I cup her head just in time to prevent her from hurting herself as she passes out.
That svolach will pay for this. He drugged her. My zayka, my little bunny rabbit. He was going to hurt her, and now she’s floppy as I scoop her into my arms.
Fuck. Emerging from the bathroom, the coward has run away. I’d be tempted to race after him and inflict all the pain in the world onto him if I didn’t have more important things to do. Namely, care for Jenna.
I stride out of the hotel, glaring at the unlucky guests in the way, and carry her to the anonymous SUV.
It’s awkward to open the passenger door with Jenna held securely, lower the seat back and put on her seatbelt, but I manage it in part because she hardly weighs anything and also because I’m not calling anyone—not a paramedic or even my own loyal men—to help. No one touches her but me.
I’ve been far too lenient. I’ve kept my distance because she’s young and I’m a grizzled old Bratva boss. I’ve told myself it was enough to watch her—stalk her—from afar.
But it’s not. And from now on, any man who touches her dies. Starting with her date.
Ignoring the impulse to stroke Jenna’s cheek, I only check her breathing. Then I’m driving too fast across London and growling as the Rotherhithe mafia doctor takes three whole rings to answer his phone. Lazy shit.
“Where are you?” I demand. Matvey is discreet, excellent at stitching up gunshot wounds, and pulling medicines out of his suitcase that probably aren’t legal but are absolutely useful.
“At your estate in Kent—”
I swear and turn at the next corner, heading south. I was going to my operational base in Rotherhithe but instead I’ll have to drive out of London to obtain the medical attention Jenna needs.
“Get everything ready,” I order. “She’s been drugged. I think it’s a simple roofie, but I’ll want tests run. She gets the best treatment. She’s your only priority.”
“Yes, Boss. Who—”
I shut the call, not prepared to answer questions about who Jenna is and why I, a notoriously grumpy and loner kingpin, who never indulges in women or drink or any of the vices associated with my trade, is suddenly fawning over a slip of a girl.
Next, I call my head of operations, Arkadi.
“All resources to searching for this man,” Arkadi repeats as I quick-fire instructions. “Understood. What’s his name?”
“Howard. Probably.”
There’s a brief silence. “I assume ‘Probably’ isn’t his surname.”
“No.” I’m impatient, but can hardly blame Arkadi for asking. This isn’t usual. “He’s blond. Looks like a stick insect, and likes to date rape women.”
“Pizdets. Not much to go on.”
“Do your best,” I reply grimly. And moments later there’s just the sound of the road and my tapping fingers on the steering wheel as I ignore the speed limits getting out of the sprawling city of London.
I have to find and dispose of Howard quickly. I could make up reasons about how resources need to be reallocated back to our usual protection jobs, but it’s actually that him breathing in the world offends me.
He touched my girl. He has to die.
I really don’t want to do this… Never thought there would be anything so important that I couldn’t deal with it myself. But right now, my priority is Jenna.
As the phone trills my misgivings continue.
“Westminster,” comes the clipped reply.
“I need your help.” No small talk. “Or rather, help from the London Mafia Syndicate.”
“Go on,” the kingpin of Westminster replies, and I’m profoundly grateful he doesn’t call me on my conspicuous silence at London Mafia Syndicate meetings. I just wordlessly send in financial contributions towards whatever cat-up-a-tree they’re trying to fix this time. The last one was some gavno about road potholes.
To be fair, my drive through dark city streets is faster because of the smooth surface, so I guess they had a point.
“I need a man killed.” I glance over at Jenna, who is still out cold, and fury rises again with a protective instinct that’s now new and familiar all at once. I’ve never felt like this before Jenna. “Immediately.”
“Why? Who is he to you?” Westminster asks with absolute calm.
“He tried to rape my…” How to describe Jenna? My obsession? The victim of my stalking. My forbidden fruit.
“I’m always interested in fewer rapists in London,” Westminster says. “Didn’t realise you were overly concerned about such things though. Change of heart?”
“Could say that,” I reply tersely.
“Mmm.” Westminster sounds amused. “And how did you meet this change of heart? Does she have a name?”
“Jenna Erith. She works at the veterinarian in Rotherhithe that I took my dog, Karik, to.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. But it feels good to speak her name. “This guy conned her and tried to take advantage during a date.”
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. She went on a date. My girl went on a date with another man. The jealous rage that tried to boil from my chest when I saw her smile at Howard repeats on me and I swallow down the magma. “I had to rescue her from a bathroom, and he drugged her.”
Jenna isn’t mine, I have to remind myself. But a little voice growls, yet.
“And you just happened to be there to help.” Westminster is definitely amused now. “Stalking, much?”
My only response is swearing colourfully in Russian. I’m not about to explain myself to anyone but my zayka. “Are you going to do this, or not?”
“Of course.” He sounds a bit offended by my implication. “Ask me one day why the London Mafia Syndicate was formed.”
“I thought it was something to do with a wife, and a mix-up about mathematics,” I sneer.
