The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

A strange feeling settles over me.

Contentment.

It’s like all the pleasure of every time I’ve seen Story perform condenses into this single moment.

Because now she’s mine.

This supernova of a girl belongs to me. Was in my bed last night. Let me tie her up and ravish her all night long.

I check the crowd again, popping my knuckles. The thought of anyone ever trying to hurt her again turns me lethal. But I don’t see anything amiss. No one who stands out as not belonging.

My brothers are here watching, as well. They wouldn’t let anything happen to Story, either. I should have trusted them with the details of my ugly past a long time ago.

Story smooths into their next song and then another. The pub is alive now, people happy and talking, people listening. No one’s up to dance yet, but that doesn’t usually happen until later. The Storytellers have perfected the art of playing just the right groove for the moment, picking things up at the end, when drinks have made the crowd happy and sloppy. Ready to dance.

When the band goes on break, Story beelines for my table and drops into my lap. I band my arm around her waist, feeling as tall as a mountain.

You were great, I type on the iPad.

She twists to kiss me. A long, lingering kiss that probably makes Maxim and Sasha uncomfortable. “I love having you at my shows.”

I’m so fucking sorry I missed the last one, I type. I know I let her down, and now that we have the means to communicate, I need to explain myself. I overslept because of the concussion. I promise, will never miss another one.

She looks at me for a long time, then she takes my face in both her hands. “I believe you.” There’s a look of wonder on her face. “That’s so scary for me. I think I just expect people to let me down, and then I’m pleasantly surprised when they don’t. But with you… I don’t know. I could come to…” —she swallows— “depend on you.”

Depend on me, I write.

She smiles.

Move in with me, I type.

She freezes, her eyes skittering from the words on the iPad to my face and back.

Blyad'. I pushed it too soon.

I want you in my bed. I try to lighten it up by making it about sex. Every night.

It works. She smiles.

“You would terrify all my guitar students.”

Oh fuck. Is she actually considering it?

We’ll soundproof that empty office for you and the band, I promise. Of course, I’d have to run that by Ravil, but I would do anything to make it happen for her.

She drags her lower lip through her teeth. “Okay.”

I was so busy preparing my next offer for how to make this work for her that I barely process what she said.

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.

She laughs and nods. “Let’s try it.” She shrugs. “I would love to live with you and the gang.”

“What’s this?” Maxim interrupts. “Did I hear you’re moving in?”

Story shrugs with a big smile. “Well, you do have a great rooftop pool.”

Sasha throws back her head and laughs. She points at Story. “You and I are going to raise the roof together at the Kremlin.”

Maxim groans, but his expression is indulgent. He’s crazy about his wild unruly bride.

Story lifts her glass of water and toasts us all around. “Here’s to raising the roof.”

Story

Oleg pushes me up against the side of his Denali, pressing his huge body against mine. His mouth finds my neck, and he bites, insinuating his thigh between my legs for me to grind up.

“Are you going to give it to me rough again?” I ask, breathless.

His large hands cup my ass, and he growls in my ear.

I’m already hot for him—performing makes me horny and so did sitting on his lap between sets. I love the way it feels to get claimed by him.

He hoists my hips up and dry-humps me, the bulge of his cock pressing right against my sweet spot.

“Promise?” I ask.

He chuckles. First chuckle I’ve ever heard from him.

Then he gently sets me down, opens my door and lifts—not helps—literally lifts me inside and onto the seat.

The guy likes to manhandle me.

And I like being manhandled.

He puts the Denali in gear and beeps the horn at Maxim and Sasha, who were waiting in a gorgeous blue Lamborghini to make sure we got out of there safely.

“They want us back next month,” I tell Oleg happily. “I was over there collecting our pay and Sasha shows up and introduces herself as our manager.”

Oleg steals a glance at me as he drives.

“She basically asked him if he was happy with how we lit the place up and then asked when he’d like to have us back and if he wanted to make it a regular thing. He agreed to have us monthly, and then she asked if he would consider charging a cover and giving it straight to the band.”