Page 4 of Claimed By The Russian

“In English?”

“Yes, everyone was speaking in English, which I didn’t really understand, but they all had heavy Russian accents.”

“And then my men found you?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going? How were you hoping to escape?”

“My dad had a friend years ago, a foreign exchange student when he was a kid, and he was from Russia. All I knew was his name and that he used to live by St. Basil’s.”

“And you thought you could somehow find him?”

“I didn’t have any other options.”

My body is telling me the only option I have right now is to make her mine. The paranoia I’ve developed because of the world I live in is still telling me this is a trap, despite everything I’ve seen and heard up to this point.

“What is this man’s name?”

“Kirill. Kirill Kuznetsov.”

My whole body goes numb and I slowly extend my hands, finding the top of my desk and steadying myself.

I see two of my men slide their hands inside their suits at the mention of my name. I shake my head slightly and their hands recede.

“And what is your father’s name?”

“Kurt Kelly.”

Hearing the man’s name after all these years brings back so many memories. And it’s only then that I immediately see the resemblance.

“Your father died?”

She nods, and I feel like shit for brining it up.

I slide a hand inside my top desk drawer, shuffling through the loose images I have there, printed on old Kodak paper. Just seeing the brand name, Kodak, reminds me of my time in the country where everything was possible without the need to lie, cheat, steal, and bribe, as it seems today in this country. Somehow I’ve been able to avoid any of those three sins, but most can’t resist the urge, especially when it’s an epidemic of our culture.

I pull out the picture and hold it up in front of my chest.

“Dad,” she mouths silently. Her eyes rise to meet mine. “You mean you’re…?”

I nod.

“You’re no longer alone….”

“Kennedy,” she says, and it’s only then I realized I never asked her name.

“Kennedy. Your father took me in and treated me like family. I’m your family now and you’re safe.” And do I ever want to make a family with you starting right now. Did I just lie about her being safe, because she is clearly not safe with me around.

I feel like a Kamchatka brown bear, ready to attack anyone or anything that stands in my way of absolutely devouring her like a fresh salmon swimming upstream to lay eggs. Oh, she’s going to mate all right. I’m going to fill her belly with my seed over and over and over again.

For the first time in my life this feeling washes over me, and I know what life is all about. The extremely common and popular idea of the pride of a first-born son never made sense to me…until now.

All the concerns I had that this was some sort of trap have fallen to the side, my shoulders relaxing and all I want to do is wrap this woman up in a big bear hug and let her know she’s safe now…forever. And mine.

“You’ve had a long day. Let’s show you to your room, get you a bath and some food, and allow you to sleep.”

One of my men steps forward, ready to follow my orders.

“No, Sergiu. I’ll do it. She’s my responsibility, in all ways.”

Sergiu pulls back slightly, shocked at my words.

“That’s right,” I repeat. “She’s mine.”

CHAPTER 3

Kirill

Twenty-four hours later

I kick my feet up on my desk and lean back in my Aeron chair, running my hand over the back of my neck.

It’s been twenty-four hours since Kennedy walked into my life, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting her walk out.

It’s that calm time of the morning, at three a.m. when most normal people are sleeping. I’m not normal, and what I’m feeling for her is anything but normal.

I look at the notes in front of me. They’re an amalgamation of the license plate number we pulled from security cameras, info my buddies at the police station slipped me about this organization, and a distinguishing scar the leader of this outfit has running across the length of his neck.

And her. My best attempt at drawing her. I was never great at drawing and my handwriting is absolutely atrocious, but when I subconsciously draw her it just looks right. It’s so damn good it’s like I could win a prize for this. Why? Because I’ve never been so focused on anything in my entire life. The curve in her hips. Her ample breasts. That look of innocence that’s written across her face, and the youthful naivety that got her into this mess. And dammit if I’m not going to make things right for her, for us.

Normally at this time of night I’d be packing it in, the sixteen plus hour days sucking the life out of me. But not this morning. I was energized. Electric. It was like the day I opened my casinos years ago. That kind of excitement, but even more.

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