Nikolai (Dangerous Love Series Book 1) Read online

  NIKOLAI

  By

  Kristin Alexander

  Copyright © 2018 Kristin Alexander

  All rights reserved.

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

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Hannah

  I wiped my sweaty palms down my baggy jeans as I slowly walked up the hallway of Lincoln High School and wondered for the millionth time if I had lost my mind. As much as I didn’t want to do this, I also knew I didn’t have a choice.

  I trudged forward, keeping my gaze locked on the thing causing my heart to feel like it was going to pound out of my chest. Nikolai Ivanov. He was currently talking to Jack Becker’s retreating back. The hallways were starting to clear out, as the bell for 1st period had just rung, but as usual, Nikolai didn't appear to be in any hurry. I knew he had a first period class, but I also understood that few people bothered to hassle Nikolai Ivanov.

  Even though he was still a senior, Nikolai was intense. He possessed the intimidating presence of a person much older than his eighteen years. It was widely rumored that his dad was the head of the Russian mafia in Chicago. His imposing demeanor, in combination with the deferential way people treated him, made me believe it.

  When you got over how terrifying he was, it was hard not to notice his good looks. He had short, dark hair that contrasted sharply with his blue eyes. It was his gaze that caught everyone's attention. Icy blue. Cold. Arctic, really. As a result of that frigid stare, few people crossed him, and the ones who had ended up regretting it.

  Nikolai’s intense, handsome looks also made him a target for female attention, and to be honest, I’m sure his attitude was part of it, too. You could often find at least a few following him, trying to get even a moment of his attention. According to rumor, his attention was definitely fleeting. As in, the time it took to hook up and leave. There were a few girls he hung out with more than others, and as much as they tried to convince people it was more serious than it seemed, he made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

  I'd also heard rumors of Nikolai's volcanic temper. I knew he generally appeared terrifying, and his cold stares were enough to check most people, but he also wasn’t afraid to throw a few punches if that was what the situation required. And, according to rumors, it was required frequently.

  The combination of all these traits were what compelled me to seek him out, but it was also what was making me walk like I was trudging through molasses. That, and the fact that Nikolai was roughly one hundred times more popular than me. To say that Nikolai and I moved in different circles was an understatement. I was one hundred percent certain he had no idea who I was.

  As I got closer, I realized he looked older than a guy in high school, tougher, with his tall, muscular frame very attractively displayed in jeans and a t-shirt. Every guy wanted to be his friend, and every girl wanted to be on his arm, but they usually only landed in his bed. His broody intensity, good looks, and athletic prowess had put him at the top of the social food chain.

  My utter lack of style and self-acknowledged avoidance of social situations had earned me a place on the bottom. However, I’d always been perfectly okay with that. I never wanted to be on anyone’s radar, so I tended to blend into the background on purpose. Actually, my inability to do that with complete success was what had brought me like a dead man walking down this hallway towards the tall, imposing Russian.

  As I got closer and closer, my heart started thumping in my chest like a bass drum, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I was going to propose or because being so close to his magnetic energy was overwhelming my senses.

  I walked up and stood beside his locker, waiting for my vocal chords to unlock. His head was still in his locker, searching for something, I guessed, when I heard him speak.

  "Are you planning to stand there all day, or do you want something?" Nikolai’s husky voice resonated from inside of his locker.

  I was so jarred that he'd even noticed my approach, I continued with my anxiety-induced mutism. He pulled his head out of his locker and pinned me with a wintry gaze. Dark eyebrows lowered as he prompted me again.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want something, or not?" he barked.

  Finally, my mouth started to produce words. "Hey, uh, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?" I managed to get out. This was a total shit show. Why had I not rehearsed what the hell I was going to say?

  Nikolai stared at me like I had a traumatic brain injury. “Jesus,” he muttered, then rolled his eyes impatiently. "You are talking to me. So, talk."

  I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the cuff of my shirt, unable to meet his gaze. "Um, this is sort of awkward, but I was wondering if I could talk to you some place a little more private?" I looked up at him to gauge his response.

  His head jerked back, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he allowed those light eyes to take a journey down my body then back up to my face, cataloguing my features more closely. After he finished his evaluation, he frowned.

  I had long, dark, nearly black hair and dark blue, almost violet-colored eyes hidden behind large, dark framed glasses. My hair was in a messy bun on top of my head, and I wore no make-up or jewelry. As for my body, most of that was camouflaged behind an oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans. Needless to say, he was not impressed. Of course, that was usually my goal.

