Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (10 page)

T
onight
, I need laser focus. I'm doing this hit against the Guatemalan and I can't fuck it up. But I just can't get Penny off my mind. The way her body looked at breakfast today. The dark outlines of her nipples through the fabric of her t-shirt, calling to me, making my dick hard for her.

Fuck. I don't think I can hold back much longer. One night, very soon, I think I'm going to lose this internal battle and I'm going to slip into her room at night. And we're going to release this burning sexual tension that's been building between us for years.

It's going to be fucking bad. But it's going to feel so unbelievably good.

I pull up to the Guatemala Grill, the restaurant where I'll find my target tonight. It's on the water out in Bayside, where a festive mood fills the air. Strings of multicolored lights hang around the restaurant's patio, reflecting off the windows and glasses on the tables. The patio buzzes with activity; people eating, drinking, and laughing. Just another Saturday night for the restaurant.

But for Jorge Gonzalez, the owner, it's going to be his last Saturday night ever.

I park my car on the street and kill the engines and lights. I reach into the pockets of my suit jacket and withdraw two black leather gloves, which I pull on. Then I grab my garrote from the passenger seat.

Me, I'm an old-fashioned gun-and-bullets kind of guy, but Igor specifically requested a garrote for this job. And what Igor wants, Igor gets.

For now.

I wind up the wire and clench it tightly in one leather-clad fist. Then I exit my car and walk into the restaurant.

The lobby features traditional decorations, and the sound of a live band dances in from the dining room. I can barely move around with all the people waiting to be seated.

The hostess, a young Guatemalan girl with thick, shimmering hair, greets me. She gives me a warm smile, twirling the ends of her hair in her fingertips. My eyes pass over the cleavage revealed by her dress, but I feel nothing. Not a stir. The only woman on my mind is Penny.

"Just one tonight?"

"Yes. The bar, please."

She smiles and seats me right off the main dining area. I take a seat between a pencil-pusher goodie-boy type and an old cougar. I scan the room while I order a Sprite, looking for Jorge.

Usually, it's only my life on the line, but now it's Penny's too. If I don't come home, she'll stay there handcuffed to the bed until someone else finds her.

And that could be a fate worse than death.

Finally I see Jorge. He's wide, almost as wide as he is tall. And he's walking from table to table, schmoozing customers. He takes this business seriously. I wouldn't be surprised if the restaurant makes him more cash than the gun-running ring does.

He should've stuck to the restaurant business.

After he makes his rounds, I see him heading for the back door, a pack of cigarettes clutched in his hand. Luckies. Ironic.

I throw down a tip and leave my drink at the bar. I weave my way through the dining room, following Jorge toward the back exit. I wait until he's exited, then step out after him a moment later.

He stands out back, next to a concrete loading dock. The night is black, and clouds hide the stars in the sky. The only sound is the hoot of a distant, invisible owl.

Jorge is alone, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, looking wary.

"Hey," I say, "Got a smoke?"

My accent must tip him off that I'm Bratva, because he reacts fast. He drops the packet of cigarettes and jams a fist into his pocket. When he withdraws it, he's holding a pocket gun.

Fuck. He got the drop on me.

I dash forward, opening my palm to swipe at the gun. The garrote falls from my grip, glinting in the moonlight as it drops to the ground. Jorge's eyes track it, and they bulge, as my intentions are confirmed.

"You Russian piece of shit," he growls, leveling the gun at my chest.

I reach out and slap at it, knocking his hand down just as he pulls the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and a hot, sharp pain pierces my thigh.

Fuck. This just got messy. I have to finish the job and get the hell out of here.

I grab his wrist, my leg searing in pain. I slam it against the restaurant's brick wall, and the gun flies out of his hand, clattering against the asphalt. Pain radiates through my torso and I double over, giving him an opportunity to strike back. He throws his weight against me, knocking us both to the ground, me pinned beneath him.

Fuck. I struggle, reaching for the gun, all my nerves screaming in protest. He's no match for me strength-wise, but he must weigh five hundred pounds. I can barely move beneath him.

"The hitman dies tonight, eh, Ruskie?" he grunts. He puts his forearm against my throat, and suddenly I can't breathe anymore. Even in the moonlight, I can see his face, red and bulging.

But I'm not going to let this happen. With all my remaining strength, I lunge for the gun, and I feel its comforting metal against my palm. I jam the barrel into Jorge's side, and his eyes bulge with surprise.

Then I pull the trigger over and over, shots ringing out, until I feel warm blood pouring out of his body, coating me with red. A minute later, his breathing stops. I have to get out of here. I shove his heavy as fuck, rotten corpse off of me, then strip my bloody suit off and ball it up under my arm. I eye the backdoor nervously, but no one comes out.

I run back to my car, naked except for my boxers and shoes, my leg bleeding. I tear away into the night.

"
H
oly shit
," I say.

