Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (7 page)

I
lead
her to the stairs, and we climb to the suspended loft that overlooks the interior of the house. I walk behind her, watching her ass in those tight blue jeans as she climbs. Fuck, it looks so tight and bubbly, and I have to fight myself not to reach out and grab her hips.

I'm always horny as fuck after a hit. I think it's all the adrenaline. But now is
really
not the time. And the truth is, I still have all the same reservations I did before. This is already way more than I bargained for, and if we get involved, I'm afraid now more than ever that she'll end up like Irina. I don't know if I'll be able to fucking resist her, with her under the same roof as me, but I have to try.

The loft is a giant U-shape, with the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, and the guest room on the opposite side of the U. The open wall is where the waterfall is.

"You get the guest room," I say.

"Oh." She seems surprised that a guy like me has a guest room.

We enter it, and I flip on the lights. It's small but modern, decorated with blonde oak furniture imported from Copenhagen.

"Oh my gosh," she says, taking it in. "This is… nothing like my old place."

"Bathroom is equipped," I say. "Use what you need and get cleaned up. Get comfortable. Come out when you're done."

"Okay," she says, apprehensive. I know what she's thinking. She's wondering what happens after that. She's not going to like it.

She enters the bathroom, and I step out of the guest room, latching the door behind me. I exhale hard and rest my elbows on the loft railing, overlooking my home. I take a minute to appreciate everything I've earned while working for the Bratva.

It would be so easy to grab her, stuff her in my trunk, and deliver her to Petrov. I'd get my bonus, she'd be off my plate, and I'd be back in Petrov and Grigory's good graces. I wouldn't have to risk losing everything. And I wouldn't have to experience these fucked up emotions anymore.

But I can't do it. I can't betray her like that. No. I'm going to keep her safe from those animals. Keep her here, in secret, until this whole episode is a forgotten footnote in Bratva history. As long as I deliver on my next few missions, all will be forgotten, and I'll find a way to get her out of here eventually. Get her a new start in life.

Right now, though, I can't take the risk that she'll run.

When she emerges from the guest room, her hair is ruffled and she's changed into tiny gym shorts and a t-shirt. I must be gawking, because she says, "Sorry. This is all I had in my locker."

I want to tear those clothes off her gorgeous body. I want to make her mine, all of her. Every hole. That body I've seen so many times, but never had for myself. It's driving me wild.

But I need to focus. "Back in the bedroom," I say, and I follow her inside.

I point to the bed. "Get in." I stare at the wall as I speak, not making eye contact, but I can see the questioning expression on her face in my peripheral vision. I don't like what I have to do, but there's no choice. She doesn't argue. She sits down on the edge of the bed, kicks off her socks, and lays back.

God, I want to jump in there with her.

I reach into my back pocket, and pull out a pair of steel handcuffs. I grabbed them downstairs when she wasn't paying attention.

Penny's eyes widen. "Hey, wh—"

I cut her off. "I can't risk you running off."

She looks at me with sad eyes. "I'm not going to. I promise."

"Can't chance it. Sorry. Put your hand up by the bedframe."

She reluctantly complies. I put one cuff into a metal loop on the frame where it can't be removed. I put the other cuff on her wrist, tightening it enough that she won't be able to get free, but not tight enough that it hurts her.

When I'm satisfied that she's not going anywhere, I stand back from the bed. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Then I add, "Do you need anything?" Catering to women is one thing that I am not used to.

"Water would be nice," she says sullenly.

I go downstairs and grab a CamelBak backpack from the closet, the kind with a long, flexible straw. I fill it with purified water, then return to the guest room and set it on the bed.

"Anything else?" I say.

"My purse. It's still in the bathroom."

I fetch it for her, and put it within reach of her free hand.

"What if I need to use the bathroom?" she says.

"Hold it."

She doesn't respond. She just breaks eye contact and stares at the ceiling.

"I'll be back," I say. I exit the room, flipping off the light switch on my way.

* * *

T
he night is
clear and cool, and I drive with my windows down. In the back of my Tesla sits a 35-gallon tub of hydrofluoric acid, which should be more than enough to dissolve the body into nothingness.

Nothingness, like what I feel in my heart.

Except with Penny. And that's scaring the fuck out of me. I need to get back to the comfort of what I know. And there's no way to clear your head like watching a body dissolve in a vat of hydrofluoric.

When I finally get back to West Ark, I park next to the alley and haul the tub of acid out of my trunk. Thank God, the body is still in the trashcan, undisturbed. The smell doesn't hit me until I open the lid. Good thing it wasn't a hot day today.

I start by filling the trashcan halfway. It bubbles and reacts, and within five minutes the body starts to slip down, dissolving. I pour in more acid and repeat the process.