  He grinned and slammed his locker shut. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass." He then turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  I sputtered for a second, and even though my desire to talk to him had nothing to do with hitting on him, I couldn't help the arrow of embarrassment and rejection that darted through me.

  "That's not why I wanted to talk to you. I have a business proposition for you," I yelled down the hallway.

  "Not interested," he yelled back without turning around or stopping. I hadn't considered the possibility of him not hearing me out. Now that he was walking away, beads of sweat started sliding down my spine.

  He was my last resort.

  He was already halfway down the hall
when I called to him. "Look, do you think anyone in your family business would be interested in helping me?" I had asked that question sincerely because I was desperate. However, judging by the swiftness in which he turned and marched back to me, now sporting a terrifying scowl, I could only assume he perceived it as more of a threat.

  "Why the fuck are you talking about my family? What do you think you know?" he growled, thrusting his face into mine. Here was the temper I had been seeking out and hoping to use to my advantage, though I hadn't anticipated it being directed at me. I gulped and tried to formulate a response that would pacify him down.

  I lifted both my hands towards him in a calming gesture. "N-n-nothing. I don't know anything about them, except rumors I've heard in school. I've heard—" I didn't get to finish my sentence, because he roughly grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into an empty classroom.

  After closing the door, he turned to me, his expression still forbidding. "What did you hear?" he demanded as I tried to merge with the wall behind me.

  As I glanced down and noted his fists clenching, I started to regret this whole debacle. I took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to respond. It never occurred to me he would be this touchy about something everyone in school gossiped about. I’d even heard about it, as low as I was on the totem pole. Of course, that didn’t mean anyone ever discussed it with him, and I could see why. However, I had come to him for a very urgent reason, so I had to soldier on.

  I cleared my throat, trying to quell my anxiety. "I heard your family was . . . in a certain type of business,” I murmured, hoping he would pick up on what I was insinuating. I didn’t have any interest in antagonizing him further, so I wasn’t feeling brave enough to directly say what we both knew.

  His family was in the mob.

  "What business is that?" he prompted, not willing to read between the lines of what I thought I was pretty clearly implying. Jesus.

  "Look, everybody says your family is in the mob,” I finally blurted, incapable of finding a more diplomatic way to say it but needing to move on with this conversation. “I need help, so if you won't help me, I thought maybe I could hire them, or something.” My voice petered out at the end as I saw his expression change from fury to incredulity. I felt like a total fool. He looked at me like I was a cross between a lunatic and a moron.

  At least he didn’t look mad anymore.

  Chapter 2

  Nikolai

  What the fuck?

  What the fuck is wrong with this girl? Nobody, and I mean nobody, had ever dared to talk to me about the rumors regarding my family. Even Jack treaded lightly on the topic, and he was like a brother to me.

  My relationship with my father was complicated at best, but more often I would describe it as a cross between antagonism and disgust. I hated being associated with him, especially in the context of the organization. Who the fuck did this girl think she was dealing with? Her request was the stupidest fucking I’d ever heard. What the fuck could she possibly need from the mob? Did she want to score some blow for some party?

  After that thought crossed my mind, I quickly reconsidered. Based on her appearance, I couldn’t imagine what party she might be attending. She was average height but wore baggy jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that did nothing for her body. I couldn’t even see her shape. Her face wasn’t bad, she had pale skin that was now flushed as she wilted under my angry, baffled stare. Her blue-violet eyes looked dramatic against the frame of her dark rimmed glasses, but the glasses were slightly crooked on her face, like they were bent. I knew girls did the messy bun thing to look cute, but her bun was a genuinely messy bun. Like she’d slept on it, or something. She looked a little homeless. God, was she homeless?

  Whatever. She’d pissed me off. I grabbed her biceps and pushed her against the wall, prepared to tell her how dangerous, fatal even, it was to talk about my family.

  "You might want to think very carefully about whatever the fuck is going to come out of your mouth next." I once again felt rage pumping through my system that this nobody would bring up my connection to the Bratva. Did she have a fucking death wish? "Why the fuck are you talking about my family?"

  Was she some kind of plant from another organization? The Italians? I looked her over again. No way.

  Her eyes widened, and she started to shake. "I . . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I just need help."

  I released a snort of disbelief. Help? Nobody went to the mob for help. In fact, most people needed help in order to deal with the mob. It wasn't the fucking United Nations.

  I paused for a second to look at her. I didn’t even know her name. I thought it was something with an H. Heather? Hillary? Didn’t know, didn’t really care.

