Smoke Signals Read online

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

  Smoke Signals

  Copyright © 2015 by Catherine Gayle

  Cover Design by Kim Killion, The Killion Group

  Published by Night Shift Publishing at Smashwords

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  For more information: [email protected]

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About this Book

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Roster

  Other Catherine Gayle Titles

  About the Author

  This one is for all of you who begged me to give Razor a book and who were crushed when he got traded from the Storm, especially Monica and Heather. I admit it. I was wrong.

  Razor is totally, one hundred percent hero material.

  A special thank you to Gennifer Reiter and Heather Harrison for all your help in sorting out green cards, visas, deportation issues, and the red tape involved.

  Desperation changes a person. Leads them to do things they never would have dreamed.

  Thanks to his mother, Ray “Razor” Chambers knows what desperation can lead a person to do. But as a defenseman for the Tulsa Thunderbirds, those days are long in the past for both of them. His best buddy is about to get hitched in Vegas when a woman whose eyes are filled with an all-too-familiar haunted look approaches Razor. She makes him a proposition, and he knows he’s witnessing yet another act borne of desperation.

  Viktoriya Dubrovskaya knows all about desperation, too. She came to America to study ballet and escape a fate no one should have to bear. She can never go home again. She’s broke and broken, not to mention in survival mode. Viktoriya turned to the only help offered, but in the end it stripped her of everything she was and all she wanted. Now she’s out of time, money, and options…until she sees Razor.

  There’s no chance he’ll take her up on what she’s offering, but he suggests a counter-proposal—one involving a ring, a green card, and the chance to reclaim her body. It’s an opportunity she can’t pass up, but for Viktoriya and Razor, learning to live together as husband and wife is as foreign as interpreting Smoke Signals. And where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.

  CONTENT WARNING: contains graphic and potentially disturbing descriptions of abuse, both physical and sexual.

  SMOKE SIGNALS is Book 2 in the Tulsa Thunderbirds hockey romance series, a spin-off from USA Today bestselling author Catherine Gayle’s Portland Storm.

  BURY THE HATCHET

  SMOKE SIGNALS

  GHOST DANCE

  RITES OF PASSAGE

  Look for Book 3, GHOST DANCE, to release on May 19, 2016. Book 4, RITES OF PASSAGE, will release on November 10, 2016.

  Want to join in the Tulsa Thunderbirds discussion? Join the Facebook reader group.

  If you enjoy this book and want to try more of the same, be sure to look for the Portland Storm books.

  BREAKAWAY

  ON THE FLY

  TAKING A SHOT

  LIGHT THE LAMP

  DELAY OF GAME

  DOUBLE MAJOR

  IN THE ZONE

  HOLIDAY HAT TRICK

  COMEBACK

  DROPPING GLOVES

  HOME ICE

  MISTLETOE MISCONDUCT will release as part of a charity anthology on November 17, 2015. LOSING AN EDGE will release on February 25, 2016. GAME BREAKER will release on August 11, 2016.

  Also, join Catherine Gayle’s mailing list to receive ICE BREAKER, a Portland Storm short story prequel that you can’t get anywhere else.

  If you prefer to buy boxed sets, there are a couple currently available.

  PORTLAND STORM: THE FIRST PERIOD

  PORTLAND STORM: THE SECOND PERIOD

  There is also a reader group on Facebook for the Portland Storm series.

  I’D ONLY BEEN on the casino floor for ten minutes when I found him.

  He stood at a high-roller craps table with three other men. All four of them were big. Good-looking, dressed in expensive clothes. Each man had a drink in his hand. They were laughing, talking, gambling…

  All but him.

  He was watching me. That was how I knew he was the one.

  He said something to the other men occasionally, and he laughed when they did, but his eyes followed my every move as I made my way around the room. Did he recognize me? That was a definite possibility. I’d been in several high-profile films lately, so more and more men knew my face. Technically they probably knew my tits or my ass, but that was beside the point.

  My growing notoriety had been the issue, actually. It was the reason I was here now. And it might very well solve my most immediate problem, if my instincts were correct.

  Whether this man recognized me or not, he hadn’t taken his gaze off me at all as I’d circled the floor, debating my options. Not that there’d been much to debate. Most of the men in the room were gathered around lower-limit tables, keeping close tabs on their chips and their wallets. A few had looked up at me and winked when I’d given them seductive smiles. None but him had maintained eye contact. They’d gone back to their games, pushing me from their minds.

  All except for him.

  When I’d first seen him, I’d caught his gaze and licked my lips before biting the lower one. That was my signature move, the one they had asked of me in every film I’d made over the last three years. My agent had insisted upon it being one of my biggest selling points, and the directors always said it made me look innocently arousing.

