Bound by His Command: A Dark Billionaire Romance Read online

  When I delivered a hard crack, the way her body jerked forward was delightful, the immediate warm blush across her skin entirely too delicious.

  And so, I gave her four strikes in succession…

  Willow

  Hunger.

  There had never been a time on this stage when I hadn’t felt the hunger of the members, their lurid glances and the way they sucked down liquor an obvious giveaway of their dark and kinky desires. That’s not what I was here for. I couldn’t care less about the surreal state of mind formed from the combination of punishment and pleasure. All I wanted was a chance to dance, freedom from the chains of my everyday life. This was the only job that allowed me to pretend I was someone else.

  A bird.

  A swan.

  A princess.

  So I’d endured the scathing looks of longing from men who would pay almost anything for a single taste. At least they knew better than to touch. But tonight, I felt two pairs of eyes tracking me, watching every move I made as I pirouetted out of the shadows, leaping across the stage. I refused to pay attention, trying desperately to get lost in the music.

  I shifted to the right of the stage, my jetés followed by a low and seductive plié. Only when I lifted my head could I see him clearly. Him. A predator. His gaze screamed of hunger, forcing my pussy to pulse as quickly as my heart was beating. He’d never looked at me this way, as if he would devour every inch of my body in one sitting, licking and sucking on my pussy lips until I screamed out his name. Jesus. The man had such enigmatic eyes, the darkness swelling, reeling me in as if I was able to catch a glimpse of his very soul. I was taken aback, my breath skipping. He was far too attractive, yet the kind of man who refused to take no for an answer.

  I knew that kind of man well, one who used then threw away women as if they were nothing more trash. I refused to fall into that category. No matter how gorgeous he was or how much power he wielded. A memory from my past rushed into my mind, stripping away at my motivation. No. I refused to succumb to a second from my past or any offering hindering my performance. Backing away, I suddenly heard a loud voice, an unusual occurrence in the club.

  Ignore it.

  After performing an arabesque, the sound of the man’s voice filtered into my eardrums again. Only this time, I recognized the husky tone, the inflections of a thirsty man. No! Please God, no. There was no way in hell. None. I had to be hearing things, memories from the past pushing me to the brink of my sanity.

  “Krasivyy malysh,” the mysterious man said in a thunderous voice that somehow echoed across the stage.

  Beautiful baby. The term hadn’t been used since…

  No, please, no. No!

  Breathe. Think. Dance.

  I held my breath, trying to rein in my courage. I had to squelch the demons.

  I switched up my performance, moving into the shadows of the shimmering light as I crept closer. All I needed was a single glance into the man’s cold, murderous eyes to know if I was right or wrong. After lifting into another arabesque, I tumbled toward the edge of the stage, daring to lift my head. The light was just enough to catch a glimpse of the man sitting closest to the edge of the stage.

  Aleksandr Prentikov.

  The bastard had found me.

  After all these years of running and hiding and…

  Praying.

  He’d found me.

  And there was no doubt in my mind that he’d finish what he started all those years ago.

  Destroying me.

  Chapter 2

  Christopher

  What the hell?

  I wasn’t the kind of man who daydreamed about anything, including the desire for an exquisite woman. I could have any female I desired, although I’d forgone the concept of dating. Why bother? That would require me to pretend to be a caring and romantic man, while the beast inside clawed at the surface. Why was I suddenly fascinated with a woman hiding behind a mask? Maybe being alone for an extended period of time wasn’t in my best interest. I rolled my eyes at the thought. Power and money were the two things that had a lock on my time. That was never going to change.

  She continued her provocative dance, using every inch of the stage as if her own. Why in the hell hadn’t the girl secured a job as an actual ballerina instead of working in a dark and dangerous club?

  A noise drew my attention away from my ridiculous longing, forcing me to concentrate.

  I studied a group of six men sitting at one of the closest tables, the same number as the jerks outside bothering me for several reasons. However, while the twenty-some-year-olds outside remained wet behind their ears, the distinguished brutes with their eyes locked on the stage told a story of their own.

  Five were meant as protection for the shaggy-haired blond sitting closest to the action. Even from where I stood, I could tell what they were drinking. Vodka. Russian vodka to be exact. The bottle of Beluga was illuminated in the shimmering lights pulsing down from the ceiling. Sighing, I shifted my attention back to the stage, my entire body aching. While the outfit she wore was provocative, she was much more reserved than the majority of other dancers.

  Well trained.

  Professional even.

  She was able to entertain with a slight twist of her hand; an elongation of a single leg was seductive as hell. I took another sip, contemplating whether I would decide to take on a challenge, feasting on the beautiful woman for the night. I’d never dipped into the well, tasting a single employee over the years, a rule I’d been determined to follow.

  But… there were always exceptions.

  As the song ended, I heard the robust sexual comments made by the Russian, understanding every word although they were shouted in his native language.

  “Krasivyy malysh.”

  His catcall of ‘beautiful baby’ raised my hackles for no other reason than I desired for her as well.

  “Ya voz’mu tebya.”

