Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Read online

  “Maverick's on duty,” he said to me thickly before going into Carson's room. I can see in his eyes. The walk was also a way for him to start to say goodbye to the dog he loves so much. “I will be ready at midnight.”

  Now I'm on duty, and as the minutes crawl by, I try to think about what to do. Finally, I turn on the small red LED lamp that we set up for the person on duty and open the book. “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed...”

  The night is quiet as I read, and when the clock next to me beeps the hour, I reach out and hit the timer, resetting the sixty minute countdown. It was a final touch that Nathan came up with, a kitchen timer on a sixty minute loop, so that even if we got tired and nodded off, we wouldn't stay asleep too long. You cannot friend a hawk, they said, unless you are a hawk yourself, alone and only a sojourner in the land, without friends or the need of them...

  “Good book,” Nathan says quietly behind me, and I look up, realizing I've got five minutes still on my shift. “Quiet?”

  “Not a sound,” I reply, marking my point by folding over a corner of the page. “But I suspect you know that, since you probably didn't sleep at all.”

  “No, but I made sure Carson did. He will not do well from four to six otherwise.”

  “I'm sure. But he's strong, he'll do fine.”

  Nathan sits down next to me, his eyes sweeping the darkness below. “I have a bad feeling this time, Andrea. Even worse than last time.”

  His phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket, reading. “This is not good.”

  “What?” I ask, and Nathan reads silently for a minute. “What?”

  “A contact of mine, someone who owes me a favor, found out who our 'Victor Orton' is. His real name is Vadim Orloff. He is with the Bratva, the Russian Mafia,” Nathan says quietly, showing me the phone. “I will make sure that everyone knows this as they come on duty, but this profile... and I have heard of this guy. He is no amateur. This is serious.”

  “How serious?” I ask, and Nathan licks his lips. I think it's the first time I've ever seen him show even a touch of fear, and that's scarier than anything else.

  “It says here he is from St. Petersburg, but that might be false. He spent fifteen years in prison, from the ages of eighteen to thirty-three, originally for drug trafficking. In order to survive in prison he quickly joined the prison mob, where he found a certain affinity for his mental temperament. He was an enforcer first, and later became a contract killer for them inside the prison, but continued once he was released,” Nathan says, shaking his head.

  He shows me a picture of Vadim, and it's the same man I saw earlier for sure. In particular, the eyes and hair are a dead giveaway. He's shirtless in the picture I see, and he's covered in tattoos. There are a lot of religious symbols, but also a lot of other things I can't really make out on the phone. “What's all the ink?”

  “His resume,” Nathan explains softly. “The Russians are a lot like the Yakuza. They ink themselves to show who they are, and what they have done. From what I can read here in these pics, he has killed a lot of people. See the knife that is tattooed on his collarbones, like it was shoved through his neck?”

  “Yeah... gruesome shit,” I say as I shiver, and Nathan nods.

  “It means that he killed in prison, and that he is for hire. The drops of blood represent each kill he has done. These photos were taken by Moscow police when they brought him in for questioning about five years ago. Judging by the other symbols, it’s probably safe to assume he is the top hitman in their mob. But each drop of blood and star tattoo represents a life he has taken.”

  “I can't even count the stars,” I say, and Nathan nods. “So what do we do?”

  “Stay frosty, as we said in Spec Ops. You go get some sleep. Tomorrow no one goes alone anywhere, for any reason. But for now, try to get some rest. I will see you in the morning.”

  “You sure?” I ask. “I mean, if this Orloff tries something...”

  “Then you guys will be up and watching my back before he can get in the door,” Nathan reassures me. “Don’t worry, Andrea. He is good, but he's not that good.”

  He's feeding me a line of shit, I know it. He wants me to relax and not freak out, and to be honest he's doing a piss poor job of it. Still, I nod, and stand up. “Okay. Goodnight, Nathan.”

  “Goodnight, Andrea. Sleep well.”

  “If I can.”

