“Sitnikov.”
Vlad looked up from his place at the table where he had been sitting for the past twenty minutes. He didn’t like waiting. It was an insult. Insults made Boris twitchy. Vlad was sincerely hoping he wouldn’t have to kill the younger man, sent to check out the Bratva’s American interests. It could cause problems back in Russia.
He watched the blond soldier’s approach with barely concealed impatience, annoyed that this was the person who would be reporting on him. He lit a cigar and let the fragrant smoke linger in his mouth. The act relaxed him somewhat and created a fine haze across the table. The homeland bosses knew better than to annoy Sitnikov. Or they used to, before they decided to send children into his organization.
“You’re late.”
The quietly spoken words were said with enough menace that Anton Petrov knew instantly he had made a mistake in baiting the Boss. He eyed the scar that ran down Vlad’s head and across his jaw. No doubt wondering if the rumours were true. That his face had been sliced open at the age of sixteen by his father’s own hand just before Vlad had gutted the old bastard and taken over the family business.
Petrov squared his shoulders, clearly trying to remember he had earned his own place in the organization and sat in the chair opposite Vlad. “I was unavoidably detained.”
Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I have heard of your fondness for American whores.”
Petrov flushed angrily and denied the accusation, “I was on the phone with my father.”
Vlad smiled chillingly. “And how is the old man?”
“Wondering why you have ignored several areas of trade that could be lucrative,” he shot back. “You appear to be concentrating much of your efforts on construction and investment while ignoring the skin trade completely.”
Vlad paused before speaking, deliberately increasing the tense silence. He wondered if Petrov the elder still had use of this son. It seemed a risk sending him into Vlad’s territory to toss around careless insults. “I was not aware it was anyone’s business but mine what interests I seek in my city. If I must, I will speak to your father and let him know my position on this issue.”
Petrov quickly caught on to the deadly note in Vlad’s voice and glanced around him quickly. He was probably wondering if he would make it out of Vlad’s dockside warehouse alive. It would make more of a statement toward Vlad’s feelings on Petrov’s interference if his head made it back to Russia before his body.
“It was not my intent to insult you, Vladimir,” Petrov said pleadingly, understanding he’d made a mistake in antagonizing the older man. Vladimir Sitnikov was one cold motherfucker. There was no use in trying to go head to head with the man if a guy wanted to keep his head.
“Then I suggest you stay out of my business. Complete your visit in the manner in which it was meant, as a connection to my mother country, and stop trying to make threats on behalf of your old man,” Vlad said sneeringly. “Trust me, the Alexandr Petrov I know will not thank you for your interference.”
Petrov looked angry for a second, as though he would argue and then remembered where he was. He held his tongue and said stiffly, “Da, I will remember this going forward.”
Vlad sighed heavily and cracked his neck, loosening stiff shoulders. He looked across the table at the younger man, his cigar held loosely between his fingers. “Take some advice Petrov.”
Petrov nodded shortly, knowing he would have no choice but to listen to the older, more experienced man.
“You are in a trusted position or your father would not have sent you here to my country. You are here to learn and perhaps take some knowledge home and apply it to your own organization.” Vlad leaned back in his chair and took a deep draw of his cigar. “Your father mentored me for two years when you were a young boy. Though our paths have become distant, that tie has not grown cold. Out of respect for him I will not kill you today. Try not to annoy me and perhaps you will take home some of the knowledge he hopes to gain.”
Blue eyes clashed with obsidian. Finally Petrov jerked his head in a nod. “My father will appreciate any… ”
A shot rang out, cutting Petrov off mid sentence and startling the already tense men in the warehouse. Boris was in front of Vlad before anyone had time to react. Seconds later another gunshot shattered the silence. Vlad dropped his cigar and pulled his weapon at the same time as his man. He stared malevolently at Petrov, whose fingers were twitching toward his own weapon. The few men Petrov had brought with him were far less organized than Sitnikov’s. Petrov knew he was surrounded and not likely to make it out alive if he made any stupid moves.
"Do you have anything you wish to say to me, Petrov?" Vlad asked silkily in his deadly calm voice. "I have no men out there, as per our agreement. Tell me why I hear weapons fire during what is supposed to be a peaceful meeting between two countrymen?"
Petrov tried to brazen his way out of the tense situation. "What are you implying, Sitnikov? I have come to you in good faith with my father’s blessing. This is your warehouse, I don't know who is out there."
