Unwound

  image of him in his black gi pants with no shirt. Sweaty. His damp hair brushing his shoulders. Or pulled back in that sexy little ponytail.

  Ronin tilted her face up to peer into her eyes. “You made the sexy hum that makes my dick hard.”

  “I was just thinking about you almost naked.”

  “I’m tempted to say screw it and haul you out into the alley and fuck you against the brick wall until you scream my name.”

  “Why don’t you? It’d take me two seconds to ditch my panties.”

  Ronin traced the upper bow of her lip. “But the small, sane part of me that’s not already mentally dragging you outside is reminded why I swore off sex in public.”

  “You fingered me under the table at the sports banquet,” she reminded him.

  “Not the same. I’m talking full-out pounding-into-your-wet-pussy, leaving-suck-marks-on-your-neck-and-feeling-your-nails-digging-into-my-ass sex.”

  “Hard and fast with no time for romance and silken ribbons?”

  “You’d get bored with me if I didn’t mix it up. And, baby, you loved being bound in softness.”

  “That I did.” He’d artfully wrapped her mummy style with a long silk ribbon, winding the single long strand from her shoulders to her ankles. The colors morphed from mustard to pumpkin to scarlet to reddish black, so it appeared she’d sprung out of the embers as an undulating flame. Amery could admit she’d looked so amazing that she’d allowed him to take pictures. After he’d completely unraveled her, he’d made love to her in the pile of silk. She bit back another sigh. She loved when he showed his romantic streak.

  “What in the hell is going on now?”

  She turned in the direction Ronin was racing to see what’d snagged his attention. Sandan Zach and Deacon’s losing opponent were in each other’s faces. Amery scanned the crowd. No sign of Blue, Deacon, Knox, Ito, or Gil.

  When Zach and the other dude came to blows, no one stepped in because hello? Martial arts guys throw elbows and kicks, and plenty of both were flying.

  But that didn’t deter Ronin. After he warned them to stop, and neither did, he jumped in. He blocked a blow from Zach and twisted his body until Zach fell to his knees. Then he faced the other guy, and when he moved to strike, Ronin performed a hip throw and the dude hit the ground hard.

  Ronin’s moves were so precise and well executed it seemed as if they were on the set of a martial arts movie.

  “Out. Both of you.” He stood between them. “Separately.” Ronin angrily pointed to Zach as Ito and Gil raced up. Ito said something to Ronin, and then Gil handled getting Deacon’s opponent out of the room.

  A shiver of want rolled through her as he strolled back to her. With his graceful don’t-fuck-with-me gait, the annoyed way he jammed his hand through his hair, and the tiny sneer on those full lips, the man epitomized sexy.

  “This is why I fucking hate after-parties,” Ronin said when he reached her. “The winning fighters are pumped up and the losing fighters are pissed off. Add booze and it’s an unavoidable disaster.”

  “Especially when you’re forced to deal with it alone because your minions are off doing . . . what?”

  “Breaking up another fight in the hallway.”

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Why?”

  “Who the fuck knows?” Ronin reached for her hand. “Remind me of these incidents next time it’s suggested Black and Blue hosts a post-fight party.”

  “But it’s been a good turnout. I saw you schmoozing with potential sponsors.”

  “I hate that part.”

  “But you’re so smooth with that silver tongue of yours.”

  “I’d like to use my silver tongue on you,” he murmured.

  “Fights make you horny.”

  He smiled wolfishly. “It’s an added bonus of the extra testosterone.”

  Amery set her free hand on his chest. “How long before we can leave?”

  “Let’s go. Grab your stuff, and I’ll tell Blue we’re heading out.” He steered her toward the door. Halfway there he stopped. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “What?”

  “Just stay close.”

  Three guys approached them. The two men flanking the guy in the middle had to be some type of personal security, odd because the middle guy—a good-looking blond in his mid-fifties—was the biggest of the three. He wore a suit and a capelike topcoat. He didn’t smile as he approached. “I’m hurt you don’t invite Max to your party.” He tsk-tsked loudly. “Poor manners, my drugh.”

  Ronin bowed slightly and offered his hand. “My apologies, Max. I wasn’t aware you were a fan of mixed martial arts.”

  The man took Ronin’s hand, clasping it in his own and pulling Ronin to his chest before releasing him. “Why wouldn’t I be fan? Russians invented it. Of course, we kept it big secret from the west.”

  “Of course.” Ronin placed his hand on the small of Amery’s back. “Max Stanislovsky, Amery Hardwick.”

