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First Chapter of Sinful Intentions

Chapter One


My knuckles pop when I follow Kirill and two of his men into a seedy strip club on the outskirts of Kronstadt. Kirill is a piece of shit mafia leader I’d never heard of until my ride-or-die brother stumbled onto his lineage.

Ghost was unnamed, unaged, and on the fast track to juvie when we became friends shortly after my ninth birthday. Everyone called him Ghost because his hair was as white as a snowflake the first ten years of his life before it was dirtied by the lifestyle we were forced to live to keep food in our stomachs.

The boys’ home we lived in until the day I turned fourteen provided a roof over our heads, but if we didn’t want to go hungry and wear holey shoes handed down from the boys older than us, we had to get the rest ourselves.

It wasn’t done legally.

Don’t paint me with the same dirty brush that darkened Ghost’s hair. We were more the Robin Hoods of Russia. We stole from the rich and gave it to the poor.

We just so happened to also be the poor who benefited from our criminal ways.

We got busted a handful of times, but sometimes that was the point. We still had to fight for a share of the food in juvie, but it was done in the mess hall instead of icy back alleys that could kill a man standing up if you didn’t keep moving to stop your blood from freezing in your veins.

Our summer months were spent implementing the plans we made while locked away.

Well, except for that one summer.

Her hair is as blonde as the first whore Kirill picks to take home for the night and her tits as sweltering as his second pick. I’m lost for similarities with his third, and I am honestly clueless about why he wants her. I’ve always been a one-for-your-mouth, one-for-your-dick kind of man. A third will only get lost in the process of being so fucking exhausted you’ll spend the day in bed.

“He’s done for the night,” I murmur into the cell phone I recently squashed to my ear. “His picks are made.”

Ghost sounds as peeved as I feel, but it has nothing to do with his girl being married to Kirill and everything to do with his baby sister and niece being disrespected in front of our competitors. This strip club is owned by Maksim Ivanov, a badass gangster who has no issues bringing a woman to her knees with a stern backhand slap, but unlike Kirill, he is a one-woman man.

Despite the miscommunication of my above comment, I’m the same way. When I am snowed under—by a woman, not coke—I don’t fuck around. When you’re my girl, I’ll pretend the only multitasking I can do is choking you out while fucking you from behind so hard and fast you’ll be searching for your uterus for a week.

When Kirill slips into the back of the SUV in the middle of a long line of many, I push my cell closer to my ear so I can hear Ghost’s answer over the thumping music booming around the club-like atmosphere when I ask, “Want me to stay with Kate?”

I’ve kept an eye on Katie since her consignment slip landed on my desk over seven months ago—approximately a day before Ghost asked me to. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s had me acting like I did years ago when I stumbled onto my first girl not born for the grittiness of my life.

My feelings aren’t sexually motivated this time around, though. Not only would Ghost have my nuts on a platter within a second of sniffing out any type of romantic feelings, but my heart also still only pines for one girl.

She wasn’t a picture of innocence like Katie—and the worst headache I’ve ever fucking faced in my life—but my desire to protect her was immediate, and it wouldn’t quit for anything.

I’m drawn from thoughts that’ll see me strung out for days when Ghost asks, “How many did Kirill pluck from the limited pool at The Penthouse?”

While straying my eyes around the hundred or so topless women keeping the clientele at The Penthouse entertained with tasseled breasts and sparkling G-strings, I laugh about his wrongful insinuation before replying, “Three. All blonde. His preferences are as bland as yours of late.”

That fucker hasn’t been laid in months, and I have no intention of letting him forget it. Before Katie arrived on the scene, he sought hiatus from his miserable existence with whores as much as me.

Now you’d swear he’s on a sabbatical from sex.

Ghost doesn’t take a nibble at the bait I’m dangling in front of him. That’s proof Katie has his balls in her purse. I knew it months ago, but my failure to light his short fuse tonight confirms it, let alone what he says next, “Nah. She’ll be removed from his watch soon enough.” Sparks of the cocky prick I fought and lost for the top bunk years ago shine bright like a diamond when he adds, “And from what I heard circling the crew, your knob is overdue for a polish. Some shit about it getting as rusty and corroded as the ship you last got laid on.”

“I’m not that fucking old.” My words are chopped up with laughter. I feel about as old as dirt since my nuts are so weighed down. When you’re forging a war that almost got you killed only years ago, you don’t have time for anything, much less something that takes hours to achieve complete enjoyment from. “I also ain’t paying for shit I can get for free…” My words trail off when a blonde entering the strip club’s main floor area from the far right captures my attention. “You offering to foot the bill? ‘Cause I may have just noticed someone I’m willing to hunt through the cobwebs in my wallet for.”

I haven’t heard Ghost’s true laugh in months. With all the shit he’s wading through, it is a good thing to hear. “Tell Maksim he owes me. You’ll have the pick of the bunch.”

