The Bratva’s Locked Up Love by Jagger Cole

14

Quinn

Paperwork.Paperwork will distract me. Paperwork will bury the aching, horribly forbidden lust bubbling inside of me. It will pull my thoughts from the utterly captivating, darkly beautiful, dangerously tempting man deep beneath me in this place.

And yet, it doesn’t. All I see is blurred words. I read the same report four times in a row. And if you asked me, I wouldn’t be able to tell you a freaking thing about what it’s about.

It’s been roughly thirty-four hours since our phone call. Thirty-four hours since the night I shamefully touched myself, crying out into the pillow as my body was wracked with pleasure. As my mind was filled with filthy thoughts of all the dark, dirty things I’d want Maksim to do to me.

Yesterday’s Al Qaeda appendectomy turned into much more than a routine operation. The patient ended up bursting his appendix two hours before we were scheduled to operate and going septic. Six hours of surgery later, he’s fine.

Yeah, good news: I saved the life of a man who believes he was put on earth to strap suicide bombs to children and throw acid at woman. I’m sure my professors at Duke would be so proud of me.

I groan as I slump in the desk chair and stare at the stack of reports. That’s the job, I know. I’m not here to judge character. Just save heartbeats. But still, that took a lot out of me.

After the operation, I ducked home early. I blush as I remember trying to call Maksim, only to find his phone off. But honestly, that is certainly for the best. I don’t need to be calling him like he’s a… well, anything. I don’t need to be chit-chatting with this man.

I don’t need to be having anything to do with him. But here I am, still fantasizing about him. Still wet.

A knock on the door to my small office disrupts my thoughts. I clear my throat, swallowing the lust from my face.

“Yeah?”

The door opens, and I smile when I see Tom’s face.

“Hey, Tom—” I catch myself. “Sergeant Kempton.”

He smiles. “Doctor Coolidge.” He clears his throat. “How’s our stab victim?”

I stop myself before I say “Maksim”.

“The Russian?”

He nods.

“He’s good. Doing well, no sign of infection. I just need him to stop getting jumped in this place.”

Tom smiles thinly. His eyes sweep over me for a second, and frowns.

“What’s up?”

“Quinn,” his brows knit. “This is awkward…” he frowns. “Fuck.”

“What’s up, Tom?” I smile curiously. “Just spill—”

“It’s your workplace attire.”

I arch a brow. “Excuse me?” I lower my gaze, and my lips purse.

I’m wearing a skirt. It’s not scandalous by any means. But what is scandalous is that I’m wearing it entirely because Maksim told me he likes me in skirts—that it would “please him” if I wore them.

I swallow the blush that threatens to explode across my face.

Tom twists his mouth. “Quinn, you can’t wear skirts to this place.”

I purse my lips. “This from my dad?”

He shakes his head. “No, this is from me.”

“Then maybe you should give your grunts a lesson in workplace sexual harass—”

“I’m not worried about the men. They’re a bunch of immature roughneck dickheads. But they’ll just make crude jokes behind your back, given who your dad is.”

I frown. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Quinn, I’m worried about the inmates. These are hardened men, and it’s already bad enough that you’re a woman.”

I bristle. “Are you fucking kidding me, Tom?”

“Damnit, Quinn! You know damn well I’m not saying it like that! This is not a sexist thing. It’s that these men are pigs, and you’re flirting around the place in a fucking skirt.” His eyes narrow. “These are not rational men, Quinn. They’ve been here a long damn time. And you’re a pretty, young girl dancing around in a skirt.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss. “I can’t believe we’re having this—”

“Quinn, if this were a fucking bank branch, we would not be having this conversation. But being that we work in a super max black site prison full of the world’s worst, most dangerous fucking scumbags, I gotta say something! Because I care about you!

“Should I change into a snow suit?” I snap.

“That would be great actually.”

I roll my eyes. “Tom…”

“See it from my view, okay? You’re like a daughter to me, Quinn.” He smiles thinly. “I’m just worried about you is all.”

My scowl melts a little. I nod, twisting my lips.

“I know. And I appreciate—”

“Sir!”

Even unflappable Tom jumps a little at the guy blurting his name behind him. He pulls aside from the doorway, revealing a young solider saluting sharply.

“Yes, soldier?”

“Sir! I need to speak with Doctor Coolidge, sir!”

I frown. “What’s going on?”

The guy turns his eyes to me. “You’re needed, ma’am.”

I resist the urge to scream “doctor” in his face. This sounds urgent.

“Where?” I blurt, jumping from my chair.

“The hole.”

I freeze. Oh shit.

Tom sighs. “That’s our boy, isn’t it?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Alright, go patch his ass up,” he grunts.

“Mind if we address my fucking wardrobe later, Sister Tom?”

He rolls his eyes, smirking at me. “Go play doctor, smart ass.”