  She knew that name—another one of Ronin’s mysterious contacts—and held out her hand. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Stanislovsky.”

  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. When she met his gaze, she melted a little. His eyes were a piercing steely gray.

  “The pleasure is mine. What beautiful surprise you’ve been hiding from your friend Max, eh?”

  Ronin tugged her closer to his body. “Can you blame me for keeping such fire and beauty to myself?”

  “Nyet.”

  “Cut to the chase, Max. Did you really show up to chew my ass for forgetting your party invite?”

  “I heard rumor. Came to verify.” His gaze moved to the corner, where Katie was in conversation with Blue and Sophia. “I see the truth for myself.”

  “Of what?”

  “The favor you’re doing for TP. I need same type of favor too.” Stanislovsky smiled at Amery. “Please excuse us.”

  Ronin shook his head. “Amery is aware of the terms of the favor for TP, even more so than Katie is.”

  “She is also aware of your past?” Stanislovsky addressed the question to Amery.

  She inclined her head. “I know some of it, not all.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  “The past made him the man he is today. I can’t have him as he is now without it.”

  “Beautiful, smart, and loyal. You’re lucky man, and it’s time you found worthy woman.” He clapped Ronin on the shoulder. “But I digress! I need favor. For my son.”

  Ronin said, “I’m listening.”

  “My son’s mother.” He sighed with gusto. “Beautiful, passionate Russian woman. So passionate we have child together.”

  “Did you marry her?”

  “Nyet. Discovered crazy passion often just masks crazy.”

  Amery withheld a laugh.

  “But good thing to come from that crazy woman is my son, Ivan. He loves to fight. He lives to fight, which makes me happy. His mama? Not so much.”

  “Still waiting for the punch line, Max.”

  “Ivan would like to train as MMA fighter. Your dojo is best; you have program for amateurs, and he perfect fit.”

  Amery felt the tension pouring off Ronin, but nothing in his demeanor gave it away to Stanislovsky.

  “You do TP favor for his daughter—poof, no more favors.”

  “You’re offering me the same deal?”

  “I’m telling you; I took care of your pest problem on Baldwin Street. As favor to you. This? What I ask in return.”

  “Black Arts trains your son.”

  Stanislovsky nodded. “Ivan is good boy. He needs guidance. Focus isn’t problem since he’s trained in sambo in Russia. He needs a challenge.”

  “Why not put him to work in one of your businesses?”

  “No interest at this point in the . . . what you call it? Family ball and chain? Like you and Okada, eh?”

  “Not exactly,” Ronin said wryly.

  “Ivan has time to learn business later. Only young and tough for so many
years. Which I hear you recently learned firsthand, my drugh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s my offer. You take my son on. He pays MMA fight club fees same as others. Pays for personal training same as others. Earns his place on team same as others. He wants to prove himself. I respect that. I believe you respect that. He respects you as much as I do.”

  Wow. Serious flattery.

  “How old is Ivan, and will he need an interpreter?” In an aside to Amery, Ronin said, “I don’t deal with Max’s Russian compatriots because few of them speak English. Max knows this about me.”

  “Ivan is twenty-two. He’s American citizen. His mother returned to Russia when he was ten, so over the years he’s had boot on American soil half year and boot on Russian soil half year. He is fluent in English and Russian.”

  Ronin let a minute-long pause linger, where neither he nor Stanislovsky broke eye contact. Talk about a mind fuck.

  “All right. You have a deal. With two stipulations. You don’t interfere. Ever. This is between Black Arts and Ivan—not me and you. Also, make sure Ivan understands he won’t be training only with me in the MMA club.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have him call next week and set up an interview time.”

  Stanislovsky grinned. “Done. You good man, Ronin Black. I look forward to watching my son’s dream come true.” They did the Russian hand clasp, chest bump thing again. Then his eyes flitted over Ronin’s shoulder and his gaze filled with lust. “Such a lovely flower gracing your party. Introduce me.” A demand, not a request.

  Amery and Ronin both turned. Amery expected Stanislovsky’s slavering gaze to be on Katie, but his focus was entirely on Shiori.

  “No fucking way, Ruskie. That’s my sister.”

  His gray eyes lit up. “Ah. Perfect. The Okada heir won’t be after me for my money since she has no need of it.”

  “Not. Happening. Ever.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know you’re in the middle of another divorce.”

  “Then I am free to pursue her with all the romance we Russians are known for, eh?” He adjusted his tie. “Take me to her.”

