Fire & Vice: Bound by Blood

Chapter 2

18 years later

Blyad. No one is going to believe this bite-sized girl can take me down! Boris Grekov thought in annoyance, glaring at the fine-boned Asian woman standing across the room.

Something about her body language got on his nerves. She hadn't even glanced up when he and Claudia strode into the training section of the security floor. She stood with her back to the wall, as any good bodyguard would, talking to Daniel Mercer and Tyson King. If she made it through the hand-to-hand combat portion of her interview, then Mercer, and by extension King, would become her employer. It looked like Mercer was drilling her on techniques. His face gave none of his thoughts away. Not that Mercer ever gave anything away. He was one tough motherfucker. Which was saying something, given Boris' reputation as a lethal Russian mob enforcer.

Laney Paul should have noticed him. He was 6'7" of solid muscle. It didn't matter where he went, people stopped to stare at him. He was well over a foot taller than the woman he was supposed to engage in hand-to-hand combat, and he probably outweighed her by 200 pounds. The absurdity of the situation should have warranted at least a glance from her, not to mention the fact that he was covered from head to foot in tattoos and generally considered one scary looking son-of-a-b***h. Hell, the first time Claudia Cantore, the woman standing at his side, had seen him, she'd nearly wet herself and scaled a fence to get away from him. Though she hadn't in actuality moved a muscle. But he could see the impulse in her eyes.

Yet, this fairly nondescript woman hadn't so much as twitched in their direction. Boris could feel his temper rising, along with his curiosity. He crossed his arms, making the massive muscles bulge ominously, and glanced down at Claudia. She grinned up at him sheepishly and whispered, "I thought she might be a little bigger."

Boris grunted. He didn't bother to respond. In reality, the woman would have to be built like a tank to take him down. Even then, it wasn't a likely bet. Daniel Mercer was the only human in the western hemisphere likely to take Boris in a fair fight, which was why Claudia had begged him to help today. She desperately wanted a female personal bodyguard, but Mercer wasn't having one on staff that couldn't prove herself in hand-to-hand combat. Apparently, none of Daniel's men would touch a woman, which left Daniel himself to fight her.

Boris bit back a grin. Daniel wouldn't break a sweat either, literally or figuratively, over beating up a woman. He would do the deed and move on to the next applicant. So, Claudia had called in a favour and asked Boris to come let a woman beat him up so she could have female protection. How the f**k he was going to convince Mercer that this bitty little mouse was able to take him on might prove to be interesting.

Boris was about to tell Claudia it wasn't going to work and that she should ask the Russians for something else, like an arms shipment or a small country, when Laney finally turned to face him. Her eyes flared slightly as she finally took him in. His eyes narrowed in return. Her look hadn't been one of fear or even surprise. It had been recognition.

At a young age, Boris had learned to look out for himself and a brother that couldn't keep himself out of trouble, which meant reading situations and people. Each nuance could mean the difference between life or death. He would stake his entire inheritance on the fact that Laney Paul knew exactly who he was. But she was a mystery to him. And Boris didn't f*****g like mysteries.

He stalked toward her, intent on finding out exactly who the woman was and what she was doing in his city. He didn't like it. He could hear the slightest hint of an accent as she spoke. Japanese or something close. And something else? He couldn't place it. And he didn't recognize her. How would she know him? And why was she here?

He tensed when she moved away from Mercer and King and strode toward him as well. Their feet whispered on the training mats as the space between them disappeared. He stopped in the middle, forcing her to cross the distance to him. He kept his arms crossed, a thunderous frown on his bearded face as he glared down at her. Her own face remained as unfazed as it had from the moment he'd entered the room. He realized two things as he stared down at her. She was younger than he'd first thought, probably in her early to mid-twenties, which put her much younger than his thirty-six years. And that she wasn't even a little bit plain, as he'd first thought.

The fine bones of her face were so heartbreakingly delicate that he knew he wouldn't be able to look at her if they actually commenced with this ridiculous charade. There was no way he would throw a punch at that pixie-like arrangement. Her black hair was pulled back in two severe braids and tucked behind her pert ears. Though she tried to hide her body under austere, militaristic clothing, as a man that could appreciate curves on a woman, he could tell she had nicely rounded t**s and ass.

Mine, his body whispered, noticing every detail.

The last thing he wanted to do was throw down with her. He wanted to throw her down and f**k her, then maybe he would get around to asking his questions. Boris was not one to get serious about women. He f****d around plenty with the whores at the clubs. He didn't have time or patience for more than that. His life was complicated. Both here in America and back in Mother Russia. He couldn't drag a woman into that s**t storm.

Mercer approached them, eyeing Boris with undisguised dislike. Boris didn't take it personal. Mercer didn't like anyone. The fact that Boris was in King Tower unmolested by the deadly security chief was practically an endorsement of friendship. "Ms. Cantore explained what's expected?" Mercer asked.

Boris nodded his head once. He doubted she was supposed to "explain" the part where she wanted Boris to lose this fight. He bit back a short grin as he pictured the small woman in front of him actually pinning him to the mat. His c**k responded to the image of her lithe, delicate body straddling his thick girth. He nearly groaned out loud. If Mercer and King, two of the deadliest men he knew, hadn't been standing there, he probably would have reached for the woman.

"Take down, tap out," Mercer said. "Anything else goes. Try not to break her bones, King doesn't appreciate lawsuits."

Laney sent Mercer a tiny glare while Boris grunted in acknowledgement, wondering how lightly he was going to have to touch this one in order not to damage her. Claudia snorted from her position on the edge of the mat and rolled her eyes. "You're a good one to talk, Daniel."

Mercer ignored the mistress of King Tower and nodded at Laney. "Impress me," he said. "And try not to die."