Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Baby?

My phone rang.

I almost forgot I had it by my ear.

Maxwell slammed his foot on the pedal, but again we trotted along in the cart.

And then men on bikes swerved out of the store and rushed toward Kazimir’s way.

No you motherfucking didn’t.

Jean-Pierre answered on the other line. “Yes?”

I screamed into the phone. “Call the bikers back!”

Slowly, the golf cart headed toward the store opening. I nudged Maxwell and pointed to the entrance. There Jean-Pierre stood, running his fingers through his hair and holding the phone. While Kaz was coated in blue liquid, Jean-Pierre had white powder all over him.

Maxwell maneuvered the golf cart near a kiosk and parked, probably seeing the van full of French near the store.

Holding the phone, Jean-Pierre scanned the space, knowing I must be near. “Where are you, friend?”

I got out and aimed my gun his way. “Close enough to shoot your fucking head off.”

“Prove it.”

I targeted his foot and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out by his foot but didn’t hit him. He jumped.

Maxwell pulled out the Ak-47 and gestured to the van. “Let me know, Em.”

I held my hand up.

From the van, Louis had come out of the passenger side and yelled something at Jean-Pierre.

Meanwhile, the bikers were still rushing after Kazimir.

Jean-Pierre left my view. While he hadn’t looked my way, he ducked behind a large shelf.

That’s okay. I still have sight of your lover’s head.

I pointed to a woman near the van. She was staring at Jean-Pierre with love and fear in her eyes. I could tell she wouldn’t get on that van without him.

I aimed at her head.

Don’t play with me. I’ve got your bitch.

“Do it, Jean-Pierre.” My finger shook on the trigger. “Tell them to leave him alone.”

Jean-Pierre glanced over his shoulder and yelled at Louis. “Call the bikers off the Lion!”

I blew out a long breath.

Someone honked several times inside the van. It was probably Louis.

Off in the distance, the bikers swerved, stopped chasing Kazimir, and turned around.

He was far away, but I could tell he stopped running and had looked around, probably wondering what made them leave. And then Kazimir limped away and turned the corner.

“Damn. They did it.” Maxwell lowered the AK-47. “We’re going to get out of here.”

I kept my gun on Jean-Pierre’s chick, and continued to hold my phone with the other hand.

Jean-Pierre spoke on the line. “The bikers are off your lion. Are we good, Mouse?”

My voice held an edge. “Only he can call me that.”

The bikers zoomed back.

“Are we good for now, Emily?”

“Are you going to let us leave France safely?”

“That’s an important question. Kazimir has men on the way in planes. I plan to shoot them down. Perhaps, you can convince him to turn them around and keep you both out of France.”

My stomach twisted. I moved my gun’s target from his chick, and put it right back on his head.

There you go.

Jean-Pierre had left the shelf and headed to the van.

Kazimir was off and far away.

I could shoot him.

Maxwell could probably spray down everyone in the van.

But could we get out? No. Probably not. These French guys are like roaches. And who knows how many more cousins he has.

Still, I kept the gun aimed at his head. “Jean-Pierre, I don’t want a war. I can do my best to—”

“Do your best. If he comes for me, I’ll come for him. For now, get the fuck out of France.”

I let out a long breath. “What happens next?”

“Meaning?”

“Don’t come for Kazimir.”

“This is interesting.” Jean-Pierre turned in the direction that I was standing.

I ducked back.

He stared straight my way. “I know you have a gun pointed to my head, even though I can’t see you. There’s a heaviness to your voice.”

“Hurry, Jean-Pierre.” My finger shook at the trigger. “I’m starting to rethink not killing you.”

“Thanks for not taking me out. You definitely have the shot. I’m glad you’re not going to take it.” He continued to stare my way. “It looks like we’ve become friends after all.”

Friends my ass.

I gritted my teeth. “Don’t come for Kazimir.”

“Friends don’t kill friends.” He smiled. “Make sure your lion knows that. You get safe passage out of France, and I promise to not bother the Bratva again, unless its warranted.”

I lowered the gun. My words came out shaky. “I can’t make Kazimir do anything—”

“You can and you will.” Jean-Pierre put his back to me, left the store, got to the van door and opened it.

My chance of shooting him was gone.

I watched him climb into the van. “I can’t promise—”

“You can. I’ll give you time.” Jean-Pierre’s voice lowered. “Tame the Lion.”

And then, he hung up.

The van sped the other way.

Tears spilled from my eyes.

Finally, I was going to get to Kazimir. It had taken a war and fighting, and escape. Kidnaping and even a few jackings, but I would be in his arms soon.