Her Lucky Number Thirteen (The American Soldier Collection 13)

Then Nalia returned and she gripped the wall and looked off kilter. Boian got to her first.

“Whoa, slow down, honey. Are you feeling okay?” Viktor asked her as she held on to Boian.

She shook her head. “I think I need something to eat,” she whispered.

“I’ll grab some stuff,” Viktor said and he was surprised at the sort of jealous feeling he had at seeing her cling to Boian. He could tell Boian was protective of her. He had been a madman from the first phone call about her being in danger. He had been hard to control as he questioned people and became more and more violent to get his answers. He knew that Karlicov stopped Boian from training her and seeing her. It had been instant. One day he was meeting her and the next he was forbidden to make any contact with her. Even then, Boian was a monster for quite some time. He changed. He closed up and now, meeting Nalia, and knowing all he learned of her, he could see why. She was perfect. She was beautiful, sexy, smart, skilled, and a survivor just like each of them. She was also off limits. Karlicov chose them because they were the best at what they did. He knew that his daughter would trust Boian and eventually them too because of the time they shared years ago. It was a strategic plan. Viktor just had this feeling that sometimes plans backfire and watching over Nalia had all the basics for disaster.

Chapter 3

Nalia was grateful to have finally showered and changed her clothes. She barely remembered the town they drove into and then the outskirts of it. She kept dozing in and out. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. She remembered seeing the word Salvation and then another sign earlier for a place called Tranquility. Salvation was where they were staying. Someone met them at the airport terminal and followed them all the way to the town and even to the house. McCallister was the name or something like that. The house was huge, on a ranch-like setting with lots of land. It was secluded, and she wondered why they chose such a place. It made her feel like an easy target, yet the thought of being surrounded by strangers was worse. She knew that they knew what they were doing. This was Boian and his team’s job. She swallowed hard. She was a job for them. They were on protection detail and it bothered her.

She couldn’t help but to watch the men when she had a chance. Her attraction to Boian was as strong as ever. She never forgot about him or about the way his hands felt on her as he taught her so many defense moves. Nor the way he clutched her shoulder, laid his body over hers as she learned how to shoot many different firearms. She remembered the scent of his cologne and the gentleness in his touch, but also the firmness of his tone. When he gave an order it was intimidating besides arousing.

They were all pretty damn attractive and filled with muscles. It was their eyes, their expressions and body language that separated them from any other men she had come in contact with in her life. That hardness was a barrier of sorts. She knew they killed people. They did it in the service as Special Forces and they did it as soldiers in the Russian mob. Surprisingly it didn’t shock her or make her feel sick or scared. It was all a means of survival just as killing had been for her.

She looked at herself in the mirror and saw a similar hardened expression in her eyes. She killed, too.

Her heart pounded inside of her chest and that sick horrible feeling filled her gut. She didn’t think. She reacted. Those men she killed were going to kill her. They were going to drag her back to Vincent so he could rape her and force her to bear his children. How sick was that? How demented. Was this what men did to women on a regular basis to seek revenge? She didn’t understand it. She couldn’t process it until she thought about Cosivan and the whole team of men she now shared this house with.

She knew before the full question finished in her mind that the answer was no. They could never do such a thing. But other men were evil. Others like Vincent who sought revenge were capable of such things. Things a normal, civilized human being like herself would never even imagine doing.

She felt her chest tighten. She was capable of more than even she thought she was capable of. In the midst of danger, living on the run with killers on her ass, she, too, planned her revenge against Vincent for killing her father. She thought of ways to infiltrate his home. To allow him to take her to bed and to think her submissive and accepting to his control and then she would slit his throat or put a bullet in his head. She cringed and swallowed the terrible taste in her mouth. She didn’t even care about dying at that point. She even imagined her choices as his men came to find him dead or as she killed him then tried escaping and they caught her. She hadn’t cared. She would have wanted to die because her mother, her father, the only true family she had, were dead.

She shook the thoughts from her head as she gripped the sink and thought about the bullet that came so close to penetrating deeper. The wound was bleeding again and she reached for the dark towel to press against it. Her breasts poured from the black lace bra she wore. She had thrown on her panties and blue jeans with the rips all over them. They were her comfort jeans, or at least they used to be. There were no comforts now. Maybe never again.

She jumped as she heard the knock on the door.

“Nalia, are you okay?”

Boian.

“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute. I’m just trying to stop the bleeding,” she said and the door pushed open and he and Viktor were there.

She gasped, pulled the small towel over her chest, and turned away.

“Let us see,” Viktor stated and she swallowed hard and glanced at their images in the reflection in the mirror.

“Let me put something on first.”

“No. We can see better and you won’t get blood on anything and ruin your clothes,” Boian stated firmly and like a man who knew what he was talking about. She kept the washcloth over her breasts best she could but she was well endowed and as she felt the hands on her hips she realized her pants weren’t zippered up and they were slightly lowering. They probably could see her black thong panties, too. Oh God.

She swallowed hard.

“What’s going on in here?”

Dusty? Jesus.

“We need more bandages and some of the antiseptic. It’s still bleeding,” Viktor stated.

“She may need stitches after all,” Boian said, standing close to her with his hands on his hips. He looked so angry.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispered, her voice sounding sexy and breathless and she swallowed quickly.

Viktor’s warm, large ha

nds glided along her skin. One was on her hip and the other she felt tracing her tattoo. She glanced down at him.

“Sunflowers?” he questioned her.