Albert was loyal to a fault; he’d taken bullets for me. But I’d realized since Mila set foot in Moscow, I couldn’t trust any of my men with her. The first fuckup was only ordered to scare her toward my door, not take one look at her and decide to rape her. My moral compass may be pointed south, but something felt . . . inappropriate about abducting a bruised teenage girl with a concussion. I prided myself on being a fair man, so, naturally, her attacker was floating in the Moskva without a single tooth or finger to be identified.
“Andrei,” I said, passing him in the back room.
He pulled the toothpick from his mouth and followed me to the car in the alleyway. I deposited my package on the back seat. Her skirt rode up, baring too many inches of smooth, toned thighs. The girl had an annoying issue with pants. Instead of enjoying the sight, I experienced an urge to pull the fabric down and wondered if this was what human decency felt like. Slightly nauseating.
Slamming the door, I turned to Andrei. “Anyone even looks at her, kill them.”
He put that stupid toothpick back into his mouth, his attention stuck on the girl’s legs through the car window.
I clenched my teeth. “That includes you. I have better things to do than watch you blow your own brains out.”
He gave me a curt nod and slid his gaze from the window.
I headed back inside and made my way to Kostya, who sat on a stool at the end of the hall, his attention on his phone. I stopped beside him to see he was playing Candy Crush. The fucker was so engrossed in his little ga
me, he jumped when I spoke.
“You got four jelly beans there.”
Cautiously, he looked at me. “Gde?” Where?
“There.” I pointed them out.
He pulled the red jelly bean into place and swallowed. “Thanks, boss.”
“No problem.”
Then I punched him in the face.
He flew backward to the floor. I kicked the stool out of the way and stepped on his phone, hearing it crack as I walked toward him. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt before hitting him again, I revered the burn in my knuckles.
“You better have a good fucking reason for allowing her back there,” I growled in Russian.
Blood poured from his nose. “She’s poisonous. Just like the stories of her mother.”
“Not a good reason.” I grabbed my gun from my waistband and pressed the barrel to his head.
He tensed. “You have been playing with her for too long. We can all see she’s digging her Mikhailov claws into you.”
Yeah, maybe I had let this go on for too long, but I made the goddamn decisions around here.
“We? Who else had a hand in her coming here tonight?”
He hesitated, and my finger tightened on the trigger.
“Vasily,” he blurted. “He only scared her.”
Irritation crawled up my back. I was losing patience with my men when it came to this girl. But what infuriated me the most was that nobody had the right to scare her except me.
“Do you think you could do my job better than me?” I asked. He’d have to kill me to do that, and we both knew that was a fight he’d never win.
His jaw clenched. “Pasha was my brother.”
The unfortunate truth was, I forgot the kid’s name when I had my fingers deep inside Mila.
Maybe she was poisonous.
I’d had my fair share of beautiful women and then some, but this one . . . It was like her body was designed just for me. Unfortunately, beneath that all-American cheerleader exterior lay a Woodstock advertisement. I had nothing against free love, but it would be an understatement to say I wasn’t someone who threw around peace signs.