Westminster chuckles. “That too. Tell me about this prick you want dealt with.”
I give him all the details I have, and unlike Arkadi, he’s unfazed.
“We’ll find him. Look after your girl.”
“I will.” I glance across at Jenna. It’s a promise, not to Westminster, but to her.
One more call, this time to my utterly confused housekeeper whom I’ve woken up. She obviously thinks my request is insane, but is sensible enough to know not to say so.
The rest of the drive is tense and quiet. I try to keep my gaze on the road, but I check Jenna more than makes sense. She doesn’t regain consciousness, but seems peaceful, her green eyes closed and her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and the leather seat.
I’ve always enjoyed the approach to my Kent country house, which winds through the estate’s woodlands, dense on each side. They’re tranquil in a way you can’t achieve in London, and Rotherhithe is a thriving area of industry and modernity in stark contrast to my home here that is hundreds of years old, and the forest feels even older.
Today, I’d burn it all to the ground to have Jenna safe one minute sooner.
“Matvey,” I bark as I throw the car door open after breaking hard in front of the mansion house.
“Boss.” The doctor clearly wants to live, since he’s ready at the bottom of the cream stone steps that lead up to the main entrance.
I’m around the car in a second, then looking down at Jenna’s unconscious body, my heart in my throat.
“Is she alright?” I grit out.
Matvey looks over my shoulder at Jenna, and instinctively I want to shield her.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit as I undo her seatbelt and gather her into my arms. I should have dragged Jenna out of that restaurant the moment I saw her sit down. “I found her passed out.”
Thankfully, the Rotherhithe men who are here part as I stride into the house and upstairs to my bedroom and lay Jenna on the bed.
The next hour is worse than the time Camden pulled out four of my fingernails to try to get me to give up my father, the then kingpin of Rotherhithe. Matvey takes blood and runs tests. Warily, he listens to Jenna’s pulse, and I watch him, fists clenched. He wears plastic gloves and is incredibly careful not to touch her directly, instead asking me to move her arms or tilt her head. And this is why my men are well paid. Because they know how to read a dangerous situation and act accordingly.
Even when the danger comes from their boss.
He confirms my suspicion that Jenna was drugged.
“She might be disoriented when she wakes. But she’ll be fine,” he says, removing his gloves and packing up some of the medical equipment. “There’s a minor risk of…” Matvey lists a dozen conditions, but I can’t get past the surging relief that she’s going to be okay. “I can arrange for a female staff—”
“No.” No one cares for her but me, and I’ll be the one here when she wakes.
Whether she’ll welcome me is another question…
It’s a very long night. When Matvey retires to get some sleep—on call in case there’s any change—my London Rotherhithe residence housekeeper knocks tentatively and delivers what I requested: my dog and new clothes for Jenna.
I try to work while I keep watch over Jenna, but mostly my gaze remains on her face.
Karik, my black-and-white Border collie puppy, keeps me company, curled into a ball at my feet at first. Then he wakes at about five in the morning, while it’s still dark, and pads around the room. Cautiously, he glances at me before leaping onto the bed where Jenna is asleep.
“Karik…” I warn in a deep, low tone. But he sniffs her like she’s a delicious treat, then snuggles into Jenna’s thigh and breathes a sigh of contentment.
And just like that, I’m jealous of my dog. He was a stray mutt not so long ago, and now he’s the pet of a billionaire and in the most perfect spot in the world: right next to Jenna’s pussy.
It’s some hours later that Karik wakes again, stretches, and ambles up the bed to Jenna’s face and begins—with lack of embarrassment—to lick Jenna’s ear.
“Karik,” I hiss. “Stop.” Because although I really sympathise and would happily lick any or every part of Jenna, we can’t be unsolicitedly licking people, however delicious they are.
Karik looks up, tail wagging, and unlike every other person in my life, totally ignores me. He returns to licking Jenna.
“Enough,” I growl. “Sit!”
Finally, some of the training gets through to my puppy, and he plunks himself obediently back on his haunches, ears perked, front paws right by her face.
I sigh, annoyed, but not wanting to wake Jenna with more curt commands to my partially-trained beast, as she stirs.
Still in her dress from last night, but tucked under the covers and her shoes off, Jenna shifts, and her green eyes open, no doubt seeing a wall of fur.
I’m on my feet and at her bedside before I’ve really thought it through.
“Oh, hey boy,” she says softly. Karik—little tart—wags his tail and noses her. She wiggles an arm out and offers her hand for him to sniff. “How did you get…” Her forehead creases.
“How are you feeling?” I say quietly.
Her head snaps up, and panic streaks across her face. She scrambles to cover herself, though nothing is on show, and backs onto the headboard like she’s a chameleon and could hide herself away.
Confused by her movement, Karik jumps off the bed and comes to sit by my side. My loyal hound now he’s concerned.
“Where am I?” she croaks, eyes wide, and… Scared.
Jenna is terrified. Of me.
Yebat.
