The Battles

THE BATTLES

6 Special Ops Romance Books

––––––––

KRISTINA WEAVER

Copyright © 2016

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Contents

SHANE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

BANNER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

BRANDON

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

DANE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

NOAH

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

MORGAN

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

SHANE

Chapter One

Aurora

Terror isn’t a new concept to me, or at least it shouldn’t have been after I grew up in a home where fists and screaming could always be expected.

And that was before the state decided to put me in foster care and make my life worse than it already was. My dad may not have been an angel, but he drew the line somewhere—something my foster parents never seemed too concerned about.

My life has always been a bit of a bummer, although I was excited when I finally reached my eighteenth birthday and got the heck out of my foster home as fast as I could.

Now here I am, in a situation I should not have been too bothered about save for a few mild concerns, like escaping and reporting these animals to the nearest authority.

I snort. Sure, I know about the nearest authority, but even if I could get out and find someone, I do not speak the language.

I am terrified right now. If not for the fact that I already smell like a dead body (thanks to not having showered in three days), I reckon I would pee myself.

Rory?

I can’t see Mac in the darkness of the container we’re still stashed in, but I hear her and it frightens me further that my best friend, the ballsiest female I’ve ever met, is so terrified that she’s gone against code and used the nickname I hate.

Mac. What’s wrong, sweetie?

A scrape and the sound of flesh meeting the cold metal beneath us meets my ears and I focus on the sound of her crawling closer. Mac and I were pals in the system and stayed friends when we finally broke away and started living normal lives.

She’s as closed off and untrusting as I am, so the fact that we’re roomies and work in the same building tells you how close we are. Not close enough to sit huddled in the nude, though, which is why she was in the opposite corner while I kept to my own space.

Rory?

Polo. Come on and get your ass over here, girl. It’s way too cold to have principles right now. Besides, I’ve been waiting years to cop a feel of those melons, I joke, smiling sadly when she tries to giggle but ends up producing a sob that is quickly squelched.

That’s Mac for you. The woman is as emotionally repressed as I am.

Well you’re about to get a whole more than a little feel, sister, because I’m coming in and I expect you to do something about this before I lose my nipples to frostbite. Sex isn’t any good without nipples and—oh God, Rory, what the hell is going on? she suddenly wails, launching her much smaller frame at me and clinging so hard, it takes me a minute to shake off the shock and enfold her in my arms.

The feel of her cold skin against mine is a shock, but I grit my teeth and pull her into me, huddling into the corner and trying my best not to start sobbing when I feel her shaking.

Mac is a smart-mouthed woman, despite the fact that she stands no more than five-foot-two, and the reality of this chick being afraid enough to cry is hard to accept.

Shit. What the hell are we going to do?

I dunno, Mac, I really don’t, but I think the best thing for us to do right now is...

I got nothing.

We’re locked a shipping container and have been for a while now. I’m not quite sure since it’s so dark in here that I can’t see my own hand. There’s been no food, water, or even a potty call in what feels like hours, and that’s after being drugged in the parking lot outside work and waking up in a little room I didn’t recognize.

For all I know, it could be days since we were attacked, and...and we aren’t getting out of here anytime soon, if at all. I know that much for sure.

Mac stops shaking after long, teeth-grinding minutes, and I hear her sniff loudly before stiffening her spine and sighing deeply.

They’re like human traffickers or something, aren’t they?

I don’t want to answer that question, especially not after waking in the back seat of that car and hearing a language that sounded suspiciously like Russian.

Mac and I are no more than meat to these men, and we’ll be lucky to die before we get to wherever they’re going to take us.

Pain and the like, I can handle—it’s nothing new to me. Hell, I’ve gone days without food before and that’s no ordeal, either. But thinking that some big, hairy slob may be pawing at me because I was sold like a piece of produce really kills me.

I swear I—

Rory?

I don’t know. I think so? Probably?

Damn, it’s this ass and these tits, I think. Men can’t seem to look away once they’re caught. She sighs, making me giggle humourlessly.

Okay, that I can believe. But why in hell take me, too?

It’s a sad fact of life, but I was not blessed with curves. I’m more the slim-lined ballerina version, sans the bunions, and you could iron a straight line on me if I lie down.

Oh shut up, you’re a knockout, too, and you know it! Shit, why did both of us have to be so all-fired cute? she gripes and I really laugh then, because not too long ago she was bemoaning everything from her ass jiggle to her almost ink-black hair.

Stop trying to make me laugh and get serious, Mac. What the heck are we going to do? I am so not becoming some fat asshole’s plaything, and with your small build you’d probably be—

Shh! I hear someone coming. Oh God, Rory, what are we going to do? she whispers frantically clinging closer when the scrape of the lock echoes through the steel box.

I’m shaking, too, by the time the door swings open and we both squint and blink when blinding sunlight fills the interior of the place. It’s so startling that my eyes begin to water and I hear Mac stutter a breath when a huge hulking brute appears and motions for us to follow.

You come.

We don’t move, not by a muscle, and I see his brow crease darkly before he takes another intimidating step forward.

You come. Now.

This time he gestures with a gun and I feel my blood run cold when Mac swallows audibly and lets out a muted whimper.

There’s nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, and I feel like the worst kind of victim when Mac and I both rise slowly and scuttle forward, trying in vain to cover up as much as humanly possible.

