NIKOLAI (Her Russian Protector #4) (2 page)

Sometimes I'd catch Nikolai watching me. We'd
share a silent look. Nothing had to be said. It was as if we both
instinctively understood what the other felt—yet he insisted on
shutting me out and keeping just outside that icy wall he'd erected
around himself.

For years, Lena and Erin encouraged me to let
my infatuation with Nikolai go. They assumed my attraction toward
Nikolai stemmed from those old feelings of hero worship but they
were dead wrong. It wasn't simply the allure of a dangerous,
mercurial, mysterious older man that drew me toward him. No, it was
so much more than that.

After meeting Ivan and falling head over heels
in such an intense, short period of time, Erin seemed to have
finally grasped what I was always trying to explain. She'd stopped
harping on my unrequited love toward him. Lena's new relationship
with Yuri, another of Nikolai's friends, had softened her opinion
of my untenable position.

They'd finally stopped trying to set me up on
dates with nicer guys. Don’t get me wrong. More often than not, I
had a fantastic time on the dates. I'd been blessed with good luck
in the dating game. Though I'd had a couple of dates during my
freshman year of college that probably qualified for Worst Date
Ever awards, I'd mostly enjoyed myself.

But I'd never felt that spark. The goodnight
kisses were less than exciting and I rarely got asked for a second
or third date. Nikolai had ruined me for anyone else. Though it
sounded incredibly melodramatic, I realized that it was Nikolai or
nothing for me.

Making the final turn toward my apartment
complex, I shoved aside my dreary thoughts and glanced at my watch.
I'd made good time this morning. Despite running competitively in
high school, I hadn't possessed the drive or the inclination to try
it in college. I'd accepted the art and language scholarships
instead but found a park-based running club to keep me in
shape.

As I jogged through the gate of the complex, I
glanced over my shoulder to see that silver SUV still following me.
It was still too dark for me to identify the driver clearly. From
the size of the man sitting behind the wheel, I guessed it was
Sergei, one of Nikolai's enforcers. The bear-sized Russian spent at
least one Saturday night a month in no-holds barred bare-knuckle
fighting matches. After Ivan had retired and bought his way out of
the mob, Sergei had taken Ivan's place as Nikolai's champion. If I
had to have a shadow, I supposed it was best to have the meanest
son of a bitch in Houston trailing me.

After a slow cool-down lap around the complex
and a couple of stretches to ease the tightness in my calves and
back, I started down the sidewalk to my apartment. I slipped my
hand into my jacket to retrieve my keys. With M83 blaring in my
ears, I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until it was too
late.

The moment a hand touched my shoulder, I
freaked out, spun around and instinctively punched my would-be
assailant right in the mouth. "Get away from me!"

A second too late, I realized I'd just clocked
Eric, my cousin and a Houston PD detective. Eyes wide with
surprise, he clamped a hand to his bloodied mouth and staggered
backward. I jerked on the cord attached to my ear buds, freeing
them in time to hear him shouting at me. "Damn it, Vivian! Do you
have keys in your hand?"

I glanced down at the bloody silver keys
clamped in my fingers. My hand ached badly from the impact, but I
ignored it, thinking only of the damage I'd done to
Eric.

"I'm sorry!" I rushed forward and put a
steadying hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay? Is it
bad?"

He lowered his hand and tipped his head back.
Thin streams of blood curved along his jaw and dripped onto his
shirt. "I've had worse."

I hurried to my front door and unlocked it.
"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

As he followed me into the apartment, he
started laughing. "The guys at the station are never going to let
me live this one down. I just got my ass whipped by a
girl."

"I really am sorry." I shut the door and led
him into the kitchen. "I didn't hear you. I panicked."

"It's my fault." He hopped up onto the counter.
"I should have called to let you know I was coming."

I thrust a damp dishcloth into his hands. "Take
this. I'll get some ice."

He dabbed at his bloody face while I dropped
ice in a plastic bag and wrapped it in another towel. "How's it
look?"

I inspected his split lip and bloody nose. "Not
so good." I gestured to the deep scratches above his lip and along
his cheek. "My keys made some ugly marks."

Shaking his head, he took the ice pack from me
and pressed it to his injured face. "You been spending time at
Ivan's gym?"

I smiled at his teasing remark. "No. I actually
learned that at one of those self-defense courses the university
hosts every semester."

"You should carry pepper spray when you run."
He reached out and flicked the cord of my iPod. "And turn down the
volume on these. You should have been able to hear me come up
behind you."

I felt sheepish. "Nikolai's always on my case
about running with music. He warned me I wouldn't hear someone
sneak up on me. I guess he was right."

Eric just grunted at the idea of Nikolai being
right about anything. I didn't know the full history between those
two. It wasn't simply my close relationship with the Russian mob
boss that irritated Eric. I had the feeling it was something do
with a girl but I wasn't brave or nosy enough to ask.

He lowered the ice pack and held my gaze. His
worried expression made my gut twist. "Your dad is out."

My arms went slack. "When?"

"Last night."

"But—how?'

Eric hesitated. "He flipped."

My stomach dropped like a runaway elevator. "On
the Calaveras? You're sure?" With each question, my voice grew
faster and more panicked. "How do you know? Maybe you're
wrong."

"I'm not wrong. Prisoners who get popped from
federal prison and go into the custody of the U.S. Marshals aren't
getting out for good behavior."

My stomach churned nastily. "Why would he do
that? All these years, he's put his motorcycle gang first. Why jump
now?"

"I've heard there's an internal power struggle
in the club. One side wants to get in deeper with the Guzman
Cartel. The other side wants to make new alliances."

"What does my dad want?"