  He shouted the words ‘I will take you,’ the others in his group laughing heartedly. My anger doubled and breached the surface. As the Russian shifted to his feet, his bodyguards doing the same, my instinct screamed loudly that the barbarian was going to make good on what I considered a threat.

  Over my dead body.

  “Don’t make a scene, Christopher.”

  The words filtered into my mind, the sound of my brother’s voice forcing me to hiss. “What kind of scene would that be, Gregory?”

  “I can tell when you’re ready to go off.” Gregory flanked my side, lifting his drink to his lips as he stared at the table of Russians.

  “Who the fuck are they?”

  “From what I’ve heard, Russian royalty, although of the mafia kind. And you know how I feel about performing seals.”

  I glanced at Gregory’s pensive face, able to tell he was concerned even with his offhanded comment. “How the hell did they gain entrance?” My thoughts drifted to the group of young men, although their Ivy League attire and attitudes were entirely different than men who were little more than beasts in expensive suits.

  “I think that might be something only you can answer since you maintain the roster of past members as well as those in the present.”

  I’d been given the task months before, comparing the members during our father’s regime to those we’d allowed to join our members-only club recently. I took a step closer, trying to keep my fury at bay as I watched the Russian approach the stage, a folded bill or ten in his hand. While the lovely dancer was gracious, bending over in a typical ballet dancer’s stance, her long arm sweeping down to the polished floor, I wanted to rush toward the stage and crush the asshole’s hand.

  Jesus. While I was a possessive man, I usually held that particular inclination aside for issues involving money. My heart raced, my pulse skyrocketing. I didn’t like feeling vulnerable in any manner.

  “I can see you’re intrigued by our lovely dancer,” Gregory said in a jovial manner. “I thought she would make a great addition to our repertoire.”

  I shot hi
m a nasty look this time, exhaling the pent-up rage. “She’s an employee, which means she’s off limits just like all the rest. Well, to everyone but my older brother.” He’d ignored the rules in an effort to unmask the woman he’d soon be married to, even if she’d been lying about her identity initially. Perhaps it had been our good fortune she’d been the undercover detective assigned to a bogus case. Her help had been necessary in taking down one of our enemies. One. We had so many more, some yet to unveil themselves. As I studied the crowd, I wondered just how many more there actually were biding their time before taking their shot at bringing us down.

  Gregory chuckled. “I’m never going to live that down.”

  “Not as long as I’m alive.” While I said the words casually, all three of us were cognizant that plants from various law enforcement agencies were always a possibility, even though we were operating completely above board.

  “You heard about the murder.”

  Exhaling, I nodded. “Gruesome.”

  “Such an upstanding citizen,” Gregory quipped. “If you ask me, the congressman received an appropriate punishment.”

  “Yes. There is no one in this town who doesn’t harbor secrets, some more so than others.” What little I’d known about Congressman Reynolds suggested his proclivities were extremely dark, his desire for young girls bordering on criminal.

  “You mean other than being a member of our club?”

  “If you’re trying to suggest he was killed because of his membership, I would have to laugh.”

  “I’m merely saying that I have a bad feeling,” my brother hissed. “We need to be very careful who we allow into this club.”

  Turning slightly, I lifted a single eyebrow. “Then the Russian shouldn’t have been allowed inside.”

  He smiled, laughing softly under his breath. “I guess time will tell. I trust you can handle him, brother. Just like you always do.”

  “Yes… The asshole better not fuck with me.” Russian mafia. There’d been rumors for two years another syndicate was prepared to come into DC, crushing anyone who got in their way. Perhaps the trained killer was merely enjoying a night out on the town. Then why were my hackles raised?

  The Russian brushed his hand across the dancer’s neck, obviously whispering words that were troubling, although she did everything in her power to act as if nothing bothered her. She shook her head before stepping back into the shadows, the rest of the audience applauding. It would seem she’d refused his advances.

  Good girl.

  As the lights went dim, the dancer leaving the stage, the Russian’s fury nearly exploded, his arm sweeping across the table, the bottle of vodka tumbling to the floor, although given the thick crystal, it appeared to have remained intact. I actually wished otherwise. Still, the asshole’s behavior pissed me off.

  “That’s it. I don’t give a shit who they are, they will not destroy this club.” The second I took a step forward, Gregory wrapped his hand around my arm, yanking me back.

  “Tread carefully, brother, at least at this point. That man is Aleksandr Prentikov, son of Vishon Prentikov. I’m certain you know the name.”

  Huffing, I fisted my hand, ready to toss my glass toward the asshole. “True Russian mafia, the most savage crime syndicate in Russia.”

  “You do listen,” Gregory said, chuckling.

  “No, I read. The question is, why is his son taking up valued space in our club? What are his intentions?”

  “As I said, that is something only you might be able to decipher. From what little I know, Aleksandr is the lead henchman for the Rossini syndicate out of New York. That likely means he is on the hunt. Just be careful.”

  “You’re worried the time is near,” I said casually, keeping my eyes locked on the Russian as he grabbed his waitress’ arm, yanking her close to the table. “The club’s demise.”

  Gregory inhaled before lifting his glass. “We just need to have a watchful eye, brother. Enemies can attack from any angle at any time.”

