Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 3

  “Who’s going to make the introductions? Yuri, the Fury, right?”

  She looked at him, but he didn’t want to turn. Sitting so damn close to her, breathing in her cherry vanilla scent made it hard for him not to scoop her up in his arms, open the door and bail. Which would probably kill them both.

  Freddo and Tommy ignored her.

  “Don’t say my name in vain,” he growled.

  She choked on a laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. Somewhere in between. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. No more questions.”

  She blew out her breath in a huff, and he lost his fight not to look.

  Fucking gorgeous girl. He stared at the piercing on her cheekbone, debating whether the diamond was real. If it wasn’t, he was going to buy her a real one, as soon as possible. He wondered where else she was pierced.

  That thought made his cock lengthen against his thigh so he had to shift in his seat to rearrange himself. Did those little tits sport diamond studs, too? What about that clit?

  He nearly groaned out loud just picturing how her pussy must look. It would be a beauty, he knew that for sure. Shaking himself back to reality, Yuri dug her cell phone out of her purse and pulled up her brother’s number. Jake didn’t answer.

  “We have your sister. Produce the money you owe in twenty-four hours or you’re both dead,” he left as a message. “Say something, Lucy.” He held the mouthpiece up to her face.

  “Fuck you,” she snapped.

  “Good.” He hung up.

  Freddo pulled up in the back of Hotel DeAngelo, an upscale hotel owned by a friend of the don’s. They’d already booked a room.

  Yuri and Tommy sprang their doors at the same time, but Tommy grabbed her upper arm and hauled her out in his direction, a gun pointed in her face.

  Yuri gritted his teeth, wanting to snarl at Tommy, but he didn’t dare. If he showed how much this girl meant to him, he risked everything—the case, his job, and most importantly, her life.

  By the way Tommy’s fingers clamped around her arm and the wince on her face, he could tell his compare was bruising her. He wanted to knock out a few teeth for that. Instead, he bunched his shoulders up, tough-guy style, and led the way in through the back door to the elevator.

  Lucy’s nostrils flared with fear as Tommy jerked her into the elevator car with him and Freddo and jabbed the button.

  “Not a fucking word. Not a fucking sound, you hear me? Or I blow your head off. Someone else gets on this elevator, you keep your fucking mouth shut. Got it?” Tommy instructed her.

  She didn’t answer.

  He jabbed her ribs with the muzzle of the gun through his jacket pocket. “I said, got it?”

  “Got it, yeah,” she huffed, but the quaver in her voice gave away her fear.

  Hang in there, baby.

  When they got into the suite, Tommy duct taped her to a chair, taping her wrists together, then winding a length around her torso to attach to the chair.

  “You know you’re just going to have to take that off the first time she has to go to the bathroom, don’t you?” Yuri asked, trying to sound casual.

  Her eyes followed him and he saw her mind working, trying to figure out a way out of her dilemma.

  He willed her to let it go, to trust him to handle things. Any trouble she gave them could get her hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted. But she lurched against the bonds, tipping the chair forward. When Tommy shoved it back down, tears popped into her eyes, though her face appeared mutinous.

  Just the sight of those tears made his blood pressure spike. “Don’t. Cry,” Yuri spat.

  “Fuck you,” she repeated.

  Tommy slapped her with an open hand before Yuri even had a chance to move.

  “Don’t,” he snapped, too loudly. Get a grip, Yuri. His breath came too fast, fingers tightening into fists at his sides.

  “Why not?” Tommy asked.

  “Because, she has pretty face.” It was hard to make his lips open enough to speak, his mouth was so fucking tight. “I want to keep looking at it. You put bruises on her, I have to look at an ugly face.” He adopted what he hoped was a casual stroll over to her and stroked away the red spot on her cheek with his thumb.

  Looking into the depths of her furious brown eyes nearly killed him.

  Tommy snorted but seemed to accept that. Yuri had played the part of the crazy Russian for so long that they accepted all kinds of quirks from him, mostly because they respected the level of violence he could bring.

