Vladimir

  Las Vegas Sidewinders: Vladimir

  Kat Mizera

  Copyright © 2018 by Kat Mizera

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Other Books by Kat Mizera

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from “Salvation’s Inferno”

  Other Books by Kat Mizera

  Las Vegas Sidewinders Series:

  Dominic (Book 1)

  Cody’s Christmas Surprise: A Las Vegas Sidewinders Novella (Book 2)

  Drake (Book 3)

  Karl (Book 4)

  Anatoli (Book 5)

  Zakk (Book 6)

  Toli & Tessa (Book 7)

  Brock (Book 8)

  Vladimir (Book 9)

  Inferno Series:

  Inferno (Short Story Prequel)

  Salvation’s Inferno

  Temptations Inferno

  Redemption’s Inferno

  Romancing Europe:

  Adonis in Athens

  Secrets in Santorini (Coming 2018)

  Stand Alone:

  Tropical Ice (Part of the Barefoot Bay Kindle World)

  Acknowledgments

  There are always too many people to thank, but I do my best to remember you all!

  My P.A. Lisa—nothing gets done without you—you know I love you, girl!

  Lots of love to my cover designer, Dar Albert and Wicked Smart Designs.

  Special thanks to my kick-ass editor Tera Cuskaden, proofreaders Amy Campbell, Patti Correa and Jackie Forquer, and my Beta Bitches.

  To all my readers—I love you guys!

  Prologue

  September

  Vladimir Kolnikov sat in his Corvette in the nearly empty parking lot for a long time. Just a few feet away was the private entrance to the hotel where his friends, teammates, and the woman he loved waited for him to arrive. He was getting married in less than an hour, but instead of heading inside to change into his tuxedo, he was sitting here sweating. Thinking. Panicking.

  His heart had started to race late last night when he’d woken up in a cold sweat. He’d told himself it was normal to be nervous, to be a little unsure about doing something so monumental. So permanent. For a guy like him, who came from nothing, he had no idea what he was doing here or how he’d even gotten to this point.

  Just a few feet away was the doorway leading to everything he’d always wanted and the most incredible woman he’d ever known, but somehow, he couldn’t make himself get out of the car. He wanted to. He wanted her; he was just mentally, emotionally, and physically paralyzed with fear. He had so many questions and there was no more time to find the answers. Mostly, he wanted someone to tell him how he’d gotten here. How had a guy who’d been left inside a church in Moscow when he was a week old and raised in an orphanage become a star in the National Hockey League and gotten engaged to one of Hollywood’s top television stars?

  He felt like a fraud, sitting here in the sweltering September heat, wondering if he was worthy. His life growing up had been hard until he’d found hockey, but he’d put everything he had into it to give himself a future and if he ran, he would throw it all away like an idiot.

  Putting his hand on the door handle, he pulled it and the door swung open. He forced one leg onto the ground but the other refused to move, another round of sweat pouring off him.

  I’m sorry, Rachel, he thought miserably, pulling his leg back into the car and shutting the door. He put the keys back in the ignition and turned it on, grateful for the air conditioning that immediately began to cool his damp skin. The urge to flee was impossible to ignore, and the insane beating of his heart told him he was having a legitimate anxiety attack. It had been years since he’d had one, but he recognized the symptoms and tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. He didn’t want to start hyperventilating, but that’s where this was headed. If he hadn’t been so focused on getting through it, he might have screamed in frustration.

  Pushing back on his whirling thoughts and the nausea coursing through him, he managed to pull his phone out of his pocket. There were dozens of messages from his friends, wondering where the hell he was, but there was no reasonable way to respond to any of them.

  “Fuck!” He shouted the word even though there was no one to hear him, and he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Why was this happening? He didn’t want to do this to Rachel, but he had to. Forces he couldn’t explain were pulling him away. He didn’t know where he was going or why, but he couldn’t do this today. Not like this. Something was off, and it wasn’t fair to Rachel to start their life together this way.

  With shaking fingers, he sent her a text:

  I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I love you, but I’m not ready to be the man you deserve. I have to know who I am and where I came from before I can be your husband and partner. Please forgive me. Always, Vlad.

  He put the Corvette in gear and peeled out of the parking lot, heading for home. His time was limited; he had to pack a bag and get out of there before his friends came looking for him. Rachel was receiving the message right about now and then everyone would start calling. The guys would regroup and either Brock or Toli would come after him. Handling Toli would be easy, but Brock would be harder; he was married to Rachel’s best friend, Ashleigh, and the four of them were practically inseparable. Brock was Vlad’s best friend, but he wouldn’t understand leaving Rachel at the altar. No, that would be a confrontation with no good outcome. He had a ten-minute head start, if that, which meant he had about five minutes to throw a few things in a bag and get the hell out of Las Vegas.

