Page 16 of Her Royal Master (Master Me #1)

Three years undercover with the mob and he’d throw it all away for a girl.

He didn’t give a shit if it got him whacked by the mob, or fired from the FBI. Lucy Carr wasn’t going to get killed on his watch. Hell, if any of them fucking touched her, he would blow his cover in a second.

After a lifetime believing he was fundamentally soulless, his fervor surprised him. Who knew? Some part of his spirit must still be intact for him to want to protect something so precious.

Yuri climbed out of the backseat of Freddo’s S-class Mercedes and cracked his knuckles. Mob enforcer was a part he’d played so long—for real and for the FBI—that he’d come to believe it was all he was. Darkness shrouded in crime. Even if he was working for the “good guys” now.

He wasn’t wearing a suit. Neither were Freddo and Tommy.

Tonight could get bloody, and who wanted to ruin a thousand dollar Armani?

No, just a short-sleeved button-down and slacks tonight.

With his customary swagger, he led the way to the front of the line snaking onto the sidewalk in front of Blue Turtle, the upscale club Jake Carr owned.

Jake was in deep shit.

Yuri could give two fucks about Jake or his cocaine habit-induced problems. It was Jake’s captivating little sister he wasn’t going to let die.

Lucy.

The Blue Turtle’s resident DJ was an ongoing source of fascination for Yuri. How did something so fresh, so full of light, exist in their world of darkness? It was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Her music pumped out on the sidewalk, the bass loud enough to demand their heartbeats amp up the speed to match. The bouncer at the door recognized them and opened the velvet rope for them without a word. “Where’s Jake?” Freddo demanded in notes of deep baritone asshole.

The bouncer shrugged his shoulders. “Not in yet—I haven’t seen him.”

Freddo glowered at the guy for a minute but he clearly didn’t know anything, including enough to be scared, so they moved on, into the club.

The moment they walked in, Yuri’s eyes went to the DJ booth, where they were always drawn.

Lucy bounced in the plexiglass enclosed space, pumping her arm in the air, an exhilarated grin lighting up her beautiful face.

High cheekbones made her face heart-shaped, and a bow shaped her mouth.

Her pale skin was flawless and bright, decorated with a tiny piercing of a diamond up by one eye.

She could have been a model. Or an actress.

But instead she had this counter-culture thing going—hair dyed platinum and pulled into two fuzzy pigtails high on her head. Fucking adorable.

Just seeing her lifted a weight from Yuri’s shoulders, only it immediately slammed back down onto his chest, because yeah. If Jake no-showed tonight, Lucy would become their hostage until he did. You don’t stiff the don his drug money and expect to get away with it.

She caught sight of them as they pushed through the crowd, and looked away quickly, telling him she knew why they were there. He sure as hell hoped she would cooperate and just inform them of her brother’s whereabouts. Or call him to come down.

He walked to the booth and tapped on the glass. She stood on an elevated platform, so he had to reach up to knock, but he knew she saw him there.

She pretended she didn’t.

He walked around to the side and tried the handle on the door but it was locked from the inside. Smart girl. A bouncer saw him and started to come over, then he must’ve realized who Yuri and his cohorts were and quickly diverted his attention to something else.

Yuri threw his shoulder into the door until the plywood splintered and the lock broke away.

The look of terror Lucy gave him gutted him. But she should be afraid. Only a healthy dose of fear was going to get her out of this mess. He stalked up the stairs.

She tore her earphones off and shouted over the music. “You can’t be in here!”

Up close, she was even harder to take in, her light so bright it fucking blinded him.

She wore a simple white tank top—wife beater style and too small, so it hugged her androgynous body.

In hot pink glittered letters, the word kinky glowed across her small tits.

It nearly made his knees buckle. Was she kinky?

No. It was just a sassy shirt she wore to grab attention, along with the miniscule jean skirt that barely covered her ass, and the platform sandals with straps that tied around her ankles. She probably had no idea what kink even meant.

He ignored her declaration and countered with his own. “Where’s your brother?”

She visibly paled and her mouth tightened, but she lifted her chin with a bravado he had to admire. “Something came up. He’s not coming in tonight.”

He pointed a finger, using the warning look he’d first perfected as enforcer for a teenage street gang back in Russia.