  Whatever I could do to make myself appear more desirable, I would do. I had to.

  I was out of options.

  This man had raised a brow in response, so I’d crooked a finger at him, beckoning him toward me. But then he’d shrugged apologetically, waving a hand to indicate his friends. I’d shrugged, too, before continuing my canvass of the casino.

  But now I’d made my way through the whole place, and no one else had seemed a likely target. He was still watching me, very much interested, as I slid up to his side, tucking my bag securely under one arm.

  The dealer sorted the chips into the appropriate places based on the previous roll of the dice.

  “Hi,” my target said next to my ear. His deep voice rumbled through me, despite its quiet nature.

  I flickered my gaze up to him, startled by the clear blue of his eyes. I’d never seen a blue quite like this in a human, light and clear as ice. They pierced me, a sharp contrast to his dark, sleek hair.

  Up close, I could see his nose was slightly bent, like it had been broken at some point, and h
e had a scar on his left cheek, a faint pink jagged line. Those two imperfections kept him from being too perfect, too good-looking, but just barely. He was even bigger than I’d originally thought, now that I was right up next to him. Even his forearms bore lined muscles, and a tattoo peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his designer shirt.

  My heart thumped so hard I was sure he could hear it. Nerves. I always had an attack of nerves when it was time to perform, regardless of what type of performance it might be.

  I’d expected him to reek of expensive cologne, but he didn’t. He smelled clean and fresh, and good enough to eat. That was another point in his favor. Another sign that he was the one.

  My mouth went dry, and goose bumps popped up all along my arms. I couldn’t lose my courage now. It was just sex. Sex was nothing. Sex was my job, more so now than ever. I wet my lips again, fully aware of his gaze following the path of my tongue. “Hello,” I murmured.

  His friends passed more chips around the table, placing the bets they were bound to lose. I was betting on the fact that my quarry and I would be leaving the table before I needed to place a monetary bet, and I had every intention of winning mine.

  This was all I had left.

  The corners of his lips curled up in the hint of a smile. “You look familiar to me.”

  “Do I?” I batted my lashes, feigning innocence.

  “I’d remember your voice, though. That accent. Not a chance I’d forget you.”

  The accent was proving to work in my favor, much as I’d expected. That was one of the many reasons my agent, Rick, had been so eager to work with me, the reason he’d first sought me out. A fucking Russian ballerina with legs for miles? he’d said. Keep using that pretty little mouth like that, and you’ll have all the work you can handle and then some. I wasn’t sure, at the time, if he’d been talking about my thick Russian accent or the blowjob I was giving him so he could “sample the product.” Actually, I still wasn’t certain now. Either way, he’d held up his end of the bargain for as long as I’d been able to keep working in the porn industry. I couldn’t anymore, though. Once the directors of my dance school had learned how I’d been spending my weekends, I’d been kicked out of the program—and I’d lost my student visa in the process.

  No visa meant I had to leave the country if I couldn’t figure out another way to stay. I couldn’t get a green card, and without that, no more porn jobs. At first, Rick had worked out deals for the filmmakers to pay me under the table. But now that my school had reported that I wasn’t eligible for a visa anymore, the porn guys weren’t willing to take a chance on keeping up our deal. They were sticklers for following the rules in that industry. Regular STD testing. Proper record keeping. Everything was above board.

  Maybe not everything, but many things. Most things. The things people outside the industry knew about. Certain other aspects of that business were kept quiet, like my under-the-table pay. I’d earned less than the other girls, but it had allowed me to stay in the country after my father had died and there had been no more money coming from Russia.

  I was trying to stay on the right side of the law now, at least as much as possible. If I ended up in jail, they’d have no problem deporting me right away, and I couldn’t go back.

  That was why I’d come to Las Vegas. Prostitution was legal in Nevada, and I’d already been selling sex for so long it no longer made me blanch at the thought. Selling my body wouldn’t help me get my visa reinstated, but it could at least help me earn enough money to eat and sleep somewhere while I figured out what to do.

  Fifteen days, they’d told me. I only had fifteen days to find a way I could stay in the US before they’d force me to fly back to St. Petersburg.

  There was nothing for me there. I couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant losing the last pieces of myself to stay here. Selling sex was far better than what would be in store for me if I ever stepped foot in that country again.

  No matter how nervous I might be about what I was attempting to do, I refused to back down. There was no Plan B. I had to move forward.

  “I give you better reason to remember me,” I said slowly. Deliberately. I held his gaze, stomach churning, while I waited for him to take my bait.

  The craps dealer tried to get my mark’s attention, indicating he needed to place his bet.

