Her Rogue Russian (Karev Brothers Book 2)

  Her Rogue Russian

  KAREV BROTHERS BOOK TWO

  Leslie North

  Contents

  The Karev Brothers Series

  Her Rogue Russian

  Blurb

  Mailing List

  1. Maxim

  2. Savannah

  3. Maxim

  4. Savannah

  5. Maxim

  6. Savannah

  7. Maxim

  8. Split

  Epilogue

  End of Her Rogue Russian

  Thank You!

  Sneak Peek

  The Karev Brothers Series

  Her Ruthless Russian

  Her Rogue Russian

  Her Relentless Russian

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, NOVEMBER 2016

  Copyright © 2016 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, published, distributed, displayed, performed, copied or stored for public or private use in any information retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any mechanical, photographic or electronic process, including electronically or digitally on the Internet or World Wide Web, or over any network, or local area network, without written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  www.relaypub.com

  KAREV BROTHERS SERIES

  BOOK TWO

  By Leslie North

  Blurb

  Former Russian mobster Maxim Karev is a man with something to prove. His father’s been murdered and even his own brother thinks he’s guilty. To clear his name, Maxim has to return to the organization he left behind. He likes to work alone, but this time an FBI agent leaves him little choice—either she goes in undercover with him, or Maxim can rot in jail. One thing’s for sure—he’s not going down for a crime he didn’t commit. If playing with the beautiful agent is what it takes to prove his innocence, Maxim is prepared to go the distance.

  FBI agent Savannah Casillero never backs down. She already lost her partner on this case, and now she’s more determined than ever to find Sergey Karev’s killer. With the Mafia’s former head of security under her thumb, she finally has a way inside—as Maxim’s girlfriend. Controlling the lone wolf may be a bit of challenge, but Savannah’s confident she can handle it. The six-and-a-half-foot Mafia man is certainly not her type, but she’ll do more than play along to make it believable.

  They’re willing to work together to track down a killer, but when the ruse becomes a little too real, will Maxim and Savannah give in to temptation or hold fast to their original obligations?

  Mailing List

  Thank you for purchasing ‘Her Rogue Russian’

  (The Karev Brothers Series Book Two)

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  1

  Maxim

  Maxim Karev leaned against the bars of his holding cell, propping his forearms on the crosspieces and allowing his hands to dangle on the free side of the world. His intuition told him that it was a risky position to put himself in, but he doubted if anyone watching him was stupid enough to rap him with a nightstick.

  He found the best way to pass the time was to people-watch. His eyes traveled up the negligible length of the male arresting officer, taking in the other's short stature, shaved head, and ordinary face with some satisfaction. Anything to feel the superior in their situation. The other man was built rangy, like a runner, and muscled like one of those jointed wooden dolls. He’d heard his name when they entered the precinct together: Andrews. He could take Andrews in a fair fight. Andrews was deficient to Maxim in both looks and size, and probably in other areas of his life, although Maxim didn't really want to imagine what he was like in the bedroom.

  The next officer who entered the cellblock, on the other hand…

  "Tom." The woman who pushed through the door and strode toward Andrews was one of the most stunning creatures Maxim had ever seen in his life. He eased a little back from the bars of his cell to make himself less apparent as he studied her. She wore a fitted black pant suit and conservative heels; each sweep of her powerful legs implied the muscle tone beneath. Too bad he was prevented a full view by the pleated black pants she wore. Her pale blouse was unbuttoned at the top, the skin beneath several tones warmer than the starched material that perfectly and professionally concealed the shape of her breasts. One open button down her collar was agony, but two felt like inhumane torture to Maxim; he tried to pay more attention to the credentials hanging off her lanyard, but those also seemed to be hidden inside her shirt. Her hair, thick, lush and loose, faded seamlessly from brunette to blond at its tips.

  "Like the new hair, Savannah," Tom Andrews commented.

  The female agent, Savannah, rolled her eyes at the ill-timed flirtation. Maxim found that he liked her already.

  "Is that him?" Her gaze hunted down the cellblock before locking onto its intended target. Maxim met her stare evenly, feeling privately impressed when she didn't look away. "Is that the Karev?"

  "Who else would a guy who looks like that be?" Tom replied.

  Savannah held Maxim's eyes a moment longer, before turning her back to him. Tom Andrews turned with her, and they continued their discussion in private.

  It maddened Maxim that he couldn't know for a fact what they were saying, although he thought it easy enough to guess. He had never had a direct run-in with the law like this when he was heading security for the mafia. It was only in the wake of his father's murder that the feds had thought to find a reason to bring him in.

  It wasn't looking good, but at least the sexy agent was gazing at him again.

