Possessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 3)

I awaken the following day, early. There's a grumble from someone in my room, and I roll over, remembering it wasn't a bad dream.

Nikita is propped up in the raggedy chair, but his head lulls as he's fallen asleep.

I have half a mind to wake his ass and throw him out of my room, but that would involve talking to him, and I don't want to do that. I was hoping I'd wake up and he'd be gone. I guess that was asking for too much, considering that he wants me to work at his club as a waitress.

He didn't even ask me when my next shift for the café is and if my schedule can accommodate when he needs me to work.

I throw the covers off, intending to get changed and slip out of the room before he notices. Not that I have my car, but I can use the lobby phone and call for a taxi.

Sneaking across the room, I only get as far as the dresser when I hear him clear his throat. I glance over my shoulder, and he's wide awake, staring back at me.

"Is the electricity back on?" he asks, glancing around the motel room for an indication that the lights work.

The alarm clock beside the bed flashes with its bold red letters obnoxiously. "You tell me." I gesture at the clock, and he grunts and stands.

"Get dressed and meet me outside. You have ten minutes."

"I need to shower," I say.

"Better make it quick." Nikita stands and stretches, heading out of the motel room. "Lock the door behind me."

I grab my clothes from the dresser and secure the lock. He wants me to lock him out? I don't even ask what he's thinking. I don't want to know.

I hurry to the bathroom and flip on the light, grateful I had accidentally managed to shut it off last night. Otherwise, it would have woken me up during the night when the lights came back on.

Pushing aside the mildewed shower curtain, I turn the spray on and strip while waiting for the water to heat.

Ten minutes.

Is Nikita going to come barreling through the front door if I'm not done in time?

The club that he's having me work at, will he be there constantly, watching and harassing me? He runs the place. He'd said as much the other night when I'd met him. How long until I pay off my debt?

I shove my hand under the shower, crank the water warmer, and step under the spray. The water pours down like a rain shower cascading over my skin. While I showered last night before bed to get warm, this shower isn't as relaxing as I'd like it to be.

Instead, my mind wanders to Nikita, to the job he's going to have me do and the fact that he will inevitably be my boss.

I groan, just thinking about having to take orders from him. And what happens if I get fired?

A shiver ripples through me, and I turn the water hotter. Steam fills the bathroom. The drain puddles, but at least the water is clear.

The motel is complete and utter crap, but it's what I can afford. It'd be nice if working two jobs meant twice the pay. That isn't likely considering I owe the bratva, and for what – trying to break and enter?

I never told Nikita what I was hired to steal. Sure, I snatched his key. He figured that much out because I got caught.

I wasn't supposed to end up on the lawn near the garden needing medical assistance.

Finishing in the shower, I dry off and slip on my work pants, black trousers, and a white blouse. I don't know what Nikita's expecting me to wear to the club. I have today off at the café, which is a relief considering he's practically babysitting me.

Heading out of the bathroom, I grab a pair of clean socks and slip those on before stepping into my shoes. Opening the front door, I see Nikita standing beside the crunched vehicle, his cell phone in hand, a pair of shades on.

He looks every bit like a mobster, a member of the Russian Bratva. I don't say a word; it's not a compliment, and I don't want him to know that I'm aware of his illegal activities.

Does he run guns and drugs through the club? Or is he money laundering for the boss, using the club to handle their assets?

"Ten minutes," Nikita says and glances up from his phone.

I didn't precisely time it from the minute I locked him out of the motel room to opening the door and joining him outside. I glance at my watch, but the time doesn't mean much other than the hour. It's more of a gesture, pretending to give a crap. "I was ten minutes."

"Fifteen, but we'll work on your timeliness."

"Is the club even open at this hour? And how are we planning on getting there?"

Nikita points at a black pickup truck with dark-tinted windows. "I asked for a ride last night," he says.

"And they just now got to picking your ass up?" I smirk.

"Watch your language."

My jaw hits the floor. "Seriously?" He must be joking. "This coming from the man who imprisoned me yesterday?" How can he care about what words come out of my mouth?

"One has nothing to do with the other." He strides across the parking lot for the vehicle. Nikita doesn't wait for me to follow, but I don't dawdle.

I hurry across the lot and head to the passenger side. "Keys?"

He unlocks the vehicle doors, and I climb inside. "Dropped off with the vehicle this morning while you were showering." There's a hint of disdain in his voice.

"Jealous?" I quip. "There were extra towels. You could have showered after me."

His nostrils flare as his thick fingers grip the steering wheel. "I don't shower after anyone." He edges us out onto the main road, and we merge effortlessly into traffic, even when driving the tank.

The truck is huge. I'm used to driving my four-door sedan, and it doesn't cost me a second mortgage in fuel.

I ignore his remark. I'm not sure what it means. Is he too good for showering second and worried about not having enough hot water? It's better if I don't talk to him. It's early, I haven't had my coffee, and I'm bound to say something regrettable.

He steps hard on the gas. The truck lurches forward as he juts through traffic, weaving between lanes. It seems almost reckless, except I get the impression he's done this too many times and is well-versed.

He seems a little too ready for a high-speed chase.

I make sure my seatbelt is tight and the buckle is secure as I grab the handle above the door.

"Don't like my driving?" He glances at me before returning his attention to the road.

"I appreciate getting to the location in one piece."

"Fair enough." He's got both hands on the steering wheel, and in a matter of minutes, we pull up outside the club, and he parks around back. There are two other trucks parked outside. Men wearing suits stand by their vehicles, arms folded across their chests.

They don't look the least bit inconspicuous.