VENDETTA: A Bad Boy, Motorcycle Club Romance (27 page)

The engine was on fire. Flames and smoke rose into the air, choking me as they blew through the open window. Pushing open the door with one hand, I reached for my seatbelt with the other, but it wouldn’t come loose.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

It must have gotten jammed in the wreck, I realized. It had tightened, trapping me against the seat. It was too hot. Panic roared through me as I fought with my seatbelt, my slippery hands unable to get purchase. When I tried to wiggle out of the seatbelt, it only locked tighter. I was going to die only inches from my open car door and freedom.

A low growl made me turn my head. A gray wolf stood watching me, his fur gleaming in the light of the flames. He cocked his head to the side.

Too hot. My head swam and my eyelids drifted. Keeping them open was an enormous effort, so I let them drift closed—just for a minute.

Another growl—this one close to my ear—forced my eyes open and I gazed through them blearily to see the wolf standing with his paws in my lap. I was too far gone to be scared, just regarded him with dull eyes as he lowered his mouth to the belt trapping me to the seat. He chewed at it, tugging until it loosened, then went to work on the top strap. My body slumped forward as it was freed and I tried to crawl out of the car after he moved back, away from the flames.

I was too weak. Could only slump against the bloody airbag.

He whined and came back, taking hold of my belt and pulling me from the car. My body hit the ground hard, rocks and dirt cutting into my arms. The wolf kept tugging, yanking me back through the trees and toward the lake. Once we’d gotten close to the sandy beach surrounding it, my car erupted in flames and twisted metal. The sound of the explosion hurt my ears, and I clapped my hands over them to ward off the sound. Lying there, curled up on the beach, I watched bits of flame and sparks light up the sky like fireworks, then lost consciousness.

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COMING SOON:
HUNTED

CHAPTER 1

Elizabeth

“
E
xcuse me.” My eyebrows wing up as I push past a skinny, leering man in a jean jacket. Despite his slender form, he’s managed to take up the entire doorway between the main bar and the VIP areas, gesturing wildly to a group of people, none of whom look interested in what he has to say.

Just another pack waiting to get back to where I need to be.

“Sorry, bit--.” He cuts off when he turns to look at me. His eyes travel up and down my body, taking in every curve that my dress puts on display. When his tongue darts out to lick his lips like a serpent, I hide a cringe and instead look down my nose at him as best I can, given that I’m six inches shorter.

“Sorry.” He says, leaving off the expletive this time. The height of courtesy in a place like this, I guess. He’s still looking at my breasts, which I know are ludicrous in the dress my roommate spent the week nipping and tucking until it highlighted everything I have to offer.

I don’t belong here.

Trying to push past him, I bump into him and his lips twist in a feral grin. “Didn’t know you liked me that much.”

That’s all I can take. I hate him to begin with, even if he doesn’t recognize me and I don’t know his name. So I raise my hands and shove his chest—hard.

“Hey,” he snaps and I see his hands tense. If I start a fight here, I might lose what I came for before I even get into the next room to talk to someone connected enough to get me two new identities. But I can’t show weakness, so I don’t back down or scurry away. Instead I just look at him.

“Get over here.”

I turn at the sound of the deep voice that carries over the crowd and follow the scummy man’s gaze to the tall drink of handsome standing behind the velvet rope that’s keeping me from where I need to be. Even under the heavy jacket and dark jeans, his body is rippling with muscle. The end swirls of a tattoo peek out from under a cuff and I have a crazy impulse to strip off his coat and see what else he’s hiding under those clothes.

Bad timing
,
Liz
.

If he’s even tangentially connected to the Kuznetsovs, then he might be able to offer me the new documents I need without me having to go higher up the chain. The lower level the person I work with, the better.

It’s all about minimizing risk.

My hands are shaking and they’re so cold it almost hurts. I curl them into my palms to try to warm them while I watch the loser who pushed me in his haste to toady to the big, tattooed man but I keep my head straight and I focus on him. He’s looking past the loser and right at me. The heat of his gaze warms my exposed skin and slowly—very slowly—I let my hands relax.

Music booms from the speakers overhead, so loud that I feel it deep in my bones. It’s not even fall yet, but between the music and the air conditioning in the club, I’m shivering. It was a lean week and my roommate and I subsisted on ramen and peanut butter—buying a drink here is going to be my splurge, only justifiable because it gets me closer to our one goal. If I play my cards right, we could be out of LA by next week.

