, glaring back, daring her to defy him. Laney brought her legs up and scrambled across the table. Boris lunged for her, dropping his full weight onto the table. There was a loud crack.

“Fuck,” Boris mumbled right before the table collapsed beneath them, crashing to the carpeted floor with a splintering thump. The legs flew out from underneath while the tabletop remained in one piece, its occupants sprawled awkwardly across it.

They lay in shocked silence for a moment before Boris rolled onto his side and quickly scanned Laney who was flat on her back with her ams at her sides, gun still clutched tightly in one hand, dress around her hips, staring at the ceiling.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, concern lacing his deep voice.

She rolled her head to look at him, her blue mascara-rimmed eyes cloudy. He reached out and touched her head, fearing she may have bumped it too hard. Worry turned to surprise when her lips curved into a smile and she began laughing. Small giggles at first that quickly turned into full belly laughs as she realized what had happened. She brought her legs up, curled her arms around her stomach and rolled onto her side facing him, still laughing.

“I can… can’t believe that happened!” she said, between shouts of laughter. “You are such a beast! Look what you’ve done to this poor table. You really are like Godzilla, smashing things!”

After a moment, his fierce visage split into a wide grin and soon he joined her in her mirth. His booming guffaws shook the table beneath them, causing it to roll on the broken table legs, which made them laugh even harder.

After a few minutes, they calmed and looked at each other. The grin slowly faded from Laney’s lips to be replaced by sadness. She saw the love shining in his eyes and shook her head. Reaching out, she touched his lips, running her fingers gently down his beard and then lightly touching his thick, tattooed neck before dropping her hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in her scent of lilies and honey, enjoying the feel of her touch, the first one she had voluntarily given him since they had met.

He opened his eyes, dark possession burning into her, branding her heart in a way that she knew couldn’t be hers. She reached behind her, the gun clunking against the wooden table, and pushed herself off the broken table. Stumbling on the silver high heels, she stood and attempted to smooth the dress as best she could, shaking out the worst of the wrinkles. Looking down, she realized there was no point. Boris had left a mark on her stomach where he had kissed her and a torn seam all the way up one thigh. Shame and arousal burned in her belly, igniting her once more.

She glanced around and, spotting her panties, reached for them. He was faster. From his crouched position, he swiped them up in his massive tattooed fist. She straightened and moved quickly away from him in case he tried to grab her again.

She watched in fascinated horror as he lifted the delicate black lace to his lips and kissed them. Then he tucked them into his pocket. He pushed himself to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a large man, and said, “Until next time.”

“Never again!” she hissed.

“It is a promise,kotenok,” he growled silkily, dropping a kiss on her forehead before leaving her alone in the room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Brat.”

“Brat!”

Brother.

Boris and Vladimir tossed back their shots of vodka and slammed their glasses down on the desk. Boris reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses without permission, not something he would usually consider. Though Sitnikov thought of Boris as a brother, Boris was always careful to maintain that professional distance between the Boss and his brutally loyal enforcer. Appearances in their circle were everything. The fact that Boris would take even this small liberty was significant.

Vlad picked up the shot glass between his crooked middle finger and thumb and raised an eyebrow at Boris. His massive second in command picked up his own glass and said, “Krov.”

Vladimir nodded and repeated, “Krov.”

Blood.

It was a reminder of the blood oath the men had taken when Boris had sworn featly to Sitnikov and followed him from Russia to America to help build an empire. Vlad had repaid Boris’ loyalty handsomely, but both men knew it would never be enough. Boris was a king in his own right, sporting the same eight-pointed stars on his shoulders, same as Vladimir.

Boris was happy enough to leave his younger brother sitting on the throne, heading the Grekov section of the Russian Bratva. Boris received regular updates from his informants and ran his empire from afar, while enforcing Vlad’s throne as his right hand and brother through blood oath. As he got older though, he became more restless and less satisfied with the situation. Rumblings out of Russia suggested Dimitri Grekov may be hiding things from his older brother.

“What is this about?” Vlad asked, placing his glass on the desk and leaning back in his chair. He studied Boris, taking in the brutally serious features.

“I must go home.”

Vlad nodded. It was as he expected.

“There is trouble in the homeland and it is past time I reclaim what is mine,” his dark eyes pierced Vlad’s, not as an enforcer, but as equals.

Pain stabbed through Vlad. Boris was like a brother and there was no better enforcer – or friend – to be had. He had been instrumental in placing Vlad in a position of power and had helped him hold that position, killing anyone that threatened them. He would be missed. Smiling sadly, he reached across the desk and lifted the bottle of vodka, filling their glasses once more.

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