  The Sidewinders wedding jinx had struck again. Rachel Kennedy wasn’t the least bit superstitious, but every old wives’ tale and strange tradition she’d ever heard whirred through her mind as she watched her life unraveling before her eyes. Vlad’s best friend and best man, Brock Lassiter, was standing at the front of the room with a microphone explaining why there wasn’t going to be a wedding today. Except she was the bride and she didn’t even know why. How did Brock know when she didn’t? She wanted to stalk down the aisle and demand answers, but that probably wouldn’t end well for her; there were a lot of people out there.

  To say the chapel was full might have been an understatement. There were approximately four hundred and thirty-seven guests gathered on both sides of the aisle, and from the anteroom in the back, Rachel watched in detached fascination as Brock did his best to make an awkward, confusing announcement. The Sidewinders organization was a close-knit group in general, and it had felt good to have a relationship with th
e people closest to him. Until today, when her cheeks burned with shame as Brock stumbled through explanations that made no sense.

  “So if everyone could please respect Rachel and Vlad’s privacy right now, we’d really appreciate it. Gifts will be returned as soon as we’re able to sort through everything and, uh, if you have any questions, please come to me or Toli.” Anatoli Petrov was the only other Russian player on the team, another one of Vlad’s closest friends, and he was standing beside Brock, nodding.

  The room erupted in quiet murmurs and several flashbulbs went off as members of the media recorded Brock’s speech and took pictures. Most people looked sad and confused, though a few were laughing and carrying on as if it had nothing to do with them. Technically, it didn’t, so that made sense, but it hurt nonetheless.

  Watching from her somewhat hidden vantage point, Rachel and Ashleigh quickly closed the door once Brock’s speech was done.

  “You’re really pale,” Ashleigh said softly, pushing Rachel into the nearest chair. “What can I do?”

  Rachel was shaking her head. “Do you know where I threw my phone after I read that lame-ass message from him? I fucking need to talk to him.”

  Ashleigh rummaged through a bag on the sofa and handed it to her.

  Rachel took it from her with shaking hands and called Vlad. It went straight to voicemail and she closed her eyes, the first wave of pain washing over her. How could he do this to her? Even though something had happened to make him change his mind, couldn’t he have cancelled this morning, before all the guests had arrived? What was wrong with him? Deciding not to marry her was one thing; publicly humiliating her was something else entirely.

  “I have to get out of here,” Rachel whispered, her voice shaky and weak. “Can you find a way to make that happen?”

  Ashleigh hesitated. “Rach, the press is going to find you…”

  “I know, but I need to go somewhere to fall apart first. Once I’ve gotten it out of my system, I’ll handle the press, the Sidewinders, and even Vlad when the time comes. Right now, I have to run, have to have my meltdown in private. Please.”

  “I’ll get Brock,” Ashleigh whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

  1

  Eight months ago

  Vlad turned twenty-three as the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Day, officially ringing in the new year and making him another year older. He looked down at the blonde on her knees in front of him and couldn’t think of a better way to start it. Except, all he felt when he looked at her was apathy; he really just wanted her to leave. He’d spent the last three New Year’s Eves partying like this, renting a fancy hotel room and inviting as many beautiful women as he could find to join him. Usually it was great. He got drunk, he got laid, and he woke up in the morning ready to start another year of his amazing life here in Las Vegas.

  The problem was he wasn’t having fun tonight. He’d started the evening with a few guys he played hockey with, his teammates from the Sidewinders, and they found a handful of women who wanted to party. About an hour ago they’d all paired off—well, Matt Forbes left with one, Brock Lassiter took off with two—and Vlad was left with the blonde currently trying to suck him off and failing miserably. Her bright red lipstick looked garish wrapped around his cock, and closer inspection revealed an inch of black roots on the top of her head.

  Taking a deep breath, he reached down and touched her shoulder. “Hey, I am almost passing out,” he said in halting English. He was trying to speak better, but he didn’t have a lot of time to study between playing, travel, and working out.

  “I can do it better,” she said quickly, glancing up at him.

  “No, is good,” he lied. “Is me. I have trouble when I drink too much.” That was a crock of shit—he could get a hard-on in a cold shower after a bottle of tequila—but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings any more than he had to since he was about to kick her out.

