Blaire Dark Romance Read online

  BLAIRE

  Blaire - Part One

  ~

  Anita Gray

  Cover Design by Nero Seal

  Disclaimer

  COPYRIGHT 2016 (C)

  This novel is a work of fiction by Anita Gray. Any character resemblance to people (fiction and non-fiction), places, incidences, or things is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This story may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Doing so will result in prosecution.

  A Few Reviews

  “I have been left in a state of mushed brain yet a degree of bookworm bliss at the same time” Bookalicious Babes, Vicki * * * *

  "Loved this book! Interesting characters, nonstandard plot, and lots of action! You can feel the connection developing between Charlie and Blaire over time"

  New York Times Bestseller, Anna Zaires * * * * *

  "Intense, gripping, chest pounding, dazzling. I could go on describing the river of emotions this book brought to me. I loved this story of Blaire, Maksim and Charlie so much that I dreamt of it"

  Amazon reviewer * * * * *

  LANGUAGE INDEX

  S'all right—it's all right

  Tis—it is

  Gotta—got to

  Dunno—don't know

  Gonna—going to

  Kinda—kind of

  Outa—out of

  Cэp—sir, in Russian

  Podgotovsja—prepare yourself, in Russian

  Konchaj yego—end him, in Russian

  Davaj, devochka—that's it girl, in Russian

  Pizdets—this is the fucking end, in Russian

  Jesucristo—Jesus Christ, in Spanish

  Dios mío—oh my god, in Spanish

  Falso—phony, in Spanish

  Dios ayuda—god help, in Spanish

  Snooker room—billiards room

  Please note

  Blaire is written in American style English with a few references still being British, as it is set in Britain.

  I hope you're ready for this

  Blaire is not suitable for readers under 18.

  Containspsychological impairment, dubious permission, and violence.

  Bought. Conditioned.

  My name is Blaire. I'm head of security to a man who controls the Russian underworld in Europe. His name is Maksim and he's my master. He bought me ten years ago and conditioned me with brutality to worship and protect him. And I have protected him. I've slain everyone who has tried to do him harm. Everyone but a man he loans me to; a man who threatens to break me and everything I believe in.

  You're going to need a strong stomach and a strong heart to follow my story, because take my word for it, it's no fairy tale.

  1

  I walk through Maksim's strip club like a ghost, under streaming red lights that flash in tune with the pounding music. The air smells potent with sweaty bodies and cheap perfume, a mixture of man and woman. Just how my master likes it.

  Everything I see moves through my mind's eye in slow motion, my brain carefully and collectively scanning for danger. There isn't much out of the ordinary going on tonight; a few regulars lining the stage in the center of the club, all unaware of my presence. I know why. They're too focused on the strippers, beautiful European girls leisurely peeling off their clothes. I'm wearing the usual: black sports trousers, trainers, and a thin black leather jacket over a long sleeve sweater. Not exactly arousing attire but this is how I like it, being under the radar.

  The strippers are the only people who do notice my presence. As I pass the stage, they each scowl at me with obvious loathing. I understand their loathing. I'm the only girl in Maksim's inner circle, and this lot—the strippers—hate it. They wonder why. They've always wondered why.

  No danger here.

  “Iscэp Maksim back there?” I ask a member of security in Russian, gesturing at the door he's standing in front of like The Great Wall of Man.

  “Yes,” he says in Russian, his pale eyes empty of emotion. “He's been waiting for you.”

  I nod, knowing I'm an hour late. I'm never late but my phone was on silent by accident and I didn't hear his text message. Fortunately, I couldn't sleep, otherwise I wouldn't have seen his message until early tomorrow morning and that would have resulted in a good, bloody hiding.

  The security guy pushes open the heavy door with one hand and stands aside. I saunter down the red hall, turning left, and knock on Maksim's office door three times. The knocks echo, carrying over the music booming through the walls.

  “Come in, my little pet,” Maksim says through the intercom system in his thick Russian drawl.

  I shiver as I normally do when I haven't spoken to him for a few days. His voice brings my entire body to attention.

  Pushing with both palms, I force the door to creak open and go inside.

  Maksim isn't alone.

  I don't react—I never react to surprises. I briefly look to see who is accompanying Maksim, and though it's quite dark in here, I'm very aware of the powerful blue eyes watching me from the leather couch by the left wall, eyes that seem to be all over my body at once. Sharp little hairs race down my arms and legs. I haven't seen him before.

  The notion that he's a stranger puts me on guard because Maksim rarely allows strange faces in his circle, let alone in his office.

  I stop before Maksim's wide desk and fold my hands behind my back, feeling sheathed in darkness. He only has the desk lamp on and that isn't exactly bright. It just about illuminates his diamond shaped, iron face.

  “You are late. My. Little. Pet.” Maksim says each word with significant and singular meaning, speaking in Russian.

  My blood runs cold when he's like this, mulling over something other than business. Today, it seems it's my timekeeping.

  I keep focus, my gaze level and on him slouching back in his chair. He's a striking man with steady, hazelnut-golden, expressionless eyes, and shoulder length dark brown hair that smells like brut from the candles he burns. I remember the scent well. I remember the feeling of his hair on my face when he cuddles me after a beating.