  Chapter 14

  Carson

  I'm sitting up when Andrea comes in, having woken up when Nathan got up to head out for his shift. I've been napping lightly, but with the stress of what's going on, the fact that it was only ten o'clock when I lay down, and that I had Nathan in the same room, I haven't really gotten comfortable. At least Nathan closed his eyes for a little bit.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you,” Andrea says quietly as she comes in, setting her Glock down on the nightstand. “All quiet on the western front, although what Nathan learned...”

  Her voice trails off, and I sit up straighter, concerned. “Want to talk about it?”

  She looks back at me, then nods, sighing. “Turn your head first though, please? I need to change into some sleep clothes.”

  I do as she asks, covering my eyes with a pillow just to be doubly sure, listening as she strips and changes, only uncovering when she says, “Okay, I'm decent again.”

  I lower my pillow, and I'm momentarily stunned at how different Andrea looks. Usually, she's strong, feisty, and more than a little sarcastic, in addition to being beautiful. It's what makes her sexy. Now, wearing a simple light blue t-shirt, some cotton shorts and without any makeup, shoes, or even having her hair pulled back, she looks young, vulnerable, and adorable. She's still beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful than before. It pulls at me in a different way. This isn't an Andrea I want to conquer, but one I want to protect.

  “You're staring,” she says quietly, and I have to force myself to blink.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, shifting around and making sure my blanket is over my lap. I don't want her to be embarrassed by my arousal, and the way she looks, I'm certain that's going to happen sooner rather than later. “So, what happened?”

  “Not much,” she says, sitting down on the bed. I thought she might choose her mattress, I'd made sure to bring it in just in case, but instead she sits down on my bed, hugging her knees to her chest. “I got through a chunk of The Gunslinger, thanks for that. It's been a long time since I read it, it's a good story.”

  “It is,” I agree. “Although I guess it's not the best choice for what we're doing right now. You don't look all that good, to be honest about it.”

  Andrea tries to work a smirk up but fails, and takes a deep, shivering breath. “Nathan got a text message, from a contact of his. The man we're dealing with, he's serious shit. Russian Mafia hitman, and just...”

  She goes quiet and I shift over, sitting next to her. Without thinking I put an arm around her shoulders, and I realize just how tiny she is. She can't be much more than five foot three or four, maybe a hundred pounds or so. But she's always so strong, so much bigger than she really is, it's easy to forget. “It's going to be okay, Andrea. Come on, you handled this guy once, you did great from what Katrina and Jackson said.”

  “I hid and ran like a rabbit,” Andrea says, shivering with long repressed fear. “If Jackson and Katrina hadn't been there, I'd have run even harder.”

  “Good,” I tell her, and she looks over, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and I nod, smiling. “You did the right thing, Andrea. You protected your niece, you got away, and you protected Jackson and Katrina too by using the van the way you did. Overall, I'd say you were pretty badass.”

  “Will you stop that?!” Andrea nearly yells, pushing me away and getting off the bed. “Will you please stop thinking I'm some sort of Superwoman? I'm not a badass, I'm not strong, I'm not some asskicker like Katrina or Jackson, or even you! I'm just... I'm scared, Carson! I'm scared, and I'm trying not to be!”<
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  I get off the bed and go over to her, where she's standing next to her pistol, looking down at it. “I hate this damn thing. You know, I've never fired one before, except at a practice range one time? Wasn't even one of these things, it was just a tiny little twenty-two that barely made a hole in the paper targets.”

  “I'm not surprised,” I tell her softly, putting my hands on her shoulders. “I watched you as you were trying to practice in the dooryard after we got the shutters screwed shut. You looked like a newbie with it.”

  “So how does that make me some sort of badass?” she asks, and I turn her around, looking into her beautiful azure eyes. “How am I supposed to protect 'Lissa or BA if all I want is to be protected myself?”