  "Mr. Karev." She addressed him directly this time. Agent Andrews moved off to give them some room as Savannah advanced down the cellblock toward him. Maxim fit his face against the bars and greeted her with a charmed smile, letting her know with his eyes just how much he appreciated that it was her joining him.

  "Please, call me Maxim." He let his voice retain its natural authoritative cadence, deep and smooth despite his superficial greeting. "Mr. Karev is my father."

  "Was your father," Savannah stated, confirming what he had already guessed. Now that he knew for certain what this was about, he let his smile dwindle off, though the intensity of his gaze on her never changed. He needed to figure out her angle before she found a way to keep him here overnight. He did not like being confined, especially considering he had managed to escape arrest for all the years he had actually been a criminal.

  "Thank you for your condolences," he replied.

  "I'm not here to play games, Mr. Karev, and I'm not here to mourn the dead. We need to talk."

  "How about you start mourning my taillight? Your man owes me a new one."

  "I beg your pardon?" Savannah asked.

  Maxim shifted his weight, bringing his body closer to the bars, but Savannah didn't seem to notice or care. The woman must have felt secure in the fact that he wouldn't harm her, if not in the structural safety of the enclosure between them. "The beat cop who busted it," Maxim explained. "I saw one of your uniformed goons sniffing around my Nighthawk when I was parked
out on the street the other day. I take good care of my bikes, Miss…?"

  "Casillero. Agent Savannah Casillero," she enunciated for him.

  "I'd offer you my hand to shake, but I'm guessing you'd break it."

  "Your guess is as good as mine, Maxim."

  He let a beat pass between them while he processed the way she said his name. No trace of an accent, though he could clearly see she was of Hispanic heritage. She made even a pant suit look exotic, but he couldn't let himself forget what it really was: armor. A symbol of her station. They were at war, and he was behind enemy lines.

  "I'd rather you break my wrist than my bike," he said finally as he drew back from the bars. "So when can I expect that taillight to be replaced, Savannah? And can I expect an apology for getting picked up under false pretenses?"

  "Hm." Her eyes flickered down the hall in the direction Agent Andrews had disappeared. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

  "Not sure if I believe you."

  "Then believe me when I say I'm just here to talk." She crossed her arms and settled them comfortably beneath her breasts. Maxim noted the way her cleavage deepened when she did so, but thought it wasn't an interrogation tactic. Savannah Casillero seemed too professional to stoop to using her sexuality to benefit her negotiations—at least, he didn't think she would stoop to it here.

  He would file that fantasy away for another, less pressing time.

  "I know what you're here to talk about," Maxim stated.

  It had been several months since his father's murder. Sergey Karev had been discovered lying face down in his office with an ice pick buried between his shoulder blades. In life, Maxim's father had enjoyed one of the highest positions in the Russian mafia. Maxim doubted if this was news to the FBI. Dancing around the subject now would only prolong his stay behind bars, but he couldn't be too careful when it came to revealing his cards… even if it felt like he had been dealt a low hand in a game where the rules were decidedly not in his favor.

  There were those who thought he was responsible for his father's murder—some of whom he suspected could be numbered among his own family. While his youngest brother, Vlad, hadn't made the accusation outright, Maxim knew his brother thought he was involved somehow. Judging by the measuring quality of Agent Casillero's look, she might think so, too.

  "Then let's talk," she stated. She surprised Maxim by pulling her lanyard from beneath her shirt and flashing it before a sensor set into the wall; apparently, she had the proper clearance, because the cell door slid open, swift and noiseless on its track.

  Maxim concealed his surprise and followed the agent into an interrogation room across the hall. Savannah closed the door behind them. "Coffee?" she offered him as Maxim took a seat.

  "Sure," he said. He wasn't going to turn down an overture. If the agent was trying to get prints off him to run later, then she was in for a disappointing lab result—he had burned them off caustically when he became head of security for the mob. "I take it black."

  "Of course you do."

  Savannah exited through a door adjacent to the first and came back with two steaming Styrofoam cups. Maxim noted she took her own coffee as warm and caramel-colored as her skin. She set his in front of him, dropped down into the chair across from him, and sighed.

  "I know you didn't murder your father."

  This time, Maxim was unable to master his surprise. Some of the coffee splashed out of his cup, and he hissed and drew his hand back. "What?" He shot her a suspicious look. "Explain."

  "Let's just say that speaking to… people with your resume… isn't a part of my usual job description. I'm involved with the Blood Diamond Task Force." Savannah leaned in a little, and Maxim found himself about to unconsciously mirror her. She was good: intelligent, approachable, charismatic. She was the sort of woman you wanted to impart your secrets to late at night when you were alone together between the sheets, just you and her.

  Maxim leaned back in his chair, propping his arm casually atop the sloped metal frame.

  "I believe that whoever perpetrated your father's murder is linked to a smuggling operation we've been tracking," Savannah continued. "Can you offer any insight into this?"