After reminding me to be careful and that we can’t trust a single fucker even if they’re our allies, Ghost ends our call. Even knowing he’s most likely sneaking into Kirill’s mansion as we speak to slip into Katie’s bed a second after the sedative he conceals in her food takes effect, I put steps in place to make sure their protection isn’t slackened by my cock’s inability to look from afar.

Ghost can take care of himself, but considering half of his body is scarred so mine remained scar-free, it makes me occasionally act as if he can’t.

The blonde has piqued my interest. So much so, the money I’m about to waste doesn’t taper my steps in the slightest. I’m not ten anymore. I have money in the bank, food in my stomach, and enough weight on my bones for people to take note when I enter the room.

Even when my target is locked and loaded, they track me as I cross the room, either hopeful I am here for them or praying I’m not.

The women are the former.

The men the latter.

My fuse isn’t as short as Ghost’s, but none of the men in this room know that. As far as they are concerned, I am a ticking bomb. Only I know that saying is more a medical diagnosis than for show.

When I reach Ilya, one of Maksim’s lower-ranked goons, I say, “The blonde. Private room.”

He rolls his pierced bottom lip through his teeth before asking, “Which one? We were inundated with blondes after our latest shipment.”

I know this because the Bobrovs supply them with most of their women. They’re usually the ones we’re not interested in anymore. That was most of the women in the orlop since our focus was elsewhere once we returned to Kronstadt.

“Gold tassels. Daisy dukes. Fuck-me boots.” My words are ground through clenched teeth when I add, “The only one not part of the fucking trade.”

“Uh.” He tries to act unruffled by my low tone. It is a fucking impossible endeavor. I can hear his knees trembling, not to mention smell the fear leaching from his pores. “You’ve got expensive taste, my friend.” He locks his eyes with mine, his lip finally freed from his teeth. “Credit?”

“We’ll see.” I lean in close to make sure he can hear me over the thumping music. “I never buy before I try.”

He looks like he wants to seek assistance from the manager but thinks better of it when he spots my mocking grin. If he shows his hand now, he’s a dead man. A soft cock who can’t take a bit of haggling won’t last a day in this industry. “The private rooms are this way.”

After gesturing for me to follow him, Ilya orders one of the bar staff to alert the blonde that she has a new client. While shadowing him, I keep my head angled like Ghost has his entire life. I’m not hiding my face in shame. It is to keep my identity hidden from the woman about to grind on my crotch for ten minutes and not make a fucking dime for her time.

I won’t lie. Maksim knows his shit. Every private room has a do not disturb sign displayed, and the women roaming the halls, waiting for a vacancy, appear far more innocent than the grunts they’ll elicit from the men acting as if they don’t have a wife at home waiting for them with their standard two point five kids.

“Out,” Ilya demands when we enter a room at the end of a long hallway.

A dude with an ugly shoulder tattoo is getting his dick sucked by a girl hardly of age. He isn’t happy about the interruption. “I paid for twenty minutes.”

“Yet you only needed two.” You can’t miss the spunk stuck on the fake lashes someone suggested she wear to make her look older than she is. “How old are you?”


“She’s legal,” Ilya interrupts, pissing me off to no end.

“I wasn’t asking you.” I step closer to the unnamed redhead before repeating, “How old are you?”

Before she can be interrupted again, I slant my head and cock a brow at the man who needs to cover up before he scars me for life. I now understand why he has to pay to get off—he has a cashew for a dick.

“And you better pray she says something over the age of sixteen, or you’re going to find more than my boot up your ass.”

Sixteen is the legal age in Russia, but that isn’t why I picked that age. I went with it because it is the age of the youngest virgin I claimed since I became an adult.

When I shift my focus back to the redhead, she swallows harshly before murmuring, “Sixteen.” I arch and arch and arch my brow more until she succumbs to my silent threat. “Th-thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” When she nods, I cuss. She is younger than even I thought.

Ilya holds his hands up in a non-defensive manner when I disperse my anger onto the right person. “She’s from the last shipment. She is one of your girls. I-I don’t check their ages when they come from you. You usually do it for us.”

I cuss again. He’s right. I always check the ages of the women in the orlop—usually stringently—but Katie’s unexpected consignment altered things. I dropped the baton, so now I have to clean up my fucking mess.

“Give me your wallet.”

“W-what?” asks the man with the nut for a cock, stuttering.

“Your wallet. Give me your fucking wallet.” Forever impatient, I don’t wait for him to fulfill my demand. I yank it out of the trousers hanging at his feet, pull out every denomination I see and a platinum credit card, then hand them to the young girl. “Train station is half a mile that way. If you get picked up by anyone, tell them Alek sent you home. They won’t even look at you then.”

She appears in fear for her life, but it has nothing on the will to live, blazing through her heavily hooded gaze. After snatching up the bundle of bills and the man’s white undershirt, she hightails it into the corridor.

Ilya’s fists are clenched, and his jaw works through a stern grind, but he keeps his mouth shut. It is for the best. I’m not in the fucking mood to deal with him. Not when the blonde is finally being guided into the room.

