Possessive Boss, page 4
"I suspect everyone," Mikhail says. "It would be wise to interrogate the girl, find out what she knows and whom she's working for."
"Whomever she's working for, it's not out of loyalty." There's something about Lucy that feels genuine when I'm around her; at least it was last night at the bar. She could have played me, seduced me, and distracted me.
I'd been neglectful in leaving my keys on the desk, allowing her to steal from me. Would she have snatched them from my pocket if I had not been so careless? It's unlikely she's any good as a pickpocket, or she'd have swiped them down in the club and avoided spending a minute alone with me.
"You suspect blackmail."
"I spent enough time with her in the club that I'm confident she isn't here because she wants to be. Someone has something on her."
"That's possible. We'll see if Anton finds anything when he runs background. You've already established a rapport with the prisoner. I want you to handle the interrogation."
"That's appreciated." The thought of Luka or Dmitri in the prison cell with her sends my pulse racing. I need to be the one demanding that she spills her secrets after what she did. She owes me the truth and nothing short of it.
Mikhail is finished, and I stand, heading for the door.
Luka is gone, not that I should expect him to wait around. He has other matters to attend to, including his proposal to Hannah, which didn't go according to plan. But he's not a man to give up, not when it comes to his family and the love of his life.
I never thought I'd see that man settle down and start a family. However, it wasn't like he planned any of it.
Me, I'm not the least bit interested in a romantic relationship. There are already enough kids running around the compound; the quietness was fleeting after Aleksandra left with her twins, Sophia and Liam.
Aleksandra is Mikhail's baby sister and a heavy dose of trouble. I used to take those twins to school, but heaven help me if I had to babysit them. I'm not great with kids. I can't stand their sticky hands and constant whining to be entertained. When I was a child, no adult spent hours pretending to be interested in silly games.
I'm not cut out to be a parent. I don't claim to like kids. I deal with them like one manages a pet, with food and water, and I'd let them roam free in the yard.
It's probably why Hannah hasn't asked me to look after Bay, and Madisyn doesn't want me anywhere near Kira. Perfect.
I have enough work to do, with Mikhail giving orders at all hours of the night. I swear the man doesn't get a wink of sleep. Not that I do much better.
Heading for the basement, I unlock the door and open it, stomping down the stairs. My shoes click against the stones. The hallway is dimly lit, but the prison down below is brightly lit. It's intentional, making it difficult for a prisoner to sleep or know how much time has passed. There are no windows in the basement.
And the prison itself is soundproof from the remainder of the compound to ensure that no one can hear what's being done to the captive. It used to be a nice feature; it kept out the annoying sounds of brutal interrogations, but now, with children running around the main floor, it's best they don't know what's happening in the basement.
The door is always kept locked. Not that we are concerned that a prisoner might escape. It's quite the opposite. None of us wants the children or their mothers to wander down uninvited into the cold cells and discover what it is we are required to do.
Madisyn isn't oblivious to the task at hand; she is formerly FBI. Hannah, a nurse at Steele Concierge Medical, hasn't seen the viciousness required of our men, and we all prefer to keep it that way.
Such harshness can't be unseen or heard.
Lucy sits on the floor, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees, palms down. She appears far calmer than any prisoner I've witnessed in our cells.
Her eyes are shut, and the girl looks peaceful as fuck.
Is she meditating?
This isn't supposed to be a vacation where she can relax and unwind.
"Get up!" I snap, and her eyes flash open.
She stares at me with menacing annoyance. Is it because I interrupted her ritual? Well, good. She's here as a prisoner. Lucy ought to be groveling and apologizing, begging for her freedom.
I don't like this side of her, unconcerned. She doesn't appear the least bit worried about her captivity.
Why is that?
Who is she working for?
Does she think they'll save her?
"No one is coming for you," I warn her as I approach the prison cell.
Lucy stands and dusts off her dress. It rides just above the knee, and the bright yellow is a stark contrast against the grey walls and floor.
"How long are you going to detain me? Don't I get a phone call?" Lucy quips.
I can't tell if she's serious, but I offer a sly smirk. "We're not the police."
She glances past me, her gaze aimlessly looking for something. A security camera? We have plenty of those in the prison and throughout the compound. Most are difficult to detect, hidden from plain sight.
"Who are you?" Lucy asks, rolling her lips together before biting down on her bottom lip.
She's trying to play it cool, but her hands tremble at her side before she folds her arms across her chest.
"I ask the questions." I stride closer to the prison cell. "Who are you working for? I know you didn't decide to steal my key for sport."
"I could have," she quips and then grimaces.
Is she worried that she's said too much?
I unlock the door to the prison cell.
Lucy takes a step back, her eyes widening as she glances past me. I shut the door behind us, shoving the key into my pants pocket. I'm not about to let her escape. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"How about you let me go home? You got your silly house key. I'll be on my way." Her shoes drag against the concrete as her gaze is on the metal door.
"It's locked." I remind her that she isn't going anywhere without an escort.
Her eyes flinch, and she bolts toward me, jabbing her fist at my face for an uppercut.
Lucy is small, at just over five feet. I've got an entire foot on her, and there is no chance she will overpower me.
Grabbing her arm, I pin it behind her back and press her tight against me. I'm not taking a chance that she'll try anything again. "How about we talk?" It's not a question. This is her opportunity for salvation.