Whoever decided that sitting inside a container in the buff would be a nice experience for two city girls from New Jersey obviously lost his damn mind. As we inch closer to the door and the hulking behemoth, I see a light covering of snow and feel an icy gust of what I assume is wind but feels like the cold breath of death.

Put on.

I hear a rustling as he turns and grabs a plastic bag to hurl at us. I almost start crying when it reveals clothing. Okay, granted, it is two dresses that look smaller than my yoga tank, and heels I’d only wear if I were in need of a ladder, but it’s better than the show we were giving before. I see that Mac agrees when she follows suit and shimmies into a hot-pink dress and silver heels.

I get the orange option, which does nothing to complement my red hair and green eyes. I ignore my fashionista horror and dress in seconds, biting my lip when Mac creeps in behind me and the hulk gestures for us to follow.

You no be difficult. We go car.

We go to the car, just as Igor the Oaf instructs us, and I almost lose what’s left in my dehydrated bladder when the passenger door swings open to reveal another man, this one smaller but much meaner looking with dark blond hair and an ugly scar bisecting his eyebrow.

The man starts speaking in Russian. Whatever he is saying, I get the picture when he and the driver both start laughing and checking us out in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Come. We’re already late, the driver, a dark-skinned brunette barks, making me jump when Igor shoves us both forward and into the back seat before joining us with a satisfied sigh.

It’s silly, I think, but I’m less terrified of this guy than I am of the other two, even though he’s way bigger. It’s just this sense I have, call it life experience, but I recognize the difference between a goon and a straight-up killer. The two in the front seat are killers.

Rory.

Shh, it’ll be okay, Mac. We just have to time it like we did the Cindy Valetto thing, huh? I whisper back when she looks at me with big eyes.

She nods and I see a little of her fire return with the reminder that we’ve faced down bullies together many times and always came out unscathed.

Of course, Cindy Valetto was just a big-boned girl with hams for fists, nothing like these three gun-toting assholes. But hey, I figure that if we don’t try, we die.

Or worse.

We’re driving into traffic by the time it truly hits me for real that we’re not in Kansas anymore. No, what I’m seeing is a lot of traffic with weird number plates and cars that—

Stay down! the blond yells when I try to gain the attention of a passing motorist. Then he addresses the man beside me, calling him Ivan. Whatever he yells at Ivan gets me a serious slap across the right side of my face, and I fall back with a cry, seeing stars as Mac reaches for me and starts crying.

I feel the blood pouring from my nose and the dull throb in my cheekbone when he turns his hard eyes on me and shakes his head.

I hurt you again if try.

Glaring back at him is not a good idea right now, but it’s harder to stay docile when he leans over me and spits out a string of words that make the other two chuckle.

You sit quiet or friend gets next.

And there you have it, I think as Mac pulls me closer and we accept what I should have accepted when I woke up for a brief time in that dingy little room, God knows how long ago.

We’re screwed. There’s no escape now, and certainly no escaping alive.

Mac and I have been taken for a reason I strongly suspect is for sexual and monetary gain, and we lost our only chance to get out of this alive when we crossed foreign soil.

We’re so screwed, I whisper, finally accepting reality as Mac starts sniffling and glaring at anyone she can get her eyes on.

I know.

Chapter Two

Shane

Banner and I have been waiting in this filthy, dark little warehouse for what seems like hours now. Instead of doing what I and the team agreed to do, which is walk away the minute the allotted time expired, I’m still sitting here as casually as if I were waiting to meet an old friend as opposed to waiting on a man who’s responsible for at least half of the sex trafficking that takes place on US and Russian soil.

I’m waiting because I want Aurora Ashton back in my sights where I’ll know she’s safe while I do my job and keep making the worst kinds of deals with these assholes who seem to think that selling women isn’t a human rights violation and a fucking crime.

"We should go. I don’t fucking want to but we should. This is looking more and more like a bust, man."

I agree with Banner (or Boris, as I call him while we’re undercover). I also agreed twenty minutes ago when the rest of the team started cursing at me and demanding I pull out, but I can’t. Not even knowing that I’m likely ruining an operation we’ve been working for eight months now.

If I do, if I leave and walk away tonight, I know that Aurora and her little blonde friend will be sold to someone else. I just can’t let that happen.

The thought of another man touching her, hurting her, and taking what she isn’t willingly giving is so abhorrent to me, I’ve been on the verge of losing my control since this morning when Ivan called to set up the meet.

I have every intention of buying my lady tonight and walking out of here with her safely in my clutches.

The sound of a vehicle seeps into my consciousness a second before Morgan lets me know he sees it approaching from his perch on a rooftop a mile away. I breathe deeply, locking myself into place when it stops a few feet away and a hulking man, Ivan, steps out, pulling a kicking and screaming Aurora out behind him.

Her friend isn’t any better and earns herself a vile curse when Ivan is forced to shove Aurora at the blond, scarred piece of filth exiting from the front, before shoving Macdonald Carson back into the car.

There’s no sign of Anatoly, the man I’ve been waiting on for almost an hour, and I know that my hopes aren’t going to be fulfilled tonight. We’re dealing with his lower-level guys still, something I was hoping to avoid after making an arms deal and delivering, just as Dane instructed us to.

Christ.

I feel Banner tense when the car is locked from the outside. The only product being offered is Aurora, it seems, while Macdonald starts going crazy in the car.