When the metaldoor to the hole swings open, my heart drops. Maksim is lying on his cot, bleeding.

“Jesus…”

I make a move to run to him, but a hand clamps on my shoulder, stopping me.

“Hang on, doc!”

I whirl to glare at the guard. “I’m going in there.”

He frowns, giving me a hard look. I narrow my eye at him.

“Why the hell else would you call me down?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t. He can bleed out for all I care.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, what the hell happened?”

“He got jumped by some Aryan Nation guys in transit back up to his regular cell. Other than that, no fucking clue.”

I swallow. “Okay, I’ll ask him.”

He and the other guard just outside the hole laugh.

“Good luck,” the second guy smirks.

“Huh?”

He looks at me curiously. “How’s your Russian?”

I frown, confused. “Wait, what?”

The first guy shrugs. “He only speaks Russian, doc. Did you just think he was giving you the silent treatment when you were patching him up before? Nah,” he chuckles. “Just doesn’t speak English.”

I turn to let my gaze fall on Maksim. I hide the smirk. He’s good.

“Well, I need to get in there and help him.”

“Do it through the bars.”

“Fine,” I mutter. I heft my medical bag and step into the hole. I walk across the dusty stone floor to the bars. Then I glance back at them, leering though the open door.

“Could I get some privacy please?”

The first guard frowns. “For?”

“For my fucking patient?”

The guy scowls at me. He looks away, like he’s considering it.”

“Don’t mistake the question mark for that being a request,” I hiss. “US Penal Code seven-seven-nine, section twelve, paragraph six-A designates that attending physicians are afforded inalienable privacy to conduct medical—”

“Okay, okay, Jesus,” the guy frowns. “Fuck it, fine. The cage is staying closed, though.”

“Fine,” I mutter back. I glare at them both until they both leave, shutting and locking the door behind them. Then, I turn to Maksim with worry in my eyes. I quickly move around to the far side of the cage, where he’s lying on his cot.

“You okay?” I say quietly.

He nods. “I’ll be fine. It’s not a deep cut.” He smirks at me. “Is that actually part of the US Penal Code?”

“Not at all.”

He grins.

I shake my head as I start to rummage things out of my bag. “So what’d you say to this Neo Nazi—”

“I didn’t.”

I pause and raise my gaze to him. His dark, powerful eyes hold mine captive.

“What?”

“I never left this room.”

“But they—” I freeze and then quickly glance back over at the door before turning back to him.

“Who stabbed you?” I whisper.

Maksim’s jaw clenches. “You should get out of this place, Quinn.”

“Maksim, who—”

“There’s some shit going on here. You should not be part of it. You should find a hospital and go work there,” he growls.

“I can’t. I’m stuck here, same as you.” I frown, twisting my lips in my teeth. “Sorry. I mean, not just like you.”

He smiles.

“Who did this?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “The guards.”

My eyes widen. “Hold on, what?! They fucking stabbed you?!”

“Something isn’t right here, Quinn.”

I clench my jaw, fury rising in me. It’s not as if Yellow Creek has always followed the rules and protocols. But still. Guards stabbing inmates is way past that.

“Can I see the wound?”

He stands with a grunt and moves towards the bars where I am. I swallow, trembling as he towers over me, his eyes burning into mine. My gaze drops down his bare, muscled torso, to the fresh gash in his side.

Then, I get to work.

My fingers trace his skin. The needle slides in and out—just five quick stitches to close the wound. Then I’m wordlessly pressing a bandage over it, and smoothing it against his muscles.

When I look up, he’s grinning down at me.

I blush.

“What?”

“I like your outfit.”

My blush deepens.

“Is it for me?”

I burn hotly. My teeth drag over my lip as my heart races.

“Just what I was going to wear today,” I whisper.

“To this place?”

“I—it’s just a skirt.”

“And you probably shouldn’t wear it in here,” he growls.

I roll my eyes. “Anyone else want to lecture me today on my outfit?”

Maksim chuckles quietly. He smiles, but it’s a hungry smile that sears through me.

“I like it,” he murmurs.

“Thank you.”

His hand slips through the bars. When it moves over my hip, I tremble. But I don’t pull away. He’s not grabbing me; I could just back off. But I don’t, and I don’t want to. The powerful feel of his huge hand on my body, his fingers splaying out over the fabric of the skirt… it electrifies me.

“You did wear this for me, didn’t you?”

My breath catches. I chew on my lip. “Maybe.”

There’s the line… somewhere way back there in my rearview mirror, fading into the distance.

A groan rumbles in his muscled chest.

“Maybe,” he growls. His eyes flick and lick over me, sending tendrils of heat to my very core; making my panties damp with the forbidden need for him.

“Maybe so I could…” his lips curl into a hungry smile. “Check.”

The dirty overtones of our banter from the other night rushes back. The jokes that weren’t jokes. The teasing that was meant to provoke. I bite back the moan as I remember how he told me he’d “check” about me wearing panties or not.