Havok stands in the guest room doorway, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. It's the first time I've seen him like this. He'd be fucking hot as hell right now, with those ridged abs, corded arms, and broad shoulders. Except for one thing.

He's
bleeding
. A lot.

"I need your help," he says wearily.

"Oh my God," I say. "Okay. Let me up." I have so many questions, but I suppress them for now.

He hobbles out of the room, leaving a trail of blood. When he returns, he's holding the handcuff keys. He frees me.

"Come on," he says, wincing. He leads us to the shower in my bathroom, not bothering to trek to the master bath. He starts the shower, then in one swift motion, slides his boxers down without any shame and gets in.

My lips part, as I stare in disbelief. His cock is
huge
and beautiful. It's thick, and so long even though he's soft. I feel wet between my legs, and I have to remind myself that this is a medical situation. I almost feel guilty for having these thoughts when he's injured like this.

He positions himself so the water hits the wound on his leg, cleaning it out. Fresh and clotted blood runs down his leg, and the bathtub looks like a fucking murder scene. He grimaces hard, and I can only imagine how much pain he's in.

"Come here," he says. "Lost a lot of blood. Can't keep weight on this leg. Need you to clean this before I get a damn infection."

I try to compose myself, but I'm totally overwhelmed by the situation.

"Is that... a gunshot wound?"

He grunts.

"Oh my god," I say. "It is." Suddenly, I feel scared. Really scared.

He grunts again. "No questions right now. Just do as I say."

I swallow hard. "Okay."

"Get the peroxide from the medicine cabinet."

I open the mirrored cabinet above the sink and see a large brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I grab it.

"Pour it on."

I step toward the shower and unscrew the cap. For some reason, I put one hand on his thigh as I pour the peroxide. As I do, it bubbles against the wound, and Havok's face contorts in pain.

Something else happens, though. His cock twitches, responding to my touch against his thigh. I just stare. I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't be so turned on right now, but this situation is just so… primal.

"S-sorry," I mumble.

He doesn't acknowledge it. "Get a clean sponge."

I root around in one of the cabinets, until I find a loofah that still has the tag on it. I rip the tag off and return to the shower.

"Now soap." I uncap a bottle of body wash, and squirt it liberally onto the loofah.

He hands it back to me. "Scrub."

I hesitate at first, but then I start to scrub his legs and torso clean. There's so much dried blood all over him, and I don't see how it could have gotten from his leg onto his chest.

"This isn't all your blood," I say quietly, realizing the situation.

"No. It isn't."

I finish scrubbing him, not speaking again. By the time I finish, his cock is rock fucking hard. I don't even know how to feel. It looks better than I ever imagined. But I never thought the first time I'd see it would be with a bullet hole in his leg. After he's apparently killed someone.

When I finish, I hand the loofah back to him.

"Okay," he says. "We're done here." He hangs the loofah on the faucet and turns the water off. I can't stop staring at his body, the water droplets beading and running down his gorgeous frame.

"You need a towel?" I mumble, trying to keep my eyes off his body. And his hard cock.

"No. Thanks."

I duck my head, turning to leave the room. My body feels like it's on fire. I'm wet, and my nipples strain against the soft fabric of my t-shirt. I'm going to need some time to process what's just happened.

I flop onto my bed, burying my face in the pillows, trying to slow my beating heart. A few minutes later, Havok comes in from the bathroom, the towel wrapped around his waist. I pick up my head up, and I see the outline of his cock through the thick fabric, and it's still hard. He sits down on the edge of the bed, holding a roll of gauze, which he wraps around his hurt leg. The towel falls away, exposing his cock again.

"Do you need some help taking care of that?" I say, sitting up and crossing my legs.

"That's forward."

I blush hard. "That's not what I meant," I say angrily. "The gauze, I mean."

He keeps wrapping his leg, not speaking. Eventually he stops, then turns his whole body toward me. His abs are cut, a perfect v-shape as he sits on the bed's edge. Who am I kidding. If he tried to take me right now, there's no way I'd be able to resist.

"Penny," he says. "I'm a bad man. I do bad things to people. I think you've figured that out by now."

I nod, feeling frightened. "You're not bad," I say, "You don't do bad things to me."

"I..." He starts to speak, but trails off.

"What were you gonna say?"

He looks me right in the eyes, his gaze burning hot. "Nothing."

"Say it."

"I can do bad things to you," he says. "If you want me to."

My heart skips a beat in my chest. He leans in closer, and I feel myself leaning toward him too, although I'm not doing it consciously.

He puts a hand around my head, pulls me in close, and smashes his lips against mine.

I
don't know
why I do it. But as I hold my lips against hers, a tingling wave rolls over the surface of my skin. Her lips taste like honey. And for one brief moment, all of my pain, anger, and regret fades into the past. I want her so fucking bad.

But then my phone rings, interrupting us. And everything comes surging back, even stronger. Why did I do it? I was supposed to keep my hands off her.