We’ll follow later, I murmur to Banner, letting him and the others know to follow after the exchange is made.

Part of this operation isn’t just nailing these men on trafficking and my very personal need to protect Aurora. No, we’ve been on this mission long enough to know that there are bigger, badder men sitting at the top, pulling the strings.

We’re after the Bratva, a syndicate run and controlled by the Russian mafia, the bosses of the Russian underworld. This thing spans the globe and we’ve traced it from the shores of the US all the way to this little shitheap region just outside Moscow.

My role is to organize and gather intel under the guise of an up-and-coming lowlife who wants to be a part of the Bratva. So far it’s taken me eight months just to get to the point of trading with them in the hopes that my cover as an American-born Russian gunrunner will net me an in.

We’re not here for small fish, not after the way Dane almost went nuts when we took down one of the lower-level guys. We have our orders and they demand I get in on the bigger action.

This is not bigger action. In fact, I know that if Dane so much as gets a whiff of what I’m doing here tonight, and why, he’ll go fucking crazy on me.

But this is my...Aurora, and no fucking way will I let her be sold to some fat fuck Russian who’ll hurt and degrade her.

Vasili Alexandrov.

I snap my eyes away from Banner and focus on the blond currently manhandling my girl, calling upon every ounce of training in me not to break every bone in his arm and face, especially when she looks up at me and I see the angry bruise coloring her right eye and the bridge of her bloody nose.

You would damage my merchandise? I snarl, letting my displeasure show when he shoves Aurora my way and chuckles when she stumbles on her ridiculously high heels.

I don’t catch her, gritting my teeth when she falls to her knees with a thud and a pained cry that shreds at my self-control. Banner does the honors, though, and I see him steady her before turning back to my newest target.

Come on, Vasili, she’s just a—

"She’s mine, my property as of now, and I am not pleased to have my business set back because I have to wait for her bruises to heal," I grate, keeping an eye on the driver who seems to have his hands full with the blonde wolverine.

Christ, I pity whoever gets that woman before Banner goes after her, because from what I’ve seen, she is not at all as harmless as her tiny frame suggests.

Aurora stiffens, then teeters precariously on her shoes.

Let us go, you assholes!

You see, Vasili? She’s got a smart mouth and too much fight. Leave her with me for a day and I will return her to you as docile as a kitten. He laughs.

The thought of another man touching what I consider mine, never mind her lean little body being fucked till there’s nothing left of her but a husk, is enough to make me see red. I control the anger vying for supremacy and give him my most stoic look.

"You stick to what you do best and I’ll take care of my shlyukha. My whores, my decision. Now the blonde," I demand, nodding at the car.

She is not for you. She belongs to the boss, he says in his native tongue.

Shit.

I feel Banner go ramrod stiff beside me, and though Aurora can’t understand a word, I see her go whiter than she already is before she tries to lunge for the car.

Mac! They’re—

Quiet, girl! I hiss, glaring her back into submission before focusing again on the scum before me. The deal I made was for both. The redhead and the blonde.

Basnik just shakes his head and smiles darkly, all the while looking at Aurora with so much lust, I feel my fists tighten.

Easy there, kid. He’s trying to bait you, Morgan hisses into my earpiece. I throw the briefcase at Basnik and signal Banner to get Aurora into the car.

You owe me a blonde, Basnik.

"We will find you a better one, Vasili, never fear. This one belongs to Anatoly, though. Now go, I have a long journey and that one is more trouble than the ryzhevolosyy you have on your hands." He laughs again, looking over my shoulder at the spectacle Aurora is making.

I nod and turn, gritting my teeth at the racket Aurora is making as Banner tries to get her into the car. Her heels are planted against the paintwork, and her hideous orange dress is riding up so high, I thank God that Banner has his eyes closed as he tries in vain to control the little spitfire.

Christ, I see more than I have the control for right now when I grab her away from Banner and shove her face-first into the car, coming in behind and over her as the door slams shut and Banner jogs to the other side.

Stop struggling or you’ll get hurt, I order, gritting my teeth when her firm ass pushes up and grinds into the hard-on from hell.

I’ve been hard since she stumbled from the car in this dress—her small breasts all but spilling out of the top, and the creamy expanse of her firm thighs exposed to my eyes.

Fuck you, asshole! Get the hell off me. They’re taking her!

I have to struggle against her thrashing when I find the strength to push my dick away from her bouncing ass and only just avoid a headbutt to the eye before I manage to get her seated upright.

Don’t even think about it, lady, I warn when she tries to angle to the side and brings her foot up. I may not be as nasty as Basnik or Ivan, but I will not tolerate having you hurt me when I just saved you from them.

"Saved me? For what, huh? You just bought me, you piece of shit. And from where I am sitting, being bought as a prostitute for one of your little operations is not much better than what that fucker had in store for me. Yeah, I fucking know what shlyukha means, dickhead. My next-door neighbor was Russian," she yells, going to kick at me when her temper gets the better of her.

I catch her foot just before it connects with the left side of my face and keep my eyes on her as I circle the delicate flesh of her ankle, keeping her legs open and her sex exposed to me, though I don’t look...at least not that she’s aware of.

The move is calculated to make her feel weak and helpless, and I almost shatter my teeth when she starts trembling and her eyes go glassy with shame and fear.

