Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)

As I press the call button, I know this is the act of a desperate woman. A desperate, stir-crazy woman who has been imprisoned by a one-night stand in a penthouse that stretches across nine thousand square feet of Chicago sky. My only companion is an untrained Great Dane who seems to share his temporary owner’s penchant for dominance games.

I’m crazy. I have to be. There is no other reason I would put myself through the gauntlet of explaining to Hope where I’ve been and why I haven’t answered any of her increasingly concerned texts or dozens of phone calls for the last two days.

Once, I went to a movie by myself and didn’t answer her for ninety minutes of Love, Actually. By the time I called back, she’d contacted my boss, my landlord, my bagel shop guy, Grams, and even my dad, as if he’d ever known a damn thing about where I was.

I wince as the line rings.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

“Where the hell have you been?! I thought you were dead!”

Hope’s voice hits a pitch that makes Rufus cock his head, probably wondering if one of his own kind is being tortured somewhere in the city below.

“First of all, I’m really, really sorry.”

“That’s not an answer, Nova Charlotte Pierce. That’s not even the very fucking start of an answer.” I wince again. When Hope uses her business voice, heads roll. I should have scripted this conversation, written myself some cue cards. “Where are you right now? Because it’s not your apartment—I checked. Or with your Grams—I also checked. You’re also not⁠—”

“Please tell me you didn’t call my dad.” I press my fingers against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows, silently begging whatever deity might be listening.

“Of course I didn’t call your dad! I was trying to find you, not waste my time with that asshole incarnate.” I can practically hear her eye roll over the phone. “But that still wasn’t an answer. Are you hurt? In danger? In trouble?”

Samuil cradling me in his arms last night and kissing me gently flashes through my mind.

Yeah, I’m in big, big trouble.

“I… wouldn’t say that.”

Mostly because, if I do, she’ll be rounded up and tossed into this penthouse with me. Which, selfishly, sounds kind of fun. If anyone could liven up a hostage situation, it would be Hope.

But I’m a better friend than that.

“You’re not saying anything,” she accuses. “I’m one bad excuse away from assuming you’ve been Taken-ed and calling the cops to report you as a missing person.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Because I’m not missing and I’m not hurt and I’m not in any danger. That’s three reasons.” That last one is a big, fat whopper of a lie, but I’m in damage control mode here. I need to stop Hope from contacting the cops.

“Fine. I’m hitting pause on calling the cops, but it’s not completely off the table until you tell me where you are. Right now.”

This is where notecards would be handy. A little forethought could’ve smoothed things over. As it is, I say the first thing that pops in my head. “I’m going to be out of town. For the next two weeks. So someone is going to have to cover my schedule until I’m back.”

If I make it out of this penthouse alive, that is.

Even if I do make it out, I might not have a job to get back to. Hope is my best friend, but there are limits. She went out on a limb to merge her business with mine, and I’m looking like the flakiest of flakes right about now.

“Are you mad?” I squeak.

Hope takes a deep breath. “That depends. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Samuil Litvinov whisked me away to Turks & Caicos for two weeks of wild, ‘oh, God, harder’ sex on the beach,’ then yeah, I’m fucking pissed. Because that kind of sexcation is the only excuse you could possibly have for doing this to me.”

“Umm…”

I pause to debate my options, which are few and far between. Lying to Hope feels like swallowing glass, but the truth would put her in danger. One of us should be on the outside to keep things running.

So, for the sake of Hope’s entrepreneurial future, I lie. “Things between me and Samuil may have… heated up faster than I expected.”

I didn’t think he’d abduct me until at least the third date, but hey, what can I say? We had an instant connection.

There’s a beat of hesitation before Hope lets out another ear-splitting scream.

Rufus whimpers. I agree.

“Holy shit. You are! You really are. You’re on a sexcation with Samuil Litvinov! You are completely forgiven for everything,” she declares, excitement crackling through the line. “Where did he take you? St. Barts? The Maldives? Bitch, are you in Bali?!”

I glance around the palatial penthouse. “Not quite that far,” I admit. “But the view’s amazing.”

If Samuil had brought me back here after a normal first date—maybe dinner, some drinks, a walk through the park where we met—I would’ve been properly wooed. He could’ve talked me into some fairly raunchy activities in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows.

Instead, I’m keeping my clothes on and my guard up.

“I am so excited for you!” Hope trills. “And to think I was worried sick about you all day. Little did I know you were off getting your freak on with Chicago’s hottest bachelor.”

“No one’s getting their freak anywhere.”

Late night cuddles and one tiny kiss isn’t “freaky.”

“Hm. Well, then I hate to break this to you, babe, but it doesn’t sound like you’re doing this sexcation right.”

“Because it’s not a sexcation!”