  “By being the same woman who pushed herself for years, who knew the risks even as she gathered information about Peter,” I tell her gently. I bring up my right hand, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, giving her a little smile. “There are a lot of ways to be strong. But it's more important to know and accept that there are times when even the strongest people need to relax. Times when it's okay to be open and vulnerable. Wanting to be protected doesn't make you any less strong.”

  “You never seem that way,” Andrea says, her left hand coming up to rest on my forearm. “You always seem strong to me.”

  “You have no idea how weak I am sometimes,” I whisper, our bodies coming closer until we're almost touching. “Andrea, for almost two weeks now, I've felt weaker and more vulnerable than I have since my childhood. I've spent twenty-three years building up walls around my true self, and then two weeks ago, all those walls were shattered. You stepped out of that van and sent a wrecking ball right through all those walls with a single look from your beautiful blue eyes, and I've spent the past twelve hours scared out of my mind, not because Melissa might get hurt, but because you might be hurt, too.”

  “Why?” she asks, her face so open and trusting. “Why me?”

  “Because every time I close my eyes, all I see is you,” I tell her, lowering my lips to hers. We kiss, and this time, instead of the fierce, combative passion of last night, her lips are soft and tender, yielding to me and joining me. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her tight as she brings her arms up around my neck, our kiss deepening until we're pressed together, the whole world forgotten other than her touch, her lips, the feeling of her tongue wrapping around mine. There's heat, but it's muted, both of us holding back as we find comfort and tenderness in each other.

  I feel so warm and comfortable. It's like a hole in me is slowly mending, and those walls I just told Andrea about, are starting to be rebuilt, but this time with space for some more people inside them.

  I step back, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the bed. I lift the blanket and sit down, sliding underneath the cover. “So do you like to sleep on the right side or the left side?”

  “That depends,” she says, smiling, a bit of her confidence back. “Do you sleep on your side?”

  “Usually my right side, but I've been able to sleep in lots of different positions,” I chuckle, thinking about some of the weird contortions I've had in comforting Melissa and still trying to catch some shuteye. I've pretty much been able to sleep in any position short of standing on my head, although I think I might be able to pull that one off as well.

  “Then I'll take your right side,” she says, sliding in next to me and making me scoot over.

  I look at the angel next to me in bed, and while I want her, there's no rush for some reason. Instead, her smile spreads as she runs her hand over my arm, feeling the muscles there and giving an appreciative murmur. “I saw it when we did archery, and whenever you're doing work, but it's not all that obvious when you're in your normal work clothes.”

  “What's that?” I ask, caressing the soft skin of her back through her t-shirt. “That I need to be in better shape?”

  “Actually, I was going to say you're in very good shape,” Andrea replies, her fingers making me shiver. “You're not bulky like Jackson is, but you're no soft artsy type either.”

  “Even when I wear the poet shirts?” I tease, and she chuckles.

  “Even then. Actually, I kinda like the slim-fit pants you wear,” she says, leaning in and kissing my jawline. “They make your butt look sexy.”

  I give her a kiss, deeper and more sensual than our first one, warm desire mixing with the need for closeness and the urge to protect her, and I bring my right hand up, cupping her breast through her t-shirt and making Andrea gasp. “Carson...”

  “Andrea,” I reply, kissing along her throat, tracing her pulse with my lips and tongue. She's so sensitive, her body alive and warm and responsive, and I pull her closer, pushing her shirt up to feel her naked, perfect skin. She moans and her fingers dig into my shoulders as I roll her on top of me, my cock hardening as she shifts her legs to straddle me. “Mmm, so perfect.”

  “Carson,” Andrea says, pulling back. I release her, worried that I've gone too far, but she smiles and reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She's perfect, and as I marvel at the vision in front of my eyes, she takes my hand and puts it on top of her walnut-colored nipple, sighing in pleasure. “I need more than just a kiss.”

  Chapter 15

  Andrea

  I moan gently when Carson's hand moves, tightening around my breast and his thumb brushing over my nipple. I can feel him growing bigger underneath me, his cock pressing through his pants and against the cotton of my shorts and panties, and I want it. All of it.

