Taken by the Russian

Oh my God. A frat party? I read about these during my new adult romance binge. What would it be like to see one in real life? There could be dancing, fist fights, people making out. What if I just peek in for a second, just to put images to the words I’ve read? Then I’ll leave and go home to my Russian. Already I miss him so much, my chest feels like it’s been trampled.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Just for a few minutes.”

Frat parties are gross.

I make that judgment as soon as I walk inside.

It’s dark and reeks of some unknown herb; every surface is sticky and filthy. But that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is the boys. They turn collectively when I walk into the room and rake me with something like…stunned hunger. It makes my pulse beat triple time, makes me edge back toward the door. For so long, Sasha kept my father’s other employees away from me. At first I thought he was going above and beyond the call of duty, but once, when one of the employees got too close, Sasha growled the real reason at me, while carrying me back to my room over his shoulder.

You do not understand your appeal, Anya. You know that place you keep hidden in your panties? Men would kill for one taste of it. They would throw away their lives to get inside it.

Of course, I thought that was ridiculous. Heck, I barely understood what he meant.

But now I’m not so sure he was wrong. And after one day beneath Sasha, I understood all of what he said now.

I wore a modest sundress and sandals to orientation, but the way every male in the room seems to close in on me, I feel naked. Who is that? they whisper. Is she real? Can you imagine what she looks like under that dress? Fuck.

When one of the frat guys openly rubs their crotch, I take a startled step backward, running into someone. Carter. He steadies me with a too – tight grip on my elbow. “Hey there. Can I get you a drink?”

“Uh…sure.” I have no intention of drinking anything in this place, but I want him away from me. I want to get away from everyone, but since I walked in, a thousand freshman have started pushing their way through the door, blocking the exit. Trying to keep my panic to a dull roar, I force a smile onto my face. “I – is there a bathroom?”

Carter points me in the right direction, and I escape to a small restroom on the east end of the huge room, locking myself inside. Okay. Regroup. I’m going to catch my breath, go back out there and barrel toward the exit like a football player. Nighttime is only starting to fall, so there are plenty of people on campus to make sure I make it to the car safely. I got this.

Making sure I have all my orientation packets, I throw open the door — and come to a dead stop. Just ahead, Carter holds a red plastic cup in his hand. And he’s dumping something into it. White powder. Is that the drink that’s meant for me?

Hoping he doesn’t see me, I put my head down and change direction, weaving through the crowd. But a hand clamps around my bicep, drawing me back. “Where do you think you’re going?” Carter asks, looking a lot less friendly than before. “Party is just getting started, Anya.”

He tries to hand me the drink, but I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

Another set of male hands slide around my waist from behind, and I yelp, dislodging the unwanted touch and dropping my packets onto the ground. I spin around to find an older – looking guy in a sideways hat, openly ogling me with his eyes. “Damn. Who’s this, little bro?”

“This.” Carter makes a savoring noise near my ear, his hot breath ghosting over my bare shoulder. “This is Anya. I’m just trying to convince her to have a drink.”

“A drink.” The older guy laughs. “Right. Good idea.”

A warning sound blares in my ears, and I lunge sideways, trying to get away from the brothers, but once again Carter snags my arm, keeping me from leaving. “Not so fast.”

I react on instinct, bunching my fist the way Sasha taught me. Remembering not to tuck my thumb. Before Carter can draw me back toward him and his brother, I rear back and deck him. Blood squirts from his nose and he howls, furious. Seeing my chance to escape, I turn to run at the rapt crowd, but Carter grabs my hair from behind —

I’m suddenly free, falling forward onto my knees.

There’s a loud snap. A scream.

And I turn to find Sasha — my Sasha is here — holding Carter’s clearly broken arm. He tosses it, still attached to its owner, aside, just in time to receive the attack from Carter’s brother. The malice and retribution in my husband’s eyes should scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me come to my feet and glory in the sight of him wielding a pair of brass knuckles and knocking several teeth out of the frat guy’s head. Without so much as a flinch.