Sasha: A Dark Mafia Romance (Belles & Mobsters)
Sasha: Chapter 38

I eyed her critically.

It would have to do. Boots and a white, slightly shredded dress that no longer resembled a wedding dress. Not the best combo but it’d be better than having her ride on the back of a bike in all that fucking lace. She’d kill us both with it.

“You ruined a hundred thousand dollar dress,” she spat, noticing that I was studying her.

“I did you a favor,” I told her coldly. “Get on the bike.”

Her eyes darted to the Harley then to me. Back to the bike. “I don’t think so.”

“Here are some rules,” I stated calmly. She’d get on that bike if I had to tie her to me. “When I issue an order, you say ‘yes, sir,’ and do it with a smile. No more rebelling. You had your freedom and time to grow your wings. Now I want your submission. Understood?”

She scoffed. “Are you for real? You can’t tell me what to do, you fucking Russian.”

I ignored her sarcasm. “You’ll get on that bike or I’ll tie you up and then put you on it myself. You try anything, I’m going to go after your brother and his lovely wife.”

“Alessio would kick your fucking ass,” she sneered.

“Like I said, kotyonok,” I drawled. “I’d like to see him try. Trust me, you don’t want to test the theory.”

If I knew one thing about Branka, it was her love and loyalty for her brother and her best friend. So I’d use that against her.

When she said nothing else, I grinned satisfied. I pulled the handle of the door, opened it and exited the car.

I straddled the Harley and extended my hand. “Let’s go.”

Ignoring my hand, she hiked up her leg and threw it over the seat, then straddled me from behind. And all the while she mumbled curses under her breath. Her hands came around my waist and instantly my dick responded.

Fuck, it’d be a long ride.

I slid my helmet on and hers followed. Then I roared the bike to life and found my way out of the underground garage. The best way to leave the city was by motorcycle. By now Alessio and Killian would have the description of the car. They’d never expect us on a motorcycle.

I drove slowly in and out of traffic, never once going over the speed limit or breaking the law. I didn’t want to appear in a rush to escape.

“This is worse than Driving Miss Daisy.” Branka’s grumbling came through the helmet speaker. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get caught?”

“Don’t you worry, kotyonok,” I drawled. “We’ll get out of here.”

“And there goes my hope,” she grumbled.

I turned off our communication and dialed up Alexei.

“Da.” Yes.

“What’s the best route from New York City to New Orleans?”

“Do I want to know?” His cold, raspy voice came through the line.

“Ne.” He definitely didn’t want to know.

“That was some performance in the church,” he remarked in his cold, dry tone. “You should try theater.”

“Fuck you.”

His raspy chuckle came over the phone. “I’m guessing you’re not giving the woman back.”

“No.”

I let my answer fill the silence. There was no sense in explaining. She was mine. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Go through Pennsylvania to West Virginia, then Tennessee and keep going south until Louisiana.”

“Maybe I should take a train,” I muttered.

“Let me guess, you’re on a motorcycle.”

“You guessed right, brat.” Brother. His silence was expected. He rarely voiced his opinion or disappointment. If I called Vasili, I’d never hear the end of it.

“Sasha.”

“Hmm.”

“Stay at crappy hotels, not the fancy ones.”

The line went dead.

We rode for six hours when I finally pulled up in front of a motel in Pennsylvania. Not a total dump, but pretty fucking close.

I took Alexei’s advice. Nobody knew how to stay under the radar better than my brother. It was already dark outside and riding a bike in the dark was a damn hassle.

I paid cash and took the keys from the receptionist. When I came out of the little lobby, Branka was still seated on the bike. She had removed her helmet, but other than that, she remained immobile.

“You gonna stay on the bike all night?” I asked curiously. “I didn’t realize you loved motorcycles so much.”

She glared at me. “I can’t fucking move,” she gritted. “My legs are stiff.”

I blinked and my gaze traveled down her legs, then back up to her face. She attempted to lift her leg and winced. Her body stiffened and I walked the ten feet to her, then lifted her off the bike and into my arms.

“Ouch,” she whimpered.

“You have to toughen up if you’re going to kill me,” I remarked dryly.

Her hands wrapped around my neck and she held on as I strode to the room. “Don’t worry. I heal quickly. I’ll kill you sooner or later.”

I shook my head as I carried her. When I opened the door, Branka immediately cursed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed.

Sitting in the middle of the room was a bed with an old fashioned iron headboard. It looked like bars of jail cell.

How damn appropriate. Then to sweeten the deal, there was one bed for the two of us.

We might even stay two nights, I thought to myself smugly.