Without Mercy, page 25
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
“Well done,” Rusya said, finally breaking the impasse. “What do you want to drink, Marisol?”
“Some white wine please, Rusya.” And just like that, they were on a first name basis. She and the Godfather of Vancouver. He brought her the wine and then returned with a glass of vodka for Anto and one for himself. He handed a beer off to the technician who thanked him in Russian.
“Let’s make ourselves comfortable,” he said offering his hand to Mari, helping her to her feet. “You father is stubborn. This may take longer than we anticipated.”
They drank and talked as the minutes crawled by. At one point, Janice poked her head in the door and announced that dinner was ready to be served. Rusya apologized to her, telling her to hold it for an hour. She nodded and left, closing the door solidly. Mari was part-way through her second glass of the best pinot gris she’d ever tasted when it was time to make the call. She dialled the number, put it on speaker and waited. Andrew answered quickly.
“Marisol.”
“Dad.” She was fortified by the wine, her protectors, her little bit of anger at her father for doing what he did best – pushing her around.
“Don’t hang up on me again,” he commanded.
“Then do as I tell you,” she snapped back, owning him.
“I’m listening, Marisol.” There was a thread of hostility in his voice. Mad at her that she was being difficult, angry that his fear for her was so transparent.
“Dad, promise me you’re alone.” She let the last word trail a little bit. Pleading.
“I’m alone and the call’s not on a tracer. But they know you’re calling and they’ll want to know what we’ve talked about.”
“After we’ve talked, you’ll have to decide how much to tell them.”
His voice gentled. “Okay, dove, talk to me.”
It had been years since he called her that and she wished he were next to her so she could hug him like she did when she was child. “First off, dad, I’m safe. Not kidnapped, but in hiding.” She paused, giving her father time to respond.
“I’m listening.” But he hardened his tone. Something she’d just said made him angry.
“The day I went missing, last Saturday, I met someone who convinced me that I was going to be murdered. He helped me get to a safe place and looked after me.”
“Who is this man?”
“Not yet, dad. Not even the right question.” She felt disappointment ripple through her. “Shouldn’t you be wondering who might be trying to kill me and why?”
“Someone has lied to you, Marisol. Someone has convinced you to believe that your life is in danger. I want to know who it is.”
Mari sighed. “Dad, someone has lied to you. Someone has convinced you that I am not in danger. I wonder who that might be.”
“Marisol, don’t play games.”
Mari tapped her fingers onto the top of the wood desk rapidly. She eyed a paperweight and pulled it toward her, gripping it hard. “Why on earth would you think I would be playing games?” Her pent-up frustration came pouring out. “Do you think I’m making this shit up?”
“Marisol,” Andrew tried to placate her.
“No!” She slammed the paperweight down on the desk and stood abruptly. “I’ve had the worst week of my life. Someone wants me dead and they don’t want me dead because of anything I’ve done. Do you get that? They want me dead because of my association with you.”
“Marisol, listen—”
“I would be dead, not talking to you if it weren’t for the one man in the world who cared enough to step into the middle of this. You don’t need to be hunting him down. You need be thanking him.”
She glanced at Anto who was leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed, watching her intently.
Then over to Rusya, who nodded.
“He killed a man in Florida.”
“That would have been a neat trick, given that he’s been with me all week.”
“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have ordered the hit. Hugh Medford is dangerous.”
“Hugh Medford doesn’t exist, dad.” And then she stopped. Too much information. “It’s irrelevant anyway. Stop patronizing me. I’ve lived this week, you’ve only glimpsed it from the sidelines.”
“Marisol, trust me, the sidelines are hell. I didn’t know where you were or if you were alive. Your mother has been sedated, the rest of the family is scared to death for you. All of us are in protective custody, we can’t come and go. Your brothers and I can’t join the investigation.”
Mari felt a surge of guilt and folded herself back into the office chair. “I’m sorry, dad,” she said gently.
