Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (6 page)

I
let out a bloodcurdling shriek
, then clap my hands over my mouth. Brock's body lies on the gravelly, sun-cracked asphalt, a pool of blood growing around his head. Havok watches, his face as emotionless as a mannequin's.

"What did you do?" I cry out. I can hardly process the thoughts and feelings running through my head right now. The way he's lying there with his eyes wide open, he's obviously dead. My life has changed in an instant. I'm finally free from him.

But he's just been
murdered
.

Havok turns to me with a look of urgency. "Listen," he says. "We're in broad daylight. We have to move fast."

My head spins, and I feel dizzy and sick. "But you killed him."

Havok steps toward me, balling his fists. "Quiet," he growls. "You want us both in prison?"

I gulp.

"Go in the kitchen. Get gloves. And all the bleach you can carry."

"B-but, it was an accident," I stutter. "Shouldn't we c-call the police?"

Havok looks incredulous. "You think they'll buy that?" Blood steadily flows out Brock's nose and ears. "Bullshit," he says. "Go. Now."

So many questions swirl in my mind. Was this really an accident? Why's he so worried about the cops? And what the hell am I going to do?

But I don't dare disobey. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that if I do, I'll be next.

But I'm still topless, and the back door is latched shut.

"I can't," I protest. "I can't go around front like this."

Havok's eyes dart over my body, and I swear they linger on my breasts longer than they should, considering the circumstances.

"Goddamnit," he says. "Wait here. Don't fucking touch anything."

"What if someone comes?"

"Don't let anyone see," he says with a death glare. He walks away from me, hurrying down the alley toward the club's main entrance. He looks over his shoulder once, as if to make sure I'm staying put.

I can't believe this is actually happening, or that I'm staying here and guarding a dead body. I think it makes me an accomplice to murder, or something like that.

But I know
why
I'm staying instead of bolting. Havok. He's the only reason.

I feel strangely unemotional as I watch droplets of blood trickle down from Brock's head. The flow is tapering off, and a metallic smell rises from the hot, bloody blacktop.

My heart skips a beat as I hear the door open behind me. I whirl around, my chest pounding, not knowing what I'll do if it's a dancer from the club.

But it's Havok, thank God. And his arms are full of... cleaning stuff. As if this is a kitchen mess that needs to be mopped up.

He holds the door open with his foot. "Get your stuff. Clock out."

I'm getting scared, and doubts creep into my mind. "Why are you involving me?" I say. "I didn't kill him."

"You're a witness."

"L-let me go," I stutter. "I won't tell anyone."

But part of me wants to go with Havok. This is the man I've been dreaming about for so long, who makes me horny as a schoolgirl, who's pure danger. And he's just saved me from Brock like I always wanted him to. It just happened way differently than I expected.

He shakes his head. "I can't take that risk."

I guess it's not even my choice, then.

I hesitate a moment longer, but he interrupts my thoughts. "Go!" I push my fears and doubts aside, scurrying back into the club. Inside, I can barely see, my eyes having adjusted to the outside sunlight.

In the heat of the moment, I'm trying to imagine life without Brock. And even though I know it'll be better in every way, I can hardly fathom it. I'm like a prisoner who's been released after decades in jail, who's more scared of going outside than staying inside.

Mackenzie is up on stage, and gives me a quizzical look as I enter the club from the back alley, half naked. I try to look casual as I march toward the dressing room, praying that no one uses the back exit while Havok's cleaning up out there. No wonder Mackenzie's giving me funny looks. It's supposed to be me up there right now. She's probably pissed.

I rush backstage and open my locker with trembling fingers. I've changed into jeans and a t-shirt when I hear Igor's voice behind me.

"Where the hell were you?"

I spin around, clutching my purse. "Igor... I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well."

He eyes me suspiciously. "You lying to me?"

I stare at my feet. I feel like every action is under scrutiny, that I must have guilt plastered all over my face. I'm paranoid.

"I'm sorry. I feel really sick." I look at him with puppy-dog eyes. The best way to get mercy from Igor is to suck up to him and let him know he's in charge.