I hate this, hate knowing that I’m hurting her, but I need her to fear me enough to keep her mouth shut for this next part.

You will belong to no one but me, Aurora Ashton, so you can forget whatever it is you think you heard in that warehouse. You’re mine and I do not share what is mine. For now, you should content yourself with the thought that I and I, alone, will have use of your body.

Her mouth thins and I can practically read her thoughts when she wrenches her ankle out of my grasp and scoots away, keeping her eyes on me with a sneer.

Oh yeah, great. Why don’t I just start celebrating that right now? Jesus, you’re a pig! You just bought me like some piece of expendable ass, and you let that monster take Mac—

Banner growls a low curse at her words, and I hear Morgan and Noah chuckle at the predicament I find myself in when Aurora launches herself at me again and starts slapping at me with a vengeance.

You filthy slime. You piece of—

I subdue her easily enough and keep her back pinned to my chest as she struggles to get her breathing under control while hurling some of the nastiest shit I’ve ever heard out of a female’s mouth.

The things she says are not just vile and out of line, but my little lady seems to be multilingual in her talents when she calls me something in Spanish that would make my poor mama’s ears singe right off.

Calm the fuck down and listen to me, you little fool! Your friend is not alone. She’ll be watched and protected while Banner puts together a plan to get her out.

Her struggles cease instantly and I get a narrow-eyed glare before she scoots back to the door and tries in vain to pull the bodice of her dress up to cover her breasts. She only manages to pull the dress higher up her thighs, and my dick goes pike hard when the shadowy outline of her red pubic hair hits the corner of my eye.

I’m no pervert, and I take absolutely no pleasure from seeing a woman afraid and beaten down, but this woman has captivated me from the first moment I caught sight of her when Anatoly had his men following her and Macdonald Carson. I haven’t been able to forget that first look.

The woman literally stole my breath when she turned and smiled before laying one of her coworkers flat with her viper’s tongue.

That was when I knew I’d met my match, and I haven’t so much as looked at another female since.

So seeing a little of her bush is a turn-on for me. Hell, I get hard just thinking her name.

Hey! Stop that, she says, noticing my attention and the very hungry look that I know I’m failing to conceal.

The way her lip curls to hide the trembling there makes me want to smile. I scowl, instead, and raise a brow.

I’m not into rape, so calm the hell down, Aurora.

Yeah, then tell me exactly how you intend to have sex with your newest toy if not...

She can’t even say the word, and I have the almost irresistible urge to take her in my arms and tell her everything—who I am, what I feel, that I want her so bad I jack off almost nightly and still walk around hard just thinking about her.

I want to reassure her and give her everything she needs to feel safe and secure. I will never allow anything to hurt her again. My God, I almost went crazy watching them strip her down and throw her into that freezing cold container.

I can’t say anything, though. Everything I’m doing now hinges on my cover, and if she so much as slips up once, we’re all dead or worse.

Baby, by the time I get between those milky white thighs, you’ll want me as much as I want you, I purr, licking my lips at just the thought of what she’ll taste like.

I hear Banner choke and resist the urge to punch him in the back of his head when she narrows her eyes and lets out an unladylike snort.

Are you on drugs or something, mister? That is never happening.

Her hair is a cascade of bright red over her shoulders. She flips it away with an attitude as she sneers at me, letting me know that my Aurora is a girl used to giving lip and taking names when her prey is left on the floor, bleeding from that razor-edged tongue.

I want that hair spread over me, under me, anywhere she’ll put it. I just want the chance to have its silken warmth touching me.

Aurora—

Dammit, just—why are you doing this? You’re American, surely there are better things to do than sell and buy women and—

And what? You think I should go home and take a nine-to-five so the IRS can take half my money while the other half barely covers rent and groceries, baby? Get real and get over it. I’m damned good at what I do, and I always make sure my girls are okay, I say, hating that she takes what I’m saying in the worst light.

Okay? So, what? You force them to screw strangers and live like animals in a cage, but you never let the johns beat them, and you make sure they’re fed and not junkies? she asks sweetly.

Her tone leaves me in no way uncertain of her feelings about me. I feel so angry all of a sudden. It’s unfair and not at all sensible, but for some reason I feel like she should see me—the real me beneath the façade.

No. I make sure they have lives, real lives to live wherever they end up. What, you think me cruel, Rory? I ask, savoring her nickname like a fine wine.

Everyone probably calls her that, but for me, right now, I feel as if I’ve managed an intimacy that pulls her that much closer to me.

Yes. No. How should I know?! All I know right this minute is that you paid some Russian animal for the privilege of owning me like a freaking pet.

No, baby, I didn’t pay for the privilege of owning you. I paid to save you from the hell you would have endured in one of their brothels.

Her comment reminds me that I have a job to do. If I’m to keep Rory and Macdonald alive while I’m doing it, I have to concentrate on the mission and not my fucking feelings.

"I did and I do. I do own you, Rory Ashton of America, and I will keep you. It is my hope that you and I can find some semblance of happiness together, because I want you to be at peace with the knowledge that I would never hurt you or do anything to cause you distress. But you will stay with me, and you will play your part when we’re in company."

Her face blanches and I watch her sink her teeth into her inner cheek, a habit she’s got whenever she feels uncertain and on the verge of showing softer emotions.

If I do what you want, will you help Mac? Please? She looks and acts tough, but she was so scared and...and she’s a lot more fragile than she lets on, she whispers.

