Vegas Boss: A Mafia Hitman Romance Read online

  “So? What do you think? What is our next move, Officer?” Misha asks pointedly, emphasizing the last word. I get a strange thrill out of hearing him call me by my title. I don’t know if it’s pride, amusement, or arousal. Maybe all three. Who knows? It’s been one hell of a weird day. Tatiana pats me on the shoulder and gives me a smile.

  “Let me think for a moment,” I reply, running my fingers back through my hair.

  “You’re one of the good ones, I can tell,” she says earnestly. “I don’t trust most of the policemen who come trolling through the club, but you’re different. I just know it.”

  “She is different,” Misha agrees, and I feel that same thrill once again. I need to get ahold of myself. I can’t let my emotions take control right now. There’s just too much going on. I don’t have time for silly butterflies in my stomach. This is serious business.

  “Well, I need to get back out on the stage before Matushka Galina starts wondering where I am. She can be really sweet when she wants to be, but my god is she cruel when she’s angry,” Tatiana says, rolling her eyes. “It was good to see you again, Misha, and not behind bars. Nice to see you, too, Misty,” she adds with a wink and a giggle.

  I blush hotly and give her a little wave as she flounces out of the dressing room, leaving the two of us standing there awkwardly. “I wonder if I’m ever going to live down being Misty,” I comment. “I was only her for a few weeks, but it seems like Misty is a lot more popular than Nicole is.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m starting to really admire Officer Burns. Although, Misty does have the considerable advantage, since she gave me a lap dance,” he replies coolly.

  There it is again. That flutter in my gut, the skip of my heart. Why in the world is this rough-edged, troublemaking criminal wiggling his way into my affections? Why is my own body betraying me? Every time he so much as looks at me, it’s all I can do not to throw my arms around him and kiss him. I’ve already slept with the enemy more times than I should have.

  Although, with the police force turning on me and the Bratva turning on Misha, I’m starting to rethink my alignment in all this. Who is my enemy, really?

  Is it Misha? The thump-thump of my heart tells me otherwise.

  “Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat and changing the subject, “we need to get out of here. And since all eyes are focused on the two of us, from both sides, we need to go somewhere safe. Somewhere secluded, unsuspicious. A place where no one will come looking for us.”

  “All the safe houses I know of are under strict surveillance by the Vegas chapter of the Bratva. So my usual haunts are off-limits this time, I’m afraid,” he explains gruffly. He’s trying not to belie his true feelings about how grim this all is, about how betrayed he probably feels.

  After all, the very brotherhood to which he has dedicated sweat, blood, and years of his life have now turned their back on him purely for his dalliance with me. I feel a pang of regret and guilt again. I am the one who put him in jail. I am the one who slept with him and made him a target. I am the reason his family has turned on him.

  And now, I may be the only one who can keep him alive.

  So, wherever we go, we will have to go together. But where can we go where we won’t be followed or watched?

  An idea occurs to me. A good idea, possibly, although definitely unpleasant. I take Misha by the arm, looking up into his handsome face. “Come on,” I tell him quietly. “Let’s talk in the car. I know you have allies here, but I don’t know if we trust them all anymore. Not to mention how many vice cops come through those doors. We could be being watched right now.”

  It’s a chilling thought. Suddenly, I need to get out of there now.

  The two of us exit through the back entrance and sneak back out to the car. This time I slide behind the wheel before Misha gets a chance to. He sighs and rolls the passenger seat much farther back, giving himself more room for his long legs.

  “Should’ve done that in the first place,” he remarks, looking much more comfortable and less squashed than he did when he first got into my car earlier today. “So, where are we headed next, Officer Burns? This time I’ll follow your lead.”

  I glance over at him, taking in the angular lines of his face, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. The sun is starting to descend across the horizon, drenching the world around us in hazy bronze light, fading quickly. Soon, it will be night, and we need to be safely tucked away somewhere by then.

