His voice moved over her skin like the brush of velvet.
She wanted to shake her head and say no, but he mesmerized her. She wasn’t certain why it was important to her to please him—but it was.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He touched her lower lip with the pad of his index finger, turned and sauntered out.
Touching her lips with trembling fingers, she stared out the window as she watched him walk down the sidewalk. Very carefully she stood up, deliberately turning her back on the sight of him. What in the world was wrong with her? Why had she agreed to meet him for dinner? She had actually agreed to wear a dress for him. She had temporarily lost her mind.
He really was like a mythical hero in one of the books—the romance books she read. She secretly wanted a home and a man who would love her. She’d learned not to give in to her needs, and she wasn’t about to allow a man—a stranger—to shatter her hard-won feelings of independence and courage. She deserved everything she’d fought for, and she wasn’t taking one step back. Not one. It didn’t matter how gorgeous he was. Or what kind of voice he had. It didn’t matter that he affected her the way he did. She had to stay on her present course.
The moment the door to the coffee shop closed behind Andrii, the merry widows rushed to Azelie’s tiny table, the three of them giggling like schoolgirls. Penny fanned herself.
“You just struckgold,” China said. “We tried to hear whatyou were talking about, but he speaks so low. So do you.” She made it an accusation.
“Did he ask you out?” Blanc wanted to know.
“Give us the details, girl,” Penny insisted.
Azelie found she didn’t have to say very much. She wasn’t about to tell them she’d made a total fool of herself, but she did admit Andrii had asked her out. That sent the merry widows into a fluttery frenzy, allowing her to sit back and wonder how she’d gotten herself into such a mess.
TWO
“What do you think, Maestro?” Lyov “Steele” Russak, the vice president of Torpedo Ink, asked. “We’re under the gun with this one. You don’t have a lot of time to get the job done if Billows is holding prisoners. We don’t know if he’s gotten in a new shipment of victims, but we need to find out.”
Steele might be one of the younger members of the club, but he was highly intelligent and a skilled surgeon and, most importantly, he had developed his abilities to be able to heal with his mind and hands. Married to Breezy, he was the only member of their club besides their president with a young son.
Two hundred eighty-seven children were taken from their parents and placed in a school run by a high-powered man. He had their families murdered, and those children were to be shaped into assets for their country—taught to be assassins. The instructors were sadistic pedophiles who grew crueler as they were encouraged to treat the children any way they desired. Only eighteen survived the vicious abuses of the school. At least they believed only eighteen survived. Recently, a nineteenth survivor had joined them.
His name was Rurik “Destroyer” Volkov. Destroyer was a large man covered in prison tattoos, as he’d spent a greatdeal of time in one of the worst prisons in Russia. He was still learning to be a part of the Torpedo Ink world.
The club members were in their meeting room, where they often met when discussing club business. The room was large, with a bank of windows on one side allowing views of the ocean. The table was huge, oval in shape and made of solid oak.
Torpedo Ink had purchased the old paymaster’s building in Caspar to renovate into their existing clubhouse as well as the surrounding land. The compound was extremely large and was surrounded by a high chain-link fence. Razor wire on top of the fence and tall rolling gates gave the appearance of a fortress. The side yard was a full acre with views of the ocean, and held fire pits, benches and the beginning of gardens. Most of the meadow was still wildflowers and brush, but they were slowly taming it.
The common room was very spacious. A long curving bar with a gleaming oak finish was on one side of the room. Stools were pushed up to the bar. In the center of the room were tables and chairs. On the opposite side from the bar and in front of a gas fireplace comfortable chairs and couches were positioned for conversation. The bedrooms were in the back part of the building, where most outsiders were never invited.
Andrii “Maestro” Federoff shook his head at Steele. “You know these kinds of relationships aren’t built overnight. It takes time to build the kind of trust needed between us for me to get the information we want.”
“We need to find these women if Billows is holding them. We know he trains them as sex slaves,” Steele said. “If he has victims and they’re auctioned off before we can get to them, we don’t have a prayer of ever getting them back.”
Andrii was well aware. He wouldn’t have gone along with this assignment if the stakes weren’t so high.
Viktor “Czar” Prakenskii, the president of Torpedo Ink, Maestro’s motorcycle club, studied his hard features. Maestro kept his expression a mask. No one wanted Czar’s scrutiny. He had a way of seeing into a man or woman and knowingtheir secrets. Maestro had too many secrets he couldn’t afford to expose.
“How hard is this going to be for you?”
The question was put to him in a mild, almost casual tone, but Maestro wasn’t deceived. He’d been around the club president since they both were young children. Czar had saved his life on more than one occasion. Maestro was still undecided about whether that was a good thing. On some days, especially when he was around Czar’s children or Steele’s son, there was a lightness in him he vaguely recognized as happiness. His music gave him peace. He lived for his music. And there was his affinity with wood. At times just being in a work environment, hands on wood, gave him close to the same peace as music gave him.
“Maestro?” Czar pressed. Czar was a big man and very strong. His blue-gray eyes often could turn a liquid silver when he focused wholly on someone. His hair, worn long and usually pulled back at the nape of his neck, was black but streaked with silver.
Maestro knew he was taking too long to answer. Just thinking about Zelie sent strange waves of euphoria snaking through him. He didn’t like the foreign sensation.
Maestro lifted one dark eyebrow, a smirk appearing briefly. “Easy target. She isn’t going to be a problem. I made the approach. The connection was solid immediately.” His smirk faded. “I’ll say this much. She’s gorgeous, intelligent and the real deal. That combination doesn’t come along very often. In fact, I’ve never seen it. Not ever. Not once in all the women I’ve been with.”
There was a stunned silence. The other members seated in the meeting room exchanged long shocked looks. “You’re really attracted to her,” Lazar “Keys” Alexeev blurted out.
Keys was his best friend. Together they played in the band Crows Flying. They owned a construction business, 287 Construction, with the two other band members. Keys and Maestro guarded Steele whether he liked it or not—and he didn’t like it. They made it their business to keep him and his familysafe. Keys had wide shoulders, dark hair and hazel eyes. He looked fit, his arms bulging with muscle that was more genetic than built in a gym.
