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The car is halfway in the ditch, its back end is lifted off the ground and steam is coming out of the bonnet. Whoever is inside is clearly dead, there is no way they're alive in that crumpled ball of metal.

I feel sick. My hand shakes as I undo my seatbelt and fumble with the door handle. I fall out of my car and onto the ground. The cold night air makes me feel a little better and I take deep gulps of it.

This is like last week all over again. In my whole life, I had never ever seen a dead body. Every funeral I have been to has been closed-casket. Yet, including today and the last week, I've seen like ten. This cannot be good for my psychological health.

My hands are uncomfortable against the rough surface of the tarmac. I get to my feet, grabbing my car door for support when my legs feel unsteady.

The second car has parked up on the side of the road in front of the crash. Two guys are inspecting the damage. My stomach flips at the sight of their familiar faces.

"You have got to be joking," I comment aloud, attracting their attention.

They look over and recognise me instantly. Both of them look surprised and they give each other a 'what the fuck' look.

"Are you fucking serious?" One of them asks the other.

The other one glares at me. "Not you again."

Knowing that I want no part of this, I get into my car. I don't even get the chance to start my engine before my door is wrenched open, making me jump. Big, meaty hands grab my arms and pull me out.

"Hey! What are you doing? Get the fuck off me!" I protest but they ignore me completely.

One of them gets into the driver's seat. The other throws me into the back and gets in the passenger seat. They look the doors, stopping me from getting out.

"What are you doing?" I ask desperately. "Get out of my car! Fuck it, keep it, but just let me out!"

I rattle the door handle like a crazy person but it doesn't budge.

"We using your car, ours is fucked," one of them tells me.

"Fine, whatever, just let me out," I beg. "I don't want any part of this."

The one in the passenger seat has the heart to look sympathetic. "I don't know why you're always around trouble."

"Neither do I! It's a habit I'm trying to break, trust me. Come on, you let me go last time and I didn't say anything, I won't say anything again!"

The passenger seat guy looks over at the driver. He shakes his head, indicating my request for freedom has been declined. Passenger seat guys gives me another pitiful look.

"Sorry, lady, but you're coming with us."

"Why? I haven't done anything."

"You've witnessed too much."

My hands feel clammy, my breathing is laboured and my heart is pounding. "Are you going to kill me?"

They both snort. "Nope. Boss wouldn't like that."

Should that make me feel relieved? Why am I more scared than before?

I'm scared to ask, but I have to know. "Why wouldn't he?"

Passenger seat guy smirks over his shoulder at me. "Let's just say he liked what he saw last week."

Oh, fuck. You cannot be serious. A Russian mobster fancies me?

I sit back in the seat and put my seat belt on. I've seen how these idiots drive, I'm not taking any chances. I remain completely silent, feeling more scared than I ever have in my life. They're not letting me go this time.

Will anyone miss me? Will my neighbours notice that I'm gone? What about when I don't show up to work on Monday?

"What the fuck kind of name is Alaska?" Passenger seat asks the driver.

The insult drags me out of my pity-party.

Excuse me?

"A damn good one," I snap. "What's your name, then? Huh?"

He smirks again, making this little scar on his mouth wink at me. "Grigor."

"Sounds like a troll's name," I mutter under my breath.

The driver laughs at my comment, Grigor glares. "Fuck you, Akim isn't much better."

I go silent again and look out of the window. We fly through the countryside, going straight past my street. We go even further out, where the little villages are. Akim turns down a long driveway that leads to a gated, private estate. A mansion sits in the centre of it.

I'll be honest, it looks like a mob boss should live here. I've never even heard of this manor house before, it's obviously been privately owned for a while. It looks like it should be a National Trust site or something.

We park up and I'm relieved that Akim actually drove my car very well. My baby lives to see another day. I get out and dutifully follow the two of them up the stone steps to the main door. Two men guard the doorway and let us through with a nod.