“Well?” I whisper.

Maksim’s hand splays across my hip, tugging gently at the waist of my skirt.

“Well, what, Quinn?” he murmurs deeply.

I swallow. “Are you…” I look up into his face. His eyes burn into me, sizzling into my soul. The raw need and hunger on his face makes me weak. It makes me ache for him.

It makes me lose control.

“Are you going to check?” I whisper.

He stiffens. His jaw ticks and his muscles clench in a way that ignites a fire in me. He groans as he grabs a fist-full of my shirt suddenly. I gasp, moaning as the blouse comes out of the waist, flashing just a glimpse of skin. My thighs clench together. One of my hands grips a bar of the cage. The other lands on top of this hand on me.

What the fuck am I doing. What the fuck am I doing?

I stop for a second, my pulse racing and roaring. But it’s not to stop-stop.

“Can you close your eyes for a second?” I murmur.

He smirks. “I cannot check with my eyes closed,” he groans.

“Just for a second.”

I pull back from the bars. His hand drops from me, and he steps back, looking at me curiously.

I’m insane. I’m actually insane. When I’m a foot back from the bars, I nod at him. Maksim’s jaw clenches, but he closes his eyes. My pulse races as I reach under my skirt and yank at my panties. I tug them, slipping them down my lean legs and off my low heels.

I take a shaky breath, holding them in my hand.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. Then his eyes open. His brow arches at me in question. But I simply reach down again. My pulse throbs. My skin tingles all over as I pinch the hem of my skirt and start to lift it.

Maksim growls quietly, watching me. I pull the hem higher and higher. My eyes close, and my face burns as I peel it up. Until suddenly, I know he can see all of me.

The savage, deep, dark groan from his lips tells me I’m right, even with my eyes closed.

“Bad girl,” he purrs thickly.

My eyes open. My face is on fire as our gazes lock. He moves back to the bars, gripping them tightly, like he wants to wrench them apart to get to me.

I should run. But I stay where I am. His eyes sweep over me as I let the skirt drop. His hand slips back through the bars and entwines with mine—the one holding my panties. He groans as he hooks a finger into the lace and plucks them from me.

And I let him.

I watch, throbbing all over as he pulls his hand back into the cage. He brings the lacy black thong to his nose. I moan, trembling all over with forbidden lust as he inhales deeply.

“Fuck,” he grunts thickly.

“Why didn’t you hurt me?” I whisper. “That day…”

“I couldn’t,” he hisses.

“Why not?”

“Because I…” he growls. “Because one look of you and I was broken.”

My legs turn to jelly. My insides to mush. My heart races.

“I’m sorr—”

“Don’t be,” he snarls. “I need to be broken, to be remade.”

He pulls close to the bars. His other hand reaches through and slides over my waist. I moan, letting him pull me close to the bars. His finger slips beneath the bit of blouse that’s been pulled from the waist of the skirt. He teases it over my bare skin as my eyes close and my breath catches.

“Maksim…”

His hand grips at my skirt. He pulls it up again, like I did just seconds ago. It bunches in his fist until his hand slips under the hem to touch my bare thigh.

“Quinn…”

I pull close to the bars and look up at him. He moves closer, lowering his face and bringing his lips to mine. And suddenly, he’s kissing me—through the bars, against them.

I twist my head, opening my mouth for him, letting his tongue inside when he demands. I moan into his lips. But then his hand slides up the smooth inside of my thigh, and my moan grows deeper.

Suddenly, his fingers find me slick—dripping wet, for him. He growls into my mouth as he rotates his hand. His thick fingers stroke through my lips, parting them as I whimper for more. His thumb rubs over my clit, making my legs shake. His finger sinks into me, making me moan hungrily as I cling to the bars.

My hand slides through the bars to touch his skin—this time, for the first time—not as a doctor to her patient. As a woman, to the man she’s craving. My fingers slide over his bulging muscles, down over the grooves of his abs. He strokes my pussy as I hungrily kiss him.

And then suddenly, alarms go off. Not moral ones. Not ethical ones. Literal actual alarm sirens.

I gasp, exploding into reality as I suddenly jolt away from him, shoving my skirt down. Our eyes are locked, lips swollen from the kiss.

The door to the hole slams open, and one of the two guards barges in, gun in hand and a look of fear on his face.

Mine pales.

“Doc, you need to get the fuck out of here! Now!”

I quiver, fear gripping me.

“Wait, what’s going—”

“Fucking now, doc!!”

Alarms blare everywhere. A red-light flashes from the other side of the door.

“What the fuck is that alarm—”

“Breach alarm.”

“What?”

“Our entire fucking internal containment system just failed,” he rasps, his jaw clenching. “We’ve got a full-scale prison break on our hands.”

The color leaves my face.

Oh fuck.