"Fine," he says with a dismissive wave. "Be here tomorrow night, or you're out of a job."

"Okay," I say, and he exits the dressing room. Something seems off about him today, but I can't put my finger on it, and I don't have time to think about it.

Shaking, I grab all the pills from my locker—a bottle of maybe thirty or forty—and slam it closed.

I head back into the main club area, slinking around the stage without looking anyone in the eye. When I get to the exit, I take a deep breath and push it open.

Outside, the bloody scene in the alley has disappeared. There's no sign of Brock's body. Havok wears long rubber gloves, and is pouring bleach all over the ground, which is running off into a storm drain.

"What did you do with him?" I whisper, my eyes wide.

Havok grunts and nods toward one of the metal trashcans.

"Oh my god." I take a deep breath. "What happens now?"

He stands up straight and stops pouring. "We're getting the hell out of here. I'm claiming you."

"
Y
ou're what
?" she says, exasperated.

"Claiming you. Protecting you."

I snap the rubber gloves off and start to open the trashcan's lid. But I hesitate. Penny doesn't need to see this mess. So I turn my back to her, blocking her view, and crack the lid just wide enough to slip the gloves inside. Then I let it fall shut with a clang and turn around.

She clutches her purse uneasily, holding it in front of her as if to protect herself from the scene she just witnessed. "Protecting me from what? You?"

The poor girl has no clue she was about to be sold to an international human trafficking ring. No clue that I was the one ordered to kidnap her, and that I'm going against my own organization to save her. But what am I supposed to say? "Sorry, I was supposed to take you, but I just can't stop thinking about fucking that gorgeous, wet pussy of yours?"

"You're not safe here," I say. "You have to trust me."

"What if I don't?"

I muster my most intimidating glare. "Then you're a liability. And, well..." I tip my head toward the trashcan.

She looks terrified, and I don't fucking like that. I don't want to make her scared. And I'm bluffing. I'd never hurt her, not in a million fucking years. But fear is my best tool right now. We just need to get the hell out of this alley before someone stumbles on our pow-wow. I can figure out everything else later. Figure out how to explain this to her.

"Fine," she says, her voice shaking.

I grab her hand and we walk fast.

* * *

P
enny stares
out the passenger window of my car as we fly down the freeway. Shit, it's intoxicating having her next to me like this. I want to pull off, rip her clothes off her body, and pull her onto my cock. I want to worship that fucking body. But I have to fucking focus.

I glance at her every few minutes, and I can tell she wants to say something. But it doesn't come out until we're out of the city limits.

"Did you kill him on purpose?"

"No."

"Well, you sure know a lot about cleaning up accidents."

I ignore her comment. She's not stupid and clearly suspects there's more to me than meets the eye. That I'm more than a strip club bouncer. But I'm not interested in discussing it right now. "Whatever," I say. "You haven't shed a tear over it."

She goes silent, and then a moment later, starts crying softly.

Fuck.

"Stop... that," I say stiffly. I'm not good with women, children, or animals. Not when emotion gets involved. I can show a woman a good time in bed, but comforting one? Fuck that. I should have kept my mouth shut.

She sniffles. "I don't know what I'm gonna do now."

I look back and forth from the road to her face, trying to figure out if she's serious. "He was a total piece of shit. I saw how he was."

"I know," she says, blowing her nose in a tissue. "But he's all I've known for the last five years."

Fucking people and their dysfunctional relationships. This is why I choose to stay out of them completely.

"And now I'm involved," she says. "What about the cops? What if they find him?"

I grit my teeth. Yeah, it'll be real bad fucking news if somebody finds that trashcan before I can get back to take care of it. Even with the gloves, my fingerprints are probably all over the place. The fucking pigs won't take long to root me out, and that could fracture the whole West Ark Bratva apparatus. But I have to get back to my place first, get the right tools to dispose of the body.

But I don't want Penny stressing out and getting any more emotional than she already is. "I'll take care of it as soon as I can," I say. "I've got to get you to a safe place first."

"Where is that?"

"My house."

"Why do you keep saying I'm in danger?"

