Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Don’t say it like that, Kaz. Don’t do that to me.

I trembled.

Focus. Stop thinking about him, and focus.

Tears spilled out of my eyes.

I wiped them away and gazed out of the window.

The limo slowly entered a tunnel. Several cars and vans lined the roads near us.

Where are we going now?

When we entered the tunnel, the limo screeched to a stop.

Louis talked in French over the phone. Those foreign words rushed out in an erratic pattern. More cops sat inside of the tunnel. Their flashing blue lights made the section of our tunnel glow.

What are we doing? What’s going on?

Jean-Pierre shoved me out, made me put his jacket on over his dirty buttoned shirt, and placed me in the back of a taxi.

No. Let’s stay in the limo. Maybe, Kaz saw me. Wait. He did.

“Mouse stop running away. That was dangerous.”

Kaz had seen me. Wherever he was, he had his eyes on me.

Jean-Pierre got in the back of the taxi with me.

An old man sat in the driver’s seat.

A glass barrier behind his seat separated us.

I checked the other window.

Louis guided Gwen into the back of an ambulance. Rafael carried a sheet-covered body to a black truck, decorated with Hello Kitty stickers on the side.

Fuck. They know Kaz is watching too. And who died?

The police cleared a lane in the tunnel, sirens blaring loud.

We all sped off in separate cars.

It was a smart move. Separate cars and paths. If Kaz had eyes on us, he would lose them. I did my best to think of any possibilities to escape.

I can do this. At least it’s just Jean-Pierre and me.

I turned to him.

Jean-Pierre pointed a gun at my side.

That’s how it is now?

We left the tunnel along with other cars. None of us were too close to the other in the lanes.

Five exits passed before the cab left the highway.

Leaning forward, I tried to catch some of the signs.

Jean-Pierre pushed the point of the gun against my side.

I swallowed and sank back into my seat.

The cab turned left three time, and then right. I hoped that knowledge would help me.

Blocks later the cab stopped behind an abandoned building. Other vehicles parked there, along with the black Hello Kitty truck and ambulance.

Louis and Gwen appeared.

Rafael had the sheet-wrapped body in his arms.

Jean-Pierre opened the cab door and let us out.

They’re fast. Efficient. No games. No words necessary. In and out. Fuck.

We walked away from the cab.

Another limo arrived. Mounted Russian flags waved on the front of the vehicle, as if that countries prime minister was inside. Jean-Pierre opened the door. “Get in.”

They’re really good.

Rafael, Louis, and Gwen appeared. They piled into the new limo with the Russian flags and then we sped off.

I have to get out of here. If they do the exchange, and for some reason I don’t get to Kazimir. . .Jean-Pierre will kill me. He’s too good to not have considered the option.

I turned to Jean-Pierre. He glared at me. He hadn’t moved the gun. He looked ready to kill me now. I swallowed.

Things had changed since they’d gone in that house. Rafael held a dead woman rolled up in a sheet. The black woman, Gwen, was still with us too. She watched Rafael the whole time with dread in her gaze. I didn’t know what that was about.

I have to get out of here.

My lungs constricted. Pressure built in my chest. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.

Calm down. This will all be over soon. Will it? God, it has to. I can’t be. . .

Trapped. I was trapped. I’d been kidnapped before, but no more than four to five hours. It was always due to my brother Daryl. Usually, I could talk my way out of it, make the captor some money, or fix the situation. But this mess had been out of my control

I have to get away from them.

The limo pulled into a rough looking neighborhood ten minutes later. While the other areas they’d taken me too showed glitz and glamour, this one boasted high-rise shabby buildings. Scattered graffiti decorated the dulling brick. In some of the windows, bed sheets hung instead of curtains. Knuckleheads stood on the corner.

It reminded me of the housing projects in Brooklyn.

The men scanned the neighborhood like they were arriving for the first time.

When we stopped, Jean-Pierre opened the door, called over several men, and pointed at me. “Stay with her. She’s crafty and trying to get herself killed.”

Lies. All lies.

I kept my expression neutral and walked with the guards. I’d showed my hands. No one saw me as a weak captive. It would be difficult to get away from them now.

They’re going to handcuff me soon, or r tape me up. I would.

The very idea twisted my stomach. I felt like I was going to throw up again. I hugged myself, swallowing down the saliva rising along my tongue.