Page 33 of Bratva's Secret Girl
“You’re hard,” she marvels. “I do almost wonder what your piercings look like when you don’t have an erection.”
“Might take you years to discover,” I say with a choked laugh, putting my hand over hers and guiding it fully over my cock. “Feel what you do to me? That’s all for you.”
“Mine,” she croons, and my spine melts at the possessive gleam in her eyes as she shifts to look at me.
“Yours,” I agree, then suck in a breath as her innocent fingers explore the sensitive head and the top barbells and send pleasure shooting up from the base of my spine.
A rumbling growl starts up in my chest and Hayley giggles.
In a second, I have her pinned under me, and she squeals. I kiss down her throat, over the wings of her collarbones, then suck one nipple into my mouth.
“Maxim.”
“Shh.” I keep kissing down until I’m between her legs, looking at her slick, puffy pink folds. So perfect. “Daddy is going to take care of his printsessa.”
It’s after multiple orgasms, a joint shower which ended with us back in bed, another shower, and me leaving her there while I clear up the mess I made of the dining area, that we’re sitting having breakfast. Hayley still has no clothes, and we’re ordering some to be delivered here when my phone rings.
“It’s one of the London Maths—” I correct myself, damnit, they’ve got me doing this now. Idiots. “Mafia Syndicate,” I tell Hayley, then answer. “What have you found?”
“Hello to you too,” the kingpin of King’s Cross says dryly. “I think I’ve found the Richmond girl?—”
“The Love sisters are under my protection,” I growl, and Hayley’s cheeks tinge pink as she smiles. She’s wearing a shirt of mine again, a fresh one. “She’s not a Richmond girl.”
“Right.” King’s Cross makes a humming sound of concern. As the mafia boss controlling one of the biggest railway stations that leads in and out of London, he has information about the whereabouts of people, whatever their method of transport. And he knows the value of family. He lost his sister, and raised his niece alone until last Christmas when he fell in love with the nanny. “You may not like this.”
“Tell me.” I have no patience for messing around on this. I promised to reunite Hayley with her sisters, and I intend to deliver on that.
“I think Payton just got married to Beckenham on a remote pacific island.”
My eyes practically bug out of my head. Or my ears.
What?
Hayley is vibrating with curiosity, so I tap the phone onto speaker.
“But Beckenham is her boyfriend’s dad,” I say, and shock whitens Hayley’s face.
I take her hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze.
“Feliks Rykov, father of Ivan Rykov, yes. Forty-four years old. It’s a bit unusual to marry your ex’s dad so quickly, I admit.” He doesn’t comment on the obscene age gap, which I appreciate.
“How can they be married?” Hayley exclaims.
“What leads you to think they’re married?” I add. Because that doesn’t sound like he’s going to hurt her, at least.
“I found a trace that took them to an airfield,” King’s Cross says. “And to a private jet that was booked in other names. I assumed they were fake, but no. It seems not. They are a real couple who were about to take off for their secret wedding. They were ‘persuaded’ that alternative arrangements were better.”
“He stole someone’s private jet?” He and his shithead son have a reputation for being Bratva who are rich and entitled, and I don’t like him, but he can afford his own fucking transport.
“He took his own private jet, actually,” King’s Cross replies. “It looks like the pilot had been subletting without his boss’ knowledge.”
“And now Rykov has taken his son’s girlfriend on a ‘romantic trip’,” I mutter.
“Kidnapped,” Hayley corrects me.
“I’ll send details of where the flight said it was going, but there’s no guarantee it’s accurate.”
“Understood. Thanks.” This is why it’s worth putting up with the maths nonsense and the egos. You can count on the London Maths Club to get results. “Whenever you need a favour in return?—”