  "Not without a lawyer I can't."

  "I'd prefer it if we kept things just between us." Savannah's mouth twisted in a little confidential smile, and her dark eyes sparked. Oh, she was very good. But Maxim wasn't just some muscle the mob hired to flex for them once upon a time. He knew how to play the game.

  "Sure you don't want to invite your friend in?" he offered, taking a casual sip of his coffee. "Andrews, was it? Looked like the two of you could light a fire."

  Savannah pulled a face. It was a micro-expression, there and gone again in a flash, but either the coffee was too strong or she had no real taste for Agent Tom Andrews. "As much as I find that mental image… interesting, Mr. Karev… Agent Andrews has agreed to keep his hands to himself for the time being."

  Maxim snorted. "We'll see about that." Tom Andrews struck him as the obnoxiously persistent type. "So what is this? I assume the bureau hasn't come into any new evidence substantial enough to hold me here. I would say my rights were being infringed upon if I wasn't so curious about your bottom line."

  "My bottom line is I want to find your father's killer as much as you do," Savannah stated. "Or at least, as much as I think you do. Watching you toil away in that bike shop day in and day out doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

  Maxim bristled. "If my life is so boring, then maybe you should quit surveilling it and leave me the hell alone."

  Savannah shook her head. "I didn't mean any offense, but I need to know just how committed you are to finding your father's murderer. You've been out of the Bratva for a while, Maxim. How many years has it been? Three?"

  Maxim said nothing.

  "Now I'm asking you how willing you are to go back in." Savannah pushed a file across the table to him. He studied it from afar without bothering to open it.

  "You want me to go undercover for you," he guessed. "You want me to rejoin the Russian mafia."

  Savannah shook her head again. "No. I want you to validate my cover. The bureau's proposal is fully outlined in the—"

  "I'd rather hear it from you," Maxim said pointblank. "What exactly is it that you want?"

  Savannah eyed him over the rim of her cup; then she lowered it, tapping it thoughtfully on the edge of the table. "I want you on the outside. I think you're more useful to us that way—and rest assured, I'm the only one in the department who thinks that."

  "That it?" He held her gaze. Savannah didn't back down.

  "I want to shut these smugglers down. And I want to catch a murderer," she admitted finally. "If you really have nothing to hide, then I want what you want. You agree to assist me—to assist my organization, rather—and I agree to help you clear your name. Otherwise, you can look forward to sitting behind bars for any number of offenses… legitimate or otherwise." She raised the cup once more to conceal the patient line of her lips. "I have no control over what the other teams do, or what means they implement to achieve their own ends. You might be looking at a lot of broken taillights in your future." Her eyes flashed. "But I can assure you that by sticking with me and my team, I'll ensure our interests always align. As much as we might be fed the same line over and over again from elementary school on, it isn't 'innocent until proven guilty' in the real world, Maxim. I think you know that. I also think you're smart enough to realize that you're headed for the chopping block. Word on the street is you're everyone's prime suspect these days."

  "So it's either work within your shitty system, or let the system work me," Maxim summarized. "That about right?"

  "That's about right."

  He mulled her offer over for longer than was strictly necessary. She wasn't really giving him much of a choice—only the illusion of making a decision. They both knew what his answer had to be.

  "So, what?" He leaned in against the table, mirroring her posture with crossed arms.
"I go back in? It won't be easy, but I'm not saying I can't do it. What's your role in all this?"

  "I'm your girlfriend," Savannah Casillero stated simply.

  "I don't do girlfriends," Maxim replied.

  "You misunderstand me, Karev." Agent Casillero leaned in until the gold leaf ends of her hair trailed on the surface of the table. "I don't care if you're gay, straight, or attracted to the two-wheeled death machine you rode in on. The minute you leave this room, you and I are going steady, and I dare you to do better."

  All things considered, Maxim thought that was a dare he just might be willing to take.

  2

  Savannah

  Slick Cycles lived up to its name. Between the post-modern reception room and the open floor plan of the workshop-slash-garage, Savannah couldn't deny that she felt more than a little bit impressed by the operation.

  The receptionist led her out onto the main floor, heels clicking a competent staccato on the oil-stained concrete. Both garage doors were flung wide open, as much to let the midday breeze in as to vent the smell of cleaning chemicals and exhaust. Sunlight filtered down naturally from the trio of skylights above, bathing the floor in luminous golden strips that Savannah and her escort passed through on the way to the back. An old radio blared classic rock on one of the workbenches; the receptionist had to shout to be heard above it.

  "Here's where the men do most of their work. If you're interested in browsing some of the models we have for sale, I can give you a tour of the showroom, if you like!" the other woman suggested cheerfully.

  Savannah smiled. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm here to see Maxim. He told me he was working today."