Page 3 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

Wisely, Mira let a small smile play about her lips as she said instead, “A drink would be nice. Something chilled but not too strong.”

The woman nodded with a grin as she deftly began to mix something. “Don’t have much of a head for alcohol, do you?”

Mira shook her head.

“I’m Dotty,” the bartender said helpfully.

“Mira.”

“What’s a purty lil’ thing like you doing out here, anyway?” the woman asked with an exaggerated Texas twang. “So late, and all alone? Kinda like lil’ Red Ridin’ Hood facin’ down a pack of wolves, if you ask me.”

The fake Southern accent and the fairytale analogy made Mira laugh. The sound drifted across the bar, drawing several appreciative—and in some cases, wolfish—male glances. Mira chose not to pay attention to any of them; she was too caught up in thinking about a satisfactory response to give the inquisitive but friendly bartender. Besides, her life was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a fairytale.

“I just came into town,” she prevaricated. It was mostly true, she assured her conscience. She had been out of town for some years thanks to college.

The woman’s countenance changed imperceptibly and she leaned back, her lips pursing in a disapproving frown as she busied herself arranging glasses and bottles. “And you hit up a bar first thing?”

Mira shrugged. “Just taking in the sights.”

The woman grunted dismissively before subsiding into a rather discouraging silence.

Mira took a sip from her glass, enjoying the sweetness of whatever it was the bartender had poured into her glass. She couldn’t put a name to it, but it sure was delicious—a hint of fruit and just a tinge of alcohol—enough to give her a buzz but not make her tipsy.

Just as she was considering the contents of her glass happily and contemplating her next line of action, someone slid onto the stool on her right.

He was tall and dark haired with even white teeth, smooth skin, clean fingernails, lashes so long they ought to be outlawed in a man, and of all things a dimple in each cheek that made an appearance with every word he spoke. He was devastatingly handsome, Mira allowed, letting her gaze trail his aquiline features, broad shoulders and clean-cut clothes.

Automatically, she started to smile up at him, determined to strike up a conversation even though she didn’t feel like it.

But the expression in his coal-black eyes made her draw up short and shiver. Whoever this man was, she was certain she did not want to get to know him in the slightest, because when she looked into his eyes, all she saw was rage and death.

Chapter 3 - Mikhail

Mikhail hated to get drunk because in his book, drunkenness equaled vulnerability. But tonight, he was making an exception. Tonight he wanted to get as drunk as a wheelbarrow, and what better place to indulge than in his own club?

At least here his men were all over the place and they would protect him from anyone looking to take advantage of his soon-to-be inebriated state.

Or would they? that little voice that had ensured his survival all these years whispered in his head.

Pondering the loyalty of his men made Mikhail’s thoughts swing to Dmitri, and his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand in remembered fury. Dmitri had been one of his oldest men, but he’d killed the bastard with his own hands and enjoyed every minute of it. He had made certain to rip off his cock first, before proceeding to put him out of his misery with a bullet in his heart.

It had been a nasty task, but if he hadn’t punished and killed Dmitri after finding him fucking Alena, his reputation would have been shot all to hell and no one would respect him or his Bratva ever again.

Alena had been another matter. The cheating bitch had been sobbing her heart out over Dmitri and yet he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to murder her in cold blood, despite how much she deserved it.

Three months later, he could still hear her sobs, and it twisted something inside of him whenever he remembered that her tears had been for another man.

He’d had her shipped off to the most remote island he owned in Asia, and kept her under house arrest in a house that was little more than a dungeon, with only female bodyguards to watch over her. This way, he could be sure she wouldn’t try to seduce her guards into letting her go.

For good measure, he’d also planted a chip in her shin that helped him track her every location. If she went so much as two feet outside the front door, he would get an alert on his phone.

Mikhail looked over at the woman on the barstool at his left and watched her cower at whatever it was she saw in his eyes. Smart woman.

She was a vivaciously pretty redhead. Too bad—she was just the sort of woman to get a man so entangled in her web that he didn’t know which end was up anymore. She was even prettier and younger than Alena, which probably meant she would be a hell of a lot more trouble to whatever poor sod was currently shacking up with her.

Was her current lover really a poor sod, or a lucky bastard? Mikhail wondered as he considered her soft, feminine body with its curves in all the right places. Her skin seemed to be begging for a man’s hands to reach out and caress it.

She was so incredibly beautiful that, against his better judgment, he could feel his dick stirring in arousal and interest, until it was fully engorged and pressing against his fly with insistence.

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