  “Not on your life. Jesus, Max. You’re too fucking old for her.”

  “Love knows no age, my drugh.”

  Ronin snorted. “Lust knows no boundaries when it comes to you.”

  One of the bodyguards leaned in and spoke to Stanislovsky. He nodded. “Sadly, it will have to wait. Other matters need my attention.” He offered Ronin a salute and a bow before whipping around and marching out the door.

  Amery stared after him. “Is he for real?”

  “Yes. He’s more eccentric than TP, but both men wield an insane amount of power in this town.”

  “And you’re friends with them. You’ve done favors for both of them.” She paused. “You told me how you ended up knowing TP, but how’d you end up on Stanislovsky’s radar?”

  Ronin looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Because of TP. Those two have a . . . friendly rivalry. They back each other, but they’re also fierce competitors. So when I started having problems with the construction crews I’d hired to gut the dojo building, Max’s crew just showed up and took over. They did the work for half the money in half the amount of time.”

  “But then you owed Stanislovsky favors.”

  He nodded. “Max has little tact. He bulldozes his way into things and can’t figure out why he’s gotten stuck. I’ve helped him get unstuck a time or fifty.”

  “Dangerous stuff?”

  “Not bad. He has his own Russian leg breakers on his payroll, but there’ve been times when he’s needed security with discretion. Or he’s needed a diversion from his activities and certain businesses. I’ve assisted him with that.”

  His explanation sounded too pat. She slid her hands up his chest. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I accept your past. But I don’t want to be in the dark about it. Better for you to tell me than for me to find out from someone else.”

  “You’re right.” Ronin sighed. “Max runs prostitutes. It’s how he started out. And although he’s got his fingers in many more lucrative pies, he still controls the high-end escort service agencies in Denver. I don’t agree with what he does, and he knows that. But every time he’s asked for my help getting his girls out of a bad situation, or if they need protection, I haven’t hesitated.” His eyes locked onto hers. “And no, I’ve never traded my services for those services his girls offer.”

  Don’t judge. This isn’t about Ronin running hookers; this is about him protecting them.

  She could wrap her head around that. Ronin Black as a white knight.

  “And to finish this conversation so it doesn’t stop us from getting on with our night, Max owns many clubs. I’ve trained his security and bouncers. That part all on the up-and-up.”

  “Hey. Wait. Does Max own . . . ?”

  “BDSM clubs? Yes. Does he own the clubs I’ve belonged to? No.”

  “This is a lot to absorb.”

  “I know, baby. But it’s in the past. Since TP and Max have this bizarre competition when it comes to my favors, I assumed it wouldn’t be long before I heard from Max. I just wasn’t expecting him to foist his kid on me too. Just what I don’t need—to be known as Black’s Babysitting Service.”

  Amery laughed.

  Molly and Chaz approached them.

  “Is it safe to talk to you now that you’re done whispering naughty nothings to each other here in the middle of the room?” Chaz asked.

  “We’re just trying to decide the best avenue of escape before anything else happens,” Ronin said.

  “If you need a distraction, Molly could start a striptease.”

  “Chaz!”

  “What? I’d offer, but this isn’t really my crowd.”

  “And with that”—Ronin intoned dryly—“we’re going.”

  “Wait. We left my car at the arena, remember?” Amery said to Ronin.

  “Leave it. It’ll be fine until morning.”

  “If Chaz can drop me off, I’ll drive it to my apartment tonight and then to work tomorrow,” Molly offered. “It’ll save me bus fare.”

  “Mol, that would be great.”

  “You’re working on a Saturday?” Ronin asked.

  “Yes. We’re behind on a few things. I’ll get my keys.” Amery wended through the thinning crowd and ducked downstairs to the coat check. No one was around. “Hello?”

  Seemed like an hour before the coat check girl showed up, although it’d probably been only five minutes. But by the time she returned to the party, she saw the change in Ronin’s demeanor, even from across the room.

  Molly and Chaz were silent when she rejoined the group. “Now what happened?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were working for Okada?”

  He’d said it with such sharpness it sounded like Al Qaeda. Freudian slip, maybe? Amery looked at Molly.

  Her eyes were filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I thought he knew.”

  “Yes, one would think the subject would’ve come up since you’ve been working on the project for several weeks.”

  Chaz slipped his arm around Molly’s shoulders and pulled her back. “We’ll leave you two to work this out.”

  For the first time since they’d reconciled, Ronin wore that unyielding mask, and her heart sank. She’d fucked up.