Her fear and anxiety for her friend when just a moment ago she was ready to pick me bald makes my heart—that cold dead rock in my chest—melt into putty. All I can do is nod before Banner pipes up from his place in the front seat.

She’ll be with us by the end of the week and no later, Miss Rory. You can bank on that.

Banner’s violently hissed assertions do for her what my words don’t, and I release a sigh when she relaxes a fraction and settles back into the seat with a shiver.

I could almost kick my own ass. I’m out of my coat and wrapping her in it not a minute later, enjoying the sight of my clothes warming her lean frame.

Rory is no stick-thin model by any means. The woman has a lot of softness just where a woman should, but she’s built along leaner, delicate lines, and she tends to get cold quickly.

When she’s comfortable and warm several minutes later, I hear a soft sigh and her even softer thank you.

You’re welcome, baby. Now sit back and relax, we’ll be home in a bit.

The home I speak of is a large, opulent mansion in Moscow. It is one of those gilded and golden monstrosities that a man of my standing would naturally gravitate toward.

It’s what my southern belle of a mama would refer to as new-money gauche. While I do not like the attitude my old-money mama has, I agree in this instance.

The place is exactly what Vasili Alexandrov would want. I know what Rory will think of it, and I can almost feel the laughter that will come when she tells me just how obscene and unnecessary the place is.

It’s almost an hour later that Banner pulls through the massive wrought-iron gates. I keep my eyes on her, just as I have since I acquired her, and enjoy her first look at The Marble Palace.

Good God! Is that what you call a home? she asks disdainfully, giving me such a scorching look that I feel parts of my face try to melt off. Do you have any idea how many poor and starving people there are in the world? My God.

Despite what she says, I see the fascination in her eyes. My Rory is the type of woman who loves the ugly things. I’ve seen this play out with that ugly-ass alley cat she used to feed.

Rory likes only what others can’t seem to. I adore that aspect of her personality.

Her reaction is just what I’m looking for, and I’m suddenly eager to introduce her to my mama. Damn, they’re so opposite that I couldn’t have picked better myself. Seems the good Lord knows what I need even before I do.

Welcome home, Rory.

Her eyes go even rounder, and I see her lick her lips with glee just before she turns to me and scowls with mock disapproval.

Whatever, dude.

Chapter Three

Aurora

The place is a palace, a freaking palace filled with so much space and...things. I don’t know where to look first. I feel like I’m staring into the eyes of one of those venomous snakes. You know, the kind that hold you rapt with morbid fascination even though you know looking that closely is likely to get you dead.

I can’t believe places like this exist in the world, not with all the poverty and homelessness that’s happening just outside the door, but...it’s spectacularly gaudy in a bad way, and yet...

Words can’t describe how disgustingly delighted I am by all the richness and pomp.  It’s a sad truth that I love ugly things. I tend to gravitate to the truly hideous out of a need to love things no one else will.

Right now I think I love this place in a weird, unnatural way that almost makes me want to hit Vasili Alexandrov over the head with my scornful glee.

I wonder why my feigned disdain is making his lips twitch.

Come on, baby, let me show you our room.

The statement snaps me out of my avaricious trance and I feel myself stiffen in that fight-or-flight way most people have. I got no flight instincts when God was handing out intelligence, so I feel my fists clench just before I take a swing at him.

I grew up in Jersey in a few unsavory foster homes. My natural inclination is to swing and ask questions later. So now I’m going to swing and hope he goes down long enough for me to make a run for it.

My blow never lands, though, and I feel my heart sink when he gently and very purposefully takes my hand in his grip and shakes his head once. I’m on the verge of cringing back from his fist when I realize he’s not retaliating at all, just watching me with a stern expression on his handsome—

No, not handsome! Do not think of your captor as handsome, Rory Ashton.

Oh God, what is wrong with me?

I must have hit my head or something, because even as I have the thought I can’t help but notice his golden blond hair, slate-gray eyes, and those dimples.

Don’t do that again, Rory. I’m extremely well trained and my instincts for defence are too developed for you to land a blow. Never try to attack me, because you’ll end up hurting yourself and I don’t want that. Now come on. You look beat and you need a bath.

He says this so calmly that it makes my heart pound. Who is this man and why the hell isn’t he responding the way I’d expect him to? On the streets, where Mac and I spent most of our time hanging with the other foster kids and trying to stay away from the parents, I’d have either been deep in a fight or getting my ass kicked by now.

The fact that Vasili Alexandrov isn’t slapping me senseless for my actions is as disconcerting as it is a relief, because I know based on his muscular frame that he could do a lot of damage.

I’d never hurt you. I already told you that. Now come.

I follow him in a daze—confused, frightened, and very unsure of what’s to come.

This is our bedroom. To the left you’ll find your own closet, stocked with everything you’ll need for a fast approaching Russian winter. Through that door is the bathroom, and I’ve taken the liberty of having it stocked with feminine bath products so you should have everything you need.

I feel my jaw unhinge and hit the floor with a resounding thud. The closet is huge and filled to capacity, and he’s gotten me shoes—real shoes.

Sneakers and flats and slippers!

My excitement quickly dies when my eyes land on the bed and stay there, going rounder by the minute.