  As she stood in front of me, I could read the worry and fear in her expression. I’d gotten to be an expert at reading those two emotions. She definitely didn’t look like a soldier for another family. She looked fucking terrified. As I felt my anger recede, I became less suspicious and more curious. Why the hell did a high school senior from the suburbs need me, or Christ, the mob to handle a problem for her? This girl probably wasn’t dangerous, just stupid.

  "Why the hell do you need help?" I snapped in a tone I thought sounded calmer but, by the way she jumped and started stuttering like a snare drum, clearly didn’t.

  “It’s—it’s a long story,” she finally got out. Her chest was heaving and, fearing she might have a panic attack, I gave her some space. I moved back and leaned against one of the desks, folding my arms and sighing in impatience. A long story. Fuck. But I'd asked for it, so I guessed I should shut up and listen to whatever crazy shit that was inevitably going to come out of her mouth.

  She tipped her head back and took a deep breath. "Do you know Jeff Connors?"

  "The principal's son?" Connors was a clean cut, preppy-looking asshole who thought he could do whatever the fuck he wanted because his dad was in charge. Usually he was right, but he knew who not to fuck with. Namely, me. He seemed more like a petty dickhead who used his father’s position to act tougher than he actually was, than any serious threat.

  The girl nodded.

  I should probably ask what her name was at some point.

  "Yes. Him. Well, ever since middle school, he has . . . been interested in me. He’s asked me out repeatedly, and I’ve always turned him down. Initially, I was nice about it. I wasn’t looking to hurt his feelings.” She frowned, as if she regretted her earlier sensitivity. We were only a few sentences into the story, but I could already see one problem this girl had. She was too fucking nice.

  She took a deep breath, which pressed what looked like a nice rack against her baggy sweatshirt and continued. “Things didn’t really start getting bad until high school. He didn't start asking me out directly until freshman year. He just hinted a lot before that, so I was able to avoid it by pretending I wasn't picking up on his hints. Then he started asking. I told him I wasn't allowed to date, which worked my freshman and sophomore years. That was believable. However, Junior year, he was more"—she paused, frowning at the memory—"persistent. He went to my mother’s work to ask her if I could date him. My mom didn’t know anything about what I’d been dealing with. She just saw this clean-cut kid who seemed interested in her daughter. A safe prospect.” She laughed humorlessly at her characterization. “So, she said yes. After that, he got relentless, no matter how many times I turned him down. He would call me constantly. I even changed my number a few times.”

  “You were changing your number? How could your mother not know what was going on?” I interrupted, aggravated by her mother’s inaction.

  “I would tell her, like, a drug dealer or some criminal had the phone before me and I was getting weird calls.” Her mouth lifted in a half smile. “The weird calls part was accurate.”

  “How did he get the new numbers?” I asked, watching her body language. She looked much more relaxed now, leaning against the wall with her feet angled out in front of her. Telling someone about her situation
was loosening her up. When her face wasn’t tense with anxiety and terror, she was kind of pretty. Her skin looked smooth, and her lips were pouty and full when they weren’t pulled into a grimace of misery and fear.

  Her brow creased in consideration. “I think he would call my mom's number, which is on file with the school, and say the school needed the new number. I don’t imagine that would be a red flag to her, since I had been changing my numbers.”

  I found myself frowning in agitation over her mother’s obliviousness. She must have read my expression because her next sentence answered another question I’d had. “I didn't want her to know what was going on. She's a single parent with a lot on her plate, so I didn't want to bother her, you know?" She looked at me, as if imploring me to understand her dilemma. I was beginning to understand it just fine, and I didn't like it at all. Against my will, I was being pulled into her problems. She had no protection, no help. Instead, she was protecting her overworked mother from another hassle, when she was the one in jeopardy.

  "Continue," I prompted.

  She sighed again, her posture drooping as if the weight of this escalating problem was literally resting on her shoulders. "He kept hassling me all last year, but I managed to hold him off. Our class schedules were totally opposite, so I would run to and from classes as fast as I could and leave school the minute the bell rang so I could avoid him. He would still show up at my house, but I could at least avoid that. My mom works a lot, so he would pick times she wasn’t around. Usually, he would just sit in his stupid car outside my house. For hours. Although, to be honest, he loves that car almost as much has he loves hassling me, so I’m sure it was no hardship for him to sit in for hours at a time."

  "What the fuck . . .? What’s your name?" I finally thought to ask.

  She laughed for a second, and said, "Hannah."

  Hannah, that's it. I knew it was an H.

  "What the fuck, Hannah? This motherfucker is stalking you. Why the hell don't you go the police?" I wanted to punch myself for even asking because it gave the impression that I was getting involved in this fucking mess, which I had no intention of doing.