I need to forget this woman because even though we share an attraction, she’s not ever going to get over her prejudice toward me.
I’m the guy who beat up her brother.
I’m in the bratva.
And a player, according to her.
A woman like Chelle would never lower her standards to date a thug like me.
6
Chelle
Oh God. My head.
My alarm goes off way too early, sending shock waves through my system that makes me sit up with a gasp.
I see a glass of water and ibuprofen on my bedside table, and it all comes rushing back.
The guy buying me too many drinks at the lounge.
Nikolai showing up to rescue me. Wait… how did that happen? It seems like far too much of a coincidence, doesn’t it?
“Oh God,” I mutter when I remember the glorious horrible remainder of the night. I reach back and grab my ass on the way to the shower.
It’s a little sore, but in a good way. What we did—well, what he did because I was more of a recipient than a participant—was off the charts hot. I’ve never done anything remotely kinky before in my life, and now that I’ve experienced it, I’m pretty sure it’s my thing.
But—oh my God—with Nikolai? What in the world was I thinking? He’s a thug and a player. I’m so embarrassed. My brain rewinds, trying to remember all the things I said last night. How much I revealed. I remember I called him a player. Did I really beg him to spank me?
Cringe, cringe, cringe!
He’s worse than a perfect stranger plucked from a bar. He’s Russian mafiya. A gangster my brother owes thirty grand to. What if last night was him showing me—and Zane—just how much he’s in charge?
But no, that didn’t fit. He was respectful. He refused to have sex with me, even though I was begging for it. And he left the glass of water and ibuprofen.
I try to ignore the warm flutters in my chest the memories produce. I’m not going to become enamored with this guy. A bigger mistake couldn’t be made.
I shower and quickly get dressed for work. In the kitchen, I tell my Echo to play a morning acoustical mix and pull a yogurt out of the refrigerator. I eat it at the same time I make myself a mug of hot tea, then sit and check emails from work on my phone as I sip it.
Singing along to the song playing, I get up to wash my spoon and mug. That’s when I see the note. My stomach flip flops.
Printed in crisp boxy letters, a message is centered in the middle of the paper.
Chelle Goldberg, you are adorable. Think of me when you sit today. —N
Underneath it is a neatly-printed phone number.
My face flushes as I snatch the note up. I crumple it, needing to destroy any evidence of my out-of-character behavior last night. But when I cock my hand to toss it in the trash, something stops it.
No.
I shouldn’t keep his number.
But what if I need it? Like, for Zane, not for me. I wouldn’t keep it for me. I definitely would never call him for a repeat of what we did last night.
I smooth the note and take a picture of it with my phone. There. Now I can throw it away. I toss it in the trash and finish getting ready for work.
And then because I’m crazy, I go back and snatch the damn note out of the trash again and shove it in my purse.
Nikolai
I sit back in my chair, fold my arms over my chest, and smirk.
Dima hacked the feed through Chelle’s Echo device, so I can watch her in her kitchen. It’s a total violation of her privacy, but I don’t give a shit.
Dima’s complete cyberstalker package told me Chelle keeps a pretty structured and predictable schedule. Work. Workouts at a spin gym four days a week, the Wednesday hump day happy hour, and little else. Now that I’ve determined there isn’t a man she meets at the Red Room, I can decide what to do with my newfound interest.
And no, I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty over spying on her. My twin brother spies on anyone and everyone he pleases, so to me it feels more like a right than a crime. Besides, it was so worth it to watch her reaction to my note.
As I expected, she’s embarrassed. I saw the flush of her face when she read it and how quick she was to crumple it up. But she saved it.
I don’t know whether she’ll call.
I’m not even sure I want her to. I’m looking for something real, and she’s not someone who could ever accept who and what I am into her life. I’m sure most of my appeal is the dangerous bad boy thing.
Then again, I wouldn’t have said Ravil had a chance in hell of convincing Lucy, the city’s top defense attorney, into staying with him, but she has. Of course, he didn’t give her much of a choice.
The idea of bending Chelle to my will that same way has an appeal. She’d do anything to save her brother, I know that.
But I’ve spent my entire adult life using pressure points or violence to bend people to my will. I don’t want that in the bedroom too.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ravil, so I shut down my laptop and get my ass upstairs to heed his summons.
All the inner circle is in his office—Oleg, Maxim, Adrian, me. Dima’s on video-conference.
Ravil sits back and laces his hands behind his head. “Lucy just turned down representing a member of a motorcycle club called Devil Dawgs. He was brought in on drug charges, but the police were investigating him for suspected human trafficking as well.”
Adrian’s body jerks, and his upper lip curls.
I know Ravil’s only making this his business because otherwise Adrian will involve himself on his own, and get himself in trouble again. He nearly went to trial last year for arson when he burned Leon Poval’s factory to the ground in retaliation for what was done to his sister.
“They’re led by someone who goes by the name of Viper. There’s no clear connection to Poval, but I think we should find out for sure, no?”
“Did Lucy give you the name of her would-be client? I can research that way,” Dima offers.
“I’ll get it for you. But I want you guys to get out there and ask around.”
“They will think we want in on it,” Maxim warns.
“Let them,” Ravil says. “I don’t mind an excuse to step on cockroaches.”
Maxim nods. “All right. We go in pairs. Nikolai with Oleg. I’ll go with Adrian. Ask to make a small score to get your foot in the door.”
“Good,” Ravil nods. “Report back with anything you find.”
Oleg and I file out and pick up weapons and cash before we take the elevator to the parking lot.
I don’t mind the assignment. It’s dangerous but Oleg and I can hold our own. When Dima and I first joined the bratva, if our pakhan gave an order, we scrambled to comply just to keep our own throats from being slit.
After being placed under Ravil, we functioned more out of an urge to please our boss. Whatever he asked, we delivered with the intention of impressing him.
I turned being the bratva’s bookie into a life purpose. Running the poker games is a pleasure for me. I like my role as host. I don’t mind the blood and violence of calling in my markers.
I love handling the money. In addition to the poker games, I run sports bets and general loan shark shit.
Ravil also gives microloans to Russian tenants in his building. Start-up loans for their businesses, shit like that. If they default, I don’t bust noses and break fingers. Maxim, Ravil and I go in to look at their businesses and make changes to bring them to profit. Do they have a choice in those changes? Fuck, no. We still own them. But we don’t use violence.