The Mafia Contract Series

Charlotte

Russia is living up to every image I had of it so far, and none of it is good. The men are rough and angry, which matches the landscape perfectly. I’m still trying to get over the shock of being here at all and as I make the tea, I briefly consider making my captor a coffee because if he gets drunk, I may not be safe.

I see the expression in his eye before he guards it well. There’s an interest there that should have me strapping every knife in this kitchen over my body. I’ve never been with a man before, but I’ve imagined it thousands of times while I read the pages of my latest romance novel, magazine story, or watched a scene from a film.

There is a morbid curiosity about the sins of the flesh and the girls at Rose Hall Academy speak about it with hushed whispers and nervous giggles. Some have tales to tell of an act that sounds so disgusting it made us gag. A horrifying pastime that shouldn’t even be legal. But it is, and for some reason, I’m curious about that. Especially now, because my savage is the sexiest man I have ever met, and I have an overwhelming urge for just one taste.

The fact I also hate him pours cold water on my lustful thoughts and I can only hope that vodka does the trick and renders him unconscious before the night is out.

So, taking my chance, I explore the apartment and my heart sinks with every door opened when I see basic living in all its glory. It’s almost as if they went to the local rubbish tip to furnish it and there’s the strangest aroma I don’t think I will ever get used to.

I start searching for clues as to my captor’s identity so I can alert the police when I am returned home.

My phone is lost, probably when I was bundled into the car, so I have no communication with the outside world.

I just need to get a message to my father to tell him where I am, and he will send in the police to come and get me. Perhaps I can escape the apartment and find the local police station myself. They would help me, surely.

Feeling bold, I head toward the door we came in from and with a thumping heart, I grip the handle and turn. Then it sinks when the door stays firmly shut, revealing the savage has locked us in.

Turning, I glance across at the windows and note we are on the top floor, or at least it seems that way. It’s definitely too high to jump and there isn’t even a rusty fire escape outside to help me.

I am trapped in an apartment in, what did he call it, the most depressing city in the world and my only companion is probably under strict orders to kill me at a moment’s notice.

A wry laugh escapes me when I remember that only a few hours ago I was praying for something good to happen. To live life on the edge. To be honest, this wasn’t what I had in mind.

Resigned to it for now, I make the tea and almost groan as the caffeine hits my bloodstream and it’s as if a little piece of home made it here with me.

As I sip the much needed pick me up I glance critically around the depressing space. I don’t even want to touch the settee with any part of my body, so decide to clean up this apartment at least.

Luckily, I find something that will do the job and set about my task more as a distraction than anything.

There is nothing here to provide any entertainment, no radio, no tv, or books, so I hum as I work, trying to bring sound to a deadly silent space.

“Why are you so happy?”

An angry growl startles me as I wipe down the windows and spinning around, I see the savage running his fingers through his scalp, apparently extremely pissed in every way.

“I’m British, you bastard. I make do and mend and try to make the best of a bad situation.”

He snorts in derision and sinks down heavily on the couch.

“I suppose this is a day for firsts.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m guessing you don’t clean much.”

“I can clean.” I stare at him with indignation, and he shrugs. “Cook then. I bet you have a chef to prepare your fancy meals.”

“I can cook too.” I stand facing him with my hands on my hips and scowl. “You think I’m some kind of pampered princess who can’t care for herself. Well, breaking news, you kidnapped me from a frigging finishing school and what the fuck do you think they teach there?”

“How to swear, perhaps.” He fires back and I curl my lip in disgust. “You bring out the bad-assed bitch in me, so deal with it.”Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

He laughs out loud. “Don’t you mean bad–arsed bitch? You are English, after all. Then again, perhaps we should re-title that the red–arsed bitch. I’m guessing yours is still dealing with the imprint of my hand.”

“Do you want to fight me?”

I toss aside my cleaning spray and cloth and stand facing him with a scowl on my face. “Because if you do, I am an expert in karate and taekwondo.”

That gets his attention, and he looks up, a spark flaring in his eyes.

“You can fight?”

“I can. Care to try.”

In a flash, he’s on his feet and my mouth dries when I see the challenge in his eyes. Thinking back on my carefully constructed classes with our teacher, I’m not sure my skills are up to brawling at base level, but I’m willing to give it a go.

“OK.”

He grins and advances slowly, standing before me with an amused grin.

“Take your shot.”

I shrug out of my school blazer and rip off my tie and nod before bowing to him, as we have been taught to do.

His low laugh makes me bristle with anger and as I aim my first kick at his head, he steps aside and says in a bored voice, “Is that the best you can do?”

As I swing my body around, I take another aim and he catches hold of my ankle in his strong grasp, flipping me onto my back and sitting astride me, holding both of my hands above my head.

“You call that fighting.” His lip curls and I bring my knee up and try to dislodge him, but he is heavier than me and merely laughs.

“You’re pathetic and your teacher should be fired, because if that’s the best they taught you, you fail.”

He shifts off me and stares down with disappointment.

“For a moment there I thought we could amuse ourselves with the martial arts. Maybe you should go and bake a cake instead.”

He turns his back, giving me the chance to scramble to my feet and aim a well-placed kick on the back of his knee. As he goes down, he hits the corner of the table with his head and his angry growl has me sprinting from the room. As I slam the bathroom door behind me, his angry yell as he thumps against it gives me a moment’s respite before a huge crash makes me jump and nothing can save me from a very angry Russian who looks as if he wants to kill me.

I note the gash to his temple and the blood trickling down his face and experience a moment’s guilt that I did that to him. Despite everything, the spanking aside, he hasn’t hurt me, and this is how I’ve repaid him.

Reaching out, he grabs hold of my arms and twists them behind my back before dragging me from the room and forcing me down on to a wooden chair, where he binds my wrists behind my back before doing the same to my ankles.

As I scream and struggle, a broad hand lies flat against my mouth and he says roughly, “Scream and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

Just the promise renders me speechless for life and as the tears pour down my face, I am now facing the consequences of my actions as he storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.