Nobody bothers me in the dark alley, and within a half hour, there's nothing left but a trashcan full of reddish, clear liquid.

Tipping the trashcan, I let the mixture run out and down into the sewer grates, employing the utmost caution not to let any splash onto me. This stuff isn't approved for sewer disposal. Fuck no. It probably degrades the pipes something fierce. But I don't really give a fuck.

As the last of the liquid splashes down below ground, I think of Penny.

How I'm going to get any sleep with her in my house, I don't know.

H
andcuffed to the bed
, I lie there staring at the rough, textured ceiling in the dark, my mind searching for recognizable shapes. I'm trying to find something to hold on to, to restore some sense of normalcy and order to my fractured world.

When you first stay in a new house, it takes time to learn all the sounds. What the garage door opening sounds like. What the front door creaking open sounds like. I don't know any of the sounds of Havok's house, and so I lie there listening intently for every creak and bump, wondering if it's him coming back.

And what's more, a dark sexual energy rolls through me. I should feel mourning for Brock, but instead I feel powerful arousal at the way Havok ended his life.

Havok was ruthless. Intense. And he did what I couldn't—ended my five-year long nightmare with Brock.

With no remorse.

Now I'm a prisoner here, but hell. It's hard to say that I'm any worse off now than I was before. And there's no way I'm making it to work tomorrow, so I guess this marks the end of my stripping career, too.

Maybe Havok is good for me after all.

I want him to take me, to ravage me, to release all of his rage and tension inside me. To give me what I've wanted for so long.

Eventually, my exhaustion begins to overtake me as I wait for Havok to return. I reach for my purse, grab my pill bottle, and take a couple. Then, I carefully hide the bottle in a secret zipper pocket at the bottom of my purse. I don't want Havok finding these.

When I finally run out of pills, I don't know what I'm going to do.

The opiates start to swirl in my bloodstream, and I fall into sleep. I dream about Havok crushing his lips against mine.

* * *

"
P
enny
."

I wake to the sound of his voice, my eyes opening slowly. When the room comes into focus, he's standing over me, looking down at me with his gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that I could get lost in.

"Yeah?"

"Wake up. Dinner."

I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and it's only 9:30 p.m. My nap wasn't as long as it felt. I rub my eyes with my free hand.

"You like Chinese?" he says.

* * *

T
he Chinese restaurant
is a surprisingly short drive from Havok's house. The scenery changes from natural to man-made very quickly, and before I know it, we're driving through the quaint one-way streets of a small downtown.

Most of the restaurants are closed already, but the Chinese place, a small family-looking restaurant, has a glowing sign that says "Open until midnight."

We park, and I marvel at the small-town feel of the area as Havok opens the passenger door for me. "It's been forever since I had a nice sit-down meal," I say. "This isn't what I expected my first night as a prisoner."

"Come on," he says, rolling his eyes. I notice him looking up and down the small streets. He seems surprisingly stressed out for such a low-key evening. Like he's looking for someone.

Or watching out for them.

Inside, the restaurant is simple but lovely. It's decorated with the usual Chinese decor: a big carved red archway at the entrance, smiling ivory cats, and lots of gold accents. I like it. It reminds me of a restaurant my dad used to take me to when I was little. We always went on Christmas, when everything else was closed.

We're seated, me across from Havok in a secluded booth. It's nice.

This is about the last thing I ever expected to happen. Especially on a day like today.

Brock seems strangely in the past already. I almost feel like there's something wrong with me for not being more upset. But after my cry in the car this afternoon, I haven't felt much. And not in a numb way either. I just feel indifferent to his passing. Maybe a little sad. But only on a human-to-human level.

A waitress comes to take our order after a few minutes.

"For you, sir?"

"Sesame beef, broccoli in garlic sauce, and hot and sour soup to start," says Havok.

"Yes, sir. For you, miss?" She turns to me and smiles.

"Just a cup of wonton soup, please."

Havok gives me an odd look. "You said you were hungry."

"I am," I say nervously. "I just don't want to put you out." I'm so used to Brock's abuse that I'm practically trained to order the cheapest thing on the menu.

He shakes his head. "That piece of shit really did a number on you, didn't he?"

The waitress blushes, and looks away, not knowing how to react.

I look down in shame. "I guess so."

Havok watches me for a moment, then turns back to the waitress. "Just double my order."

"Yes, sir," she says, and shuffles away in a hurry.

"So," I say quietly, "Did you take care of… you know?"

I watch his eyes as he answers, and notice that they dart around the room before he answers. "Yeah."

"Should we... I don't know. Light a candle for him or something?" No matter how bad he was to me, something feels wrong about letting any human die like that.

Havok looks disgusted. "I said not to bring him up again. He doesn't deserve a damn thing."