  “You sure, sugar?” She gazed up at him worriedly and he realized she had to be at least fifteen years older than he was. How had he not noticed it before? She had a nice body, but in the harsh light there was no mistaking the lines around her eyes and mouth. Christ, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel tonight and it was his birthday.

  “No worries!” He gave her a small grin as he zipped up his jeans. “You go home, I go to sleep. You need money for cab?”

  “No.” She shook her head, pursing her lips slightly. “So, you want me to leave?”

  “I go sleep now.” He winked. “Maybe another time.”

  “Okay.” She gathered her things, still looking at him strangely. “You’re awfully young for erectile dysfunction,” she said after a minute. “Maybe you should drink less.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed solemnly, ushering her towards the door.

  When he finally shut the door behind her he breathed a sigh of relief and went to lie on the bed. He was tired, but not nearly as drunk as he’d pretended to be. Brock and Matt had finished off a bottle of Jack Daniels, but Vlad had only nursed a few shots, making them last most of the night.

  Wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he sighed, going over to the large bay of windows overlooking the Strip. On paper, it appeared that he had it all; unfortunately, he wasn’t happy. He played hockey for an NHL team he loved, made millions of dollars a year, and had women falling at his feet everywhere he went. He had a few friends, though not as many as he might have liked, lived in a great condo, and drove his dream car—a royal-blue Corvette. He had nothing to complain about, but the truth was, he was lonely. Most of his friends on the Sidewinders were married, with the exception of Brock and Matt, but they were a bit older than he was and his struggle with English sometimes made it hard to bond with people.

  Coming to the NHL straight from Russia, he never had a chance to play in the AHL because he’d been too talented. So he left his country and came here to start the adventure of a lifetime, but after three and a half years, he was tired of the constant party. He spent money like it was going out of style and knew it was foolish, but after growing up in an orphanage and struggling to find his way through the ranks as a hockey player in Russia, he’d always convinced himself he deserved a few of the finer things in life.

  That was getting boring now. Just like women and partying. He wanted something more stable in his life, but nice women scared the crap out of him and it was hard to hang out with his married friends and their kids. The only other Russian on the team, Toli Petrov, had gotten married a few months ago and was expecting a baby this spring. His former drinking buddy, Zakk Cloutier, was engaged and he and his fiancée were expecting a baby any day now. Brock was a lot of fun, but the guy partied like an animal and got arrested at least once every season. Although the team had been keeping a tighter leash on Brock this year, Vlad was sometimes nervous when they partied together because he didn’t want to do anything that could possibly get him kicked out of the US and sent back to Russia.

  Glancing at his phone, he was surprised it was almost one in the morning. He wasn’t tired at all. Frustrated that he was alone and bored on his birthday, he grabbed his room key, stuck it in his wallet, and put the wallet and phone in his pocket. It might be fun to sneak down to the casino and play a few hands of blackjack before he called it a night. He wasn’t a big gambler, but it was entertaining once in a while. Maybe the fact it was his birthday would bring him luck and help him wind down.

  The casino was packed since it was New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, but Vlad had the money to buy his way into one of the private rooms in the back where the masses couldn’t go. There was an empty seat and he sank into it, ordering a shot of vodka from the waitress. He put a stack of chips in front of him and glanced to his right. The woman sitting there was twirling a drink in her hand, impatiently tapping a fingernail on the table as she waited for the dealer.

  She was beautiful, with a perfect profile and thick dark hair that loosely curled around her shoulders. She was slender, wearing a short black skirt, a sparkly silver ha
lter top, and silver high heels that made her legs look a mile long. Where the hell had she been while he’d been getting a blowjob from a woman old enough to be his mother?

  Shaking his head, he motioned for the dealer to deal him in, and he watched the cards. His first card was a jack, and he smiled. He grinned even more when the beautiful woman beside him got one, too.

  “It is a good blackjack night, I think,” he said lightly.

  “It should be!” She grinned, looking over at him. “It’s my birthday!”

  “Really?” he held out his hand. “Mine too! Happy birthday!”

  She shook his hand and laughed, her blue eyes sparkling in the bright light. “Happy birthday to you, too. What do you say we tear this table up?”

  “Yes!” Vlad nodded at the dealer who turned over the next card.

  “You got a Blackjack!” The brunette laughed in delight, reaching over to place a fat, wet kiss on his cheek as he won his first hand.

  “Look!” Vlad laughed when the next card revealed she was a winner, too.

  “Two more shots,” she called out, motioning for the waitress and putting a twenty-dollar chip on her tray. “What’ll you have?”

  “Grey Goose, chilled,” Vlad said.