I'm afraid I've set something in motion now, something I won't be able to stop.

I break our kiss, my lips lingering near hers. Her t-shirt fits loosely, the collar hanging low and open, the bust of her breasts teasing me, beckoning. Her smooth, slender legs are right within my reach.

God, I don't know if I want to kiss this chick tenderly or just shove my cock down her throat and facefuck her until my balls are empty.

My phone keeps ringing.

"I have to take this," I say. I reach for my phone, laying on the nightstand.

"Yeah."

It's Luka. "Havok, bro. Got to talk to you. Alone?"

"Give me a minute."

I put the phone on mute and gingerly rise from the bed. "Cuff yourself," I say, grabbing the handcuffs from the nightstand and tossing them to Penny.

Her face flares with anger and hurt. "Even now, you don't trust me?" she says.

Anger and confusion bubble in my stomach. "It was a mistake. Doesn't mean anything." But inside, I don't know what it might mean.

She doesn't look at me as she clicks one cuff onto a wrist and the other onto the bed frame.

"Tighter."

She complies, squeezing the cuff around her wrist until it stops clicking.

"I'll be back," I say. I grab my phone again, take it off mute, and go downstairs. I step out the sliding glass door onto the patio. It's pitch black outside, and I feel disconnected. This girl is here, mine for the taking, and I can't even get over shit to make her mine.

I put the phone to my ear. "Talk to me."

Luka clears his throat on the other end. "Got some new info, brother."

"About?"

"The trafficking operation."

I'm immediately wary. After seeing what Igor did to Petrov, all of us need to fall in line and bide our time. We can't fucking challenge him now.

Luka continues. "Found out they got five or six girls still in the States, waiting to get on a ship. We act fast, we might be able to jailbreak them."

I sigh. Luka is the only man with a more pestering conscience than mine. "What're you telling me this for?" I say.

"I know what you think about these operations, man. Me too. Thought you'd want to know."

"Shit, man," I say, my voice almost cracking with stress. "You saw what happened to Petrov. That's what happens to guys who don't toe the line."

He's quiet. "Alright, man."

I pause for a moment, unable to speak. This is sick shit. But I'm not the morality police. I'm a mafia hitman. I keep telling myself that.

There's a tense silence. Each of us knows we're knee-deep in shit. The Bratva is supposed to be about counterfeiting, drugs, guns, hits, even prostitution. Slavery crosses the fucking line.

"Look," I say. "We go against them, we die. Simple as that. I don't like it, but there's not shit we can do about it."

The truth is, if it weren't for Penny, I'd take the risk. But I can't risk failure, not with her here. They'd find her, and they'd kill her savagely.

There's another long pause, and then Luka says, "Alright, brother. I got you. And I'm with you." Then he hangs up.

Tension gnaws inside my stomach. I'm Havok Vladimirovich Ivanov. I don't fucking think twice about putting a bullet in a target's head. I don't think twice when I put down a pig during a job.

Am I going to run fucking scared from Igor? Or am I going to handle this shit?

An idea comes to my mind. A very dangerous idea.

On my phone, I scroll to Igor's contact data. It's almost one in the morning, but he'll be up. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen. Am I really gonna do this?

I screw up my courage, and make the call. It rings, and then he picks up.

"Havok. The fuck you calling me for right now?"

"Boss," I say, stroking his ego. "Been thinking. Haven't been pulling my weight with this trafficking operation. That blonde girl, Mackenzie. You want me to snag her for you? I'll handle the logistics. My way of apologizing."

"Hey," he says, his voice getting jovial for the first time in weeks. "Knew you'd fucking come around."

"Yeah," I say, "I got my shit straightened out. I can do it this week. When's she working?"

"Monday night," he says, chuckling. "Give me a call then. Good man."

"Alright," I say. "Just let me know the drop-off point."

He gives me an address, and I hang up.

I'm gonna fucking do this. I'm gonna kidnap that girl from
Fascinations
, take her to the drop point, and figure out how the whole operation is set up. Then come back with Luka and Valentin, guns blazing, rescue her and all the other girls, take out Igor, and fucking end this once and for all. Failure isn't an option. Not with Penny's life on the line.

I call Luka back. "Bro," I say. "There's a new plan."

* * *

B
ack inside
, the cool air soothes my aching body. I didn't realize just how sore I was.

I toss my phone down on the couch, then head back upstairs to where Penny is waiting. She's sitting on the bed, arms crossed, the handcuffs attached to her wrist like a leash. I'm surprised she didn't fall asleep. I was outside for almost an hour.

"Can you sit with me?" she asks.

My mind is too fucking occupied to protest. So I sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to mentally prepare myself for what I have to do.

"Hey," she says, tapping me on the shoulder.

I look at her. "What?"

She leans forward, tilting her head, going for another kiss.

But I dodge it. I get up, and I leave the room.