Page 100 of Ruthless Rustanovs

Which was one of the reasons she’d taken the ring girl-waitress-nurse-maid job in the first place.

Sure it was a lot of work, but she got to sing the Greek national anthem on fight nights.

Her father’s song, as she’d come to think of it.

So it meant all the songs she hadn’t wanted to sing since Trevor died didn’t hurt quite so bad inside her chest.

However, it looked like Marian had grossly miscalculated her powers of seduction. Boys had come easy in high school. Doing most anything for as little as a kiss, even though she was other, in more ways than one—her sister Willa and her being the only two brown kids at Greenlee High School.

The only reason she didn’t have boys swarming all over her now in Greece was because after what happened with Trevor, she’d stopped wanting anything to do with them. So she’d flipped off her siren switch. Learned how to talk and act in ways that didn’t make men want to do things for her.

In fact, it had been so long now since she’d flirted, she’d been halfway wondering if she was doing it right with The Russian Beast. But then he’d pulled her to him. Practically told her she either needed to let him fuck her or let him fight.

She’d surprised herself by opting for the former, but she certainly hadn’t regretted it.

In fact, she’d spent all day happily tired and sore, but looking forward to the next time with him.

Had put her ring girl outfit on over what felt like a new body and strode into the basement crowd to sing her anthem along with a cheery Greek Christmas song she’d heard in a department store.

You’d think the fact that it was literally the night before Christmas would have thinned out the crowd, but there seemed to be even more men than usual gathered in the basement that night. Cheering for the blood of the fighters on the eve of their savior’s birth.

But he wasn’t there. She scanned the crowd for him throughout the night, but never saw him. And when Cyrus finally told her to announce that the last fight was coming up, she released a disappointed breath.

“That’s how that one goes,” Cyrus said as if reading her sigh. Or her body, which felt like an open outlet, just waiting for her new lover to plug himself back in. “He comes in for one night, then we don’t see him again for a while. Weeks…last time, months.”

So he was gone and most likely wouldn’t be coming back for some time.

So much for the power of her siren grandmother, she thought to herself.

The one time she’d truly wanted a boy, her supposed power had completely failed her.

He’d given her all the feelings she’d been missing over the past year and then disappeared back into the ether.

Maybe he was descended from some sort of mythological creature, too, she thought with a grimace. Like an incubus. If the delicious soreness between her thighs from last night was anything to go by, that really might be it.

“You given any more thought to my offer?” Cyrus asked. “It’s almost Christmas, and the men are happy but lonely tonight. They will line up at your door to have you. Sixty percent for me, forty for you. I give you good deal. Could be very profitable night if you say yes.”

She shook her head. This again. Cyrus had been asking her this question every night since she started working here. And every time, she’d just looked away and told him she needed to think about it.

Up until last night, she’d thought all she’d needed was more time. More time to go deader inside, until she truly no longer cared who fucked her.

It’s just a body, she’d told herself. One that belonged to someone she could barely stand after Trevor’s death. Why shouldn’t she use it to make some more money?

But then he had happened. A night of pleasure so intense, she’d found herself doing something she hadn’t done in the year since she ran away from home.

Feel. Feel something other than numbness or when she let that numbness slip even a little, the wild grief that made her know she either had to stop feeling or jump off the Acropolis’s high rocky outcrop.

For what she did. For what she let happen.

Sometimes it felt like the only thing keeping her alive was the numbness and knowing Trevor wouldn’t want her story to end that way.

The weeks she’d been working here, she’d truly thought it would be just a matter of time before she took Cyrus up on his offer. But after last night…

“No,” she answered the small Greek man with a firm shake of her head. “I don’t want to do that.”

Cyrus, who was usually such an affable guy, actually looked surprised. “Why not? Because of The Russian Beast? Was he too much for you? He hurt you?”

She shook her head. No, it’d been quite the opposite. He’d made her feel. Made her want things for herself. Which was why she couldn’t imagine sleeping with another man tonight, much less several, and then passing on the majority of the cut to Cyrus.

“How about 50/50 then? You are friend. I give you this deal.”

