Vicious Justice

By Tobi Doyle

Caught in a political blackmail scheme, Adrianna turns to the only man she trusts. Ruthless, intimidating, and powerful, Alexei will stop at nothing to keep her safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tobi Doyle
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393321446

Tobi Doyle

Tobi Doyle was born in Massachusetts, grew up in California, lived in Texas, Indiana and settled in West Virginia seven years ago. She is happily married mother of three and even happier that she’s almost an empty nester. After spending years teaching middle school science her husband encouraged her to retire her red pens and follow her passion of writing and she’s never regretted a minute of it. Tobi writes steamy romances and her alter ego, Doyle MacBrayne writes YA and sweeter romances. You can find more of her books available at amazon here. You can follow her at her website tobidoyle.com, or on Facebook or Twitter @tobidoyle. She loves to hear from readers at [e-mail] and GREATLY appreciates reviews on Goodreads and Amazon. Rebound Baby, Too and Rebound Babies are the next in the series and are steamier – be forewarned ;) She’s included excerpts on the next page. Tobi has another series called Love at First Slight and you can find the first novella of the series Jason and Laura free on Smashwords.

Book preview

Chapter One

I’m a stylist not a stripper.

Although, if the salon owner, Marlo, thought it could bring in more clients I’m pretty sure she’d take my scissors and put me on a pole. I attempted to singe her with my most self-indignant glare because she’d rescheduled my least favorite client to after-hours. Gregory Herndon, the San Francisco District Attorney and lizard-lipped lecher who asked me out every time he saw me and made me want to purify the salon after he left, was never, ever, to be scheduled at the end of the day. And now I had to stay late.

I stood at the front desk, glowering at the bouquet of tulips, roses, and peonies from Herndon, which included a creepy note:

Dear Adrianna,

please accept these flowers,

A thank you for changing hours.

Who sends flowers to their stylist for changing an appointment? And it rhymed putting the creep factor at eleven, on a ten-point scale. The man was polite, educated, respected in the community, and triggered my stranger-danger reflex.

The bells over the door chimed and ended my ineffective glaring. My hottest and most polite client, Alexei Bykov, strode toward me tall, broad-shouldered, and blond. My Thor. He came every three months for a trim and said little, but I treasured each word. The wealthy Russian restauranteur spoke in clipped, usually heavily accented words, and despite being the size of a linebacker, he never triggered a negative response. Nope… he triggered some hot dreams, in which he spoke more, things that included licking, thrusting, gripping…

Hello Adrianna.

I loved the way he said my name, like warm honey, sweet, thick, and my thoughts turned back to licking. I blinked a few times, reminding myself I was at work. Good to see you, Mr. Bykov. This way, please.

He hung up his suit coat on the rack next to the reception desk and then sat at the shampoo station. I slid the cape around his mile-wide muscular shoulders. I chided myself for perving on the man. I was as bad as Herndon, which made me shudder.

Are you well, Adrianna? His golden brown eyes studied my face.

Yes, thank you. And you? I concentrated on massaging the shampoo into his hair, not the way the silky strands felt against my fingers, or the scent of spice and the heat that swirled through my veins encouraging me to melt at his feet.

You seem troubled.

My fingers stilled. Heat rushed to my face. Just my luck the man could read me. It’s nothing, I whispered. My eyes flicked to Marlo who now stood at the front desk with her client and cooed over the flowers sent by Herndon. She didn’t mention they were sent to me.

I wish she’d take them home.

Adrianna? Mr. Bykov spoke softer. Tell me what is troubling you.

Honestly, it’s nothing. I smiled, that polite-professional smile and turned on the water and rinsed out the shampoo.

He closed his eyes. Who sent the flowers?

A client. I turned the water off, reached for the conditioner, and finger-combed it through his shoulder-length hair.

Is it your birthday?

No. I turned on the water again and rinsed, maybe a little more vigorous than necessary but seriously, the guy had been coming for over a year and our conversations have included nothing personal, but now he wants to talk about my skeevy client? Gah. I wrung the water from his hair and towel dried it.

He gripped the towel and rubbed it across his head, far more aggressively than I would’ve dared. He opened one eye and searched for me. There may have been some censure in that eye. He handed me the towel and shook his head. His hair, now dark brown, tumbled down around his shoulders. He stood and followed me to my station sitting down and frowning at my reflection in the mirror.