  “My phone was accidentally on silent,” my voice is low, as per usual. “I’m sorry, cэp Maksim.” I offer him a little head-bow of respect.

  Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk,he entwines his fingers together, holding my gaze with soul consuming eyes.“No more keeping your phone on silent, Blaire.”

  I flinch subconsciously, stepping back. He only calls me by my given name when I've done something wrong and that usually means trouble for me is brewing.

  Maksim cocks a brow at me. “You got that?”

  I nod, taking his warning seriously. I might be in his inner circle but it takes just one bullet to remove me.

  “What have you been doing for the past few days?” he asks in Russian, his tone husky and utterly terrifying.

  “Nothing much,” I whisper in our language, squeezing my hands together on the low of my back. “I've been training of course, went to the salon yesterday, and I went out to a club last night.”

  “Yes,” he tips his head, “my men saw you driving through the countryside. Did you have fun?”

  I shake my head, being honest. “I was just getting out of the apartment,cэp Maksim.”

  “Of course, my little pet. Of course. Though, next time you want to visit a club, you come here.” He taps his desk with one finger. “You do not have to travel to strange places to have fun.”

  “Okay.” I lift my lips in a forced, wary smile. “As you wish.”

  I like visiting strange places when alone. Everything in my life is a consistent bloodbath—the people and the work I execute. Sometimes, I just like a change of scenery.

  I guess I don't like visiting stra
nge places anymore.

  Maksim gestures to the right, to the man sitting on the couch, and I know the conversation about my last two days is over.

  “My little pet,” he's speaking in English now, “meet my old friend, Mr. Decena.”

  Old friend?

  It takes a lot of effort not to frown.

  I've been with Maksim for ten years and I've never seen or heard of a Mr. Decena.

  I look at Maksim's friend, my face blank of sentiment. Above him, a long tube light attached to the wall flickers on, buzzing with electricity, illuminating a tall, muscular frame.

  “No matter what happens here tonight,” Maksim says in sly Russian, “you are ordered not to challenge him.”

  The back of my neck pricks. Maksim never orders me to stand down.

  Though nervous, I obey without question, nodding to show I understand his command. I then study Mr. Decena, surprised by how relaxed he is in his pose, sitting there in the middle of the couch with one arm draped over the back, long legs stretched out in front of him.

  This is bizarre. No one is ever that relaxed in Maksim's company.

  I reckon Mr. Decena is in his late twenties. He looks young wearing fitted jeans, tanned boots, and a black round-neck t-shirt that boasts solid muscles. He's nothing at all like Maksim who favors suits,but Maksim has a tall, athletic body for them. They are wearing similar watches on their left wrists with thick silver straps, but that's where their similarities end.

  “Mr. Decena would like to ask you some questions,” Maksim says.

  I nod in response, still studying the relaxed pawn. Unruly ink black hair curls around his neck and face, abatinghard features;a strong, square, clean shaven chin, and a blade of a nose. His black eyebrows are thick and long, framing prevailing blue eyes that stand against his naturally tanned skin. He's a good looking man, and judging by that lazy, narcissistic expression on his face, he’s aware. He fancies himself.

  He stares me up and down with slow meditation, taking in all my features from head to toe. I'm suddenly so uncomfortable that my stomach knots. I can't really explain it but he makes me feel naked to the bone.

  I shift on my feet, trying to iron out my anxiety. A smirk lifts the side of Mr. Decena's lips then, a mischievous smirk that's full of promise.

  “What do I call you?” he says, his voice deep yet calm. He's American but there's a sprinkle of Latin in his accent. “My little pet, or Blaire?”

  Maksim nods to tell me I can answer.

  “Blaire,” I say.

  There's a split second of silence before Mr. Decena tells me, “All right, you can call me Charlie.”

  Maksim's eyebrows shoot up but he doesn't say anything. I stand there like a statue, fighting not to react.

  Another period of silence follows, then Charlie rasps out my name, drumming his fingers against the back of the couch. “Blaire, as in, field of battle?”

  I screw up my face, unable to stop myself. What's he talking about?

  Maksim chuckles under his breath like he's confirming something.

  “You never mentioned how pretty she is,” Charlie says softly, causing me to straighten out my features. “Nor did you mention that lovely, whispery voice.”

  “Ohhh, my friend,” Maksim smiles cunningly at me, his golden eyes crinkling in the corners, “don't take it personally. I wouldn't boast of her to anyone.”

  “Why not? She's a nice looking girl.” Charlie’s voice lowers as he says, “I've always wondered about redheads...”

  I swallow, hoping I'm not visibly sweating under the presence of these two.

  “I wouldn't want you excited to see her,” Maksim says, “for she is mine and mine alone.”

  “Hm...”Charlie hums, staring right at me with brazen audacity.I get the feeling he isn't a pawn in Maksim's game. He's too confident.

  “She sounds kinda Russian,”he says after a while, still tapping his fingers against the couch. “Where's she from?”

  “She's not Russian,” Maksim says, and I see that he shakes his head at Charlie.

  Charlie nods once, understanding that head-shake. “How old are you, Blaire?”