He seemed not to hear. “And this lunatic you’re with has you convinced you that he’s not going to hurt you.”
Mari needed to try a different tact. She didn’t look at Anto or Rusya. She was straying outside their instructions to not to give up too much information. “Dad, yesterday morning, my friend and I were at a cabin in the woods. It was a lovely morning; the fish weren’t biting but it hardly mattered. It was peaceful, serene until three men started shooting at us. My friend shielded me with his body.” She choked at the memory and her words faltered. She pushed the terror she felt to the side, gathering her strength. “He helped me get away and in spite of the fact that we were being shot at, he didn’t once think of abandoning me to save his own life.”
“Did you get shot?” Andrew’s voice was hollow. He was finally hearing her.
Mari didn’t answer him. “We ran and hid until he could bring me to a safe house of his, but it wasn’t safe. They tracked us there and fire-bombed it. I’m sure you know the house, the one in Whistler that blew up. I was inside that house, dad. My friend saved me again. At risk to his own life.”
She paused, tearing up. It was only half the story, but she couldn’t tell him about the man in the trees, the one that held her mouth and nose shut as he choked her. She thought it might be a long time before she could speak of it. Maybe he knew about the bodies, maybe not. She inhaled deeply to settle herself as her words run out. She waited for her father to say something.
“Marisol, I’m sorry… I’m sick with fear for you and it’s hard to let go of that. You’re my little girl.” His sad, gruff words brought tears to her eyes. “Promise you’re safe and not being held against your will.”
“I promise, dad.” Mari’s words were a lullaby, sweet, soft and hushed.
Andrew inhaled deeply. “Tell me where you’re at so I can come to you.”
She glanced up to see Rusya’s steady eyes boring into her. He nodded. Andrew mistook her hesitation for reticence and said, “I promise I’m alone. No one’s listening to this conversation.
It was time to tell him. “I am under the protection of a very powerful man.” She kept her eyes on Rusya, her voice steady. “I’m with my friend and this man. I’m with them both.”
“Who, Marisol?”
“Rusya Savisin.”
She heard him suck in his breath and then the phone clattered to the floor. She thought maybe she caused him to have a heart attack. But he picked it up again.
“Jesus, Marisol. Do you have any idea who that man is?”
“I know who he is dad.” She leaned towards the phone. She was only half done and she found herself unravelling. “I don’t know everything he’s done or how he’s done it, but I know one important thing. He and my friend stepped into the middle of something that was not their business, to keep me from harm. They didn’t have to, it wasn’t self-serving. Rusya Savisin has offered me sanctuary, his protection. Do you know what that means, Dad?”
Andrew’s voice was faint. “I do.”
Mari picked up her wine glass and swallowed down the last of the pinot gris. She felt a little bitterness that her father was more complacent now that she’d dropped Rusya’s name.
“And your friend?”
She toyed with the paperweight again, then smiled at her lover. “Anto Kharzin.” Her voice softened.
A long silence on the other end of the line. “Marisol…” he faltered, fear for her etched in every word. “I don’t know what to say. How will I explain this?”
“Once word gets out that I am under Rusya Savisin’s protection, the threat will go away. It doesn’t mean we don’t want to find out who was behind this though, does it? We all want to, dad. You, me, Mr. Savisin, Anto. But it does mean that we don’t have to fear for my safety anymore.”
Anto drew his attention to her as he let out a little growl.
“Can we meet, Marisol?”
“Yes.” She spun the paperweight on the top of the desk. “We can meet here. At Rusya Savisin’s home. He has offered you his hospitality and his protection while you are under his roof. But you must come alone and you can’t tell anyone where you’re going or why.”
Andrew’s pause was lengthy. “Why would I do that, Marisol? Not only is it dangerous, it’s hardly fitting for the Chief Constable to be entertained by the head of the Russian mob.”
Hurt filtered through her that he would even ask the question. “Because I’m here dad.” She said softly.
Another pause, longer this time. “Do you truly trust these men, Marisol?”