She startles when she spots me before her focus shifts to the man with his dick hanging out—if you can call his mishap a dick.

Her attention diverts back to me when I murmur, “He was just leaving.” When I assist him to his feet with a rough tug on his arm, I mutter, “Minus my foot up his ass purely because he had no clue she was underage. Am I right?”

He nods so fast he almost stumbles over his feet. “I would have never... she wouldn’t have… I’m not like that… I have a daughter her age.”

“Shut up, Gerald. You’re not doing yourself any favors,” the blonde mutters while folding her arms over the generous globes of her breasts, practically hanging out for the world to see. One slipup, and her chest will be as bare as the day she was born.

“Friends?” I ask her, pissed as fuck and not afraid to make sure she is aware of that.

She locks her eyes with mine, the fear in them growing when she spots my peeved expression before she shakes her head. “It’s my first night here.”

“Sure it is.” I toss Gerald into the corridor more aggressively than needed before giving Ilya his marching orders.

“I…” He stops, then starts again, “I’ve got to stay. She is so top shelf she’s billed by the minute.”

“And you think I’m going to shaft you—”

Before I can finish my sentence, the blonde pushes me into the room until my ass lands on a plastic chair Gerald’s pasty white backside better not have gotten near, or I’ll hunt him down and gut him like a rabies-infested dog.

“You only paid for ten minutes, so you better not waste a second,” she murmurs before straddling my lap.

“I didn’t pay for shit.” That shifts her focus to my face. She was raking her eyes down my body, suddenly conscious it is as firm underhand as it looks under my clothing. “I never buy before I try.”

She appears sickened by my comment, but it doesn’t stop her from doing a move my baby sister called the table when she attended gymnastics. She flattens her palms onto the floor inches from my feet, then grinds her hips upward, bringing her fragrant-smelling pussy to within inches of my chin.

After teasing me long enough to imagine how good her body wash will taste, she throws her right leg over my head to join her left before she rolls over. She grips my ankles with her hands, then rubs her crotch against the rod thickening in my pants.

“First day, my ass,” I mutter under my breath while slapping the denim-covered mounds bouncing in front of me.

“Hey,” Ilya shouts. “Touching is extra.” When I hit him with a stern sideways glance, he mutters, “They’re not my rules. Her owner—”

“Better check himself before I pay him a visit,” I interrupt, my tone warning I’m not playing.

Ilya’s swallow is only just audible over the blonde’s whispered request, “Stop it.”

My heart’s sluggish beat kicks up a gear that she has the gall to demand anything from me. No one else in our vicinity would. My cock, now strained against the zipper of my jeans, won’t stop me from riling her back, though. “What? I didn’t say anything that ain’t true.”

She prances around me, hopeful her seductive routine will lessen the thuds of the vein in my neck…

… it doubles it.

And my annoyance is heard in my low tone when I say, “Lose the shorts.”

My growl rumbles around the compact yet still fancy-looking room when Ilya utters, “That’ll be extra.”

Over playing games, I repeat, “Lose. The. Fucking. Shorts.”

Through a shield of faultless locks fallen in front of her gorgeous face, the blonde whispers, “Alek.”

“Now, Anastasia!”

“Anastasia?” Ilya gasps out with a shocked breath, his shoulder no longer butted against the wall. “I thought you said your name was Eve.”

Aware I will forever be the greater of the two evils, Anastasia keeps her eyes locked with mine while pleading, “I need this job.”

I act as if there isn’t an ounce of honesty in her comment. “Take. Them. Off.”

She rolls her eyes and grits her teeth, but a second after calling me every derogative name under her breath, her hands shoot down to the button on her teeny tiny denim shorts.

As she drags the skintight material down her slender thighs, the twitch in my cock turns into a full-blown spasm. For a woman who has lived a hard and fast life, her body is like a bottle of wine. It gets finer with age.

Once her shorts are discarded at the side, I drop my eyes to my crotch. “Now show me that move you did earlier. The one where you bounced your ass in front of my face while grinding your pussy against my dick.”


My voice rumbles through the suddenly shrinking-in-size room when I interrupt, “Now, Anastasia!”

After peering at Ilya in silent apologies, she straddles my lap reverse cowgirl style, swoops down low to hook onto my ankles, then brings her peachy ass real close to my face.

I spank her again—without protest this time—before I prove to Ilya in no uncertain terms who Anastasia’s owner is. I bite, and I bite fucking hard, on the tattoo high on her right butt cheek, producing a whimpering moan from Anastasia. To anyone else, it would be a cruel, demoralizing mauling. To Ana, it is foreplay.

Once heated skin tinged with blood streams into my nostrils, I free the skin sending my senses into overdrive. Anastasia’s knees buckle when I soothe the sting of my bite with a lash of my tongue, so I curl my arm around her slender waist to keep her upright before undoubtedly proving she will never be owned by another man in this god-forbidden town who isn’t me.

My teeth marks are a perfect match to the ones I tattooed on her ass, and they’re all the proof I need that she will forever be mine.

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