Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) (20 page)

M
aya

My father's men filed in a few seconds later, automatic weapons trained directly at me. It didn't take me long to realize that they were the same men I'd tricked.

Thought I'd tricked
.

Judging by the unfriendly grins on their faces, they were relishing the punishment that would be handed down to me as soon as my dad arrived. I couldn't blame them. As far as they could tell, I had lived a charmed life in my father's mansion all these years, whilst they had had to do the more unpleasant tasks that Dad bade them.

Now the tables had turned.

Dad's men knew their boss as well as I did. Probably better, in fact. We had never had the best relationship, and that was putting it mildly. We weren't a dinner table family, that was for sure. Everyone in the dull, gray concrete loading dock knew that there was no going back from this. Dad wasn't a man who knew the meaning of "turning the other cheek", and he wasn't about to learn.

No, I was going to die.

And I didn't care.

As long as Eamon made it out of this okay, unharmed and free to live his life, then that was enough for me. I didn't even know where he was, Conor had made sure of that. Whoever he was with, all I knew was that it was a woman who had her own child.

I couldn't betray Eamon even if I wanted to, even if my father tried to torture the information out of me. I just didn't know.

The only thing I
did
know was that to get him back, we had to turn up in front of a bronze statue in the center of Alexandria, and if whoever had Eamon was satisfied that I wasn't being followed, then they'd come forward.

But if someone
was
following me, they'd vanish.

And I might never see my son again. But at least he'd be safe.

Oh God, I hope it doesn't come to that
.

"Down on your knees," one of the men shouted. I did as he asked, because there was no point in resisting, not now. I slumped forward with my shoulders bowed, and head bent. Beaten.

"Keys!" One of them barked as Sergei wriggled angrily against his restraints.

"Huh?" I wasn't trying to mess with him, I just didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"Handcuff keys," he grunted. "Where are they?"

I shrugged. "Didn't bring them," I grinned, just happy to still be able to find a way of tweaking the tiger's tail. "Didn't think I'd need them…"

The gangster looked at me, then down at his struggling boss, and I saw the gears turning in his mind. He chose to attend to the man far more likely to do him serious bodily harm than me, and peeled back the duct tape covering Sergei's mouth.

"Where's the boss," he shouted, cheeks red and quivering with impotent rage. "And get these fucking handcuffs off me!"

"No keys," the gangster above him said, shrinking back. "She didn't –."

Sergei cut him off. "If I'd wanted excuses, I'd have asked your mother, Chekhov. Shoot them off for all I care."

Don't these idiots know that bullets bounce?

I made myself as small as I could, thinking of all those movies I'd watched over the years. Things like this usually went wrong – very wrong. Still, as long as the ricochet ended up tearing itself in some mobster's beefy neck, I didn't care.

I just hope it doesn't hit me
.

I closed my eyes, but the thin flap of skin that covered my eyelids did nothing to protect me from the deafening roar of a gunshot going off in the confined space of the loading dock. I held my breath, hoping that the deafening ringing of my dying auditory nerve would be replaced with the unmistakable, slow dripping sound of a man's life ebbing away.

I should be so lucky.

I opened my eye a crack, and what I saw terrified me. Sergei had jumped to his feet, and was stretching and rubbing out the red marks on his wrists. If looks could kill, I'd be long dead.

Maybe that would be for the best
.

"I asked about the boss," he said grimly. The threat was implicit in his voice.

"He's coming," his man said hurriedly. "He's just chasing down the Irishman."

Sergei's eyes lit up."The fight's over?" He asked with interest.

The man nodded, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of hope. Conor was as wily as a fox, and if he was on the run, then there was every chance he'd make it out.

I screwed up
, I thought sadly.
I hope you two can be happy together
. I didn't have to wait long to find out.

My father's men all stiffened, even Sergei, snatching at their weapons hard enough that the aging guns clicked and squeaked. I knew the boss must have arrived.

I heard his sickly sweet, gloating voice for the first time since I'd been captured, and it sickened me, even before I could see the cloying grin that was no doubt plastered to his face.

"Maya, my sweet daughter," he said, his voice seeming close and far away all at once. "My, my, my. You have found yourself in a pickle, haven't you?"