I’m shaking by the time I manage to drag my eyes away and look up to meet his gaze. What I see there is a combination of lust and understanding, something I do not expect from a man who just bought me for the sole purpose of fulfilling his every sexual need.

Please don’t hurt me.

The choked whisper pops out before I can stop it, and it galls me anew to know that I am at this man’s mercy. I’m weak from lack of food and water, dirty, practically naked, and I have no way of escaping whatever he has planned for me.

For a city kid who used her wits and fists to survive, I find myself sinking into a type of despair, knowing I have no choices left. I’m so weak that I’m willing to beg, something I haven’t done since one of my foster fathers saw me developing.

Vasili’s eyes go softer and he raises a hand to my cheek in a show of gentleness that causes a physical ache to take root inside my chest.

Rory...what have I said?

You want to have sex with me. You—

That’s true, I won’t lie. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman.

I snort.

Whatever you say.

His eyes turn stormy and I squeak when he pulls me in closer and stares down at me with a scowl. We’re touching in some very indecent places, thanks to the height the heels have given me, and I almost swallow my tongue when I feel his erection poking into me.

You are beautiful. I wanted you the minute I laid eyes on you, and it’s only gotten worse since I’ve had the chance to look at you up close. I want to see you naked so badly. I’d do just about anything for the privilege.

Er, does that include a one-way flight home? Because if so, I’ll throw in a quick lap dance and call us even, I say quickly, watching in fascinated horror as those dimples pop out when he grins.

No, but nice try. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try to bargain with me now. Don’t look at me that way, Rory. I swear you’re safe with me.

Safe? I got to you after men drugged me and Mac and kept us that way before stripping us bare and dumping us in a shipping container to freeze to death, I say, pushing away from him. You bought me like a pound of cheese and now you want me to fall into bed with you and just accept that I’m no more than a whore?

That has him stiffening and taking a step toward me before he freezes. My words have angered him, I see it in the way the muscle in his jaw starts ticking and the rhythmic way he’s tightening and releasing his fists.

"You use that word in regard to yourself again and I’ll use a few very ugly words in return, Rory. You aren’t my whore. You’re my...girlfriend, and that’s the end of it! Now go get a nightgown and get your ass into the bath. I’ll have food sent up."

He turns away and stalks out the door before I can say another word. I come out of my skin when the door slams hard enough to rock the floor beneath my feet.

I don’t want to obey. I’m angry and needing to rebel against orders that I resent getting in the first place. I just can’t stand being this vulnerable. And stripping down to take a bath, no matter how much I want or need one, will only serve to make me that much more vulnerable.

I quickly search the closet. All I see is row upon row of lingerie and silky shit that I will not wear, so I dart into the adjoining closet and grab a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt big and long enough to cover me to the knees.

I lock the door to the bathroom and turn around, my knees wobbling at the sight of white-and-gold marble everywhere, from the mammoth tub to the gold-plated faucets and the heated towel rods.

It’s gorgeously, gruesomely opulent. I have to force myself not to stare in delight when I hear the faint echo of the door and muted footsteps.

Shit, I took too long.

I decide to just take a quick shower, dropping my clothes on the toilet and rushing for the glass door. I turn on the water right as I hear the door handle jiggle, followed by a curse.

My shower takes under five minutes from hair shampooing to the skin-abrading scrub and I emerge feeling human and a little more confident than I did just moments ago.

Rory?

I wrestle into the clothes when I hear the door jiggle again. I’m just pulling the shirt over my head when the door swings open to reveal a frowning Vasili.

We’re both frozen in place.

My shirt comes down with a brutal tug and I blush to the roots of my hair at the knowledge that his open-mouthed stare is because I just flashed him my boobs and let him get his fill before my brain came back to life. I suddenly feel self-conscious about the small size of my breasts.

Hey! I locked the freaking door for a reason, I say, turning away to grab a toothbrush.

And I opened it because I don’t want you locked behind a door if something should happen. You’re weak from lack of food, and you’re exhausted. If you should fall or faint, it would take me too long to get to you, he points out reasonably, though I note that he has yet to take his eyes off my chest.

The look he’s giving me is hot, dirty, and a little flattering when he licks his lips and groans low in his throat.

Come. You need to eat.

My stomach growls at the mention of food and I spit toothpaste out and toss the toothbrush, following hot on his heels when the scent of meat and gravy hits my senses.

I have no idea how long ago I ate, or even what I ate last.

I’m about to fall on the covered tray I see resting on the bed when he grabs me and pulls me to a chair, shoving me down when my temper kicks in.

I’ll brush and braid your hair first and then you can gorge yourself, he mutters. I blush again when I realize that I just reacted the way an animal would.

I’m no stranger to going without, and the very fact that I’m this desperate tells me that I’ve been at least two days without food.

I—

Shh, I know. Just let me take care of you and you can have at it, he murmurs, turning me away from the food as he picks up a brush and starts pulling it through my hair.

He does it so softly, with a rhythmic stoking that is so relaxing, that I hardly feel a snag when he encounters tangle upon tangle and I’m almost comatose with pleasure when I feel him discard the brush and start braiding my hair.

I haven’t been cared for this way since I was a little girl of maybe five, and it makes me equally angry and sad that the first kindness I’ve had from anyone (other than Mac) is coming from a man like Vasili Alexandrov.

By the time he’s done, I’m fighting tears. It’s a relief when he nudges me and points to the food.

Eat, Rory.