“Not yet, but there’s still time,” she insists. “All you have to do is make proper use of the handsome billionaire in your bed. Seriously, NoNo, you need to be bold. I’ve watched old videos of Sam playing hockey, and the man knows how to handle his stick⁠—”

Something inside me snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. “Samuil Litvinov can take his stick and shove it up his ass!”

The words echo in the cavernous room, and I remember—too late—that he’s listening. That every syllable is being recorded and analyzed.

Well, fuck it. Men like him can smell fear.

I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Matter of fact, if I knew where the security cameras in this room were, I’d look right down the barrel.

“Sideways,” I continue. “Where even all his billions couldn’t find a doctor skilled enough to remove it.”

Dead silence fills the line. “Whoa. That came from a dark place.”

Girl, you have no idea.

I sink onto the carpet beside Rufus and pet his furry head. “I think I might have made a mistake going away with him.”

“Is it because you’re not putting out?”

“It’s not always about sex, Hope!” Especially since having hot sex is definitely not our problem. I put out, alright. And he put me out. Three times in a row.

“Are you pulling a Nova?”

I frown. “Did you just use my name as a verb? I mean, shit, that’s not a verb, but you know what I mean.”

“Only because you have a uniquely bad habit of self-sabotaging.”

My jaw drops. “I do not!”

“Oh, come on, Nova. You’ve blown up every relationship you’ve been in since I’ve known you. Either you pick assholes from the get-go or you pick nice guys whom you dump the moment things start to get serious.”

“Pete and I were together for almost a year.”

“And he was cheating on you for most of that time,” she reminds me.

“I mean… that’s not entirely untrue.”

“Exactly!” Hope cries. “Who forgets about something like that? Someone who has dated way too many alpha asshole types, that’s who.”

“Samuil is the literal definition of an alpha asshole type. King of them, really.”

“Is that the problem, then? Is he treating you badly? If he hurt you, I’ll kill him. He’s big, but I’ll rent an excavator so we can dig the hole for his body to the proper size.”

The fierce protectiveness in her voice makes my eyes burn. If she only knew. But I can’t justify being MIA for two weeks if I tell her the truth about my captivity.

“No, he hasn’t treated me badly.”

“Ah-ha!” she shouts like a mad scientist. “So this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that he might just be perfect for you.”

“I just met him. It’s a little early to start throwing around words like ‘perfect.’”

Even if I can look past the abduction and the long, sordid criminal history, there are other compatibility issues to consider. Does he binge-watch shows or savor them? Does he need something sweet after dinner? Because a man who doesn’t understand the sacred nature of dessert is a man I can’t trust.

“Which means it’s still a little early to decide this isn’t working,” she fires back. “You have to give him a chance.”

I grit my teeth to keep the truth buried deep, deep inside. “I’ll see the next two weeks through and make a call at the end of it, okay?”

I don’t mention that I have to see the next two weeks through regardless and that the only person making a call when it’s over is going to be Samuil.

Will I live? Will I die? Only Samuil can decide.

Stay tuned for next week’s episode.

Hope’s sigh whispers through the phone. “Okay. But please, for the love of God and me and all that is right in the world… fuck his brains out while you have the chance. It would be wrong to let that body go to waste.”

I suppress a laugh. She’d die if she knew about our bathroom encounter. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Hope. You’re an amazing boss. And an even better friend.”

“And don’t you forget it! Need me to do anything for you while you’re away?”

“One thing, actually,” I say, pouncing on the offer. “Grams. She has P.T. every Thursday. I usually go see her afterwards. Would you mind checking in on her for me while I’m away?”

“Of course! I love that sassy old cougar. Consider it done.”

“And just to keep our story straight—” I almost burst out into hysterical laughter at that, because this story is several left turns beyond crooked. “—as far as Grams is concerned, I’m away on business.”

Hope giggles. “Done. Your seventy-five-year-old grandmother won’t hear about your dirty trip with the king of the underworld from me.”

“Did I mention you’re the best?”

“Yes, but feel free to continue lavishing praise on me. I’ll expect a fruit basket and a full and detailed report when you get back,” Hope says. “Oh, wait. How did your meeting with Katerina go? You dropped off the radar before I got the rundown.”

“Pretty, uh… pretty uneventful,” I lie, looking down at Katerina’s dog, who is currently drooling on my socks. “She was exactly like you said she’d be.”

“Total bitch, then?”

“Total bitch.”

“At least she has good taste in dogs,” Hope adds.

Yeah, dogs.

And men.

The truth sits heavy in my chest as I end the call, wondering how many more lies I’ll have to tell before this is over. How many more betrayals I’ll commit in the name of survival.

Behind me, the city sparkles through the windows like nothing is wrong. Like I’m not trapped in this glass castle with a monster who wears Armani suits and carries violence in his veins.

But monsters, I’m learning, come in all forms. Some wear badges. Some wear designer clothes.

And some, like me, wear lies like armor and pray they’re strong enough to survive.