  I look at Maksim. He nods.

  “Eighteen.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Charlie seems stunned. I'm not sure why.

  “What'd you do, exactly?” he asks. “I've heard various stories.”

  Maksim gives me the go ahead, so I say, “I deal in technology.”

  “And she's also on my security detail,” Maksim adds.

  “This small girl is part of your security?” Charlie stops tapping the back of the couch, his eyes taut with confusion. A crease forms between his eyebrows. It makes him look evil.

  “She is.” Maksim smiles up at me again, knowingly proud. “She is a beauty in battle. Trained to defend me on instinct unless I say otherwise.”

  I am trained to defend him however I can, though I wouldn't just say I'm trained. I'd say I'm more... conditioned. My brain works to please and protect Maksim without me actually having to think. I used to find it disturbing. Now... I'm used to it.

  Charlie doesn't believe Maksim—it's written all over his face—but that's good. This is Maksim's trick with me. I have always been the element of surprise for his enemies.

  “And your parents?” Charlie says, still frowning at me.

  I don't show my confusion to that question, just look at him.

  “Erm, Charlie,” Maksim starts to say but is cut off dead.

  “I'm not talking to you, am I?”

  My heart drops through me like a boulder.

  “Don't you understand me, girl?” Charlie says with austerity. “Where are your parents? I won't repeat myself again.”

  I have no idea why he's being like this. It's not like I've done anything wrong.

  Thumping the desk with a fisted hand, Maksim says, “Answer him, Blaire.”

  I cringe as he uses my name. “I only havecэp Maksim.”

  Silence.

  Charlie's glancing between us, an air of frustration on his face.

  “Where are her parents?” he demands to know, executing his attention on Maksim. “Dead? Did they sell her to you? Where are they?”

  My eyes flitter between them, and I'm so confused. I don't get why he's being so ascetic all of a sudden or why he'd want to know if I have parents.

  Maksim manages to give Charlie another curt head-shake, which Charlie also understands.

  The next questions are sharp and snappy, like the tension that's now in the room.

  Charlie states my address in London. “Is that where you live?”

  I nod.

  “Alone?”

  I nod again, keeping it brief.

  “Is the apartment yours?” He raises his eyebrows at me, making his blue eyes seem wider.

  I nod a third time.

  “And you drove here tonight on your own?” he gestures at the office door with a large, steady hand. “You have your own car?”

  What kind of a question is that? What's it to him if I live alone or if I own my own car?

  “Yes, the car is hers,” Maksim answers for me, though he doesn't gain Charlie's attention. He is still looking at me.

  “I have her on the payroll,” Maksim explains. “She's not a prisoner like the rest.”

  “Is that right?” Charlie sounds like he's stuck in thought, his eyes flickering all over my deadpan face. “So, you trust her completely?” he breaks eye contact with me to focus on Maksim. “Because if you have any doubts... I can't risk having sloppy workers on the job.”

  Maksim doesn't hesitate. He says a powerful, “With my life,” then it's quiet again.

  Why do I feel like I'm being interviewed for something?

  “Okay,” says Charlie eventually, nodding to himself. He then summons my attention by rasping out my name. “Maksim tells me you can hack into any computer system.”

  Bingo. He is interviewing me.

  “You can answer him,” Maksim says. So I nod, my hands still firmly folded
behind my back.

  “How can you do that?” asks Charlie.

  “My friend,” Maksim butts-in, clearing his throat, “the details are better left unsaid. Just know that my little pet is masterful at-”

  “I'll decide what details are better left unsaid,” Charlie says. Sitting forward, he puts his elbows on his knees and narrows his blue eyes at Maksim. “I'll consider pardoning things that might make this girl feel uncomfortable but you'll tell me the finer details.” His square jaw ticks, though when he stares up at me, that anger in his face... it... it vanishes. “How can you do that, Blaire?”

  “I spent three years in a room with books, codes and computers,” I say without thinking, and bizarrely without Maksim's permission. “I taught myself the things I know.”

  Charlie gives Maksim a baffled look, wrinkling his nose. “She actually thinks she became a hacker in three years?” No one answers him, and he runs a hand through his thick black hair, ruffling the strands at the back of his neck. “C'mon, don't try to take the piss outa me.”

  Maksim's face tightens with what almost looks like… fear? No. Can't be. He shakes his head at Charlie again.

  “All right.” Charlie lifts a hand, understanding Maksim's expression.

  Is he hiding something from me? Why won't he just tell Charlie that he bought me from a man in Russia, or insist it's none of his business?

  Digging into his jeans back pocket, Charlie pulls out a piece of paper and passes it to me between scissored fingers.

  I glance at Maksim. He signals for me to take the paper, so I do. I briefly touch Charlie's fingers in the process and a warm, tingly sensation spreads through my body, causing me to snatch back my hand. Our eyes meet then in a moment of dead quietness. His are glowing like he knows what I just felt.

  Everything around me becomes nonexistent. Even Maksim fades into the background. And I just look at this man who's invading our personal space with pure bafflement. He doesn't look away; doesn't blink. A pool of anxiety coils inside me, making my toes curl in my trainers.