Is that an undercurrent of anger I hear?
I wondered. Perhaps my brain was just giving me what I wanted to hear, but I had to hold on to the hope that Conor had made it out, that even if I didn't make it, Eamon would grow up with a loving dad.

"Father." I acknowledged dully, nodding my head for the faintest hint of recognition. Subconsciously, though, I pulled my shoulder blades back and straightened myself. He had won, sure, but there was no way in hell I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

He walked toward me, his hard leather shoes clacking loudly against the worn concrete floor as he moved. I didn't bother looking up, didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeing the grief in my eyes, but I could tell he was getting closer.

He's standing right behind me
, I realized with a chill shiver.

"Where's my grandson, Maya?" Dad hissed into my ear. "Tell me what you've done with the boy, and you might yet live."

I knew he was lying. I had accepted my fate long ago, the second I'd seen the homeless man's battered body in the back of the armored truck. I knew I couldn't get out of this. But I could still be of some use – I could stall my father, distract him, and give Conor the chance to get away.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did."

He laughed, right in my face, and hot flecks of spittle landed on my cheeks. I resisted the urge to wipe them off. I deserved all of this – for not telling Conor that he was a father when I first had the chance, for not trying to find him after my dad had stolen me back from Dublin. For everything.

The least I could do was give them a fighting chance.

He slapped me, as hard as he could and my head rocked back. A white hot burst of pain ripped through my skull, and a dull ringing in my ears seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He leaned forward, so his rancid mouth was less than half an inch from my right ear and hissed into it.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, girl," he said. "I want my grandson, and –."

I couldn't listen to another moment of this. "He's my son," I shouted back. "He's got nothing to do with you, you monster."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong." My father snarled. "It has
everything
to do with me. He's not just your son, he's the man who's going to take over as the head of this family one day. So, you see how little I care that you
love
him." He spat.

I shook my head. "You're crazy," I croaked. "What makes you think he'll ever trust a man like you?"

"Because he won't remember you," he said simply. "He's four. By the time I'm done with him, you'll be nothing more than a bad dream."

Dad threw his head back and laughed uproariously, as if my stunned, horrified silence was the funniest punchline he'd ever heard. What was more disconcerting was that by the time he returned to face me, his face entirely devoid of expression. It was as though he'd never smiled before in his life.

"Tell me where he is," he growled.

I smiled, resigned to the knowledge that this was it – I was going to die. I was okay with it, at peace. I knew I couldn't stall him much longer, but I had one thing left up my sleeve – one thing that might well send my father's rage over the brink. I could tell him that Conor was Eamon's father, and that we'd been planning this under his nose for weeks.

"I'd rather die than tell you," I snarled. "Only his father knows where he is. And I doubt that he's in any mood to tell you."

The revelation felt like a weight off my mind. My father, for all his faults, was more then smart enough to catch my meaning.

"Regan." My father said with the faintest hint of surprise on his face. "I should have guessed."

He fell silent for a couple of seconds, lost in thought.

"Tell me where he's going, and I'll spare your life." He offered matter-of-factly. It wasn't the reaction I'd been hoping for, and a terrible, creeping fear began to prickle against the edges of my consciousness.

Why isn't he more angry?

I brushed the thought aside.

The deep, cave-woman part of my brain screamed at me to take his offer. Every human instinct is geared around survival, and I had
a way out.
A way to live.

But some things are more important than living.

"No," I replied firmly. "I won't do it. I won't betray the man I love. You'll have to kill me."

I felt a sense of relief as I said the words, "man I love". I just hoped my sacrifice would let Conor live the life he deserved.

"Fair enough." Dad grinned broadly, with the look on his face of a man who knew more than he was telling. "I wondered what you'd say."

He turned to the man standing behind the door and whistled loudly.

"Bring him in."

C
onor

I
heard every word
.

I
couldn't say a thing
, not with my mouth gagged and stuffed with an oily rag and my hands held tight behind my back by two men bigger than most competitive bodybuilders, but I heard every word.

A
nd what I
heard filled my heart with joy. It was a girl who had no idea that I was only a few yards away, a girl who I loved, a girl who had proved that she loved me enough to sacrifice herself to save me.