Eric shrugged. "Hell if I know. He's only ever
looked out for himself. Whatever he's playing at here, the endgame
is all about him."

Another horrifying thought suddenly struck me.
"But, if he flipped on his club, they're going to want to find a
way to hurt him."

His somber expression confirmed my worst fears.
"He didn't ask for your protection. I tried to talk to someone in
the Marshal's office about having you taken into protective
custody, but they won't confirm or deny your father is even out of
the pen. Houston PD doesn't have the budget to put a car on you
either. Not until—"

"Someone tries to kill me," I finished for
him.

He flinched. With a sigh, he confirmed,
"Basically. They have to be able to justify the man hours." As if
trying to calm my frazzled nerves, he added quickly, "Look, we
could be wrong. Maybe the club doesn't care about you. It's clear
you dad doesn't care about you, right? So why hurt you to send him
a message if he doesn't give a shit?"

Though Eric's words were harsh, he didn't speak
them with malice. They were said matter-of-factly. "Because they're
crazy? Because they have a stupid honor code? Because they're going
to be pissed off? Because they'll want to send a message to every
member of their outfit that no one is safe if they betray the
club?"

The cold fist of panic squeezed my heart.
"Eric, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Before he could answer me, a loud knock echoed
in my apartment. Our gazes jumped to the front door. Without a
word, Eric pushed off the counter and yanked his pistol from the
holster concealed under his jacket. He gave me a gentle shove
toward the fridge so I would be obscured from the open
door.

Flattened against the stainless steel, I held
my breath and waited. Finally, I heard a loud exhale, the sound a
mix of irritation and relief.

"You can come out. It's
him
."

Him? Nikolai.

I stepped away from the refrigerator just in
time to see Eric open the door. Still holding his weapon at the
ready, he greeted Nikolai with the muzzle of his pistol. Not a word
was spoken between the men as they glared at each other.

Cool and calm, Nikolai entered my apartment.
His gaze flicked around the space until he found me. His green eyes
raked down my form. I watched his jaw tighten before he turned to
shut and lock the door. "We have to talk."

I had a sinking feeling this was a conversation
I wasn't going to like.

Chapter
Two

Though it took all the restraint he could
muster, Nikolai managed to muscle down the urge to grip Detective
Santos by the wrist and take him to his knees. Only Vivian's
presence kept him from showing her cousin how very much he disliked
having a gun pointed in his face. He could appreciate Santos'
desire to keep Vivian safe but keeping the gun on him? That was the
detective's way of reminding Nikolai who stood on the right side of
the law in this equation.

"Eric?
Really
? Lower the gun already."
Vivian came around the bar and into the living room. She unzipped
her jacket as she walked and shrugged out of it. When she reached
up to tug the fleece band from her head, the front of her shirt
lifted up just high enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of
skin.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have
but he couldn't help himself. He tried not to be aware of her
enticing shape in those slim-fitting tights or the way the
criminally small shorts she wore barely covered the rounded curve
of her ass—but it was impossible. She'd long ago ensnared him,
rendering him completely helpless when it came to ignoring her
nubile body.

Despite his best intentions to see Vivian as a
little sister and nothing more, he'd failed spectacularly.
Somewhere along the way, he'd fallen hopelessly in love with
her.

Unlike Dimitri who swore that he'd fallen in
love with his wife, Benny, the very first time she'd laughed,
Nikolai couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he'd fallen for Vivian.
It had come upon him so slowly he hadn't even recognized he was in
danger of becoming impossibly entangled until it was too
late.

But he couldn't love her. He
shouldn't
love her.
Vivian personified sweet, innocent beauty but him? Oh, Nikolai
personified the darkness and violence of the world. The stains of
his sins would never wash off—and he refused to taint her with his
transgressions.

"Do you guys want some coffee or tea?" She toed
off her shoes. "Breakfast?"

Eric holstered his weapon. "I'm not staying
that long."

I am
. "Tea,
please."

Vivian returned to the kitchen but stayed
within earshot. Nikolai glanced at Santos' busted up mouth. "What
the hell happened to you?"

He shot an annoyed look toward the kitchen and
self-consciously rubbed his jaw. "I think my cousin has been
sneaking into those bare-knuckle fights down at the old
meat-packing plant."

Nikolai stiffened with surprise. "Vee hit
you?"

"On accident," she called out, her back turned
to them as she filled a tea kettle.

Nikolai considered the detective's busted
mouth, swollen nose and scratched up cheek. "That doesn’t look very
accidental."

"I had my keys in my hand," she explained as
she returned to the living room. "He caught me by surprise and I
just sort of reacted."

"With a punch to the face?" He closed the
distance between them and grasped her left hand. The slightest
touch of her warm skin against his caused an electric shiver to zip
along his arm and into his chest. Gently, he inspected her swollen
knuckles. Already her skin darkened with a bruise. "Why didn't you
ice this?"

She bit her plump lower lip. "Well—Eric was
bleeding."

"And after he stopped bleeding?"

"You knocked on the door."

Clutching her wrist, he tugged her into the
kitchen. He spotted the ice pack on the counter and deduced it had
been used by Santos. After trading out the blood-stained dishtowel
for a clean one, he pressed the cold pack against her swollen
knuckles. Though he generally tried not to touch her for very long,
this morning he allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of
holding her hand and treating her injury.

They were close enough that he could smell the
faint lavender of the shampoo she favored. Her body heat remained
high from her run and amplified the feminine scent. Only the sight
of Santos stepping into the kitchen stopped him from dipping his
head and inhaling the floral hints. He started to reach out to push
some of the sweat-dampened strands of her hair behind her ear but
he flexed his fingers at his side instead.