  “So where do you want me to hit her?”

  He had to force himself to remove his hand from her and turn away, to speak casually. “I don’t care. Not the face.”

  Freddo cocked his head, peering at Lucy. “Yeah, I guess I see what you mean. I wouldn’t have called her pretty, but it’s there.”

  Jesus! Fuck, these guys are such idiots. Did they only think a girl with long hair and a skirt fit the definition of pretty?

  “So that’s your type, huh?” Freddo asked. “You like the piercings and pigtails?”

  Do not engage with the idiots.

  “Yeah.” He returned to Lucy. “You want something to eat, baby?”

  She glared at him and shook her head, which made Tommy laugh some more. “I don’t think she wants to be your baby, Russian.”

  She definitely didn’t want to be Yuri’s baby. Except for the fact that she still believed she might hold some kind of sway over him. She’d seen the way his fists tightened and nostrils flared when Tommy hit her. It was almost as if he’d been trying to hide how much it bothered him. Was he playing the other two? He had promised her he’d keep her safe. Was this his way of ensuring her safety? Keeping close to step in when they got too physical?

  How much good his real or imagined affection for her would do her in a situation like this was debatable. He might be willing to order her a hamburger from room service, but that didn’t mean he’d let her or her brother off the hook if the don said to shoot them.

  She supposed she had to decide whether she was willing to work the small favor angle in hopes it led somewhere, or just give him the middle finger.

  She studied the impressive figure he made, standing with his back to her, fiddling with the television. His expensive button-down short-sleeved shirt did nothing to camouflage the latent power of his shoulders and arms. His muscled ass filled out his slacks. His golden-blond hair didn’t soften the tough-guy look in the slightest. In fact, his Aryan good looks made the whole package even more frightening. Next to the two guidos he was with, he definitely looked like the one who made grown men scream in terror. But the bad boy thing, coupled with his apparent interest in her, made him more than a little attractive.

  In fact, the idea of using Yuri to make her horrible predicament more bearable held some appeal. Though she’d never considered herself a cock-tease, the idea of slowly peeling down her tank top to show her tits, squeezing them and rubbing them as she slid down to her knees in front of the bulge in his crotch flitted through her mind.

  What would the Russian do? Clench those tattooed knuckles? Sit back to see what she’d do? No. He wasn’t the ‘restrained at a strip club’ type. He’d be more the kind to grab her by the hair and force her down on his cock. Or to pin her wrists above her head and fuck her hard against the wall.

  And that idea appealed way too much to her.

  Well, if she decided it was worth it, seducing him might not be a hardship, but she was reserving judgment on that one.

  Yuri ordered food anyway, glancing at her as he placed the order, as if he might read by her blank face what she liked to eat.

  Freddo and Tommy pulled the desk out and arranged chairs around it. A deck of cards appeared. “Yuri, you in?”

  His eyes flicked to their table, then to her. His face was unreadable. “Yeah, I’m in.” He strolled past her. Though he never looked, the air between them crackled as he went by, sending tingles up her bare legs.

  Crazy Russian. No man had ever had h
er even thinking about seduction before. Sex was something she did for fun. Or for entertainment. To feel good. She hadn’t met anyone yet she wanted to lock in for a lifetime of the same. Funny how the Russian filled her brain with all kinds of errant thoughts.

  She cursed them. Right now she needed to be thinking about how to get the hell out of here. And her best chance lay with alerting the guy coming for room service. They wouldn’t let him enter with her duct taped to a chair, would they?

  Presumably, they’d just take the food at the door. She was surprised but pleased they hadn’t taped her mouth shut, because it would give her a chance to scream. Of course they may just shoot her right here, but she didn’t think so. Chances were good they’d take her somewhere more secluded to kill her.

  Her sense of timing might be off, but she waited until she thought the food might be coming soon. “I need to use the bathroom,” she announced.