Vlad studied him, his dark soulless eyes taking in the other man's nervous wariness. "As neither of us have men out there and we both agree whatever has happened is nothing to do with our negotiation then shall we go check it together?"
Petrov looked nervous and hung his head for a moment while he tried to decide if Vlad was tricking him. He finally gave a sharp nod. Sitnikov was ruthless and deadly, but he was fair. It was not in his reputation to play head games with his business associates. Petrov pulled his own weapon out slowly, held it down toward the floor and followed Sitnikov. Boris stepped behind Petrov effectively cutting him off from his men.
Petrov despised working with men like Sitnikov. The money was damn good, but the risk involved in messing with the American connection wasn't worth it. No doubt he would be having words with his father, head of the family, when he returned to his hotel. A father that was very firmly in Vlad’s pocket with a blood debt that remained to be paid. The old man would play nice or suffer the consequences.
They swiftly exited the building into the alley beyond. The humidity coming off the river made the air feel thick and oppressive. Petrov used his sleeve to wipe a trickle of sweat from his forehead. He scanned the alley along with Vlad and Boris. "I see nothing," he said.
Vlad stood silently, his body tense and alert. Boris stood to the back of him ready to cover and defend the Boss if anything should happen. The night remained silent. They searched up and down the narrow alley, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Vlad relaxed his stance somewhat and lowered his gun arm. He jerked his head toward the door they had exited from, indicating to the others that they should go back inside. Just before the door could slam shut behind them an audible moan reached their ears. It was undeniably feminine.
Boris immediately drew his weapon and pointed it into the shadows where the moan had come from. Petrov held his own gun tightly, ready to shoot whatever might materialize.
The voice was a whisper to their ears. "Vlad..."
Sitnikov waved at the men to put their weapons away and lunged toward the shadows, "Jane, is that you?"
He crouched over a shadowy figure on the ground and let out a savage growl, "Fuck, Boris, it’s her. She's bleeding everywhere. I think she’s been shot. Get me the goddam car!"
He didn’t bother to check that Boris would do as he said, his enforcer wouldn’t think twice. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Vlad was able to see Jane more clearly. Her pale, delicate face was twisted in agony. Tears of pain escaped her tightly scrunched eyes and made wet paths down her cheeks. She reached for him and clutched his arm in a pathetically weak grip. Though he could see and feel the pool of blood beneath her, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Her black jeans and leather coat camouflaged the source.
“Jane, malysh,” Vlad said as calmly as he could, “Where are you hurt? I can’t tell where the bleeding is coming from.”
“Arm,” she whispered.
Vlad had to lean close to hear her.
“I need to get your coat off, baby, to see what damage has been inflicted. This will hurt.”
He gritted his teeth and ran the zipper down her front. She let out a scream of agony. Assuming he must have jostled her arm, Vlad cursed the darkness. Ignoring her pitiful whimpers of pain he swiftly finished unzipping the coat and peeled it off of her. The stiff fabric clung to her where it was soaked in her blood. He was starting to suspect a second wound from the amount of blood, but couldn’t immediately find it.
“Ahhh…” she moaned, arching her spine in an attempt to escape the pain he was inflicting as he tugged the coat off her injured arm.
“Shhhh, malysh, baby girl. It will be fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
He sensed Petrov hovering in the background unsure of what to do, but didn’t have enough fucks to give to spare a thought for the man. His entire focus was on the woman he had grown to care about more than he thought his black soul capable slowly bleeding out in a filthy alley behind his warehouse. He wanted to commit murder in that moment. With every moan of pain she uttered he wanted to sink his knife into the man or men responsible until they knew her agony. He would slice at them one piece at a time until they were obliterated.
His fingers gently probed her injured arm until he found her wound. She flinched, but didn’t move away from him. He pushed the sleeve of her T-shirt up and felt the wound with his fingertips. He was not a doctor, but he was a man who had sustained his fair share of injuries and doled out much more than that. He knew what a killing wound felt like. A sigh of relief passed his lips. It was a flesh wound only.
Then he frowned. The wound on her arm didn’t explain the puddle of blood spreading beneath her prone body. Before he could search her for another wound, Boris tore up the alley in an SUV. Petrov waved at him and opened a door for Vlad.
“Jane, I need to pick you up now. This will hurt. Just hang on to me tightly.”
Her response was weak but firm. “Do it.”
Vlad grunted and reaching under her, lifted her in one smooth movement so as not to jostle her. She let out a long, low scream and lifted an arm to clutch at her middle. His heart froze in his chest.
