Page 69 of My Pucking Crush

Luca

“ T hat was one of your guys?” I bark at Belova.

“I know your type.” He struts over to me and strokes my cheek. “Orlov scoped out the place and set up the cameras when we saw you had an appointment. I never pass up an opportunity to get dirt on an adversary.”

“You sick fuck.” Max gets to his feet.

“Max,” I bark. “Sit your ass down. Ivan, give me a few hours. I’ll take Max home. And then...”

“Luca, no. It’s just a game.” Max wobbles to Ivan. “Break my arm. I won’t be able to play. You can have this round. Good luck against Portland.”

“And pass up a good game of violent toxic masculinity?” Belova sneers.

“Why do you want me back so badly?” I argue. “Is it Lia’s insurance money? You can have it.”

I’d give up anything for Max.

“I was blind with grief over my beloved sister.” Belova lights a cigarette with a silver butane lighter. “Not thinking straight. Months later, brigadiers hinted that the ranks grew weary of a leader who tries to kill one of his own.” He stares at me with regret in his dark eyes. “How can anyone ever be safe. Most work for me for safety.”

His reasoning sounds fucked up, but it’s valid.

“Ivan,” I bite out. “Where’s my phone?”

“One of my men has it. All your tracking apps have been deleted before we got here.”

There goes the hope that someone could find me. “Check the Trip app,” I say, smiling .

Belova glowers at me and snaps his fingers. “Phone. Now.”

Nero emerges from the shadows and I freeze. Lia’s bodyguard is dressed in a finely cut suit, better than he ever wore protecting my wife.

He gives me a wry smile. There was nothing between us, except two men living in secret who had needs. A glint on his lapel dries up my throat. The fucking Viking Penannular pin?

He’s Belova’s new enforcer?

“Where’s Petrov?” I ask about the man I worked for.

“Dead,” Belova says with no emotion. “Makov, too. Your sister murdered them.”

Oh. Shit. And he’ll probably kill Orlov in order to elevate me to underboss.

“Is the phone unlocked?” Belova asks Nero.

“Da, boss,” he answers, lips pursed seeing me.

This freak acts like we’ll just pick up where we left off. The thought of touching anyone again or someone else touching me makes me sick.

“Where is this app?” Belova waves my phone at me. How they got it unlocked is the least of my concerns.

“Last page,” I answer.

He scrolls and by the way his face changes, I can tell he recognizes what app I’m talking about.

My Tripwire app.

If I don’t feed it a code every twenty-four hours, it assumes I’m dead and follows my last instructions. Which includes sending files to the FBI. I set it up when I learned Ivan bought Richmond.

His jaw drops. “Deactivate this. Now. ”

I shake my head.

“I will only ask you one more time.” Belova waves his hand until Nero gives him his Magnum.

“Shoot me.” I shrug. “I get to be with my son, and years of murder evidence will be sent to the FBI. And the TSA. Good luck using one of your fake passports.”

Belova shoots a few thunderous rounds at my feet. The bullets hit the scarred, dirty concrete, sending sharp chunks flying up. One lands in my left cheek, nearly hitting my eye.

“Ah,” I mutter past the sting of pain, but shake it off. “Five years, Ivan. I’ve kept your secrets for five years while I’ve been away. I have nothing to gain by handing that over as long as I’m alive. I just want to be free.”

“I have a hacker who—”

“Giancarlo Byrne programmed it,” I deadpan.

Mentioning the son of Irish mob boss Patrick Byrne tightens Belova’s jaw to the point it might crack. Huffing, he tosses the phone back to me, but I can’t catch it because this fucker chained me up like a dog.

I see no way out of this, so I give in. “Let Max go. I’ll leave here with you. Right now.”

“No,” Max says, kneeling under the swinging light.

God, I had him kneeling for me. Submitting to me. Loving me. Wanting me to fuck him. Now he’s beaten and broken. Because of me.

“It’s what Ivan wants,” I say coldly. “I was going to leave you anyway. I told you that.”

“You told me you loved me,” Max grinds out.

“I lied so you’d let me fuck you.”

Men snicker all around us.

Max shakes his head, trying to get to his feet again. “You want a win, Belova. I’ll fake being sick.”

“This is no longer about you,” he laughs. “My team will win. Or lose. Doesn’t matter anymore. With how they ended the season, I can charge more for tickets and the networks have already offered me double for coverage rights.”

At the end of the day, it’s about money. Honor only casually threads in and out of that equation.

“Why did you grab me if you just wanted him?” Max points to me.

“He’d put up too vicious a fight if taken alone. You were my insurance that he wouldn’t go completely ballistic on me. He didn’t want to risk you getting hurt,” Belova answers. He’s right.

“You have me.” I struggle against the metal holding me down. “Now get these fucking chains off me so I can bring him home and collect my things from—”

“Things? On your houseboat?” Belova laughs and shows me his phone. “This houseboat? The one on fire?”

Aw, hell.

“Did you think I’d allow you to go back to a place where you’ve stored weapons and poison darts to take my men out?” Belova grips my face. “We found your stash.”

I shrug away from his hands. “Nothing in there was important,” I say, even though I’m dying inside at the loss of little Eli’s hair.

Everything else I care about is in Max’s penthouse. Including him.