I need answers, and she will give them to me.
"Fine," she grunts, and I release my hold on her.
She takes a step back, rubbing at her wrist I held moments earlier. Her nostrils flare as she glances at me.
"Tell me who you work for." My back is to the door, but it's shut and locked. The weight of the key to the prison cell is heavy in my pocket. At least she's not a very good pickpocket. She had ample opportunity when I restrained her.
"You may as well kill me," Lucy says.
"And why's that?"
"I'm good as dead if I talk." She presses her lips together and glances past me toward the stairs.
Is she hoping that someone will come and save her? The door upstairs is locked, and I haven't heard any of the men tread down the stairs. It's just the two of us.
I'm not foolish enough to turn around and give her the advantage with my back to her. "Who said anything about killing you?"
Does she know that we're Russian Bratva?
If she does, then it's a good indicator that she's working with one of our enemies, either Carlos Sanchez from the Colombian Cartel or Antonio Moretti from the Italian Mafia.
Her tongue darts out and swipes across her top lip. "Fine, then let me go."
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I withdraw it to glance at the messages from Anton on the screen.
Background is heavy with debts. Mortgage defaulted. No recent residence on file. Appears she lost her previous job when the investment firm she worked for was bankrupt and shut down after an investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission. Currently employed at Java Beans.
I reply with a quick thanks and tuck my phone into my blazer.
Lucy's voice quivers. "What was that?"
"Aside from my cell phone?" She's trying my patience. Not that I expect her to be open like a book and divulge all her secrets, but doesn't she want to get out of here? If she has the slightest notion of who we are, she'd make a deal and attempt to save herself.
She doesn't say anything, just stares at me with her sullen green eyes. "What are you, five-one?" I ask. Lucy is short, and while I'm not trying to be rude, there is a way that she can pay her debt after we establish a few ground rules. Assuming she's willing to obey me.
I've insulted her. "Five-three. And what does my height matter? Wondering how I managed to climb over your precious gate?"
The girl has attitude, and that will have to be squashed, along with her freedom. "Keep talking."
Lucy stalks up to me. "You have a blind spot in the back corner of your security system between the fence line and the garden."
We noticed after she managed to expose the issue with our system. The coverage between the two cameras happened to be less than a foot, but somehow, she noticed and tried to take advantage.
But I doubt she's behind it.
"Who told you about the blind spot?"
"No one." The color drains right out of her face. Her ruby cheeks are pale. "I want a lawyer."
"This isn't a police station. You don't have any rights," I reiterate. "You mentioned if you talked, someone would kill you. Who?" I need the name of the person she's working for. Who put her up to this?
"You can't protect me."
"I can if you work with us," I say. "Who sent you?"
She shivers and turns away, refusing to answer.
I stalk closer. I don't like her attitude or that she's not willing to tell me everything I want to know. "This can get a lot harder for you," I whisper into her ear.
Lucy spins around on her heels, staring up at me. "Go ahead and kill me."
Does she not value her life?
Her hands are shaking, and she tucks them as she folds her arms across her chest.
She's working for the mafia or the cartel. I'm certain they're behind this plot, and she's just a toy in their game.
I just have to convince her to trust me, which won't be easy. But I'm up for the challenge, and I've never been more motivated.
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."
"And he's where—at home by himself?"
"Do you honestly think that I'd leave a six-year-old boy at home alone?" I'm appalled by his suggestion. Does he know nothing about children? "He's fine. He's with someone." I won't elaborate. I'm sure if they want to find out where he is, they'll figure it out on their own.
"Family?" Nikita asks. His gaze doesn't waver, and I can't figure out what's going through his head.
I don't answer.
"I will take your silence as confirmation that he's being looked after and cared for."
"You're worried about my son?" That's ludicrous. "You're imprisoning me, his mother, and now you're concerned about my child's well-being?"
Nikita's jaw tightens. Is he annoyed with me or perturbed that I don't fall to his feet and beg for his forgiveness and my life?
He glances at his watch briefly before reaching into his pants pocket for the key to the prison cell. "I'm taking you home. Tomorrow, you start work at Club Sage."
I'm not the least bit appreciative that he's given me a job. I already have a gig, working full-time at the coffee shop. I don't need another job. Besides, this one isn't going to pay me a cent.
Escorting me out of the prison cell, he gestures for me to walk ahead of him up the stairs.
The steps are dark and narrow. I'd barely noticed on my way down, but the air is chilly, and I shiver as I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. Was the prison this cold? I hadn't noticed; I'd been too heated thinking about Nikita and how I would get out of here alive.
I try the door handle, but it's locked and doesn't budge. "Is this some kind of joke?" I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.
"Step aside," he says and gestures for me to move out of the way.
He unlocks the door and grabs my arm, keeping me from getting too far ahead of him.
Does he think that'll I flee? I don't even know which way the door is out of here.
Nikita is gruff and forceful; his fingers dig into my arm, leaving an imprint behind. "Would you loosen up?"
He glances back at me, realizing his strength and his grip eases enough to keep me trapped, but he's no longer hurting me.
There's no apology from him.
Not that I should expect much from him.
Another gentleman briskly strides down the hallway toward us.
He's taller than I am, with a thick beard and dark hair. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, his thick Russian accent fills the room. "What's she still doing alive?"