“Seriously, that side hustle’s not for me,” she answered, letting her voice go hard. “Find somebody else, because it ain’t going to be me, Cyrus.”

Cyrus didn’t answer, but a terrible look came over his face, red and furious… She could tell he wasn’t pleased, and she welcomed the roar of the crowd that came with the latest knockout.

Using the downed fighter as an excuse to rush away, she decided she needed to gather her things and get out of here. Not at some future date when she’d saved up enough money for a down payment on an apartment. But first thing in the morning.

Luckily she didn’t have much stuff to take with her. After her bags were stolen last month, she’d been left with just the clothes on her back. So she had some toiletries and a few outfits—one of which she was wearing and technically belonged to Cyrus.

Whatever. She was more than happy to leave that one here, she thought as she rushed to her bedroom door. She’d just finished mopping down the venue and putting everything in the basement back in pre-fight condition. So, you know, still grimy but not so bloody and cluttered.

But just as she put her hand on the knob of the door, a voice behind her said, “So you think you can take advantage of my hospitality, American girl?”

She turned to see Cyrus, which wouldn’t have been so bad.

He was slimy but small. She maybe could have taken him.

But he had the large men she privately referred to as Goon 1 and Goon 2 flanking his back.

Two former fighters who exclusively wore turtlenecks overlaid with thick silver chains.

They were too old to participate in the fights anymore, but still tough enough to handle anyone Cyrus felt was getting out of hand.

And apparently, Cyrus felt she’d gotten out of hand. They stood behind Cyrus, hands to fists, as if daring her to run.

Fuck.

She clamped her lips and pasted on a conciliatory look. The kind she used with women who couldn’t be swayed by her siren. And she already knew she couldn’t use the siren here. It would only make an already volatile situation worse.

“Cyrus, you’re mad. I get it. I tell you what. I’m going to pack a bag and get out of here right now. If you don’t want me in your room no more, that’s fine. I’m gone.”

“You think you can leave here without paying me what you owe?”

She blinked because, “What do you think I owe you, Cyrus? Last I checked, I’ve been working my fingers to the bone here for not a lot of money.”

Cyrus’s lips twisted in a contemptuous smirk. “It would have been even less if I’d known you weren’t going to come through.”

Her brain boggled at the thought of anyone getting paid less than she did to do what essentially amounted to four jobs.

And for a moment she considered fighting back.

The old version of her—the girl she’d been before Trevor died would not only have cussed Cyrus out, but also would have launched herself at him with fists flying.

Back in her hometown she’d built up a reputation as a girl to not ever be fucked with, but here…

Here she had nothing but the little ring girl outfit on her back and he had two goons at his.

“Okay, how much do you think I owe you? We’ll work out a deal.”

He moved so fast, she didn’t have a chance to defend herself.

The next thing she knew, a fist was coming at her.

Then a burning hot pain radiated across her face.

Cyrus had just punched her, she realized as she fell to the ground.

Straight punched her like she’d been watching men punch each other in the ring for weeks now.

But they weren’t in the ring. And Cyrus wasn’t backing off like a fighter was supposed to after he’d knocked his opponent to the ground.

Instead he stood over her, wheezing hard, looking like he was pissed because she’d made him exert even that much energy.

“Give me the needle…” he said, holding out his hand.

Goon 2 passed him a syringe, already filled. Like he was a nurse and this was Cyrus’s version of the E.R.

Drugs, she realized through the ringing in her ears. He was going to drug her. “No…” she mumbled, trying to get up. Trying to fend him off. “No…”

“Shut up, bitch!” Cyrus answered, fisting the syringe. “You brought this on yourself.”

He bent down, and she started to crawl backwards, frantic to get away from him. But then she didn’t have to, because Cyrus suddenly disappeared from her line of sight, taken out by a large blur dressed in black.

“Ohhee! Ohhee! Ohhee!” she heard one of the goons call out. Greek for “no.”

Then came two muffled popping sounds. She jumped when both of Cyrus’s goons landed in front of her. Wide-eyed, with small holes in the middle of each forehead.

What the…?