“Because the blasted man keeps dragging his heels. Any time I try to set a date, he gives me the runaround. He’s the one who proposed and made me all insane with wanting the whole fairytale wedding deal. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to marry me, and I took the ring off until he’s willing to set a date. And why didn’t you tell me about all this, sweetie?” She glanced at Quinten and found approval there.
Rudnikov chuckled and said in a deprecating manner, “Because business is the providence of men, Miss O’Malley… and to show that there are no hard feelings, I will help you young lovebirds out. I can’t have one of my men breaking a vow with my newest business associate, now can I? You’ll marry. Tonight, in fact. Robbie, call Father Vincent. Ask him to be here within the hour to perform a marriage ceremony.”
“But, but… I don’t think—” Becca sputtered. Marry Quinten? Was Rudnikov serious?
Quinten’s hold on her hand tightened even more. She wondered if she would have any bones left before the night was over, or if they would crack into jagged pieces. Quinten protested, “Sir, that’s a generous offer. But she wants a big church wedding and I don’t—”
Rudnikov waved him off. “Nonsense. It will happen tonight. You can always do the fancy wedding later.”
Becca opened her mouth to refuse but shut it again at Rudnikov’s piercing glare. In the game of chicken, he had called their bluff and was waiting to strike. Becca moved closer to Quinten, choosing her side.
Quinten released her hand and slid his arm around her waist. It shouldn’t feel comforting. He was a dirty cop. He’d lied to all his friends. But she knew deep down, he was doing this to protect her. With a slight nod, Quinten replied, “Very good, sir. Thank you for giving us the opportunity. It will be a relief to have it done and legally make her mine. Perhaps then she won’t be mad at me all the time.”
“Not bloody likely, but you can dream, sweetie,” she replied even as he squeezed her waist.
Quinten loosened his grip and directed his attention to the mob boss. “If you don’t mind, I would like to speak to my fiancée in private before we say our vows. I need to apologize, and would rather she yell at me without an audience.”
Rudnikov shifted his suspicious gaze between them. “You have until Father Vincent arrives. You can use my library, down the hall and to the left.” The crime lord gestured toward the door, much like a king granting a boon to his subjects.
Quinten bowed his head in acknowledgement, totally playing the role of beta to Rudnikov’s alpha. The thing was, the Quinten Becca knew—or thought she had known—was entirely badass alpha. The man didn’t have a beta bone in his body. Then again, perhaps what little she did know about him had been fabricated, a façade he showed the world to hide that he was a dirty cop.
“Thank you, sir,” Quinten said then, without further ado, he steered her out of the sitting room.
Becca had a surplus of emotions surging inside her. Beyond tense. Beyond horrified. Beyond angry at his deceit. Her feet were like leaded weights on the journey down the hall. She expected Rudnikov to order his guards to shoot them in the back at any moment.
Married? She wasn’t going to marry Quinten. No way, no how. Except… what choice did she have? Either she married him, or she died. She could die anyway, even if she did marry him. She wracked her brain for another option. But all she kept coming up with was door number one: she married Quinten in front of the crime lord and possibly met her maker, or door number two: the mob boss had his henchmen kill her.
If there was a door number three, one where she didn’t die or end up married, or both, she prayed that she’d find it in the small reprieve of time they’d been given. Because without a door number three, she would be married before the night was done.
Married to Quinten? How the hell had she gotten here?
Chapter 2
Quinten ushered Becca down the hall, scanning the area for any potential surprise attacks while at the same time attempting to look like he was paying lavish attention to his fiancée. He kept a covetous hand on her back. The silken ends of her auburn hair grazed his skin, and he ignored the stirring of unexpected lust at the innocent touch. He steered her forward toward the library. There were cameras everywhere, monitoring their progression. He prayed Becca would play along. That he could convince her to follow his lead and keep up the pretense… even though the cost was getting hitched.
Fuck. They were neck deep in trouble, and sinking fast in the quagmire.
He’d not had a choice in acting like she was his fiancée. It was the only excuse he’d been able to come up with on the spur of the moment. The surprised look on her face and the questions blaring in her expressive gray eyes the color of storm clouds had almost blown his cover. Rudnikov knew he was a cop. But over the last year, Quinten had worked hard to convince him that he was in on the take, willing to look the other way for the right price as Rudnikov conducted his business.
The moment he’d spied Becca’s hourglass form, with the air of fragility surrounding her and the stark terror in her gaze, all alone in a sea of ravenous sharks, he’d been forced into action. Even if Quinten hadn’t known her personally, he still would have tried to protect her. The problem was, he did know her. She was his best friend’s baby sister. Becca, of the huge eyes a man could drown in and the body of a sultry vixen. A wave of protectiveness had slammed into him the moment he saw her, along with the distinct urge to spank the hell out of her for putting herself in the line of fire.
When Rudnikov had mentioned a meeting with a new business associate tonight that Sasha was sending his way, Quinten would never in a million years have believed it would be Becca. While he’d been working undercover on this case for the last year, it had only been in the last three months that he had been invited into the inner sanctum of the Rudnikov Empire. Quinten felt that he had finally gained Rudnikov’s trust—at least, as much as the crime lord trusted anybody.
The moment he intervened on Becca’s behalf, that measure of trust disintegrated like smoke in a breeze.
The last time he’d seen her had been at Ram and Sadie’s wedding. She’d been decked out in an elegant burgundy bridesmaid gown and walked down the aisle with Quinten. He liked Ram’s sister. That night, they’d laughed and danced together at the reception and he had fought back a vicious tide of need that she engendered. She was off-limits—not because he didn’t find her a ravishing beauty, but because he wouldn’t fuck his best friend’s baby sister.
And now he was going to marry her. Rather ironic that they were going to be forced down the aisle at gunpoint tonight.
He resisted the urge to curse up a blue streak.
The objective tonight had been to escape with the plans he’d stolen from Rudnikov that were currently in a thumb drive secreted away in his shoe, as well as getting a verbal confirmation of the next drop shipment. Becca’s untimely arrival changed everything, including the state of his bachelorhood for the foreseeable future.
His purpose had shifted. Instead of getting confirmation on the next shipment, he had to get Becca out of here alive. They had to convince Rudnikov that they were madly in love. It was the only way they were walking out of there under their own steam. He’d have to get the verbal confirmation at a later date. If he pushed for it now, with everything else, Quinten surmised things would head south, fast.