“Call him. Tell him to get his ass down here, or there’s trouble.

Do it now.” He turned and left, not able to stand there and see the fear he’d put into that precious face a moment longer.

It made him sick to threaten her.

He tripped back down the stairs and met Freddo and Tommy, who’d gone to the bar.

“Manager says he’s not in yet but she’s expecting him later,” Freddo said.

“Bullshit,” he rasped, his Russian accent always growing thicker when he got tough.

“Right. So we grabbing the girl?” Tommy asked.

“Not yet.” He spoke too quickly. Willing his body to hang loose and easy, he surveyed the club. “We wait. If he doesn’t show by closing time, the girl comes with us. I told her to call him.”

“And you think he’ll come running down to get his ass kicked?” Freddo snorted.

“No. But we can’t grab the DJ in the middle of a set. They’ll call the cops in a heartbeat.”

“No one here wants the cops involved,” Tommy countered.

He was right. The club may be high end and filled with hordes of beautiful people, but it also was a mecca for drug sales of all kinds. Which was how Jake had got himself fucked.

“They will if you drag the girl out in front of three hundred witnesses. Sit. We wait.”

Yuri wasn’t their leader. He was just a fucking soldier.

Freddo was his capo, but his experience in the Russian mafiya had encompassed a lifetime’s worth of street cred, so they’d learned to respect his opinions.

He just hoped he could keep leading this show until Lucy was out of the don’s crosshairs.

Tommy strong-armed his way into a table and chairs and they waved down a cocktail waitress, who came running, having learned months ago that if she gave them special service, they tipped in c-notes.

He slid his chair around where he could keep an eye on his beautiful DJ, which wasn’t anything new.

He always positioned himself where he could see her.

Watching her revel in pumping up a crowd was the only glimmer of light in his fucking mess of an unlived life.

Three years he’d been working undercover for the FBI as Don Diego’s enforcer, and he still hadn’t managed to nail the guy.

His life was a series of drug drops and beatings.

He had yet to be ordered to kill, which was either a good thing or bad.

If the order came through Freddo, he’d be in a bad place—forced to choose to kill or blow his cover without nailing Don Diego.

The part that gave him night sweats was wondering which he’d choose.

He had so much blood on his hands already.

A little more in the name of justice wouldn’t change much.

Or would it?

Wasn’t his soul supposed to be saved now that he’d gone straight?

On the other hand, if he managed to get a recording of Don Diego making the order to kill, he’d have succeeded, making his mentor, boss and possibly only friend, Leo, proud.

The Russian was staring at her. That wasn’t new. Every time he came into the club he found a chair with a view of the dance floor and watched—not the dance floor, but her. As if there was anything interesting about a DJ. She’d been tempted to flash her tits or something just to see what he’d do.

But tonight was different. Jake hadn’t told her exactly what happened, but from what she’d pieced together, some money or drugs had been stolen from him and now he owed the mob.

He’d told her they’d given him a deadline and he was trying to scrape the money together.

He’d also promised he’d have it figured out in time, but based on the way Yuri the Fury had busted in her DJ booth door, Jake’s time was up.

Her gut twisted with dread. She’d known, the first time she saw the mobsters in the Blue Turtle, her brother was in over his head. But of course he wouldn’t listen to her. She was six years his junior, which meant he still thought of her as a baby.

It probably didn’t help that she’d done nothing with her college communications degree except backpack across Europe, rock his dance floor, and sign up for a yoga teacher training course. He was the one telling her to fix her life. But he’d been partying too much since he opened the nightclub.

She got it. It was an exciting, glamorous world, and by the simple nature of being the club owner, he was a rockstar.

He’d started snorting coke recreationally and occasionally dropping E.

Then he’d started dealing—just a little to his best customers, he’d told her.

And his dealers? Yeah. They were members of the Italian mafia.

Who also happened to employ one intense and sexy Russian with an apparent crush on her.

She’d asked Jake to be careful, but he always exuded confidence. He’d told her he had it handled. Nothing bad would ever happen.

Famous last words.

Oh God, no. She couldn’t think that. Jake would show up with the money any minute now. And hopefully he would never do business with these men again.

Somehow she made it through her set, but with the Russian and his Italian heavies staring her down, she’d lost her mojo completely. Not that anyone on the dance floor noticed.