Mari nodded. “With my life.”
“Okay, that’s good enough.” Andrew’s voice was gruff. Maybe he understood the significance of what was about to happen. Maybe he knew that this was the type of thing that destroyed careers.
“Mr. Savisin understands the optics of the meeting. He suggests that we set it up for 11 o’clock tonight if you are able to come. You know where to go?”
“Yes.” Andrew bit down hard on the word.
“Through the front gate. Don’t worry, dad. I promise, I’ll keep you safe.” She hung up then. She didn’t want to hear any more of his words. She was exhausted and afraid. Nervous that her dad might be right. She trusted Anto with her life, and Anto trusted Rusya. She hoped it was enough. She glanced at the clock. It was 7pm. Her stomach fluttered. Four hours and her dad would be here.
Chapter Forty-Four
After an award-worthy dinner and light conversation, Rusya retired to his study and Anto took Marisol by the hand and led her up to his suite. He closed the door firmly behind them and turned the bolt. Janice was good at her job. She’d left a bottle of white pinot gris in an ice bucket on the table, the same label Rusya poured in his study. There were wine glasses beside the bucket and nuts, crackers and other nibbles. Anto nodded his approval, then drew his arms around Marisol, pulling her into his strong embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged her body to him laying her head on his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. He wondered if she heard what it was telling her – that she was loved by him, that he wanted to keep her, but that he also wouldn’t make her stay. It was her choice to make.
He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her a little tighter, maybe too tight as she let out a little moan. “I’m going to shower, Marisol. And then we should talk.”
She nodded her head against his chest, her hair teasing a nipple and perking him up. He’d had her a week now and still wanted more. He’d never get tired of this woman, he thought as he reluctantly released her. “Do you want me to open the wine before I shower?” He gazed into her soft blue eyes and traced his thumb gently over a cheekbone.
She half-smiled and shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough. Time to be clear-headed.”
Anto turned his back to her, his breathing accelerating with each step he took towards the bathroom. What a fucked-up world he thought as he shed his clothes. He never thought he’d live to see the day that a woman would rule his heart. He almost resented it, but only briefly as her soft face filtered through his head. He turned on the shower and stepped under the warm stream of water. She was different than any woman he’d ever known. Not someone he imagined would capture his attention. But she did. And in very little time, she’d won his heart too. He leaned a hand against the shower wall, letting the water cascade down his back. That’s what it took with a woman like Marisol. A little time, a little patience. He almost laughed out loud as he soaped himself. If not for the deadly circumstances that forced them together, he’d never have met her, and even if he had, he would’ve never taken the time to know her. What irony. He should be thankful for her would-be killer and maybe he would thank the asshole. Just before he killed him.
He finished his shower, then dried himself vigorously with a towel before brushing his teeth and putting on deodorant. He looked at his ugly mug in the face and ran a hand across his bristly whiskers. Not even a face his mother loved and yet, Marisol seemed to. He decided not to shave. He missed his beard. The one thing he hated most in the world was a cold chin.
He dropped the towel on the floor and stepped out of the bathroom to find Marisol sitting in a chair, her hands wrapped together, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her head swivelled towards him and then her eyes darkened as they flickered over his body. She let out a tiny breath and stood without hesitation, pulling her blouse up over her head, dropping it on the chair she’d been sitting in.
Anto’s cock needed no further coaxing as it hardened in anticipation. He watched as she dragged the skirt down over her hips, then stepped out of it, adding it to chair. Then an ugly bra and panties followed. She walked toward him as he did her. When they met, he crushed her to him, crushed his lips to hers, seeking out her sweetness, her warmth. Wordlessly, he picked her up and deposited her on the bed, then dropped himself next to her, kissing her, hard, long, wanting. Her hands clasped his face, drawing him into her, kissing him as desperately as he kissed her.