I could go to college.

I wrap the hopes tight around me like a cloak and pretend I’m braver than I really am. Mom used to tell me that if you kept your head high and left an amused smile on your lips, no one would see how scared you really are. I think of her as I move forward, closer to the man who’s still studying me.

I don’t ask myself how far I’d be willing to go to get the documents I need.

I’m here, but I haven’t reached the finished line. In the room behind the velvet rope, I know Dimitri and Rejnov are laughing and drinking high above the crowd, probably with a cavalcade of beautiful women. It’s simple—I can have no direct contact with them—I’m nobody and they’d chew me up and spit me out if it pushed them up even one rung higher on the ladder. But like any crime family, there are plenty of hangers on clinging to their wake with dirty, blood drenched fingers and if I know anything about the Kuznetsov family, it’s that they’re always looking to make a little cash.

Besides, I’m desperate.

That desperation spurs me forward, trying to get past the crowd trying to get into the VIP area. Everyone wants something—and you’re not going to get it in the front of this place.

But the man is turning away with the jerk who shoved me, and for a minute I don’t think I’m going to get what I hoped. We got my outfit and makeup right, but there are a hundred girls better looking than me here and whether or not I get back there on looks alone is a crap shoot.

I don’t have time to come in here every night hoping to be chosen.

Hope surges when the beautiful man pauses and turns, coming back toward the area where the plebes meet the wealthy and well-connected.

He’s coming for me.

A shiver of arousal mixes with the fear and nerves I’m running on and suddenly the cold is blasted back by pure heat. His eyes are melted glacier water and I want to get closer, to see them up close without the colored lights of the club beaming between us. So cold, but so beautiful.

“Did you want to come in here?”

“Yes.” I want to say more, but his voice is pure, smooth silk and it’s all I can do not to beg him to let me through—or take me somewhere else. The reaction is completely unlike me, but something about him has me trembling for his hands on my skin.

“Stop making hot girls wait to get in,” he says, and at least three girls turn to me with jealous glares that would eat right through my skin if I let them. The bouncer nods—this guy has some kind of pull—and pulls the rope again, letting me through.

“Thank you,” I say and he looks over his shoulder at the man he pulled in before me.

“I want to talk to you.” He can’t know that I’m here looking for favors—but maybe that’s everyone that steps through the door. Nevertheless, he’s someone I can start with. Someone who might be able to point me in the right direction, if he can’t do the job himself.

“I want to talk to you too.”
I need to talk to you
.
Desperately
.

“I’ll be right back.” He walks away and the oddest sense of loss comes over me as the sound of the club washes back in, full blast. When he reaches the man, he cuffs him hard and leads him up the stairs. As he approaches the Kuznetsovs, I wait to see how they react to him.

He stops at their table, almost throws the man into the cushioned booth, and sits down.

For a moment I wonder whether he’s too close to the center of their operation for comfort. I know they won’t recognize me—I’ve grown up since the one time I was in the same room as Dimitri and I doubt he noticed me when I was a 13-year-old girl who was all knees and elbows.

I move to the bar and order my drink, then swirl the glass stirrer around in the pale liquid once the bartender sets it in front of me. When I look up again, the beautiful man with the Kuznetsovs is deep in conversation.

I wonder what they’re talking about.

“Hey.” A man slides onto the barstool next to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Have one.” I hold up my drink and take the merest sip. It needs to last until the gorgeous bruiser comes back here to talk to me.

“The next one, then.”

“This is it.” I have no real desire to talk to someone who chooses to spend their time here, but turning to face him gives me a better view of the room without making it obvious that I’m watching. If the man leaves, I’ll have to figure out who else can set me on the right path—and I want to know as soon as it happens.

No time like the present
. A funny motto for a woman who spent the last five years waiting—hoping anything would change.

Nothing did. So I’m here.

“Do you dance?” He sucks down half his drink in one gulp, and though I dance well enough to not embarrass either of us, I have no intention of going out on the dance floor with him.

“Not tonight.” He asks me whether I come here often and I mutter a negative answer at the cliché.

“So what do you do?”

“Factory work,” I tell him. Thinking of work makes the ache in my feet and the soreness at the small of my back more pressing, like it’s reminding me I have to be up at 5 in the morning and it’s approaching midnight. I don’t need sleep, though. If I can just get these papers, I can be away from my terrible job.

