Page 3 of Dangerous Vengeance

The sun is hot, and I begin to sweat the minute I walk out the door. Rome pulls the car up and I climb in. I immediately hear the sounds of a woman struggling from the back seat. They must have bound and gagged her. I glance over my shoulder and see her there, sack over her head and hands tied behind her back. She isn’t a physical threat to us; we outnumber her and outpower her three to one. But if she sees our faces and lives to talk about it, we will go down for the crimes of a dozen generations of Bratva men sworn to the fold.

“Did anyone see?” I ask them, turning back to the front as Rome pulls away. The windows are tinted. No one can see in and Leo, seated next to our pretty little package, can’t see out.

“We had a security guard fire on us. We fired back. Nothing is traceable, plates were discarded.” Rome talks in monotone as he drives. I know he’s not keen on taking people hostage. He’s an assassin. He removes obstacles, but Ms. Yates has information we need. If we just kill her, folks will look into why she is gone. She’s smart. She has probably made backups of backups, mailed them to friends and family. The only way to do this is with stealth, not brute force.

“And is he alive?” It’s not like Rome to leave a victim, only a body.

“He’s dead, Matty. Okay?” Leo is on edge too. They must have been arguing or something just before I got in.

I hold my tongue for a few minutes. We all realize the delicacy of this situation. If we are wrong, and this woman isn’t the one digging up dirt on us, anything we say around her is just evidence to bury us. We can still put her back and cover our tracks and she lives. If we are right, though, and she does have dirt on us, then we just have a few more steps to remove the thorn from our side and be on with our lives.

“Ms. Yates, I do hope these gentlemen have treated you with respect thus far.” I don’t really care what they’ve done to her. I’m just not fueling the fire of her fear and hatred. Frightened people take drastic measures.

She makes a few unintelligible sounds and I tell she is gagged. It’s better that way. I don’t have to listen to her whining and begging for her life. They always beg for their lives, especially women. Every time someone thinks they are going to bring us down; we find out and stop them. There is too much at stake, too much riding on our family business staying private.

“You know where we’re taking her?” I ask Rome, whose eyes flick my direction, and he nods. We’re headed to my home, the only place deemed safe enough to host our guest, even for a short time. It was my place or Rome’s but he’s too busy hunting an enemy to keep a proper watch on her. My other brothers have wives—nosy ones who may not approve of holding Natalie hostage until we know the truth of everything she’s learned.

We ride in silence the rest of the way and when we pull up to the house and Rome puts the car in park, Natalie whimpers, squirming around the back seat. Leo and I climb out, and he pulls her kicking and grunting from the back seat. She’s missing a shoe, and her shirt is untucked, but she’s in one piece. He forces her to stand, and she shakes her head, presumably to toss the bag she’s wearing.

“It will go better for you if you just comply with what we’re doing, Natalie,” I say, leaning in close to her ear. She smells nice, like lavender and honey, and as I lean over her shoulder, I see the deep V of her cleavage housed within pink lace. It’s arousing.

“Mmm…” I can tell she’s trying to protest, and as we start walking, she limps then kicks her second shoe off. She fights us a little, trying to turn back toward the car, so I wrap an arm around her waist, smack her on the ass, and toss her over my shoulder, holding her down with a firm grip around her knees.

“Dumb bitch,” Leo chuckles. “Why do they always fight us?”

“The will to live…” I nod at the car. “Make sure he reports back. Don’t want the boss wondering if the job is done.” I speak cryptically, but she’s smart. She probably already figured it out the instant Leo let my name slip.

I carry her into the house and lock the door behind us. She’s lighter than I thought, though I won’t carry her around all day. No sense in an extra workout. I carry her right to my den with its dark mahogany paneling and leather furniture. Her pastels don’t fit amongst the charm of male décor. Everything about her is out of place here. I toss her onto the couch, and she bounces, yelping. Then I shut the door and turn the lights off.

I wait for a second, allowing my eyes to adjust to the near blackness. I need a conversation with her before I reveal my identity. If she already knows who I am then her life is as much as over. I move toward her, listening to the sound of her struggling against her restraints. The only light peeks in from behind the blackout curtains. I pull the bag off her head and untie her gag, and she coughs.