My legs are jelly when I rise from the little bench in front of the vanity and I wobble toward the bed with cold sweat breaking out all over my body.

Here.

I feel his arms pick me up and hold me against his chest. He seems to savor the contact when he reaches the bed and pulls me close for a hug before lowering me to the snowy white pillows.

I’ll feed you.

I refuse to be spoon-fed, no matter how much my hands shake when I grab the fork in one hand and lift the cloche with the other.

I’ll do it.

The food isn’t something I recognize and I know I taste cabbage—dreaded cabbage—when I raise the first forkful of stew to my lips. It’s heavenly, though, and I moan long and low when the first taste explodes on my tongue.

I’m not proud of what happens next, and I thank God I don’t care about Vasili’s opinion when I fall on the plate like a ravenous wild animal and swallow half of it without chewing more than once.

Slow down.

My head whips up at the softly spoken command, and I actually growl like an animal when he makes as if to take my fork.

Touch it and I’ll stab you, I warn, slowing my next forkful and chewing before swallowing.

I see he’s amused when I hold his eyes and repeat the action.

You’re a feral little thing, huh?

Try being kidnapped and starved and see how you feel buster, I mutter, regretting my actions when my stomach heaves and threatens to expel every delicious morsel.

It hurts when I grab the water and down it in a few gulps. I swallow back bile when my stomach heaves again, determined not to disgrace myself yet again in front of this man.

Take deep breaths and lie down. You ate too fast and—

"I know what to do, asshole. This is not the first time I’ve gorged myself, but I swear to God it’ll be the last time anyone starves me," I hiss, gritting my teeth when an ache sets up shop near my ulcer and starts pulsing steadily.

His eyes go hard and I see his nose flare. I get the feeling he’s not happy knowing I’ve gone hungry.

"You will never hurt or need for anything again, lyubov moya, he utters softly. I shiver when he trails a finger down my cheek, right over my bruise, his own eyes going molten when he sees me flinch. Which one was it? I will flay his hands and ensure he never has opportunity to hurt you again."

Uh...the big one—Ivan, I think, I mutter, seeing his grey eyes go hard and steely. Er, is that man really going to get Mac? I ask, needing to put some space between us, even if it’s just me shying away from his heartfelt statement.

Vasili straightens at the question, and I see him grimace and roll his eyes.

"Mac was his. Is his, I guess you’d say. So yes, he will go and retrieve her as quietly as possible. Hopefully the process is not detrimental to the progress I’ve made with the Bratva, but who can say right now? He’s headstrong and won’t give her up."

You say that as if claiming her as his automatically makes her his, Alexandrov, I point out, feeling sleepy and snug as he continues to touch me.

Little touches here and there, on my face, neck, arms—anywhere he can reach where the T-shirt isn’t covering my skin. I find my eyes drooping as he smiles.

You say that as if you disagree.

"Well I don’t. I don’t agree at all. Buying a person does not just give you ownership over them."

True, and yet here you are in my bed, warm and comfortable. I have you and you will remain with me till I say you may leave, which is never, so do not get too joyful, he says, his amusement obvious.

I want to be upset, and yet I can’t find the will to slap his smug face as my lids lower. I feel him barely touching my lips

You’re in for a nasty surprise, Alexandrov. I am not yours, I mumble, my eyes now closed completely.

I want to fight, to search for an escape from this new form of imprisonment, but I let sleep claim me.

The last thing I hear before I surrender is his deep sigh.

But you must be, for I am yours.

Chapter Four

Shane

She’s sleeping peacefully and oblivious to the world when I reluctantly pull my hand from her supple skin and leave the room to see to the million and one things I have on my plate.

For example, the rabid animal pacing my study when I get downstairs and walk into the room. Here in Russia, everything is different, and I can’t forget that as I close the door and activate the jamming device before allowing Banner to go off on his tangent.

This is bullshit and you know it!

I know why he’s pissed, and part of me sympathizes with him in a way that only a man such as myself can understand. He wants his girl and he wants her now, before some fat pig can lay his greasy hands on her.

I understand how he feels, and that’s why I will disregard the order I got from Dane when I came down to get food for Rory. I’ll let Banner go for Mac. What Dane doesn’t know before it happens won’t kill the guy, but I hate having the little punk throwing orders at me when I know for a fact that if it were him, he’d do the same.

Our boss, the great and formidable Dane Masters, is a billionaire with a mission to rid the world of scum. The first time he approached me and offered me a job after I got out of the Corps, I had a few really big misgivings about working for a man with more money than knowledge of what he was getting us all into.

It was only after I had Noah look into his background that I finally understood his mission. Dane Masters is the American equivalent of Alexei Dubrov, a Russian-born transplant whose father slaved to build his family a better life after running from the life of crime and danger they had here in Russia.

Dane’s father was a low-level thug for years before he decided to get out with his family and hide in a little town in the Midwest under the name Masters.

The man died poor and hoping for more for his family, and I see the evidence of his dreams in the way a young Dane strove for success and worked his tail off to get where he is today.

Unfortunately, that also meant gaining the notice of some very dangerous men in his father’s old life. When Dane refused to allow them to use his business to launder their dirty money and carry out their dealings, they used his family to get what they wanted from him.

They killed his mother when he still refused to buckle under their threats, and he never saw his twin sister, Natalie, again. We still haven’t been able to find her, and we’ve had the best of the best looking for her.