He flipped her down on the bed, so that he was hovering over her. She swallowed as he ran a hand down her body, tweaking her nipple, sliding fingers down the length of her torso. When he reached her pussy, he tangled his hands in her small triangle of hair, then ran his fingers through her folds, pausing briefly to draw her wetness up to her clit. But he didn’t linger. Instead he wrapped his hands around her hips, pushing her further up the bed, then shoved his head between her thighs and brought his mouth directly onto her pussy, onto her clit, and sucked it, tongued it, stroked it. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and then her whimpers at his aggressiveness, at the burn of his whiskers. It was followed by a small, clipped, almost helpless, “Yes.”
He lifted his head and gazed the length of her body. Her eyes were closed, her head was flung back exposing her long sensual neck. Her arms were stiff and her fingers curled into the bedding. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she moaned.
He dropped his head, tongued her clit, then nibbled it, sucked it. Kept at it as she cried out her little, “Yes.” He wondered how many times he could make her come before he blew his load. It was a good time to find out. Her hand slammed into the mattress beside her thigh as he attacked her clit again and he grinned. She was bucking her body, crying out helplessly, moaning her pleasure. He felt her stiffening, her thighs vibrating. She was going to come and then she did as her knees drew up and she squeezed his head between her thighs. He brought a hand to her belly, pressing hard as her pelvis bucked against him and then the spasms of her orgasm stroked his tongue as his tongue stroked her clit. But he eased, pacing his licks with the ebb of her orgasm, milking it, feeling the tremors in her womb grow weaker.
Then she softened again as though her bones had turned to liquid. Anto crawled up beside her, nuzzling her neck, kissing her jawline. His hands cradled her head as hers did his. Their kisses were full of passion and desperation. He flipped onto his back still kissing her, rolling her body on top of his, bringing his fingers to her sensitive clit, stroking it gently back to life. She breathed out his name and then a small “yes” as he slid a finger into her tight vagina, then out again. His cock ached for her and he sat her up, bringing it to her entrance and easing her down on it. She watched his face with smoky eyes as she fucked him, her hands behind her, using his thighs to steady her as she aggressively stroked his cock with the tight walls of her pussy. Her back was arched and her breasts an invitation that he gladly accepted as he pinched her hard nipples between his fingers. She cried out her small, helpless, “yes,” as her eyes fluttered closed and the tempo of her thrusting became erratic. She fell on him, her hair skidding across his face, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
Anto heard himself groan. She was going to come again and he was not sure he would be able to keep himself from losing it. He didn’t want his release yet. He wanted his dick in her mouth, he wanted to suck her from behind, then fuck her hard. He tried to steady his mind from the images. They sure as fuck weren’t helping him maintain his control. He slid his hands down her ass as she moved on top of him, then slapped her ass, hard enough to make her cry out, hard enough to draw his attention to her. He slapped it again and pain intermingled with pleasure fired through her. She bucked up and arched her back, jutting her chest out towards him. Her nails dug into his stomach and she cried his name, helpless and desperate. It took Anto every ounce of restraint not to come and he shoved her to the side, off his cock, pulling her to him as he stroked her pussy with his fingers, watching her face as she came; a soft sheen of sweat, eyes closed tightly, mouth gasping for air. Her body was awash with goosebumps as she quaked and Anto felt a perverse pleasure in how primally she was responding to him.
She opened unfocused eyes, her chest still heaving. He thought she might think he was finished. He disabused her of that notion as he kissed her lips, invaded her mouth with his tongue, then nipped at her bottom lip before pushing her head towards his dick. She shifted her body and wrapped her hand around it eagerly, stroking it a few times before bringing her mouth to the tip of it. Her sweet sexy tongue flicked out, licking it once and then his crown disappeared into her mouth, then his shaft. As her lips glided back up his cock, her hand followed, a tight grip lubricated by her saliva. Anto dropped his head back on the mattress and closed his eyes to the torturous pleasure that was coursing through him. The only thing better than her wet mouth was her wet pussy. He raked a hand through his hair and used the other to stroke her ass, rubbing it, then slapping it.