“What do you want with me?” she snarls, lurching off the couch. It does her no good. Her hands are still bound and it’s so dark in here if I stick to the shadows, she’ll never see the first hint of my face.

“I could ask you the same question, Natalie. What do you want with the Bratva?” I walk toward the liquor cabinet. At midday it’s a bit early to drink but I have a feeling it will be a long day. I can’t leave this place without word from Dominic that it’s okay. I’m her round the clock babysitter unless I put one of my men on her. First, I have to determine how wily she is, if she will attempt to escape from this fortress I’ve built. We’re far enough out of the city she won’t easily disappear. With gated homes in every direction for miles, she’d sooner be picked up by someone’s security as a prowler and my men would just go claim her. Still, I can’t be too careful.

I pour a glass of Scotch and set the decanter on the counter as I turn to watch her struggling to stand. She knocks her head on the coffee table and whimpers, but she manages to get to her feet. “Where am I? Take me back. I have an important meeting.” Her voice shakes. I like that too. She’s afraid, and she well should be. No one hunts up information on the Bratva and lives to talk about it.

“You are in a safe place, and your meeting was canceled. Did you think we’d let you meet with your source again? Or didn’t you realize we have a phone tap on your personal number?” I sip my whiskey as her whimpers grow quiet. “Our reach is far, Natalie. You’re a smart woman. Think about it.”

She remains quiet. I assume she’s putting the pieces together. I sip my drink and move toward her, staying along the wall. My toe taps the corner of the table sitting there and she jerks, turning toward me. I know she can’t see me, so I keep moving. “Where do you think you are, Natalie?”

“I am in the home of someone in the Bratva. If the man in the car wasn’t bluffing, then your name is Matty.” She clears her throat, showing she is trying to regain her composure. She was definitely listening to the conversation, collecting every shred of information to tell the police just as I suspected, which means she’ll never leave this place alive. “If my research is correct, you must be Matvey Dimitri Gusev.” The Russian accent she puts on just to say my name is impeccable. I am impressed.

“Well done, Ms. Yates.” It’s obvious she has Russian in her veins too. The bit of research we’ve done into her revealed as much, but the accent tells me more. That she was raised in a home where it was spoken, or at least with someone who spoke it.

“Ty umresh' zdes'. Ty znayesh'?” My veiled warning of her impending death makes her stiffen.

“Net, yesli ya ub'yu tebya pervym….Not if I kill you first. You know, the research I’ve done is thorough. I have hard evidence against your family.” She slips back into her American accent and continues to turn as I progress toward the light switch. She knows who I am. There’s no sense in playing this game in the dark. “Everyone knows I’m writing this story. They will come looking for me. You won’t get away with this.”

“Ah,” I hum, flipping the light switch, “but you’re wrong. We have millions of dollars backing us, supporters, loyal men and women who will never turn on us. Why do you think police have never caught up with our crimes?”

As the lights flicker, illuminating the room, she blinks and squints at me. I stand proudly sipping my drink watching her squirm again. This time, I take a closer inventory of her. After her tumble from the couch, her blouse hangs lower in front. More of the pink lace is on display for me and I like what I see. Her creamy skin screams to be touched. I take a few steps toward her.

“Look around here.” I gesture with my hand at the grandness of my den. Tall ceilings boast artwork and gold leaf woodwork; a large chandelier dangles overhead, decked out with crystals. I’ve imported only the best and finest sculptures, rugs, paintings, and furniture. This is the lap of luxury. I’ve spared no expense. “If I will go to all this length just to make my home beautiful, what do you think I will do to someone who threatens to take it from me?”

She swallows and turns her face away from me as I stand directly in front of her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Despite her strong outward appearance, inside she is panicking. I finish my drink and set it down on the table next to her. She takes a long deep breath and eyes me in her periphery. Her jaw is clenched shut; her muscles taut.

When I straighten and move in closer, she bristles again. I wrap my arms around her feeling down her arms to the ropes she’s bound with and pull her against my body.

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