  “We’re going to a place that I hoped never to experience again. It’s hell for a police officer, but probably closer to heaven for two fugitives on the run,” I explain vaguely. I’m admittedly a little hesitant to tell him where we’re going. I’m not excited about it, that’s for sure.

  I thrust the key into the ignition and we pull off onto the strip, riding along as quickly and efficiently as possible. I’m trying to remain calm, but I’m also a little paranoid that we might run into one of my fellow cops out here on the streets.

  Late afternoon seems like it should be a slow hour for policing, but in Vegas, that’s not the case. The closer it gets to evening, the more lively the city gets. The desert sun is displaced by flashing neon and blinding headlights. The night owls of the city wake up and roll out of bed, mischief on their minds.

  Every beat cop starts out training in these hours, and by sunset the streets are teeming with cops on the lookout for gamblers, thieves, drunks, and troublemakers.

  “I never thought I would say these words to anyone, but you might not want to speed so much,” Misha remarks. “We want to avoid getting the attention of the police.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just anxious to get a move on,” I reply. “The strip is the last place we should be right now.”

  “You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” he says.

  “I need to get us out to the very edge of the city limits, to a place just barely outside of the jurisdiction of the Las Vegas police department. It’s a hellhole, and a thorn in the side of all local vice cops because it’s technically outside of our reach. Which, of course, only makes it a shining beacon for the area’s seediest people,” I begin, unable to hide my disgust.

  “Sounds lovely,” Misha comments sarcastically.

  “Yeah. If you’re a drug dealer or something,” I answer.

  “Hey now, you and I are on the wrong side of the tracks now ourselves,” he says.

  “Ugh. I know. Don’t remind me. This is definitely not the trajectory I saw my career following when I first set out to be a police officer,” I sigh.

  “I hope I’m not crossing a line by saying this, but it sounds like they haven’t been treating you as well as they should,” Misha points out. “Why work so hard for people who don’t appreciate you?”

  I bite my lip, completely stumped on how to answer his point. Then I reply, “Well, I could ask the same of you.”

  “Easy answer. They’re family.”

  “You said they would kill you if I don’t stay with you,” I remind him. “That doesn’t sound like something family would do. Plus, I mean, you’ve just met my mother. Family isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Fair enough,” Misha says.

  We ride in relative silence for the remainder of the drive, and we reach the seedy hotel just before sunset. As I park the car, Misha gives me a dubious look. “Here? Really?” he asks.

  “Yup. The Prickly Pear Motel. Home and hideout of Las Vegas’s sketchiest inhabitants,” I announce, with mock ceremony.

  “It’ll do,” he agrees, getting out of the car. I head to the front desk to pay for a room on the night. The receptionist is a crusty old man with bushy white eyebrows and a jagged, pale scar running down his right cheek. He looks physically incapable of producing a smile, and if he’s worked here as long as it seems, then I understand why.

  “How many nights?” grumbles the man. His name tag reads Ray.

  “Just one for now,” I answer haltingly.

  Ray nods slowly, swiveling
around in his chair to grab a sheet of paper from the unruly stack teetering behind him on a shelf. My desk at the police department is meticulously organized, and seeing this cockroach-friendly, dusty, disorganized little office is just about enough to give me a panic attack. Ray moves at a glacial pace, plucking up the little reading glasses on a cord around his neck and settling them on his face so he can squint at the sheet of paper. He grimaces, clearly having trouble reading it. Then finally he sets it down in front of me and hands me a pen.

  “Fill out your information,” he grunts.

  “Thanks. Okay,” I mutter, taking the pen. I start trying to fill in a fake name on the line, but the pen doesn’t work. Damn it. I look up at Ray with a sheepish smile. “The pen is out of ink.”

  He looks at me for a moment silently, like the cogs are turning ever so slowly in his head. Then he takes back the pen and paper and shrugs. “Don’t worry about the paperwork then. Doesn’t matter anyway. What floor you want?”