“Fuck!” he bit out savagely. If she had an abdominal wound her chances were much slimmer and getting worse by the second.
He ducked his head and climbed into the vehicle. Ignoring the other man who slammed the back door shut and climbed in the front with Boris, Vlad bit out instructions for Boris to take them to the nearest emergency room. Turning his attention back to Jane he attempted to scan her for another injury. Her head lolled weakly on his shoulder. Her hand was pressed protectively against her middle. Vlad gently circled her wrist with his long fingers, feeling the fragility of her small bones beneath his much larger hand. She was too small, too easily hurt.
“Vlad… hurts so much,” she moaned, her lips brushing against the collar of his shirt. She was curled into him like a dying butterfly might curl into itself as its life ended.
“I know, malysh. Where else are you injured? Were you shot somewhere else, Jane?” he asked, his long fingers gently massaging her belly. He felt nothing but smooth skin, no gaping wound as he had feared.
“What… does mol…molish… mean?”
“It’s Russian for baby, an endearment. Jane, my girl, you need to pay attention to me and answer my question. Where else are you injured?” he tried to make his voice hard, ignoring the rage and fear that engulfed him, destroying his usual icy calm.
“Hurt…” she said, her voice growing fainter.
Vlad jostled her against his shoulder, bringing her sharply back as pain licked at her. “Pay attention, Jane! Tell me now where you are shot or so help me woman, I will make you answer.”
“Fuck!” she said with a little more life. “That hurt!”
Her eyes snapped open and glared up at him in the dimness of the vehicle. He gave her a feral smile and she shoved against his chest with a tiny huff. “Only you would be so cruel as to stoop to threatening an injured woman.”
Vlad was intensely glad to hear her voice grow in volume and steadiness. “You will now tell me where else you are hurt, Jane. Or I will make it hurt worse that it does now.”
With a snarl she grabbed his hand, which had been probing her stomach and ribcage and shoved it down the front of her body. She gingerly placed his large hand below the right side of her stomach and above her hip. His fingers came away soaked in her blood. He bit out a savage curse as he imaged the damage the bullet could inflict. Kidneys, liver, intestines. She could, and likely would, bleed out in his arms before they even reached the hospital.
Trying to distract her, he asked. “What piece of stupidity brought you to that particular warehouse in the middle of the night Jane? Were you spying on me?”
Petrov tensed in the front seat. The Russian probably didn’t like the idea of their exchange being spied on. Vlad didn’t particularly care what the other man thought. He undid the snap on her jeans and then gently unzipped her pants as she struggled to breathe. Blood pooled where he peeled the denim back and ran across her pale skin, soaking into his pants where she lay across his knees.
“Was following a tip…” she gasped out. “Told to be there. When I saw the cars and you, I knew… knew… tip would pay off. You’re dirty, Sitnikov, and I can prove it. Evidence… warehouse.”
Vlad chuckled darkly. “I think we are past that now, my dear. If you manage to survive walking into what was clearly a trap, then you will finally belong to me. I can no longer allow you to continue this path of reckless disobedience. It is time for you to come home, Jane McKinley. Now hang on to me tightly, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”
Jane clutched at him and braced herself as he pressed his hand hard into the tender skin over her pelvic bone. He pressed hard, feeling the wound gush beneath his relentless fingers. Jane’s screams filled the air until they grew weaker and finally faded as she started to lose consciousness. Her head lolled back and her eyes drifted shut, her hand where it gripped his shirt front slackened.
“Stay with me,” Vlad snapped furiously.
Vlad continued to hold pressure on the wound and nudged her head up his shoulder with his other arm. When her face rolled toward his neck he swooped down to press his lips against hers savagely. He took her mouth in a possessive, desperate kiss. She was too weak to protest the intrusion, opening her lips helplessly beneath his aggressive kiss. He felt the moment she stopped responding. He bit her lip, trying to force a response from her. She didn’t move.
With one final press of his hard lips against her soft mouth he said in a whisper, his steady breath mingling with her shallow pants, “You will live, Jane McKinley. So I can take you home and teach you what it is to belong to me. I won’t lose you before I ever had you.”
She said nothing in response having drifted to where his words couldn’t reach her. Her long black lashes brushed across the top of her cheeks and her bangs cast dark shadows over her white features. Her body slumped against his, all strength leaving her as her internal organs began to shut down and her heart gradually beat slower.
“You will not die,” he snarled savagely, as the bright lights of the hospital loomed in his vision.