The inside of the mansion is as palatial and luxurious as the outside. There are statues and giant paintings adorning the rooms. A spiral staircase that wraps around an enormous chandelier dominates the foyer.

"We're going to take you to the boss and see what he wants us to do with you," Grigor generously tells me.

From what I've read in books and seen on movies, I'm honestly surprised I'm not in a ditch with my throat slit right now. Since when do mafia men let people go? Since when do they talk to them? Tell them their names? Take them to the boss for checking in?

I'm not complaining, though. I'll take this over the throat-slit option any day.

They knock on a thick wooden door and a voice calls out. I recognise that gravelly tone. We all go inside and I stare at the lavish room. It's decorated like you'd expect; oak bookcases, ornate fireplaces, Chesterfield sofas, one of those antique globes in a wooden frame.

The boss is sat at a desk that would make a normal human look tiny. Not this guy. He looks like the ginormous desk was made for him alone. He looks up from his Mac and lazily scans me over, taking his sweet time checking me out. He smirks and leans back in his chair.

"Hello again," he greets me warmly, all happy like he's the cat that got the cream.

"Hi," I reply tersely.

Whether he's checking me out or not, I'm not ignorant as to what this man is capable of.

He doesn't need to verbalise to his men the question of what happened, all he does is raise one eyebrow. Akim speaks.

"We were tailing a couple Italian scum, they crashed in front of her car. Couldn't believe it when she fell out of it. Our car was a write-off, sorry, Boss. We had to take hers."

"Fell out of it?" The boss asks, looking vaguely amused and concerned.

"Think it was a bit of a shock."

A bit of a shock? That's a bit of a bloody understatement.

"I see. You are dismissed, go debrief Levushka," the boss orders.

The two men leave the room and I awkwardly shift my weight from foot to foot. I feel more nervous than ever by being alone with this guy. He watches me like a cat would its prey as he gets to his feet and rounds the table. He goes to the front of it and sits down on the desk. He crosses his big, thick arms over his broad chest and quietly assesses me.

I wait for him to say something. He smiles, enjoying my discomfort no doubt. "I'm sorry that my men took your car, it will be returned to you."

Okay, was not expecting that.

"Does that mean you'll let me go again?"

His smiles widens. "If that is what you want."

Why do I get the feeling that there is a catch?

"Yeah, I want to go home."

"Okay, but you should know that your life is now in danger."

The casual way he says the words has me blinking dumbly. I repeat the line in my head.

"What? Why?!"

He shrugs. "The Italian mob has seen you twice now, and they probably know that you are at my house. They might assume you are working with us or could be used for leverage."

I splutter and choke on air, and throw my hands up in exasperation.

"But, I want no part of this! I'm not involved!"

The casual way he shrugs pisses me off. "They don't know that. Look, I'll have someone drop you home, but you might want to think about letting one of my men guard you."

"Guard me?" I repeat.

"Yes, stay with you at all times until these Italians are dealt with. There aren't many left in this area after last week, probably only twenty or so more to deal with."

"Twenty?" I stutter out the word. "Fuck."

He smirks at me, looking really fucking handsome. "Twenty isn't a lot, малышка."

Baby.

I don't know what he just called me, but it sounded like a compliment and not an insult. He pushes off the desk and comes to stand in front of me. With his height, I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. He's wearing a white shirt with a few buttons undone. This close, I can see a smattering of chest hair and lots of ink. The dark shapes are just discernible under the cotton fabric of the shirt.

His aftershave wraps around me in a mouth-watering cloak. I inhale sharply and regret it when I get a delicious nose-full of the stuff. Damn it, he smells like man and hotness.

"Or, you could stay here tonight and I could keep you safe."

From the Italians? Or from him?

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Just a warning, this is going to start light hearted and then get dirty as fuck because I watched some porn vids and I'm totally inspired 😈

Not usually a porn kinda gal, but I've been choosing all the right videos recently and damnnn 😏