I look for the man again.

Still at the table. Now he’s leaning toward the skinny guy, as are the brothers. It doesn’t look like he remembers I exist.

The strange man and I talk about our jobs for awhile and I lose myself in the steady flow of conversation with an adult man. Most of the people I work with are women, my roommate and best friend is a woman and I’d just as soon avoid exchanging words with my male boss. The guy sitting next to me isn’t offensive or rude—he’s just chatty and increasingly drunk with every finger he lifts in the bartender’s direction.

I refuse every drink he offers me. The cold from the air conditioner is eating away at me again and I desperately want a steak. Slathered in butter.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He reaches out and puts his hand on my knee and I feel my eyes widen at the touch on my bare skin. Before I can rebuff him, another hand comes out and wraps around his wrist.

“She’s with me.”

It’s all he has to say. The man’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Fuck, Bastian. I had no idea. You know I wouldn’t try to move in on you.”

The man—Bastian—nods and lets go. Babbling apologies, the other man takes his drink and moves quickly across the room, not looking back.

“You sure scared him.”

“Did you want to leave with him?”

I shake my head no and take a deep breath, preparing myself to ask for what I desperately need.

His face changes as he looks at me and before I can speak, he says “I think you’re in the wrong place.” I can’t afford to get ejected now. Finding out where the Kuznetsovs spend time was hard enough—it took me days of tracking junkies leaving my stepfather’s business to finally find out who zeroed in on the next biggest game in town

“I’m not,” I tell him. My words must fire the starting pistol for him, because his eyes gleam with hunger and I have a feeling I’m going to be his next meal.

CHAPTER 2

Sebastian

I
f Jimmy keeps trying to talk to Roman or Dimitri, I’m going to put a bullet in his brain.

The thought comforts me. Despite the distance between my table and the room at the front of the restricted section, I still have to hear that bottom dwelling cocksucker talk about his exploits—like any of that shit is real. But people eat it up and if he doesn’t watch his mouth, he’s going to say too much and I’m going to end the day cleaning my gun instead of fucking the redhead who’s been licking her way up my neck for the past 20 minutes.

“Why is he here again?” Dimitri rolls his eyes and takes another sip of beer, reclining back in the booth while the blonde on his arm slides her hand under the table not so stealthily. He pushes her back and I can almost see the frustration rolling off her—like she thinks a quick rub off is going to get her a white dress and a trip down the aisle.

“He wants protection from the Corvis.” I smirk at Jimmy as he weaves and bobs, trying to catch my eye. “I do not think Roman is interested in extending it.”

“Not unless he can give us something in return. There’s enough shit spraying in the air already.” Rejnov and Dimitri can speak for their father in most things—Roman Kuznetsov knows he can’t reign forever and he’s been funneling power to them for years now.

Won’t do Jimmy any good, though.

Pieces of filth like that are a dime-a-dozen, and we don’t have room in the organization for cowards. He runs up debts with the Corvis and think we’re going to risk ourselves to protect him.

Fuck that.

“You could talk to him,” Dimitri mused, tapping his beer glass against the side of the table and searching the room for a waitress. Before it could hit the table a fifth time, one showed up with a fresh, open bottle.

“For what?”

“See if he has anything to offer.” He raised his eyebrows. “Given recent events, we’d be stupid to turn down any leverage.”

“You think Jimmy has leverage?” Rejnov laughed. We all knew Jimmy was ground level. Nothing to offer but another meat sack to get in the way of bullets when it was time to make a sale. He was the kind of guy you went to when someone needed to do two years on the inside.

Rejnov was still laughing and even I smirked a little, but Dimitri’s face was stone. “Not joking. If there’s a chance we can get anything on those fuckers, it’s worth taking five minutes to deal with that pig shit.”

“Fine.” Once a Kuznetsov speaks, I act. That’s how it’s been since I was a kid.

Standing up, I walk to the plush carpeted stairs that lead down into the pit. Getting back here is difficult enough for people. Getting up the stairs is impossible unless you’re connected—and Jimmy can’t even get through the front door. Annoyance is a slight twinge in my shoulders. Tonight isn’t a night to deal with men who barely deserve the designation.

Before I hit the lowest step, the room shifts and I see her.

Jimmy’s working so hard to get my attention that he blocks a woman from getting to the rope—and she’s the kind who’d get through the guards. Average height, but then the word stops applying to anything about her.

