Page 15 of Caught By the Bratva Boss

I hear the soft laugh Mikhail gives and choose to ignore it.

“I chose the wrong house,” I admit to Jinx. “I’m so sorry to mix you up in this, but Mikhail gave me his word that he won’t hurt you if you cooperate.”

“You must be Mikhail,” Jinx says, eyeing the big man behind me who’s still gripping my arm tight enough to let me know I’ll probably have some nice bruises tomorrow.

“I am. Why don’t we go inside and talk?”

Jinx eyes the handful of men who are still standing guard behind us before finally giving a soft nod and turning around. The thud of his walking stick on the hardwood porch sounds ominous when I think about how very far from civilization we are. Anything could happen out here, and no one would ever know. Jinx has spent his life living off the grid, making himself as invisible as possible. He and I could easily be buried out here in the woods and no one would be the wiser. I really doubt my boss from Maglione’s is going to stir up a fuss about my absence. He’ll just assume I flaked out like so many hostesses and waitresses have done before me. Johnny will wonder, but, again, nothing will come of it. There’s no evidence of foul play, and I have no doubt that Mikhail could plant some evidence to make it look like I just upped and left if he wanted to.

The three of us go inside while the rest of Mikhail’s men wait outside. I take in the small cabin and smile because Jinx’s appearance isn’t the only thing that hasn’t changed. It looks exactly like I remember it. Bookshelves line every available wall, stuffed to overflowing, and the small kitchen is a mess because we obviously interrupted him while he was canning vegetables for the winter. Thanks to an amazing solar power system and backup generators, he has plenty of juice to run his work station in the corner by the large windows that overlook the woods. It’s as impressive as Mikhail’s garage in its own way. I don’t know what half the stuff does. All I know is it’s top of the line and worth several Aston Martins.

Jinx motions us to the leather couch in the middle of the room, but Mikhail ignores him and walks us over to the row of computers.

“Charlie put a tracker on me. That’s how she found out where I lived. Do you make them?”

Jinx sighs and rubs a hand over his full, white beard. “Yeah, although I did teach her better than to put one on a guy like you.”

The disappointed look he gives me cuts worse than anything else has so far. I’m surprised when Mikhail runs his thumb over my arm in the barest of touches before saying, “I’m sure she’s learned her lesson.” I want to raise my eyes to him, wondering why he’s chosen to give me that small comfort, but I don’t. I keep my focus on Jinx’s table of computers and gadgets, wishing this could all be over and done with.

“I need you to delete all the information you have on me, and I mean permanently delete from all devices.”

Jinx sighs and sits down in his black, ergonomic chair and pulls up something on one of his computer screens. His stubby fingers fly over the keyboard, and it isn’t long before he’s looking up at Mikhail and saying, “It’s done. I’ve erased everything and permanently disabled the tracker. There’s no record of it anywhere. I’ve done what you asked, so just let Charlie go, and we can all forget this ever happened.”

Mikhail yells for a man named Sergei, and when he comes into the cabin, I’m roughly pushed over to him while Mikhail says something to him in Russian.

“Hey!” I yell, almost tripping over my damn feet before I hit the wall of muscle that is apparently Sergei. I look up to see an unsmiling face with a day’s worth of stubble on a pretty damn attractive face, even though it pains me to admit it. I shouldn’t think my captors are good looking, but there’s no denying they are. This man doesn’t make my stomach flip in the way Mikhail does, though. It’s like looking at a beautiful race horse. I can admire the beauty of the beast, but it doesn’t mean I want to take a ride on it.

Sergei grabs my arm, much the same way Mikhail had, and pulls me toward the porch.

“Hey!” I yell again, hoping maybe second time’s a charm. It isn’t. I’m unceremoniously yanked out onto the porch and dumped on the swing that hangs beside all his potted herbs. “You don’t have to be so damn rough,” I shout, glaring up at him.

His dark eyes meet mine as he says, “No English,” in a very thick accent that I swear has some hillbilly undertones with a smirk on his face.

I let out an angry groan but sit back in the swing, knowing my ass isn’t going anywhere. Looking over, I try to peek in the window, but Sergei has planted his large body right in front of it in a cocky stance I’ve seen in every military movie I’ve ever watched. His gun is strapped across his chest, easily within reach should he need it. His dark hair is buzzed and about the length of the stubble on his cheeks, and his arms are covered in various tattoos that spread all the way up his arms, disappearing under his black tee.

Settling back into the wooden swing, I touch my toes to the ground and push off, letting the creaky, familiar sound comfort me while I think about what in the hell is going on inside. Mikhail said he wouldn’t kill Jinx, and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I believe him. I’ve seen the way his men look and act around him. He’s someone who’s earned their respect, and a man who constantly breaks his word doesn’t inspire the men under him like he seems to.

I keep swinging until the door finally opens and Mikhail steps out followed closely by a smiling Jinx.

What in the hell?

Standing up, I walk over to Jinx. “What happened?”

“It’s okay, Charlie. We’ve come to an agreement.”

“You what?”

I’m so surprised I almost forget my promise to not look at Mikhail but catch myself just in time. Jinx pats my shoulder and gives me a smile.

“It’s okay.”

“You already said that, Jinx, but how is it okay if I’m still being held against my will?”

Jinx looks at Mikhail, who’s standing silently behind me, and then back at me. “He’s given me his word that no harm will come to you, and I’ve agreed to help him out with a few things.”

“You what?” I say, but it comes out more as a yell.

“I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of the times the mafia is more trustworthy than the government.”

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