  “Then find the goddamn ledger.” The infamous ledger, or group of files that our grandfather and father had maintained over the generations, the information capable of bringing many of our acclaimed members to their knees, held more power than anything my brothers and I had learned thus far. So many of our members were involved in corruption, embezzlement, and the type of power plays that defined the term ‘ruthless.’ After our father’s untimely death, the ledger had yet to be discovered. Even the family attorney had been banished given his lack of knowledge and his basic betrayal of the family.

  However, the three remaining Dunmores had kept their own lists, mine likely much longer than those of my brothers’.

  He moved in front of me, narrowing his eyes. “As I said. Keep your eyes on the ball. We don’t want any… incidents, no matter how beautiful the woman might be. Besides, we need to be certain why Aleksandr is here and if he’s working a contract.”

  “You think he’s responsible for the congressman’s murder.”

  Another smile crossed his face. “Anything is possible.”

  A contract, as in performing as an assassin. That was the last fucking thing we needed. While the FBI hadn’t breathed down our necks in months, it was possible one of the astute law enforcement pigs would make a connection about his involvement within the club.

  I wanted to lash out at my brother, reminding Gregory that his lovely fiancée had been an undercover operative determined to bring down the club and the family. However, what good would that do? “Noted,” I hissed, taking a large gulp of my drink. Even the smoothness of the liquor wasn’t able to squelch the enraged beast inside.

  As the Russian threw up his hands, moving away from his table, I watched him intently until he shifted into the shadows. While it was possible that he was searching for the restrooms, my gut told me otherwise. I shoved my drink onto one of the occupied tables before heading backstage, uncertain of the girl’s dressing room. Sadly, I hadn’t paid a damn bit of attention to her stage name. None of our performers used their real names, their identities held in secret in Michael’s office.

  I made my way through the dancers, glancing into the various dressing spaces. She was nowhere to be found and neither was the brooding Russian. Goddamn it. This shit wasn’t going to fly in my club.

  Willow

  “You are very beautiful,” Aleksandr said from behind me. While the words themselves were nothing on the surface, they screamed of instant ownership and the requirements that accompanied a man of his stature.

  They also sent an immediate chill down my back, my skin crawling from being in his presence. He was a monster, the kind nightmares were made of.

  I’d known there was nowhere to run all those years ago, that he would eventually hunt me down. That had been the promise he’d made to me. Now I simply had to pretend that I was someone else in an effort to stay alive. Would it work? Or would he see past the mask and the lightened hair, an entirely different kind of dance than I’d performed before?

  “Why, thank you, sir.” I moved toward the shelf full of fresh towels, grabbing one as I offered a single smile. The asshole had changed very little, the scar on his face something I was proud of and my guess was he wore it like a badge of honor. That had been the last straw during my time spent with him, his rage erupting within seconds as blood dripped down his face after I’d performed the deed.

  “I will eventually kill you, my angel. And I will enjoy taking time to do so.”

  Only recently had I been able to shove his threat below the surface. Now…

  Swallowing, I kept the smile on my face while nausea ravaged my system. Even the look in his eyes was exactly the same, a reminder that he was a cold-blooded killer and nothing more.

  While guests were generally allowed anywhere in the club, the dressing rooms were off limits. He risked facing the wrath of one of the owners, something I wouldn’t mind seeing.

  He shifted his gaze toward the door before running his fingers through his long blond hair, his
gaze not merely undressing me but wrapping me up in chains.

  “I would enjoy a privatnyy tanets,” he stated in a commanding tone. He tossed a wad of cash onto the dressing room table, his eyes shining. “A private dance,” he repeated when I cocked my head, feigning confusion.

  Hell, no. While I knew they were allowed as well as encouraged, I refused to go anywhere alone with him. At least one of the other dancers would likely pop into the room at any point. “While I would enjoy that, I am afraid that I must leave for the night.”

  “Ty vresh’ mne.” This time, his words were riddled with anger.

  You are lying to me. “I don’t understand what you are saying.” When he glared into my eyes, a cold shiver trickled down my spine. I could see his wheels were turning, maybe trying to place where he knew me from. Please, God. Don’t let him figure it out. Please. I took my time placing the towel on the dressing table, trying to figure out what I should do.

  He laughed, inching closer. “You know, little ballerina, you remind me of someone from a long time ago, a woman I hold dear to my heart. She was also a treacherous bitch, but very tasty.”

  Bullshit. It was all I could do to keep the combination of anger and fear from allowing me to lash out. “I will take that as a compliment,” I managed, although there was contempt in my voice.

  “It could very well be a curse, but you are a very lovely woman that I wouldn’t mind getting to know. I will pay you well for your time.” When he lifted his hand to stroke my cheek, I flinched, taking a full step backward. It was obvious I’d angered him even more, a snarl curling on his face. “However, you need to learn obedience, dancer girl. I am the master here. Five thousand dollars. You will not refuse me.”

  “And I can accept or refuse a private dance. That is my right.” What the hell was I doing? I shifted slightly, darting a glance at the door.

  “You will do as I say. No one is coming to save you,” Aleksandr snarled, his massive body pushing me hard against the wall. “Besides, I’ve already bought you. Every. Single. Inch.”