Masses of chestnut brown hair are pulled on top of her head, with just enough pieces left out that my hands itch to touch the silk of it. Her skin is pale and her expression strained, but that doesn’t detract from the pure sensual beauty of her face. Full lips and eyes greener than the grassy lawn outside the Tretyakov Gallery where my mother used to picnic with me as a child.

Jimmy says something to her and she snaps back at him, eyes full of emerald wildfire and suddenly I’m uncomfortably hard and grateful for the heavy jacket I kept on to conceal the large arms I wear when I’m out with the brothers Kuznetsov.

More shit comes out of his mouth and the girl physically pushes past him. The movement makes the dress that barely wraps around her tight little body strain even more and for a moment I hope she has a wardrobe malfunction and I can see the tits barely contained by the neckline that presses into her skin.

No luck.

Fuck. It’s been too many days without a woman while I’ve been cleaning up loose ends and trying to figure out what the fuck happened to the warehouse where they were packing a major shipment from Mexico for national distribution. That’s the only reason why I’m burning to grab her, drag her into the darkest corner of the room and strip her down until there’s only her body trembling, her mouth on my skin, my body shoved deep inside hers.

But Dimitri wants Jimmy. So he’ll get Jimmy.

Then maybe I’ll come back for her.

“Get over here.” I look past the woman and gesture to Jimmy. He walks up preening like he’s accomplished something. When his hip bumps the woman I’ve marked, hot rage fills my throat.

“Thank you,” he said. “I waited a long time.”

“You’ll be waiting longer unless you have something for us.” Part of me says to let him go talk to Dimitri alone. Both brothers are armed and don’t need me to keep them safe from Dimitri.

But you don’t walk away from your sworn duty for a pretty face and a body that makes you think of silk sheets and handcuffs.

“Let’s go.” My feet don’t cooperate. “Wait.” I grab the back of his shirt. “Don’t move.” Looking back over the rope, I stare at her for a moment.

She looks lost.

“Did you want to come in here?”

“Yes,” she says and her eyes go to the raised floor where the brothers are sitting. Another one of those girls then—the ones who chase around FAMILY guys, hoping to get somewhere.

Means my instincts were off, but there’s still fun enough to be had. Wouldn’t have pictured this girl as one ready to barter her body for money and power.

“Stop making hot girls wait to get in,” I tell the bouncer, who nods. He knows where the power is in this club.

She walks past the rope and the crowd surges, pressing her body against mine. She’s soft and the scent of fresh apples wafts up, cutting through the haze of sweat-soaked pores created by the throng of dancers.

“Thank you.” Her voice is beautiful. Soft and feminine.

“I want to talk to you,” I tell her.

“I want to talk to you too.” Her eyes go up again. I wonder which brother she wants to be with. Doesn’t matter.

Neither of them gets to touch her.

“I’ll be back.” Hitting Jimmy hard enough to make him exclaim, I head back toward where the brothers are sitting. I push him into the booth and slide in after him, effectively blocking his exit.

“Get out of here,” I tell the blonde who glares at me and then makes doe eyes at Dimitri.

“Do it. But don’t go far.” She walks away and our waitress comes back, barring conversation while we order another round of drinks.

“Be right back.” She heads to the bar, cloaking the table in noise that will cover the conversation.

“Talk.” Dimitri’s word is enough to make Jimmy foam at the mouth.

“Last week I was over at the Corvis. I’ve been settling my debts by working them off, you know?” His forehead is dripping with sweat and he smells like literal garbage.

“Yes.”

“They had me waiting to meet with Piero.” My head whips over at the name, finally looking away from the girl who went to the bar and sat down, ordering a drink. The Corvis have no reason for a scumbag like Jimmy to meet with the head of the FAMILY. There are layers in every organization designed to keep space between the top and the bottom.

Of course, Jimmy is sitting here with Dimitri, so sometimes lines are crossed.

“What happened?”

“I heard something. Something I think would be worth a lot to you guys.” He rubs a dirty hand over his mouth, like a rat hungry for cheese that’s just out of reach. “But I need protection. As soon as something comes of it, I know they’re going to know it was me.”

“You think we can protect you from the Corvis?” Rejnov has a point. We’re powerful, but they’re the undisputed leaders on the west coast, thanks to the guidance of Piero. Turns out when you have no scruples, you can go far in this business.

