And then there was Albert, the sensible one, just watching Mila navigate her way up a tree with a bird in one hand. Her boot slipped on a branch, and bark fell to the snow before she found a better footing.
I was beginning to feel itchy and uncomfortable everywhere. Yulia better not have put peppermint in my tea. She knew I was allergic and that I broke out in hives worse than a Benadryl commercial.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I dialed Albert and brought it to my ear.
“Da?”
“Get her down from there now,” I ordered in Russian.
His gaze coasted over to meet mine through the window. “I tried, boss. She won’t listen.”
“Are you telling me you can’t corral one fucking woman?”
“No. Just not this one.”
What was so fucking different about this one? My eyes drifted up the tree to watch Mila’s ascent. How high was the nest? Heaven? I gritted my teeth and asked, “Why does she look like she’s been bikini mud wrestling?”
He hesitated for a beat before admitting, “She was playing with the dogs.”
The line went intensely silent for a beat.
“Not Khaos.” It was more of a growl than a question. The dog had turned aggressive and unpredictable, and he needed to be put down.
“Nyet.”
I was glad he had a little sense.
“I told her to not touch the bird. The mother won’t come back now.”
This was why Khaos still breathed even though he’d bitten five of my men. Albert couldn’t kill a fucking insect.
“That’s a myth,” I told him impatiently.
He scratched his cheek and made a casual sound that felt anything but. “That’s exactly what she said.”
“I want her down in the next five seconds,” I snapped and hung up.
The last thing I wanted to do right now was talk Mila down from a fucking tree. She’d probably insult me before climbing higher, and if I had to touch her right now . . .
Albert argued with Mila, who was clearly vehement about her conservationist efforts. After returning the bird to its nest, she began her descent back to earth. The relief was short-lived when, from ten feet aboveground, her grasp on the branch slipped. She slid a foot down the tree before she found purchase on another branch, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she laughed. Albert grabbed her ankle and tugged her down into his arms before setting her on solid ground.
I watched Mila brush pine needles off her muddy coat.
Give me a cold, dark cell occupied by five men who wanted to kill me, and I would make pancakes out of it. But give me that, and I didn’t know what else to do with it except fuck it. I’d yet to get there, so, admittedly, I was a little out of my element.
My phone pinged, and, welcoming the distraction, I grabbed it to read the message.
Nadia: I haven’t seen you in so long. Don’t you miss me?
I missed sex, that was for damn sure.
Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I lifted my gaze to see Pavel approach Mila. The kid rubbed the back of his neck and said something. It looked like he was trying out some English on her. It was probably awful. She would never tell him.
Nadia: Come over tonight. I will make you dinner . . . and dessert.
Me: Polina is a better cook.
Nadia: Does she suck cock better too?
Me: Give me a minute, and I’ll find out.
I would never go there with my cook, but an irrational buzz played beneath my skin and spread further each second.
Nadia:
Nadia: What about your American? Does she know how to get you off as well as I do?
My teeth clenched. I didn’t like Nadia even mentioning Mila.
Nadia: I bet she doesn’t.
Glancing up, I saw Pavel blush. The kid with an AK-47 slung to his chest.
Nadia: What’s wrong with you lately? I apologized about that last incident . . .
“That incident” was the last time I saw her, when she trashed her dressing room in a jealous rage because I didn’t take her up on her note offering a quick blow job during intermission.
Nadia: I slept with someone last night.
Me: I’m shocked.
I wasn’t.
Nadia: He went down on me.
Nadia: It was nice for once . . .
She acted like she was deprived, but I knew she received oral from men and women alike—and often. She just wanted to see me on my knees. I’d rather put my dick through a meat grinder.
Pavel stepped closer to show Mila something, his thumb and forefinger holding a chain around his neck. She shied away from his gun as if simply standing near it would make it go off. He’d noticed her necklace and was now showing off his. How cute.
Nadia: Ronan . . .
Mila was all smiles, probably speaking fondly of her sadistic papa to the only one here who would listen—and only then because he wanted to get his dick wet. The scene was beginning to annoy the fuck out of me.
I wasn’t doing a single thing, but I really didn’t have time for this.
I knocked on the glass. When both of their gazes flicked to me, I gave Pavel a treacherous look. He swallowed, said something curt to Mila, and walked off, leaving my muddy captive to glare at me alone. Her transparent eyes must be poisonous. A single look from her pierced my chest and spread something heavy and greedy throughout.
My gaze told her, Get inside right now.
Her silent response wasn’t important because it didn’t include a hint of “submit,” “slave,” or “anal.” Mila’s glare intensified before she complied and walked toward the front of the house.
Nadia: Are you ignoring me because you’re jealous?
I ran a thumb across my jaw, not knowing what that felt like, but I improvised.
Me: Fuming. Can barely speak.
Nadia: You’re a jerk.
Me: I’m busy. Stop texting me.
Nadia: Busy doing what?
Me:
Nadia: ARGH!
I sat behind my desk and tried to get a clear head before breakfast. My gaze caught on a book on the desktop, and I picked it up. Paradise Lost, in which God won and D’yavol lost. A small smile appeared. I should make Mila read it to me while I fucked her.
nedovtipa
(n.) someone who can’t take a hint
I watched Ronan pour milk into his bowl of Fruit Loops. I didn’t know what was more bizarre: the fact he’d actually imported the American product, or the sight of his murderous, tattooed fingers lifting a spoonful of rainbow-colored cereal to his mouth.
When I continued to stare at him, his gaze lifted to mine, a charming brow rose, and then an animated crunch of cereal and teeth sounded. The sight was disarming, inflating a kernel of humor in my stomach, and my lips tingled at the reminder of his mouth on them. I crossed my thigh-high sock clad legs to quell the heat rising.
“Cat got your tongue, kotyonok?”
I feigned apathy at the ridiculous idiom, but inside, a nervous energy vibrated beneath my skin, flaring between yesterday’s humiliation and a heat too familiar to what I once felt for him.
“I have a headache,” I lied.
“You want to know the best remedy I’ve found for that?”
“Child sacrifice?”
“A good fuck.”
I knew that was coming, but his crude words still slid through my veins like hot water. “I’m not sure where I’d find that around here, so, please, point me in the right direction.”