I combed his hair like I’d done before and focused on trimming the ends.

If someone is bothering you, I would be happy to speak to him. His growly voice rumbled in my ears.

I liked the image of Thor bringing his hammer down on Herndon. A twinge of guilt scratched at my conscience. Herndon hadn’t done anything other than make my skin crawl. I met Mr. Bykov’s stare in the mirror. That is very kind of you to offer and I’m sure you do a fine job of persuading people. I leaned closer. Honestly, it’s just I don’t particularly care for a client, and I really don’t like him being the last client of the evening. I’m sure if I didn’t find him quite so repulsive, I wouldn’t mind his attentions. I kept my tone light-hearted and added the you-know-how-guys-are shrug.

I see. He didn’t sound like he understood. He sounded pissed.

My heart skipped a beat, then a second one. I combed through his hair again, ensuring the ends were perfect. Could there really be a man that understood sometimes flirtatious behavior felt threatening?

I dried his hair and brushed all the small hairs from his neck and collar. I hated that it would be three months until he came back.

He paid at the reception desk. He studied Herndon’s card, which Marlo had left conspicuously next to the flowers. He narrowed his eyes and turned to face me. Don’t forget my offer. One eyebrow rose and I swear he telegraphed he’d take on the District Attorney.

Thirty minutes with Thor gave me new fantasies for months. Thor banishing bad behavior, protecting woman against inappropriate asshats and leering lechers.

I fanned myself and offered a weak smile. Thank you. See you in January.

He nodded once and exited.

He tipped you twenty bucks, Haley, our receptionist, whispered. He’s scary hot. Like scary but hot. Her head whipped toward the sound of the door chimes and she welcomed in my next customer.

Two perms, and a dye later I found myself repeating the mantra: I’m a stylist not a stripper.

Herndon’s reptilian gaze slithered down my body. I suppressed an eye roll and gag and pulled the black barber’s cape from the cabinet. Miranda Lambert crooned on the speakers overhead advising me to fix my makeup and hide my crazy. Kendra, my bff and coworker was MIA fetching Starbucks, and everyone else had gone home.

I fluffed the barber’s cape across Mr. Herndon minimizing any physical contact. The scent of his cologne, a mixture of yak pee and wet leather, wafted toward me as the cape settled. My eyes watered, and my fingers fumbled with the snap at the back of the cape. He adjusted his butt in the chair, his head tilted and grazed the side of my breast.

My fingers twitched with the urge to slap him. Instead I reclined the back of the chair, surprising him, but his reflexes prevented his head from hitting the sink. He settled back, his lips stretched to display whiter-than-Kleenex teeth, his best feature. It kept my eyes off his non-existent chin.

He had one positive quality. He tipped like a death-row inmate getting his last private lap dance. He was a pig, but I certainly wasn’t a pearl, and I had bills. And common sense. Unlike the snake nested in my chair, wearing a week’s salary camouflaged as an ugly silk tie. My desperate-to-pay-bills reality trumped my pride and I’d continue to cut and style the lizard until I could afford not to.

He’d offered to be my sugar daddy once. Well, not quite in those words, but I didn’t need a college degree to understand. The thought of him touching me made my girly parts shrivel. To have no bills would be heavenly, but between the Catholic guilt and the bleach bath I’d have to take afterwards, I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to consider faking it for cash.

I wished Kendra’s craving for a venti caramel macchiato hadn’t coincided with Haley’s departure and Herndon’s arrival.

Leaving me alone with the slug.

Making me wish I had salt.

Adrianna, thank you for seeing me so late. Let me make it up to you. I’d love to feed you. We could start with dinner, he said to my breasts.

No thank you, Mr. Herndon. I aimed the sprayer in his ear, making him shut his mouth. My fingers shampooed his scalp. I checked outside, wishing I had the power to make Kendra appear. Twilight turned the shadows gray, but there was a pretty pink hue reflected in the store windows across the street.

I’d settled the lecher at our vanity-for-the-vain. The shampoo station featured a marble sink and massage chair, but more importantly, was situated next to the plate glass window in front. Because why spend two grand on a shampoo station and hide it?