If she’s not dead in an unmarked grave somewhere in Russia, then I pity the girl, because Dane has been going after these people for years and he’s not exactly shy about letting them know that it’s him systematically destroying them one by one.

The man has had so many attempts on his life, I wonder why his personal guard still sticks around they’ve been shot so many times.

Vasili.

I shake my musings off and turn to Banner with a dark smirk, shaking my head at his demeanor. For a guy who often reminds me that our job is a waiting game that requires patience, Marcus Banner is displaying a lack of training.

Go after her and get her back. Call Brandon, if you can, and make sure everything goes down smoothly. If they catch you or Brandon doing this shit, they’ll be so far up my ass. I don’t want that, not after the roasting I just got from Dane via Morgan, I warn, watching his face twist with angry acceptance.

Sure. But if this goes south and I have to, I will take Mac and disappear so fast, you won’t smell my exhaust fumes, brother, he warns.

Banner is the biggest asshole I’ve ever served with. He’s at least six-foot-six, and the man’s dark hair and black eyes serve to give him an even more dangerous appearance than the deep slash running from his hairline through his left eye and down to his jaw already give him.

He’s also one of the most dangerously stealthy men I know. I trust him to get his woman out without too much hassle. I just hope this move doesn’t mean another setback at this point, because as close as I am to getting an invite into the brotherhood, I can’t afford having Anatoly Chernyavsky breathing down my neck and pushing me out.

My mission is clear, and while I don’t always agree with Dane’s tactics, I agree that this is the only way for us to get close enough to the man to grab him.

Dane wants him interrogated, and by that I think we all know what will happen to the man after Dane gets his hands on him. Anatoly is the one who took Natalie, and the only man who can tell Dane where his sister is.

I hate to think this way, but I don’t think the man gave enough of a shit about the fate of one woman to actually remember what he did with the girl, but I’ll do everything I can to at least get Dane what he needs. Hopefully he’ll get some closure and stop trying to get himself killed spitting in the eye of the American-run Russian mafia.

Brandon already called from his secure line, and he’s going to help me get into the house. All I need is to get Mac and get back here without anyone being the wiser.

And then what? She can’t stay here with Rory and we both know it. Will you turn her over to Noah and let him get her back home and into the compound?

I know the answer before I ask, and I almost laugh when he scowls. Banner is my kind of guy—the closest friend I’ve ever had.

I’ll keep her in my room.

Banner.

No. You know what Dane will do if he finds out I took her, and I won’t let that fucker use my girl to lure Chernyavsky out from behind his fortress walls. She is not a pawn and I know you understand that, because you’d let him kill you before he got his slimy paws on Rory, Banner says.

Yeah, you’re right. Just do me a favor and make sure she’s hidden well. Rory still has her part to play in all this before I can safely get her out of this Godforsaken country. I won’t have her running around and letting it slip that we have Chernyavsky’s stolen mistress under this roof.

Not yet anyway. As things stand, I have a party coming up where I’ll let Rory play hostess and keep the men distracted while Noah and Morgan go sightseeing and ascertain if a snatch-and-grab on Anatoly is even a viable plan.

The man is a hermit and never leaves his home, a problem that has proved impossible to surmount because he’s so heavily and well-guarded at the moment that we can’t get over his walls without being detected.

How Banner and Brandon are planning to get Mac out of there without anyone knowing I have no clue, but like I said, the man can at least try.

She’s not Chernyavsky’s mistress. I wince at the violence in his tone when he cracks his knuckles and takes a step forward.

Stand down, Banner, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just think you should be realistic and understand that a man like Anatoly does not buy a woman and then coddle her. He has plans for Mac, whatever those may be, and I doubt they include wining and dining the woman.

Just as I know that if I hadn’t managed that deal for Rory, she could even now be in the bed of Anatoly’s chief second-in-command. The man has a penchant for exotic women, and my Rory is definitely that.

He won’t get to his plans if I have any say in the matter.

Good. Wait till tomorrow and then do what you have to. If shit goes down, you run and go to one of the safe houses. I’ll try to smooth it all over by telling them that you were pissed about losing a toy, and I’ll make it up to them, but if you get caught...

He knows exactly what will happen if he gets caught, and I see him nod before turning and walking to the door.

Thanks, buddy. I knew I could count on you.

Always. Noah and Morgan are on point, just tell them what you need and they’ll be ready. And, Banner? Don’t get your ass caught. I sort of need you to stand up for me when I put a ring on Rory.

He pauses with his hand on the door and looks back at me in shock, his eyes narrowing before a supercilious grin lights his features.

You’re keeping her?

I understand his shock. In fact, I’m just as surprised as he is, but I just knew the minute I closed that car door and had my girl that this was inevitable, no matter how hard I fought against this outcome.

I am not usually into commitment, and after watching my father and mother nearly kill one another for a good decade, I don’t exactly believe in love and marriage.

But I will go there with Rory, because I have the need to own her as much as she owns me. Tying her to me, even if we both end up miserable, is the only way I can see to tame the little street fighter. I will gladly live in misery to old age rather than never see her again.

Of course. Who else would treat her the way I will?

True. Okay, I’m going.

Wait till tomorrow, I say again. "Dane will be watching for another move now that he knows they have Mac, so just wait while I keep him busy. I’ll let