Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

A guard rushed up the stairs, spotted me, and yelled., “Up here!”

I shot him.

More people screamed.

I yelled back and my deepest voice. “No, down here!”

Movement sounded from both sides. I had no idea if my quick impression worked or not. I spotted the door for the roof and pushed through.

I’m out of here!

Holding both guns in my hands, I ran to the edge and stared out at Paris. The next building was over twenty feet away. There was no way I could make it.

Okay. Now. How do I get out of here?

Chapter 9

Emily

There was no way to leave the roof.

I headed back to the stairwell. The gun weighed heavy in my hand, but no comfort came.

Gwen’s floor was the seventh.

I went to the tenth, opened the door, and stepped in. Down the hallway, a chubby guy held two fast food bags in one arm and began to put his key in the door.

I placed the gun behind me and jogged over to him. “Hey.”

Looking my way, he opened his mouth. French came out.

“Fuck. Can you speak English?”

At the mention of English, he waved me away and went back to putting his key in the door.

“Hey. Wait a minute.” I hurried to him.

He shook his head again, opened the door, and spat out some words.

I have no idea what you’re saying. You probably think I’m selling something.

I glanced behind me and then him. No one else was in the hallway. I put the gun in front of me. “Let’s go inside.”

He shook his head and kept muttering something.

“Shh.” I shoved him inside of his apartment. He was thick, but didn’t spend much time in the gym. He stumbled back with ease. I kept the gun pointed at him and shut the door behind me.

Alright. Who do you have inside of here?

The place had been silent.

This apartment looked smaller than Gwen’s.

I turned to him. “Anyone else here?”

He widened his eyes as he stared at the gun.

“That’s right.” I frowned. “You can’t speak English.”

Of course not. This is his country.

The aroma of French fries filled the air. Saliva filled my mouth.

I gestured to his two bags with my gun. “Give me that.”

He grimaced and moved the bags away.

“Come on, man.” I wiggled the gun. “Don’t get shot over a burger.”

I motioned for him to give the bags to me.

With clear reluctance, he handed them my way.

I kept the gun pointed and snatched the bags from his hands. One dropped to the ground. Five burgers fell outside.

Five? So, there’s someone here?

I gestured for him to get the burgers and sit on the couch. He did. I took the other bag with the fries and hurried through the apartment doing a quick check of the place. It was only one bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom.

No one else is here.

“Okay. You bought five burgers for yourself. It must be a good spot.” I placed the bag I held on a table close by, took out one of the cartons of fries, and stuffed some in my mouth.

Damn. They taste good.

After so many hours of not eating, they were the best fries I’d tasted. He’d already smeared mayonnaise on top of them. I stuffed some more in my mouth like a wild woman. Grease and mayo smeared my fingertips.

I wiped some of the sauce off my chin. “Where’s your car?”

He hadn’t touched his burgers. They lay on his lap in a pile.

I made a motion of driving. “Vroom. Vroom. Where is the car?”

He shook as he dug his hands into his pockets before pulling out another set of keys.

“Good.” I piled more fries into my mouth, kept the gun pointed his way, and came close to him. “Give me that jacket.”

He held out his hands.

“Jacket.” I got close to him and tapped it.

He jumped.

“Take it off.”

He pulled the jacket off.

I snapped my fingers, trying to get him to hurry up.

He threw it to me.

I backed up, put on the jacket, and ate more fries. “Damn these are good.”

The man muttered French, as tears fell from his eyes.

“Shh.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to kill you. No kill. Do you understand!”

Why am I yelling? Talking louder isn’t going to help him better understand me. Okay. I have food. I have a car. Where the fuck am I going?

I pointed to the gun and waved my hand. “No kill. No danger.”

Horror covered his face. He remained still.

I pulled the hood up of his jacket over my head and zipped it up. Stuffing more fries in my mouth, I found his phone in the right pocket, pulled it out, and dialed Maxwell’s number.

No signal. Fuck. Why no signal?

I put the phone up and gestured for him to come forward.

He rose and held two burgers close to him.

I made sure the hood was over me enough and got behind him. “Let’s go.”