Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

I can’t let them take me out of the building. It can’t happen. This might be my only chance.

Jean-Pierre shook his head and spoke to the person in his ear. “I don’t need them anymore. Tell them to run the other way.”

Yeah. You don’t need them. You’ve got me. Don’t worry about it. Leave Kazimir alone.

Jean-Pierre dragged me toward the elevator.

I glanced over my shoulder. Rafael and two other men followed with their guns out, ready to shoot from behind. Terror creased Rafael’s face. They called him The Funny One. I could see why. I’d sure found the humor in choking him.

I can’t wait to get you again.

Rafael scowled at me.

I turned around.

Jean-Pierre’s voice came out shaky. “Once we get on the elevator, Kazimir will have no choice but to take the stairs.”

But then I’ll be on the elevator with you. Could I get him on there? No. Better not get on at all. Better safe than sorry.

Less than ten feet from the elevator, I pretended to trip and fell to the ground. I did my best to feign pain as I rubbed my ankle.

I’m so hurt. Come help me.

Jean-Pierre lowered and yanked me to him. “Get up.”

Fuck you.

I rose a little and head-butted his forehead. His face screwed in pain. I punched his stomach and tried to slip away.

But Jean-Pierre was faster than I thought. Faster than even Kazimir, he wrenched me to my feet before I could register that he’d caught me.

What the fuck?

He sneered, “You’ll have to do more than that to keep me down, sweetie.”

Oh yeah?

I slammed my knee into his crotch.

He doubled over. I twisted. He grabbed me. Shit! I used my weight, pulling him forward and banging his head into the wall. There. He twisted. I turned. He grabbed at me. I bit him.

Let me go!

He kept that grip on me, even as beads of blood peeked from where I’d bit him.

Rafael and the rest of his men stood watching, but I didn’t know how long they would.

I’ll deal with them later.

Jean-Pierre’s grip was hard and cold. Rage covered his face.

You’re not taking me, asshole.

He moved his hands, fast. Not knowing what he was doing, I punched him in the jaw. He shoved me against the wall. A voice sounded from his ear. I couldn’t get make out the words. Jean-Pierre grunted as I punched him in his gut.

He spoke to whoever was in his ear. “Now’s not a good time.”

He shoved me on the floor.

Fuck you!

I tripped him.

Rafael snorted and waved the other men away as they stepped closer to help.

Jean-Pierre shoved me against the wall, his body plastered against mine. A sweet smell surrounded me. I sniffed.

Is that perfume? Kazimir was right. They are perfumed pansies.

The voice garbled some more from his ear.

What is the person saying? Did I hear something about Kazimir?

I chose that moment to twist out of his arms. Jean-Pierre tightened his grip.

Motherfucker!

I resorted to the old days and scratched his face. He let me go and slapped my hands away.

There we go.

I grabbed his pretty tie, wrapped it around his perfumed neck, and choked him.

Wrong bitch.

He grunted. I choked him as I kicked and punched.

Rafael cleared his throat. “Do you want me to play a song while you dance with her?”

Grunting, Jean-Pierre shoved me hard into the wall. Pain exploded against my back.

Fuck.

He twisted me around.

I lost control.

Wait.

He turned me again and kicked up my feet. I fell hard on the floor. Pain burst all over my ass.

Jean-Pierre towered over me. “Listen. I hate getting aggressive with women. Let’s not change my view tonight. Clearly, I could’ve broken your arm and tied it around your neck as a leash to drag you forward. I would rather you walk next to me.”

I’d like to see you break my arm, motherfucker.

I kept my comment to myself and rose.

He straightened and dusted off his jacket. The bastard had the nerve to have diamond cufflinks and even more diamonds in his watch.

You really dressed up to kidnap me.

I tightened my bed sheet. Maybe, if I’d had regular clothes on, I could’ve had a fighting chance. Defeat filled me, but I wouldn’t let these bitches see.

“I’m sorry.” My bottom lip quivered. “I just don’t want to go with you.”

“I’ve heard worse.” Jean-Pierre gestured behind me. “Now get on the fucking elevator.”

The person in his ear said something.

Jean-Pierre dragged me forward. “Run!”

Run? What did he say? What’s Kazimir doing?

He raced off with me in a tight grip.

Is Kazimir coming?

I tried to slow us down, but when we got to the elevator, Jean-Pierre slung me on.

Rafael got on, asked between sputtered breaths, “Why the hell are we running again?”

Jean-Pierre kept his hold on me. “Kazimir’s got a rocket launcher.”

Say what now?

Rafael muttered, “Shit.”

The other men hurried on.

The doors closed.

Did they say rocket launcher?

The elevator lowered. I swore it followed the beating of my heart. Sweat trickled down the sides of my face. The sheet I wore was torn a little at the ends.