  My target held my gaze, though, his eyes narrowed, studying me. Then he faced the dealer and shook his head. “I’m done, boys. Calling it a night. Here.” He shoved a pile of chips over to the man to his left. “Finish this off for me, Babs. I’ll see you all bright and early in the morning.”

  “Not too fucking early,” one of the other men said.

  “Too early for you,” the third added with a smirk.

  “Everything’s too early for Koz,” the one called Babs said. The other guys laughed and nodded their agreement. Then he turned to my guy, checking me out briefly before giving him a questioning look. “You know what you’re doing?”

  He chuckled and said something quietly to Babs, his voice muffled so I couldn’t make it out.

  “All right. Just don’t be late tomorrow. You’ve got the rings, and Katie won’t hesitate to kill you if you fuck up her wedding. She might even make me help.”

  “Katie loves me. She won’t kill me.” He put an arm around my waist, drawing me to his side. I kept my bag firmly against my body, not taking any chances with it. I’d noted the muscle in his arms, but feeling them up close and in person was something else entirely. It made my stomach lurch. Maybe I hadn’t thought this through well enough, after all. Maybe there was some other way…

  “Maybe she won’t, but Webs will,” the guy they called Koz said, waggling his brows.

  The four men traded a few more barbs, but then my guy backed away, tugging me with him. Once we were in the hotel lobby and we could hear each other better, he dropped his voice from the jocular tone he’d used with his friends. “So what’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Viktoriya,” I said. I didn’t see any need to mention my surname, Dubrovskaya. I’d never used it in my work. It had only been relevant to my future in ballet, which was now nonexistent unless I stumbled into a miracle. When I’d started stripping, they had suggested I just go by my given name since the spelling was unique enough to be memorable in the States. Then when Rick found me, he’d said I should keep it, that I could be the Cher or Prince of the porn industry. Everyone would know me by my name and my accent, not to mention my signature lip-wetting and lip-biting move, and that would be enough.

  The muscled man at my side let out a humming sound. He nodded for a hotel worker to call the elevator before looking down at me. “Viktoriya, huh? Pretty name. I’m Ray Chambers. No one but my mom calls me Ray, though. Everyone calls me Razor.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Razor led me onto it and pressed the button for the level just under the penthouse. Once the doors closed and we were alone, he moved in front of me, his body crowding mine back into the corner.

  I was used to having men in my space, though. This was nothing new. I refused to let it faze me.

  His eyes bored into mine, locking on to me like laser beams, with the sort of utter confidence men like him tended to carry. “So what do you want, Viktoriya? You looking for a good, hard fuck?”

  I bit down on my tongue, taking my time before answering so I could be sure I didn’t say what I was really thinking. I pasted a provocative smile on my lips, keeping my eyes flirty and playful. “You fuck me, hard as you want…for price.”

  He didn’t respond, though. He just kept staring at me. Through me. One thing was for sure—this man was intense.

  My heart felt as if it would pound through my skin. I was about to laugh it off and tell him to never mind, it was a joke, I didn’t mean the part about him having to pay me but he could still fuck me if he wanted, when the elevator doors opened.

  Razor took my hand and led me out into the hall. We walked to the end, and he stopped before reaching the door, edging me against the wall. I
jerked my bag to my side. He leaned in toward me, one hand on either side of my head so I had no choice but to focus on him and only him.

  “You know prostitution is illegal in Las Vegas, don’t you, beautiful?” he finally said.

  “No. Not illegal.” I shook my head. It couldn’t be. Rick had specifically told me that I could sell my body in Nevada if I wanted to, that I wouldn’t get busted by any cops for it. It would be safe for me to do here, that I’d only have to worry about STDs and pregnancy and crazy fuckers who might want something I wasn’t on board with. For the right price, I’d be on board with just about anything. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already experienced most of it already, anyway, and that had been on camera.

  “It is,” Razor said slowly. “It’s legal in the state, but not in every city in the state—and it’s illegal in Vegas.”

  There was only one reason I could come up with for him telling me this. I bit down on my lip. “You’re policeman?”

  “I’m not a fucking cop.”

  “Then what you want?” Why was he doing this? Why wasn’t he taking me into his room and fucking me so I could take his money and go?

  He didn’t answer. He just stared at me so hard I wished I could melt into the floor and disappear.

  I couldn’t take this. If he wasn’t going to buy what I was selling, I needed to move on. Find someone else. I needed to make some quick money so I could buy myself some time before they deported me, and I didn’t know how long I would have. The administrators at school had told me I had fifteen days, but that wasn’t long, and three of those days had already passed. I needed money, and I needed it now, and I clearly wasn’t getting it from this Razor.

  I tried to duck under his arm, but he reached down and took me by the elbow, stopping my progress.

  “What you want?” I repeated, aggravated and embarrassed, and wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there.