M
ikhail Antonov's
voice rang out as he gruffly ordered his men to, "Bring him in."

H
im meant me
, and they dragged me to their boss by my shoulders and dumped me unceremoniously on the floor in front of him.

A
t
least I
'm by her side
.

"
W
ell
, well, Mr. Regan," Mikhail scoffed. "It seems that I've been rather rude to you."

I
looked
up at him warily, but didn't bother replying. There was nothing that I particularly wanted to say to him, and besides, I was somewhat caught up in tenderly prodding at the latest addition to the bumps and lumps that now covered my head. He nodded to his man, and suddenly the gag was torn from my mouth.

T
hen again
, I thought.
Maybe it's best to go along with it
.
He seems like a talker
.
Maybe he'll give us a way out
.

I
t was a long shot
, but since every one of my plans had completely failed so far, this last throw of the dice all I had left.

"
H
ow’s that
?" I inquired as a rolled over onto my hands and knees and attempted to push myself back upright.

"
Y
ou can join
my daughter on your knees. It'll make cleaning up the mess easier later on." He smirked.

Y
ou won't look so
cocky when I smash that smug smile
off your face.

"
F
ine
."

"
G
ood man
. Anyway, as I was saying, it appears I've been rather rude. After all, you are my grandson's father, are you not?"

I
took
a deep breath and looked reassuringly at Maya. "Don't worry, love," I smiled. "We'll get out of here, just you wait and see."

M
ikhail spun
on his heel and laughed, looking at one of his men. "You've got balls, Irishman, I'll give you that." His voice turned grim, and he looked down toward my crotch. "It'd be a shame if something happened to them."

"
W
hat do you want
," I sighed, fed up of the mobster's party trick theatrics. I wanted him to get on with it, not tell me his plan like a movie bad guy… I knew that I wouldn't break, and Meyer had already proved her strength, so what the hell was he expecting?

"
Y
ou know what I want
. It's what I've always wanted – my heir."

I
couldn't help myself
. My blood boiled over. "You mean my son."

M
ikhail gestured wildly
to a man standing somewhere just out of my vision, a rifle butt crashed down into my stomach, and left me squirming on the floor gasping for air. "You'll," I coughed and spotted. "Pay for that."

M
ikhail knelt down beside me
. "My grandson, Conor. I want him, and I think you know where he is."

T
he Russian gangster
was wrong about a lot of things, but on this count at least, he was definitely right. I knew exactly where Eamon was. More importantly, I knew he was safe.

B
ut there's more
chance of me eating the barrel of a gun than telling him that
.

M
aya looked at me anxiously
. I shot her a reassuring glance. She seemed to relax, and I could tell that she'd got my message. "Don't worry, love," I may as well have said. "I won't tell this prick a thing."

"
H
ere's
how this is going to go, Conor," Mikhail said, stretching out his hand. I got back up onto to my knees and curiously watched what was going on.

H
is man placed
a silver handgun into his palm. He cocked it ominously, and Maya flinched as she heard the click.

"
Y
ou're going
to tell me where my grandson is," he said threateningly. "Or I'll kill the woman you love."

M
aya's eyes
went wide with shock as she realized that her father, her own father, was casually discussing ending her life. But what she did next made me respect her more than any woman I've ever met.

S
he shook her head
.

J
ust once
, but it was enough.

I
knew exactly
what Maya was saying. She was telling me, no –
ordering
me not to go along with her father's wishes. Even if that meant that she had to die, even if that meant
we both
had to die, that was okay, because it meant our son would live.

"
I
'm not giving
my son up to you," I spat. "He deserves better than being brainwashed into a life of felony."

I
f he kills her
,
then I'm next
.

I
set my jaw
. I didn't want to live in a world without Maya anyway. I grabbed her hand.

"
D
on't worry
," I muttered as I squeezed it. "It won't hurt."

I
closed
my eyes and waited for the sound of the gunshot that would end our lives.

I
heard
the metallic click as Mikhail tugged back against the trigger.

A
nd then all I
could hear was the blood in my ears, and all I could feel was Maya's warm fingers interlocked between mine.