  She’d been hoping for Yuri, but Tommy was up first, making an impatient sound in his throat as he pulled out a knife. He slashed her bound arms free from the chair, making her scream at how close he came to cutting her skin with the knife.

  He pulled her to her feet roughly and hauled her into the bedroom, where the bathroom was. Butterflies winged around in her chest but she forced herself to be calm, saying a silent prayer that some golden opportunity might present itself.

  In the bathroom, he refused to leave or shut the door. Determined not to show intimidation, she lifted her chin as she attempted to pull up her skirt with her taped wrists and somehow shimmy her panties down enough to sit on the toilet.

  He didn’t offer any help—not that she wanted it.

  She peed. Then she sat there, stalling for time.

  “Let’s go,” Tommy growled.

  “I have to poo,” she said with exaggerated innocence.

  His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit,” he said, but he didn’t move to pull her off, because, yeah. Who wanted to make that mistake?

  She pretended to strain and nodded at him.

  He rolled his eyes and backed out of the bathroom, leaving the door open but standing in the doorway.

  Okay. Time bought. Now what? His gun was strapped on his back, not in his hand. She didn’t know how much time that bought her—one or two more seconds, maybe? So when the room service guy came, she could try to shove the door into him and run past, screaming her lungs out.

  Ugh. God. Was that really the best she could come up with?

  Tommy drummed his fingertips against the wooden door. “Come, let’s hurry up.”

  “Not done yet,” she sang out sweetly.

  He blew out his breath across his lips, making a pshaw sound.

  A tap sounded on the door of the suite.

  She bolted off the toilet. When Tommy also lurched toward her, she turned her back, pretending to fuss about toilet paper but actually using her legs to shove the panties off and over her strappy sandals before they hindered her flight.

  She waited until he came close. Then she clocked him in the nose with her forehead.

  He bellowed in pain as she rushed past, through the bedroom, toward the door to the hallway.

  Yuri leaped like a freaking billy goat, launching one foot off the double bed to land the next on the second bed, and then drop right in front of her.

  She bumped into the solid wall of muscle that made up his body.

  His hand clapped over her mouth before she’d even drawn a breath to scream for help.

  “Don’t make a fucking sound, Lucya.” He growled her name with an extra syllable, pronouncing it Lu-see-ya. His head bent toward hers and despite the threat, the position was intimate, the same way he’d spoken to her in the club. It was sexy and seductive and threatening all at once.

  Her heart rattled hard against her chest.

  For a moment, no one moved. Yuri listening to the conversation with the bell boy in the other room, Tommy stifling his groan from the bathroom door.

  As soon as the door in the living room suite shut, Tommy came barreling toward her. “I am going to fuck that bitch up.”

  Yuri released her mouth and gave her a slight push away, toward Tommy, but he said, “No.” He released his belt buckle and pulled the length of leather out from his loops in a whoosh. “I will punish her.” He whapped the end of the belt in his palm, making her jump.

  She glanced from the furious, bleeding Tommy to the tattooed Russian coiling his belt around his fist and swallowed, fear turning her entire body cold.

  Yuri didn’t wait for Tommy’s agreement but shoved her face down over the side of the bed, yanking up her skirt.

  “Where. Are. Your. Panties?” Yuri sounded pissed.

  With her hands still taped behind her back, her face smashed into the bedspread, she turned her head to try to see him over her shoulder, but all she saw was the pale blue of his button-down, the dark grey slacks.

  “I lost them in the bathroom.” She only answered because the bellow in Yuri’s voice made her think he might be crazy jealous, like she’d let Tommy take them off and suck her pussy or something. She didn’t want the crazy Russian more angry than he already was.

  Thank fuck. He knew she’d had on panties earlier because he’d fucking felt them when he’d had his hand down her skirt. For one terrible second there, he thought Tommy had done something to her in the bathroom—raped her or tried to. But she’d been on the toilet. Without the use of her hands, she must have lost them around her ankles or something.