Jesus Christ. I rack my brain, trying to come up with a cover story on the spot, but there are too many pieces. I need to think this through before I tell her anything.

"Look," I say, "I can't risk you going to the cops. You're a witness."

She glares at me, but doesn't press further. Instead, she says, "So I'm a prisoner?"

I almost object, but she's not wrong. "You don't leave until I decide it's safe."

"And when's that?"

"I don't know yet."

The rest of the car ride passes in silence.

* * *

W
e arrive
at my house as the sun is setting. It's a contemporary home, glass-faced, cut into the side of a waterfall here in upstate New York. It was over budget even with the cash I bring in from my contracts, but I fell in love with the place the instant I saw it, and I had to have it.

It's hard for me to say no to things I really want.

Penny rises from the car slowly, gawking at the house. "I... How can you afford this?"

She's going to find a lot of things about me that don't add up.

"Come on," I say. "No more questions." I have to get back to the city as soon as possible. I can't remember if
Fascinations
has daytime or nighttime trash pickup, and I'm starting to fucking sweat about it. If someone finds that body…

She looks around in amazement as we walk up the curved, sloping stone pathway to the front entrance. But before we get to the door, my cellphone rings. It's Petrov.

"Talk to me," I say.

"Vlady. I need update on the girl."

Shit.

"It's not going to happen, Petrov. Things got... messy."

The phone's earpiece erupts in a stream of Russian curses. "Tell me Vlady, why you cannot manage to wrangle a single girl?"

"She left me no choice, Petrov."

More cursing. "I'll have new assignment soon. You better fucking hit home run this time." Then he hangs up the phone.

Penny stares at me with a worried look on her face, having only heard my side of the conversation.

I shrug it off. But fuck. This is getting complicated.

I
only hear
one side of the phone conversation, but I don't fucking like the sound of it.

It sounds like Havok's telling someone that he killed
me
. And he refuses to tell me why I'm in danger. There's so much about him that just doesn't add up. Something big is happening. I just don't know what it is yet.

I dip my hand into my purse and clutch my last pill bottle. I'm going to need lots of medication to get through this. I wish I had more, because I have no idea how I'm going to refill while I'm here.

Havok stuffs his phone back into his pocket. "Come on," he says.

I follow him to the front entrance, a set of wood double doors carved with an ornate classical scene. They look big and heavy, but as soon as he turns the key, he gives one door a push with his index finger and it swings open easily. "Balanced weight," he says.

The interior takes my breath away. There's no foyer; the house is just one big open room. The ceiling, constructed from logs, is high and pitched. An elevated loft encircles the room, and a beautiful, spacious kitchen spans the distant wall. The floors are natural stone slabs. But the most stunning feature of the house is the natural waterfall that's built right into it. One entire wall flows with water, the droplets cascading down the earth-cut stone.

If this is going to be my prison, I could do a lot worse. But this is just way off. It makes no sense for a bouncer to have a home like this.

I instantly think of all the Russian mafia men who patronize the club.

Could Havok be one of them? I never made the connection before, but what else could it be? I want to question him, but I don't dare. Not now.

Instead, I just whisper, "This is incredible."

Havok smirks. "Incredible doesn't begin to describe it. It's a masterpiece."

Then, my stomach suddenly rumbles and I realize that I'm starving. "Hey," I say. "Would you be mad if I eat something?"

Havok frowns. "Why would that make me mad?"

I instantly feel stupid, and hope I haven't offended him. "I'm sorry. I'm just… so used to Brock. Everything made him mad."

Havok crosses his arms. The muscles in his forearm bulge, the smooth but hard veins standing out from his tanned skin. It sends an electric buzz through my thighs, all the way to my nipples.

"I'm not him," Havok says. "And stop apologizing for everything."

I almost say "sorry" again, but catch myself just in time. I finally pry my eyes away from his sculpted arms.

No, Brock he is not.

"One more thing," he adds. "Don't ever say that name in my house again."

I swallow hard and nod.

"We'll go out for food tonight," he says. "Right now, I have to go back to West Ark. And while I'm gone, I have to make sure you don't go anywhere."