  “Uh. I don’t think it matters. First floor?” I ask.

  Ray looks at the row of keys still hanging on the wall. He barks, “No vacancies on the first floor right now.”

  “Oh. Second floor, then?” I pipe up.

  Again, he glances at the keys. Then he shakes his head. “No vacancies on second floor.”

  “Third floor?” I sigh.

  “Yep. Got one. Here ya go,” he grumbles, sliding a rusty key across the counter to me. “That’ll be forty bucks.”

  I start rummaging through my purse. “Do you take debit—”

  “Cash only,” he barks.

  “Ah. Okay. Of course,” I murmur, pulling out what little cash I have on hand. I never carry much cash, and I know Misha has nothing, since he’s just come from the jail. I lay out three tens, a five, and a whole handful of assorted coins on the counter, blushing furiously.

  Reminders of my time as Misty.

  Ray eyes the stack of crumpled bills and coins with a look almost akin to disgust. Then he shrugs. “Close enough. Room 336. Have a wonderful stay. Check out is at noon.”

  “Thank you,” I say, hurrying out of the office with a shudder. Misha’s waiting for me, leaning against the wall, looking every bit the part of a bad boy. I hold up the keys and beckon for him to follow me up the two flights of rickety metal stairs to the third floor. After some time finagling the much-rusted key into the lock, we step into the room. It is surprisingly a little cleaner than expected, though the decor probably hasn’t been changed since 1977.

  “Not the worst place I’ve slept,” Misha comments, walking straight toward the bathroom. He turns back and gives me a meaningful look. “I’m going to shower off if you want to come.”

  I blush, my eyes widening. The double entendre in his statement hits me like a ton of bricks to the face. “Oh. Um. I don’t think—”

  “The offer stands,” he interrupts with a roguish grin. He closes the bathroom door and turns on the shower, leaving me standing in the middle of the cramped hotel room, internally arguing with myself. I look around the room, wrinkling my nose. At least the sheets look as if they’ve been washed in the last decade, which is a shock. I turn on the TV, but all I get is static, so I promptly turn it back off. With a sigh, I set my purse down on the bed and strip out of my clothes.

  Well, there’s certainly nothing better to do, I think to myself.

  I step into the bathroom and close the door, feeling the steam wash over me. I can see Misha’s tall, powerful frame silhouetted through the thin white shower curtain. He turns toward me and peeks out, his dark hair curling in the moisture. He gives me a broad smile.

  “Yeah, yeah, I can’t resist. You know I can’t,” I groan, rolling my eyes as I step into the shower with him. I sidle under the hot water and Misha enfolds me in his strong arms while the water soaks through my hair and slides deliciously down my back.

  “I know everything is a fucking mess right now,” he says in a low voice. He’s stroking my hair, holding me close. “But I promise you that we will figure it all out. We are in this together now, Nicole. For better or for worse.”

  I look up at him with genuine gratitude. “Thanks. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that,” I reply softly.

  He leans in and kisses me gently at first, then harder, his tongue pushing into my mouth. I moan into his touch as he slides one hand down between my legs. He strokes my clit while he kisses me, and before long my knees are buckling. Without a word, Misha drops to his knees, hitching one of my legs over his shoulder while he devours my pussy. I cry out and fling my arm out to brace myself against the shower wall. I toss my head back and close my eyes, giving into the sensations as Misha’s tongue flicks over my clit, bringing me closer…

  “Oh my god,” I gasp. “Misha!”

  I climax with a powerful shudder, and Misha holds me in place, not letting up for even a moment. I come again and again in his mouth while the hot water pelts down my body. Then, while I’m still recovering, he stands up and kisses me again.

  I can feel his cock hard and long against my thigh, and I can’t help but reach for it. I begin to stroke him, listening to the way his breath hitches with every slide and touch of my hand. He presses into me, tangling his fingers in my hair and tilting my head to one side.