  “Mmm, that feels nice,” I whisper as he pinches my nipple, a hot spark shooting through my body as he pulls until my breast stretches a little bit, and then lets go. “You're being rough,” I say, but I'm not complaining.

  “I can be,” Carson admits, his voice low and intense. “I hold back a lot, but I'm normally a very demanding man who likes to take control.”

  I moan and climb off of him, reaching for the waistband of my shorts and pushing them off, stripping naked. I take my shirt and clothes and fold them carefully, setting them on the edge of the big bed, and kneel next to Carson, who's turned over on his side and is watching me, his silver-gray eyes burning with interest. His words unlock a part of me that I've wanted someone to unlock for so long, and maybe that's the reason that I've wanted Carson so badly. I could sense that he was the man to finally free this side of me.

  I've never shown this side of me to anyone before. I don't think even Jackson knows, and no lover I've ever had has ever caused this sort of reaction in me. I'm always the one in charge, the one who runs things in the few relationships I’ve had. Inside though, I've always wanted the opposite, and for Carson, as I fold my hands behind my back and lower my eyes, it just feels right and natural. I want to be vulnerable. “How can I please you, Sir?”

  Carson hums in appreciation and sits up, reaching around, grasping my wrists in one hand to pin them behind my back. He's so much stronger than I am, but I know he doesn't feel the need to display his strength through some silly macho bullshit. Instead, I can feel it in the way he holds my wrists firmly without tugging, and without forcing. He knows he can take control, but he doesn't need to. “You know what you're asking for, right?”

  I nod, and look up into his eyes. “I do.”

  Carson shivers and smiles at my words, then leans in, whispering in my ear. “Good, my little dove. But before we continue, we need some rules, don't we?”

  His dove. Just hearing that fills my body with heat, and I nod, breathless.

  “Good. First, we won’t show this to the rest of our family. At least for now. Second rule, you serve me of your own free will, nothing more. Even though it won’t be tonight… we won’t go that far, your word is 'azure'.”

  “Azure,” I whisper, then again. Still soft, but louder. “Azure.”

  “Very good. Do you accept these rules?” Carson asks, and I nod. “Say it, Andrea.”

  “I promise to follow the rules, and any others you give me,” I say
softly, my heart freeing and becoming lighter with every sound that comes out of my mouth. “How may I serve you?”

  Carson smiles and shifts in front of me, kneeling until we're facing each other. “Take off my clothes. But you can’t touch until I'm totally naked.”

  It's difficult, but I nod, and reach for a loose fold of his sleep shirt, making sure not to touch any of his skin as I lift his shirt up. Even though he works outside a lot, his skin is still naturally pale compared to mine, and when I pull the t-shirt over his head, I fold it and set it aside next to mine before coming back to him. I'm momentarily stumped, and finally speak up. “I need a little help. You're sitting on your pants.”

  Carson chuckles and gets off the bed, standing next to it with his arms raised. His large cock is tenting his light cotton pants and I'm so hungry for it that I almost break his rules, but I steel myself and remain kneeling on the floor. I reach for the knot in his waist ties and undo the bow carefully, tugging from side to side until the waistband is loose enough for me to work my fingers inside without touching him. I slide his pants off, but I'm confronted with a problem that I don't know how to solve. He's wearing skin-tight boxer briefs, his cock making the stretching fabric bulge out, but there isn't a single scrap of loose fabric for me to use.

  He reaches down and strokes my hair. I take a deep breath, my body screaming in want, and try to think clearly. Every bit of me is yelling for me to just grab his briefs and strip them off, swallowing his cock as soon as it pops out. But that's not what... what he wants, and I breathe deeply, counting backward from ten before I open my eyes. I'm focused on his cock though, and how delicious and huge it looks, how much I want to suck it, to feel it pound my aching, long-neglected and dripping pussy...