“Someone has to,” he says, “if you want the information.” He thinks he has us by the short hairs, but Dimitri still looks amused. Relaxed. “Trust me, it’s worth it. If you think I’m bullshitting, you can send me out. But if it’s good, I want protection.”

The waitress returns then, handing out drinks. Jimmy takes the shot he ordered, then sips the beer. Once she leaves again, Dimitri speaks.

“You come to us for protection and then tell us what we’re going to do. Okay.” He nods, take another drink from his bottle. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen. Sebastian is going to take you out back and break every bone in both your legs. Whenever you tell us what you information you have, he stops.”

“Wait.” Jimmy’s hands shake so hard beer sloshes on the table.

“If you still don’t want to tell us once he’s done, he’ll put a bullet in your worthless head.” Dimitri sits back and looks at him with a level gaze. “Thanks for stopping by.”

I move to get out of the booth and Jimmy wraps his grimy fingers around the edge of the table. “Wait, wait, wait. Please. I’m sorry.”

Dimitri holds up a hand and I pause on the edge of the seat. “What?”

“I meant no disrespect. I just want to be safe.”

“Why didn’t you keep the information to yourself?” Rejnov asks.

“I want to get out of California. With the debts I owe the Corvis, I’ll be here for the next 20 years paying for a few months of bad decisions.” Drugs and gambling. The quickest way for a man to lose control of his own life. “I thought you could help me start somewhere. Fresh.”

“And so you brought us this information.”

“It was like a golden ticket, man.” His eyes gleam again and I crack my knuckles. The brightness dims.

“Tell us what you know.” Dimitri gestures to me and I slide back into my position, my eyes once again wandering over the crowd of dancers to find the girl I wish I was sitting with. A man occupies the barstool next to her and is holding an animated conversation with her while I’m stuck here dealing with business.

“Pietro said that San Bernadino was his guys.” That’s enough to make me forget the girl is even in the room, even if fresh apples still tease my nose.

“What?” It’s the most emotion I’ve seen from Dimitri in months. His face flushes with red and his fists tighten reflexively. “Be more specific.”

He doesn’t have to, though. We’re all still living with San Bernadino. An entire warehouse full of cargo and the people who pack and move it went up in flames. We lost millions in assets and enough lives that even I thought it was wasteful.

“He sent Blaze and Anders up there to burn you out,” he said. “He wants more control on the north side.”

One of the benefits to being peaceful with other organizations is that we all have territory. It’s agreed on and everyone respects it.

Until now.

Fire is eating away at me. For more than a week, I’ve been investigating the source of the fire—knew it could be a rival or some lowlife gang trying to make a name for itself.

But I never suspected the Corvi family.

Maybe I should have—we’ve been gaining power for years. I guess we just became a threat to them.

My immediate instinct is to leave the club, find the two enforcers who burned the warehouse and give them a taste of lead. My calmer side prevails though—I won’t be the one to start a war with Pietro unless that’s what Roman wants.

But my blood rushes faster at the thought. Fucker.

“Can you prove it?”

“No,” Jimmy says, the words pulled out of him. “I didn’t have my phone to record it and I wouldn’t have any way. You know what Pietro would do if he saw me.”

“I sure as fuck do.”

Pietro Corvi is a bad man. It’s ridiculous for a hitman to frame anyone else in those terms, but when it comes down to it, that’s what he is. He kills without reason. Sells women. Pushes products the Kuznetsovs won’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Crime pays, but we have limits.

He doesn’t.

Since he took over the Corvi crime ring, they’ve dominated the west coast from their base in LA. Over 20 years, they’ve gone from a hole in the wall to overtake everyone, even us. Maybe we let it happen. Roman always says that pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered. But Pietro is getting meatier every year and no one has sent him to the butcher yet.

Maybe it’s time that someone did.

If what Jimmy says is true, things in LA might be about to get very hot. I can see from the looks on Dimitri and Rejnov’s faces that they’re thinking the same thing.

War with the Corvis means blood—but it might also mean power.

And if there’s one thing the three of us have in common, it’s that we love power.

I pat down Jimmy and pull one of our enforcers away from the club to take him to the compound where he can talk to Roman.

Once he’s gone, all I can think about is the girl. When I get to the bar, a man whose name I barely remember has his hand on her leg and I have to take a breath to keep from snapping his wrist like a twig.

No one touches what’s mine—and for tonight, at least, this one is mine. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.