“So, it’s not like they can exactly put up a fight, yeah? We move them quickly between cities. Within a few weeks there’s no trace of them.”
Dima didn’t even try to hide his pleasure at stating that fact. A creep move to Roman. Anastasia threw him another look of discomfort, but he didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Sure, she had to pretend to drool over every word that left Dima’s mouth, but trafficking teenage girls for the sex trade and then bragging about it—was not exactly an easy pill to swallow.
Dima was searching Anastasia’s face to make sure he had made an adequate impression on her, and then he turned to Roman.
“Eight. States, no? Six months and a hundred million dollars,” Dima bragged.
Roman grinned right back. “That all?”
Those were the first words he had spoken in a while. It startled both his companions at the table.
“Did you say something to me?” Dima hissed.
Ah.
Hit a nerve?
It made Roman’s grin grow wider.
“That’s how much I made from three chop shops in New York alone,” he told Dima.
A vein had popped up in the middle of the other man’s forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot-red. Dima wasn’t pleased with that statement.
So?
“Anyone can steal cars and make a few bucks,” Dima shot back.
A little too late for the impact to hurt, though.
“Then, why haven’t you done it yet?”
Anastasia’s stare whipped Roman’s way, her painted-red lips widening like her eyes, but he didn’t care about her.
Roman’s easy counter matched the unwavering stare he leveled on the man. He silently dared Dima to have enough balls to admit he couldn’t make the kind of money Roman did in front of the woman he had paid to stroke his ego and cock. Even in his shame, Roman would have the decency then to offer the man an ounce of respect.
Surprise.
Dima doubled down.
“Because the thrill doesn’t last long enough, yes?” Dima added a short, dark laugh, and turned to Anastasia again when he said, “You steal a car and that’s done. It’s a single payment, one transaction. A girl, well, she can be used again and again. You break a girl, and she’s broken forever. So, what does it matter?”
Anastasia had to force herself to smile with Dima’s gaze still firmly locked on her, but only weakly. It was only her discomfort with the conversation that urged him to stop provoking Dima in to giving even more information about his business that would really unsettle the female at the table.
This shit didn’t get better.
Just bad.
The meeting was still going well. Roman tried to pay attention to what was being said, but he could barely hear them anymore. It sounded like the formalities were over at least. Things had gone smoothly, which meant that nobody would be looking for him anytime soon. He could make a smooth exit ... if he wanted.
He returned Anastasia’s smile when she glanced at him again. Boredom stared back at him. She wished she was somewhere else—anywhere other than within Dima’s breathing distance. Roman wished the same.
Being the Chicago Pakhan’s right-hand man, alongside his own father, Dima was called away for a private conversation with his boss.
Perfect timing.
Dima reluctantly headed away from the table, momentarily glancing back with a narrowed, icy stare loaded for Roman. He stared right back, unchallenged. Anastasia took the opportunity to immediately lean toward him once her companion had been distracted with more important men.
“I heard a rumor about your nickname,” she began.
Oh?
“What did you hear?”
“You’re called Little Odessa’s Devil.”
Roman stubbed the cigarette into a smoky ashtray between them, and met Anastasia’s eyes, smirking all the while. “Do you want to find out why?”
• • •
Marky, despite his earlier warnings, didn’t even bother to hide his incredulous grin when Roman slipped out the back door of the restaurant, with the redhead on his arm. “You’re fucking nuts,” he remarked with a slap to Roman’s back.
“That is exactly what I want you to take care of,” he told Anastasia with a wink.
She threw her head back and laughed. Out of Dima’s view, the woman wasn’t as flighty and ... fake. Although, he was sure those tits of hers were bought and paid for.
The deserted alley at the back of the restaurant worked fine for him and what he planned to do. Roman had made sure he wasn’t going to be noticed by anyone who really mattered when he walked out. The meeting was still in progress, but things had turned more casual amongst the bratva men.
Marky knew exactly what to do without being told. He stood to the side with his back to the wall, keeping watch while Roman busted a nut down Anastasia’s throat.
Anastasia’s tongue danced along the seam of her top lip when Roman grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her down to her knees in front of him. A wicked smile spread on her face while she clung to his muscular arm. She liked his rough handling.
He had to do nothing after that, which was fine with him. She was the one who undid his belt and pulled down his pants. His cock throbbed and grew hard at the sight of her red mouth coming dangerously close to the head of his cock with white teeth baring slightly. She opened wide and licked her bottom lip while she stroked him in preparation.
Fuck that.
He didn’t need foreplay.
He twisted one thick bunch of her red hair around his hand so he could hold her in place, murmuring to her, “Just fucking suck me—don’t play.”
Her hands found his thighs for support, and that painted-red mouth of hers took him in. He plowed his cock deep down her throat and began thrusting. Slurpy sounds followed her moans of delight with every push.
He should have just closed his fucking eyes and got his rocks off, but getting head in a dirty alley was the least exciting thing he’d done that week. The distraction of busting a nut wasn’t enough to keep Roman from noticing the marks on her wrists where her bangles had slipped down her arms.
Bruises.
Blue and fresh.
He had a good idea who put them there, too. Dima had her eating out of the palm of his hand. He hurt her; maybe it was some shit he got off on, or maybe it was just because he could. Either way, she had to sit there and listen to him boast about all the other women he was using—or trafficking.
Fun times.
And he needed to get his head out of that headspace. Fast.
Roman tried to focus on the way her tongue moved over his cock instead of the imprints of bruises he could still see even after he closed his eyes. After a while, it started to work. She sucked him hard. He controlled her hair like reins around his hand. Yanking and tugging her while he fucked her mouth exactly the way he wanted.
When he came, he filled her mouth with his sticky cum until it dribbled down the side of her mouth while her tongue was still flat to the base of his cock, and she stared up at him. Only then did he pull away. Anastasia wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her perfect red lipstick was smudged now.
She eyed him with her big green eyes while he pulled up his pants, waiting for something, maybe. What, he didn’t know.
Did she expect something?
He wasn’t Dima—wouldn’t hurt her. Roman also wasn’t a saint; the furthest thing from it really, and he got what he wanted here. Everything else was over.