Mercury street lamps bathed the sidewalk of the massive apartment building across the street. A businessman, armored in Armani, studied his phone. The man looked at me, as if he felt my gaze, and I recognized Thor. What was he doing across the street? Sweet Mary, madre de dios, why couldn’t he ask me to dinner?

You have such great hands. Herndon’s tone, low, insincere, practiced, and unpalatable pulled my attention back to the swine in my chair. Have you considered offering personal massages?

Never. I turned the water to frigid and rinsed Herndon’s hair. Keep it up buddy, and I’ll go shiatsu on your ass. Across the street, Thor stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching us. Was he here for me? I couldn’t see his expression, just the large frame of his body. He leaned forward, his head cocked to one side, as if he was saying, I’ve got your back.

The simple gesture sent a spark, warmed my tired muscles, and eased the tension of being stuck alone with Herndon. I nodded back to my guardian angel thanking him for his presence.

I leaned over to turn off the water. Herndon shifted, the fabric of my shirt fell against his face.

He inhaled, his nose and cheek rested against my breast.

My body recoiled, and I tasted the bitter remnants of lunch. I snatched a towel and tossed it at him.

C’mon, he whined attempting to mimic Barry White but sounding like Betty. He sat up and scrubbed the brown shag on his head. You have to eat. I’d love to treat you to something special.

No. Really. Short concise words should work, right?

He slid forward on the seat and grabbed my waist. The pressure of his hands on my body slowed time. Old memories stumbled against my need for distance.

He’s touching me.

His hands are touching me.

Herndon’s glassy eyes glued to my breasts. I stepped back, halted by his fingers pulling at my shirt. He pushed his nose against my belly and inhaled.

My skin shuddered. Cold spiked down my spine.

Stop it. My tone wavered between fear and bitch-gonna-castrate-you. I side-stepped away, feeling his fingernails dig into my skin and scratch, and lunged for the scissors at Kendra’s station. I waved my weapon, ready to go full out Housewives-of-Hell on him. Get. Out. The words snapped, harsh, staccato, sounding just like my father.

He put up his hands; a weak defensive posture.

Just like my mother.

Now, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to upset you, he said.

You need to leave. Now. The words were devoid of emotion, but inside my skin the anger and fear swirled, the cyclone making each breath harder.

He stood, his smarmy grin replaced with malice.

The bell over the door chimed. I’m back, Kendra called out.

And you’re leaving, I said to Herndon, a tremor of relief skittered down my spine.

If that’s what you want. He removed the cape and threw it onto the chair with his towel.

Don’t come back. My whispered words held no heat, he’d sucked that out of me.

He smirked. I’ll see you around, then. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on top of the cape.

Kendra stood at the door, slack-jawed. Her perfectly manicured hand held the coffee cup away from her off-white Kate Spade knock-off dress. She stepped clear of the door.

Herndon shuffled passed.

She rushed over, and her coffee puddled on the lid. What happened?

My hand wrapped around the scissors refused to release. I uncurled my fist, set the scissors down and massaged the blood back into my fingers. I methodically cleaned the station. The routine normal, and I needed normal.

Kendra waited, her face clouded, ready to erupt in whatever emotion needed expressing. My eyes flicked to the scene outside.

Where was Thor? Had he seen what happened and ignored me?

Herndon grabbed me, I said. He might’ve been drunk, I don’t know, but he grabbed me and when I told him to leave, he… Had I over-reacted? No. He had this look. I shivered. It was evil.

God, he’s creepy. I shouldn’t have gone. Kendra walked to the front door and locked it.

Will Marlo freak? I asked, not bothering to hide the worry in my voice. The salon owner liked having wealthy clients. Like they might forget she had an esthetician certificate from Golden Gate College instead of an MBA from Berkeley and invite her to brunch.

He crossed the line this time, but maybe not say anything until she brings it up? Kendra picked up his money and charged him for his usual haircut, handing me the change. Seventy-six dollars for feeling me up. It wasn’t worth it.

I started the laundry, and we cleaned the floors, waiting for the wash cycle to end so we could put the wet towels in the dryer and leave. Kendra, as the stylist of the month, parked in the reserved spot behind the salon. I parked a block away but chose wisely on a well-lit street. And things didn’t get freaky in this San Francisco neighborhood until after ten.

