She glowered up at him like he’d lost his mind. “I can’t keep a phone like that! It’s worth over a grand!”
He glanced at the phone in her outstretched hand then back to her. “Then you have a choice. Sell it as you please, or use it to replace your old one as a means to stay safe. It’s your call, malen’kaya koroleva.”
Tempting as it was to linger and ensure she locked the door behind him—or better yet, give into temptation and find other more carnal ways to make her more agreeable and see reason—he forced one foot in front of the other.
“Hey!” she called out behind him.
He stopped, turned and waited.
She stood just outside her doorway, the backlighting of her apartment accenting her delicious curves. “What’s that mean? The malen’kaya koroleva thing you keep saying?”
He couldn’t have stopped his smile if he’d wanted to. She was every bit a kitten bent on feeding its curiosity only to find itself in a mess of its own making. On top of that, she’d pronounced the phrase for little queen exactly as it should have been, her husky voice uttering the words of his mother tongue perfectly. “You have your secrets, Bonnie. I think I’ll keep mine as well until we can negotiate a trade.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and smoothed her hands up her bare arms, whether to ward off the chill beating against her, or simply to ground herself.
“Good night, Bonnie. Lock the door behind you.”
He stalked to his truck, ears peeled for the solid clunk of her door falling shut and the flimsy zrring of her bolt sliding home. By the time he opened the driver’s door, her light was already off, but he could have sworn a shadow moved behind the curtain.
The roar of his truck’s engine against the night rivaled the frustration roiling in his gut. Bonnie Drummond was definitely an enigma. Alluring with those big cat eyes in that unique shade of green and the sensual way that she moved. Wholesome with her freckles and her unguarded smile when one managed to catch her unaware. Street-smart and understandably cautious, yet also clearly willing to bend over backward for those she loved.
He put the truck in drive and pulled onto the street. Two blocks away, the traffic light turned red.
Helping people is what you’re supposed to do.
Actually, it wasn’t what they did. At least not the only thing they did. They ran businesses. Many of them. Most of which were on the up and up, unlike the life he’d left behind in Russia.
But when they did help others, they came with a cost. Favors required paybacks. Debts owed and expectations set.
The memory of the day he’d first met Sergei flashed vibrant in his mind. The thick gray skies. The stinging cold against his skin. The throbbing of his knuckles and the wild thrum of his heart. He’d earned the latter two beating a bully who’d refused to back down to an unconscious heap.
And Sergei had watched it all. Had followed Roman back to his orphanage, introduced himself and later taken him under his wing.
All without a single thing asked in return.
The light turned green.
Roman hesitated for all of a second, swung the truck wide and circled back the direction he’d come. In another minute, his truck was parked at a different angle, well hidden in the shadows from prying eyes.
He checked his watch, drew his phone from his pocket and dialed one of his men.
Luke answered by the second ring. “Yes, sir?”
“St. Ann and North Prieur Street. There’s an alley that runs beside the apartments at that intersection. Meet me there at midnight. Be prepared to stay on watch until I send relief.”
“Got it. I’ll be there in thirty.” He hung up as fast as he’d answered, which was exactly why he’d chosen Luke for this assignment. He never asked questions and had no compunction at following orders.
Any orders.
Roman killed the truck’s engine and settled in, his gaze rooted on Bonnie’s door. “You might not want our help, malen’kaya koroleva. But you’re getting it anyway.”
Chapter Seven
Only 10:30 p.m. at night. The pretty blue neon surrounding the Bud Light clock on the wall was the only pretty thing about the Dusty Dog, but right now all it did was luminate a very ugly truth—three days of double-shifts in a row was a stupid fucking idea. How the hell she was going to walk all the way home after close tonight, she didn’t have a clue.
Bonnie wiped down the bar and checked the drinks of those lined up on the other side. One positive at least—Friday nights were busy enough she didn’t have enough time to worry about how bad her feet hurt. At least not until she was walking out the front door.
Definitely need to get that damned car fixed.
“Hey, Bonnie.” Trixie sidled up to the bar and slid her tray toward Bonnie. At five-foot-two with a decent body and an emo school-girl flair, she was a favorite with the male patrons. Especially when she rocked the short plaid skirts and put her bleach blond hair up in pigtails like it was tonight. “Need two Crown and Cokes and one Jameson.”
Bonnie checked the round table tucked in the farthest corner of the bar. The Dusty Dog’s lighting was always kept dim to hide how beat up the place really was, but that particular corner was especially shady. A good fit for the three assholes hogging the space.
Lowering her voice for only Trixie to hear, Bonnie cautioned, “This is their seventh round. The last time they hit that number, an innocent customer ended up with a broken jaw. They might have been dead if not for my trusty baseball bat.”
Trixie eyed the Louisville Slugger propped in the corner, then shrugged and pulled a stack of bills out of her apron. She thumbed through them and smacked her gum. “They keep tippin’ me tens every time I bring a round, I don’t care how many they drink.”
Bonnie finished up the round as ordered and stacked the full glasses onto the tray. “Mmm hmm. Just know if they get rowdy on your watch and you didn’t cut ’em off before it happens, it’ll be your last night and those tips are gonna be the only thing you go home with.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Sure, I can.” She slid the tray toward Trixie and forced a matter-of-fact smile. “Gotta have some extra money to offset the medical bills I have to pay when those idiots decide to revamp customer faces.”
The scowl on Trixie’s face mirrored every uppity bitch Bonnie had ever known in high school. “Fine. After this round I’ll cut ’em off. But I’m tellin’ ’em it was you who made the call, not me.”
She reached for her tray, no doubt ready to flounce off and give the assholes an earful of how awful it was to work here, but froze a second later. Her eyes widened and an entirely different glint blossomed behind them. “Holy hell, would you get a look at them.”