  Tommy still stood there, bleeding from his nose and glowering, so Yuri got down to business immediately and let the belt swing. He whipped a line across the lower half of Lucy’s buttocks. She had a cute ass—muscular like a dancer’s.

  She screamed and attempted to fly up from her position.

  He pinned her with a hand between her shoulder blades. “Get me her panties to stuff in her mouth,” he barked at Tommy.

  Tommy’s look of disgust was what he’d hoped for. The guy harrumphed but did as he was told, bringing the panties to Yuri, dangling from one finger like they disgusted him. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

  He took the panties and wrestled them into Lucy’s mouth. “That’s why you keep me around.”

  Tommy made another scoffing noise and left the room.

  He let out the breath he’d been holding since the moment Lucy made her escape attempt. He just might have this situation contained. With one hand holding Lucy down by the nape, he gave her two quick whips and leaned over to speak in her ear.

  “I know you’ll never forgive me for this.” The tightness in his chest made his accent thicker.

  She flipped her head away from him, but not before he saw her eyes narrow into a glare.

  “But it has to be me who punishes. Because if any of them mar your beautiful face, I’ll fucking kill them.”

  She went still, as if to signal she was listening.

  “Trust me. My belt is preferable to broken bones.”

  Not wanting Tommy or Freddo to come back and investigate the silence, he straightened up and whipped her again, four times, eliciting muffled screams of terror from her. Her beautiful lean legs danced beneath her, pushing onto her tiptoes, kicking up.

  “I won’t go easy on you.” He kept his voice low so they wouldn’t hear it from the other room. “I can’t.” And it fucking killed him to hurt her—his Lucya—even though this was normally his preferred form of foreplay.

  A tiny sob came from her but he steeled himself and tightened the buckle end of the belt around his fist.

  “Get ready.”

  She muttered something that he couldn’t understand with the panties in her mouth, but he started whipping her in earnest before she could finish. Line after line of red welts went down across her squeezing and quivering backside.

  He held her bound wrists in one hand to pin her down as he whipped and whipped, laying countless strokes on the lower half of her buttocks and the backs of her legs.

  “I told you to be good,” he clipped
.

  She screamed and yelled at him through her gag, kicking and wriggling.

  “I can’t protect you when you go rogue.”

  He didn’t stop until her bottom was deep red and the screams turned to sobs.

  He hung his head. Watching her cry fucking ruined him. She was supposed to be his sunlight. But it figured he’d dim her brightness. He’d always known he would, that’s why he’d never approached her.

  “Come here.” He lifted her up to stand, pulling her trembling form against his chest.

  She turned her wet face from him, unsuccessfully attempting to hold her body away from his. He brushed the tears from her face and pulled her panties from her mouth, tossing them on the floor. His hand found her heated ass and he rubbed, even though it made her dance. It would lessen the chance of leaving marks or bruises. On some girls, what he’d just done would stay for weeks. On others, they’d be gone by morning.

  “I’m sorry, Lucya.”

  She smelled like brightness, of summer fruit—no, candy. Her short skirt was still stuck up around her waist and he did nothing to remedy the problem, choosing instead to squeeze and massage her delectable backside. When he realized that meant her bare pussy was in contact with his leg, his cock lengthened in his pants.

  She stiffened, feeling it. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  His gut twisted with regret at the wounded sound in her voice. “Only some parts.” Better to admit the truth—she already hated him. “Once you started crying, it fucking gutted me. I prefer the women I whip to agree first.”

  She jerked her nape backward in his hand, putting enough space between them for her to look up into his face. Her lip curled in disgust. “There are women who like that?”

  Only because he took her rejection as a challenge did he allow the corners of his lips to lift slightly and leaned close again. “Believe me, solnishko, if the circumstances had been different, I could’ve made you like it, too.”

  Uncertainty crossed her face, but her eyes dilated, nipples steepled into stiff points.

  So. Maybe she was kinky.

  “What is solnishko?” The husky notes of her voice strummed every chord in his body.