Kendra honked twice as she turned the corner. Cars drove past so close to the sidewalk my skirt flapped against my legs. Steps followed mine, a soft scuff in time with the click of my heels. Edgy, I turned expecting a couple walking home from dinner, but there was nobody. My heart skipped, and then raced. My car sat another half-block away, waiting under a street light, but it looked like a mile.

I reached into my purse, pulled out my keychain, and flicked the safety on the pepper spray. Forty feet and I could dive into the safety of my piece of crap car. I stepped off the curb, crossed the alley picking up my pace. My skin prickled in the chilled October air.

A hand gripped my upper arm, yanked hard, and slammed my body against the brick wall. My head hit. Confused, I swallowed a gulp of air. His pungent cologne publicized his presence.

Herndon.

Chapter Two

Herndon’s fingers bit into the skin of my arm. The unbreakable shackle forced me farther down the narrow alley. My feet scrabbled against the ground. I needed leverage.

He shook me.

My head smacked the bricks. Brutal pain silenced my screams.

Each impact punctuated with a word. You. Stupid. Bitch. His face gnarled in anger, lips curled, nose flared, eyes vicious.

My stomach curdled in horror. I fought fear. I fought his tightening grip. I fought my past.

I’m tired of you teasing me. He yanked my arm again, throwing me off balance.

I struggled to keep my feet under me. I would not fall onto my knees.

He dragged me deeper into the alley.

I dug my feet into the pavement, but my foot slid on slime. I fell against him. The pepper spray clutched in my hand was a splash of bright pink against his dark jacket. My finger found the button. I aimed high.

His hand knocked it away and swung, connecting with my cheek.

Fire exploded in my mouth. White spots danced with black in front of me, and I fought to stay conscious. The taste of blood fueled my rage. My knee flew up. A slice of pain radiated from my knee to my toes.

He howled. His fingers tore at my hair.

I jerked and twisted. Strands ripped, hot and cold prickled my scalp. My knees buckled.

He fell on me. His full weight.

My lungs held on to precious air. A hysterical thought bubbled up, for such a skinny guy he weighed more than expected.

His hands wrapped around my throat. Could have been fun for you.

Lights loomed behind my eyelids. My eyes snapped open. Herndon’s fingers loosened and air, beautiful air, still stinking with his scent, filled my lungs.

He stood, reeled his leg back and then slammed his size nine Gucci loafer into my ribs. White hot pain seared from my chest to my toes.

Large tattooed hands tossed Herndon aside. They returned and cupped my chin. The gentle action eased a breath, and then another. Take slow breaths. A gruff command twisted with concern. A fierce face hovered. Angry eyes glowered above sharp cheekbones and lips curled, more feral than man. Thor! He stalked toward Herndon. His fists blurred.

Herndon’s body slapped against the brick wall; his yelp sharp and piercing. Two punches fired at Herndon’s gut. Air whooshed out of him, the sound louder than the ringing in my ears. Herndon slumped against the wall, and the crack of knuckles against his jaw resounded. The hollow thunk of his head against the asphalt ricocheted down the alley. Herndon crumpled, pooling at the feet of my savior.

Alexei Bykov in Armani armor. My guardian angel.

Pain blurred my vision, and I closed my eyes. I fought the rising nausea, and breathed in slow breaths that smelled like asphalt, and garbage, and Herndon. Darkness pushed against me, pushed away the pain and nausea and I let it in.

I awoke inside a strange car. A wool jacket surrounded me in warmth. Panic flooded my body, and I curled up tight, ignoring the pain in favor of presenting a smaller target.

You’re safe. The worst is over, Bykov’s warm tone was subdued, and I believed him.

My throat burned, and my scream fizzled into a whisper. My fight left. My body, weak from violence and fear, shut down. My purse sat beside me with my driver’s license on top, my picture winking at me with the vibration of the moving car. I couldn’t manage anger or fear.

Where are you taking me? The words scraped my throat.

Home. He glanced my way, quick, assessing. Unless you want me to take you to the hospital.

I jerked my head to say no, but my neck muscles fought movement. No.

