Ruby Mayhem: A Russian Mafia Romance (Vyronov Bratva Book 1)

My head is reeling and my heart thundering as I try to take in what’s just happened.

Adrenaline has flooded my system, but as it begins to dissipate, I find myself beginning to shake. I sink to the floor as my legs crumple; the primal instinct that had kept me on my feet begins to subside.

I lift trembling hands to cover my face. Beyond the shock of bullets screaming past me and narrowly escaping death, one thing stands out.

Dad!

He’s gone!

I can’t believe I just saw my father die. It can’t be real. None of this is real. I’m sure that any moment now, I’m going to wake up and realize that it’s all been some horrifying nightmare. But as I take in my surroundings, feel the cold of the floor through the fabric of my jeans, and inhale the slightly musty scent of the air, I know that this is no dream. I’m locked in a tiny room, bullets flying around beyond the door, while my father lies in a pool of his own blood.

Oh, God…

Dad.

He was a bastard who used me and prepared me my whole life to sell me, but beneath it all, he was the man who fathered me. And maybe there was remorse there when he admitted what he’d done. There might still have been a chance for us. He did what he did because he was afraid for his life. He thought he had no choice. And maybe, in his sick and twisted way, he really believed that I would be okay with Kirill Vyronov.

Now I’ll never know.

Someone literally blew his brains out. Right in front of me. When I glance down at the front of my T-shirt, it’s splattered with blood. My father’s blood. I gag, fighting down bile as the moments replay themselves in my head like a technicolor nightmare.

Except this nightmare was reality.

My reality.

And there is no way out.

The room starts to close in on me. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and when I put a hand to my chest, I can feel my heart pounding. My lips tingle, and my head spins. I’m starting to hyperventilate; I recognize the signs of a panic attack looming.

Calm down Tee!

Burning in my palms draws my eyes down to where I’ve carved groves into my skin with my fingernails. I hadn’t even felt myself doing it. All I can remember is the strength of his rough palms as he pulled me through the room, ducking bullets as we ran.

Was he shielding me?

It seems unlikely. Why would he do that? I’m nothing to the man, aside from a big bunch of cash, and clearly, he can afford it. Maybe that’s why.

I clench my teeth and force myself to steady my breathing, counting down rhythmically as I take deep, slow breaths. I can’t lose my shit right now. I have to find a way out here.

Standing up, I turn around to get a better look at the room I’m in. It’s little more than an empty box with bare, white walls and a floor tiled in cold marble. Hopelessness begins to build. The room is empty apart from a huge safe at one end. It’s small enough to cross in just a couple of strides, and aside from the heavy door behind me, there’s no way out.

I can’t just accept that.

There has to be a way out of all this.

But even when I crawl along the floor, examining the skirting in the hopes of finding a duct or vent, there’s nothing. Nothing in the ceiling either; it looks like solid concrete. It’s just the door, and from the sound it made when he slammed it shut, it’s made of solid steel. I’m stuck here. Stuck until he decides to come to get me.

That’s if he hasn’t been killed out there.

Oh, dear God!

Panic surges again. If he doesn’t free me, I might die in here. My fragile grip on my frayed nerves slips completely, and I spin and start pounding on the door.

“Help! Let me out!”

I can make out the sound of screams and gunfire, but the door’s so thick that everything is muffled. Is he running around out there? In all that chaos? What if he’s shot?

Please don’t die.

Please, Kirill!

I don’t want to admit it, but as fucked up as it is, he’s my only hope of survival right now. Nobody knows he locked me in here. There might be no one else to get me out. I’m picturing myself stuck in here for days, probably dying of thirst before hunger takes me. Would I run out of air first?

Oh, my God!

“Kirill!” My voice cracks.

Would he even care enough to come for me if he had to make a hasty escape? The man’s a bloodthirsty killer – I have no doubt of it. Why would he come back for me?

He paid a million bucks for you, Tee.

It breaks my heart to think that my only value right now is the cash he spent to buy me. But I don’t have the luxury of self-pity right now.

“Kirill!” I scream again, my voice almost frantic. I keep thumping the door until my fists feel bruised, pausing to rest my forehead against the cool surface when I run out of breath. It’s only when I hear something grating on the other side that I manage to straighten… and then go stiff.

What if it’s not him?!

What if it’s the enemy?

I hadn’t even considered that prospect. The door might open and leave me staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by one of the men who murdered my father. I could be facing one of the bad guys.

