Possessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 3)

FIVE

Lucy

Even if I wanted to confide in Nikita, my captor, it would be my last breath.

He'd kill me. And if he doesn't, they will.

They threatened me, warned me that they're always watching and have a man on the inside. I have no choice but to believe them.

My life is on the line.

And so is his.

My life doesn't matter. It's my son's life that I'm worried about. He's six, and he'd be terrified if he had any thought about what was happening.

Thankfully, he's staying with my sister, Katie, until things settle down. I couldn't leave him alone.

Katie flew into New York on the first flight she could find and picked up Zion, turning right around and taking him home with her to protect him.

Anywhere must be safer than with me.

Does Nikita know about Zion? He hasn't asked about my son, although why would he? He probably doesn't care that I'm a mother. Not if he's anything like the men who threatened my son.

"I'm not going to kill you," Nikita says.

My breath catches in my throat. I don't believe him. It would be too easy for him to let me go, to send me on my way.

He stares at me, and I try not to shiver from his steely gaze. "We ran a background check on you," he says, not the least bit apologetic for his intrusion into my personal life.

They must have seen that I have a son and the bank foreclosed on my property.

"Are you going to let me go?"

His brow tightens. "Where are you living?" he asks.

"I've got someplace to stay," I say cryptically. If he hasn't figured out the address of the property that I've been residing at, I don't intend to tell him.

"That may be true, but you owe us for tonight."

"I returned the key. I swear, I didn't make another copy."

His gaze flinches. "Doesn't matter. The locks have to be rekeyed, the fence is being replaced, and the security system upgraded, and that's all on your dime."

"What?" Is he crazy? My voice catches in my throat as I wring my hands together. "How much is that going to cost?" Right now, I'd pay anything to get out of this stupid prison cell, but it's not like I have excess funds.

If I did, I wouldn't be staying at the shitty motel.

My sister was kind enough to pay for her flight and Zion's. She has no idea what's happening, only that I've stumbled into something I shouldn't, and our lives are in danger.

If I tell her anything further, it could get her killed. I won't do that to Katie or risk endangering Zion's life.

"You'll work for us," Nikita says.

"Work for you—how?" I don't know what he's planning, but my stomach drops. Does he plan on me running guns or drugs for him illegally?

Whatever they do for a living, it's not typical for a man to have a prison cell in his basement.

"You'll work at Club Sage."

That's the bar where I stumbled into Nikita last night. It wasn't by accident that I was there, but I hadn't intended on ever returning.

"As what, a dancer?" I scoff at his suggestion.

His gaze wanders over my body, and he shakes his head. "You don't have the body for a dancer. You'll serve drinks."

"You're an asshole."

He chuckles. "Would you rather dance? I'm sure many men would enjoy watching you shake your ass for them. You might even make more money."

"I'll waitress," I say, backpedaling on my remark. I don't want to dance for him or anyone else.

He nods briskly and glances me over. "Good. Hannah tells me you're a barista. Shouldn't be too difficult for you to handle drink orders."

I'd been wondering about Hannah, but the entire ordeal is fuzzy from when I'd been stung. "How do you know Hannah?"

Does she work for the bratva? I was warned that the men I'd be stealing from were vicious and ruthless and would kill me if caught.

I don't know much about Hannah other than her drink order, and how she takes her coffee. She'd drop by the café several times a week, always ordering the same drink before heading to work.

She'd swing by during lunch a few times, wearing her scrubs and name badge, which is how I discovered where she works. Her name was on her drink order and scribbled onto the cream-colored to-go cup.

Nikita doesn't answer my question. Why would I expect him to tell me anything? It's not as though I've been cooperative with him.

His phone buzzes once again, and he retrieves it from his coat pocket. He glances from his device at me. "Who's Zion?"

My mouth is dry. I don't answer his question. If I lie to him, I'm not sure what will happen to my son or to me. But if I tell him if I have a child, what happens to my sweet and innocent six-year-old? I don't want to put his life at risk.

"Lucy," Nikita's voice holds warning as he steps closer toward me. "Were you going to tell me that you have a son?"

He already knows about my kid. Why ask if he has the answer already? It's not like Zion is a secret. I gave birth to him at a hospital; there are records, I'm sure, that could easily be discovered online without much digging around. I used a sperm donor because I wanted a child more than anything, and I can't even protect him.

"No," I whisper. "It's none of your business."