I am sorry you are hurt. I should have been there sooner.

The words made no sense.

His jaw clenched like he was chewing on words rather than saying them. Do you live with someone? You shouldn’t be alone tonight.

Thor knew concussion protocol. That was nice. I swallowed. Yes. How long was I unconscious?

His hands rested on the wheel, tattoos dancing under the lights of the streetlamps. A minute, no more.

Thank you for saving me.

He grunted, a begrudging acceptance.

I looked out the window, bright lights aggravated my dull headache. A small drummer set up a steady bass beat in my ears, reverberating in my head, and vibrating in my fingers and toes.

He pulled into my neighborhood. I relaxed my legs and my body unfolded. The scents of leather and sandalwood tickled my brain. My feet touched the soft carpet of the floor mats, and I flinched, setting off a thousand bees stinging.

What is it? He faced me, worry laced his tone.

I lost my shoe. Crap. And my keys

I’ll get them. Don’t concern yourself.

Why would he do that? Thoughts plodded through my brain searching for the reason until it clicked. I should call the police.

He chuffed, like a bull chiding a matador. Do you think they’d believe you? Herndon is the District Attorney. He’d say you set him up.

But… There are probably cameras…

Cameras that caught Herndon attacking me. And Thor attacking Herndon.

His eyebrow rose, an unspoken retort about my naiveté and the unfairness of life. There are none. It is why he chose that place. Do you think you are the first? Do you think, after his friends at the police have finished with you, the truth will matter? His matter-of-fact delivery didn’t correlate with the heated fury in his eyes. Let me handle this. Say nothing to the police.

Reality was cold, and it left me frozen, my teeth chattering. Herndon was the DA. Untouchable.

And knocked out in an alley. Maybe dead.

Did I care?

Trust me.

Is he dead? I whispered.

Would it bother you if he was? His tone told me he knew my answer was no. His gaze confirmed it.

I clutched his jacket closer, wrinkling the fine fabric. I mustered a look I reserved for rude salesclerks.

He sighed. He’s alive. For now. The icy threat clung in the air. It would be better if you forgot everything that happened this night. He parked in front of my house. Say nothing to the police. Yes?

Okay. I practically swallowed the word, it felt wrong to say it. I pushed his jacket off and picked up my purse. Thank you. Again. I forced a smile past the aches, past the exhaustion, past the dread, all the way to my face. I wanted to ask him why he was there but changed my mind. Like he said, it was better to forget.

Goodbye. His final word to me, said like a lover leaving forever.

I walked toward my house, my knees stung with each step. I survived.

I pulled the spare key hidden in the wind chime and unlocked the door. Elena, my sister, wasn’t home, and I appreciated the reprieve of explaining my appearance. I hadn’t been hit in four years, but the instinct to hide and cower still overwhelmed me. In the shower, with the water set to scald, I washed the night away. My softest pajamas comforted me, and I curled up in bed with an ice pack on my face. But Herndon was there, too—crazy and wild-eyed—until silenced by my angel.

Chapter Three

Panic crushed me in the darkness, hands at my neck and abrasive asphalt biting my back. The night splintered, dark pierced by light, an intimidating figure hovered above. Sandalwood scents and swirling tattoos transported me to safety. My eyes flew open, my heart stuttering in my chest, and the dull ache at my throat flared against an involuntary swallow for air. I wiped my damp hands against the bedsheets, balling them up, spreading them out, and clinging to the reality the dream was over. I was safe. My body vibrated with anxiety. I exhaled and slowly released the tension in my shoulders. 

Morning light invaded my room. I needed coffee.

I crept past Elena’s bedroom and into the kitchen, tightening my robe against the chill of the morning. My morning ritual of making coffee whisked away the lingering memories of my dream leaving me with the unsettling reality that last night happened. Herndon had attacked and been attacked. And now, I’d wait for the consequences. Would Herndon be like my father and retaliate with his fists or would he avoid me? Forgetting was impossible. Glancing out the kitchen window I saw my car parked over the oil spot on the driveway. My guardian angel delivered my car, and hopefully my shoe, removing any evidence I was in the alley.

My slippers crunched on the frost-covered driveway, and my breath swirled around me, a ghostly reminder I was alive. The car door was unlocked. I slid