What am I thinking?

Kirill is one of the bad guys!

He’s just not one who wants to kill me. At least not yet.

Staggering back from the door, my sneakers scuff over the floor as I prepare to make a mad bolt for freedom. I need to be ready to run for my life if I get half a chance.

The door is yanked open. I stifle a scream with my hand, my blood running cold and my nerve endings firing up simultaneously as I stare at the scene in front of me. And, for a moment, I can’t tell whether to be relieved or dismayed.

It’s him.

He is standing on the other side of the door, battered and bloody. His enormous chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. Yet his eyes remain cool as he runs an appraising glance over me as if confirming that I’m still in one piece.

“Kirill! Thank God,” I blurt. I never thought I’d ever be happy to see him, but my heart surges as I look at him. For a brief moment, I almost throw myself against his chest, stopping myself just in time. Instead, I take in the sight of him. He looks nothing like the unflappable mobster I met when I got here.

He is no longer the ruthless gentleman in a perfectly tailored suit. This time, there is something feral, something animalistic about him. His features are set in grim lines, his face smeared with dirt and shining beneath a sheen of perspiration. His hair is tousled, the sleeve of his suit jacket is shredded, and his shirt is ripped, exposing the tanned flesh of his chest. He’s brutal and beautiful in equal measure. My eyes widen as I allow myself to stare at him for a moment, taking in his towering form. Violence had never drawn me before, but right now, there’s something irresistibly compelling about him.

Except this is not the time to think about that, Teetee.

Releasing the door, he steps in and reaches out a hand. “Come!” His voice comes out as a deep growl. It’s not a request, so a part of me immediately wants to resist him. Another part, the more rational part, knows that would probably mean death. So, I follow his lead, flinching as he closes his hand roughly around my wrist and hauls me forward with such force that I stumble over my own feet. Something flickers in his expression as I crash into him. When I look down, he has a hand clasped to his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

Shit!

He’s been shot. I’m sure of it.

“Are… are you okay?” I ask, then wish I hadn’t. Why should I care? I should be thrilled if he drops dead. Hell, I should be the one who puts the bullet in him. But still, something in me churns when pain flits over his face.

“It is nothing. Come,” he says again, not answering my question.

“But you’re bleeding!” I stare as the blood drips onto the floor. “We must call an ambulance!”

I almost laugh out loud at the stupidity of my own suggestion. Do I honestly think that paramedics are going to blunder into this war zone? Or that a man like this would even want the authorities getting involved?

I stop for a second, because of all the sounds around us, one is missing. No sirens. It’s been minutes since this gunbattle began; long enough for someone to have called the police. But there’s nothing.

I remember how he’d laughed when I’d tried to threaten to turn him in, and things start to fall into place.

Above the law. Just like Dad said.

Oh, God…Dad…

“What… what has happened to my father?”

“He’s dead.” The words are blunt enough to feel like physical blows.

“I… I know, but…” I gulp. “His body. We can’t just leave him there.’

He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. He is beyond caring. “He is dead,” he repeats as if that explains everything. “Move! We have no time.” And before I can respond, I’m being hauled almost off my feet as he twists and runs out through the door again. I grit my teeth and try not to choke as we weave past bloody bodies, men with eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, blood splattered up walls, and across marble.

I don’t know what Hell looks like, but I’m pretty sure it’s something like this. Thankfully, I don’t get much chance to dwell on it. When he sees me looking, he stoops and lifts me over his shoulder, barely breaking stride.

“We have to get out of here.” A bullet whines by, putting emphasis on his words. It smashes into the wall nearby, showering us with plaster. I blink quickly to try to clear the particles from my eyes.

“Kirill!” I shriek when a vase explodes near my head without warning. Shouldn’t I have heard the bullet that time? Or is there some kind of sniper out there? High-powered rifles do stuff like that, don’t they? Oh God, how did I manage to grow up so sheltered when my father literally groveled in this world? Either way, I don’t need to know much about this stuff to know that I’m in deep shit.

We’re still darting, ducking low, and my head spins as I try to get my bearings. Panic is rising again and I fight it down.

Calm!

Stay calm!

And then my stomach lurches when he stoops, and then makes a swift run for the door across the room, with me hanging like a ragdoll off his enormous shoulder. Without the bursts of rapid gunfire, it’s not as crazy as it was when it all began, but there’s still someone out there. And they still want us dead.

Or maybe it’s just me they want to kill.