  Misha leans in and kisses the side of my neck, the ticklish spot just under my ear. He grazes his teeth delicately across my skin, making me shiver with pleasure. Suddenly, all I want is his cock inside me. All the stress and tension in my body longs for release, and I know only Misha can give it to me.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper to him. “Please, Misha. I need this.”

  With an appreciative growl, he spins me around and I brace myself against the wall with both hands as he bends me over, his cock hard against my ass cheek. I grind back against him, eager to be filled. Without a moment of hesitation, he slides his cock inside my aching pussy, groaning as he grabs my hips.

  I let out a moan and hold on for dear life while Misha rears back and shoves into me, pounding my slick hole harder and harder. He’s being rough with me now, like he’s finally realized that I can take it, I won’t break in half if he uses my body the way he needs to. He thrusts into me again and again, his hands groping my ass. His cock strikes deep inside me, brushing into my g-spot with every thrust. I can feel my pleasure mounting, growing and growing until I whimper and come again, gushing all over his hard cock.

  “Fuck, you feel so good when you come,” Misha growls. “Come again for me, lapochka.”

  He picks up the pace, slamming into me so hard that it almost hurts. I give in to the waves of overwhelming pleasure, my eyes watering as I shudder through yet another orgasm, drenching his cock with my sweet honey. With a few more powerful thrusts, Misha holds my hips tightly and comes inside me with a groan.

  It’s so deliciously sinful, and I wish my body didn’t crave him like it does. But ever since I saw him at the stage, watching me, devouring me with his eyes, he’s been under my skin. He’s invaded all my thoughts, even with my world crashing down around me. He’s the eye of the storm, and I don’t want to let go.

  When we’re finished, I turn around and fold into his chest, resting my face against him while we come down from the rush.

  We shower off quickly with the last remaining minutes of hot water, then wrap ourselves in towels and walk back out. I can see in the bathroom mirror that my hair is probably going to dry into a tangled mess, and my cheeks are flushed bright pink. But I feel a million times better. If I have to be on the lam, at least I’m on the run with the world’s hottest partner in crime.

  Still wrapped in a towel, I sit down on the bed and watch Misha get dressed. Then I see him take a small dark rectangle out of his pocket and I tilt my head to one side, confused. “What is that?” I ask, pointing.

  He gives me a bemused look. “I know I fucked you pretty hard, but are you really telling me you’ve forgotten what a cell phone looks like?” he teases.

  I glare at him.

&n
bsp; “Ha ha. Funny. No, I mean, where did you get that? Surely they didn’t let you have a cell phone in the detention center?”

  “No, of course not. My old burner got taken in for evidence. Which means it’s probably conveniently ‘lost’ now along with the rest. But this is another burner I grabbed from the club while we were there earlier,” he explains, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

  “What? How? When?” I ask, frowning. “I was right beside you the whole time.”

  He gives me a wink. “I’m good at my job, Nicole. I can be very subtle when I need to be. I keep burners stashed all over the place. This one was hidden in the dressing room.”

  “Wow. I didn’t even notice,” I admit, awestruck.

  He turns on the phone and it beeps several times. The smile fades from his face and he walks toward the door. “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To listen to messages. I’ll be right back in,” he says quickly, stepping outside.

  I sit nervously while he plays the messages, then he comes back in with a grave look on his face.

  “What is it?” I inquire, getting up. Misha frowns.

  “Nothing. Just… some new information I’ve been waiting on,” he says cryptically.

  “Well? You can’t just leave it at that. Whatever happened to the two of us being in on this together, huh? What did you find out, Misha?” I press him.

  “I found out more about your sister. My contact has informed me that she is, in fact, being held hostage. It’s not a ruse. They’re serious,” he confesses.

  “Shit,” I murmur.

  “No more waiting. We’re going to do this my way now,” he says, putting on his coat. I rush over and put my hands to his chest.