Page 3 of My Russian Protector

“I’m coming with you,” I answer.

He stops in his tracks, turns to me, and says, “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s my job, my money, and my rules,” I assert. “Besides, I need to be there to make sure the contract that you fulfill is mine and not the mob’s.”

He grabs my elbow and squeezes gently, “If I want to kill your father, you can’t stop me.”

“Fine, but I’m coming anyway. Either you take me with you or you give me my money back and I find someone else,” I warn him. My heart pounds in my chest as I feel his lingering grip on my arm.

“There’s still an open contract out there. Do you know? A price on your father’s head. That means this is dangerous. I can’t babysit you and do this job effectively at the same time,” he growls.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m an adult!” I hold my ground.

His expression softens and he grins, “You’re a baby.”

“I’m not a baby, and I’m not backing down. Take me with you or the deal is off.”

He hesitates for a moment as if contemplating my ultimatum then shakes his finger at me. “If you come, you do everything I tell you. No backtalk, no arguments. I’m the boss. Is that clear?”

I want to assert my position. I’m the customer and the customer is supposed to call the shots, but I know I’m more likely to survive if I do as I’m told so I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Come on,” he places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the garage beside the hotel.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I did some checking and your intel pans out. We start in Chekalin. That’s a three-and-a-half-hour ride.”

“Ride?” I ask.

“Yes, ride. You don’t have a problem with motorcycles, do you?”

“Glad I packed a backpack and not a suitcase,” I mumble.

He leads me into the garage and stops beside a sleek black street bike that likely cost more than his annual salary as a security officer. He climbs on and takes my arm to steady me as I get on behind him. He takes my hands and wraps them around his waist and says, “Hold on tight.”

My body is pressed snuggly against his as we set out on our journey, and I rest my head between his wide shoulders. The fog has lifted and the sun is shining. If I cleared my mind and forgot that I’ve paid him for his services, I could convince myself that this was a joyride with my new romantic interest. It could quite possibly be the best date of my life.

We’re about two hours outside the city when the clouds block the sun and the sky turns dark. Lightning flashes in the distance and thunder growls, warning us of the impending downpour. Alexsander takes the next exit off the highway and coasts into the parking lot of a nondescript warehouse.

“Just in the nick of time,” he mutters as a tall man in blue coveralls opens a garage door for him and we ride through. He stops the bike, kills the engine, and steps off. He places his hands on my hips and hoists me into the air. I lose my breath as he sets me down on the warehouse floor.

“I don’t feel like getting wet. We’ll leave the bike here and finish the trip by car,” he tells me.

“You can just pull in here and take a car?” I ask.

“I have vehicles stashed all over the countryside. My former associates rent me space to store them,” he replies.

The man in the blue coverall embraces Alexsander and kisses him on both cheeks.

“It’s good to see you again, my friend. You look well,” he tells him in Russian.

“And you look well-fed,” Alexsander replies, patting the man on the belly.

“My lady is a good cook,” the man chuckles. “You need a car to keep your lady dry?”

“BMW,” Alexsander nods.

The man scurries away and returns driving a black BMW M8. He leaves the engine running and steps out. “Fuel tank is full, Alex,” he says.

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