“Stop.” I make my voice as cutting as I can.
It only works because I’m the guy who never raises his voice. It’s hard to get a rise out of me over much of anything.
But Chelle will be here, in this building, for the next thirty days. I can’t keep any secrets from the bratva. Not without shit blowing up in my face.
“I made a deal,” I admit. “But if one of you mudaks says one word to her about it, I will kill you. Understand?”
Sasha smiles but makes a show out of zipping her lips, locking them and throwing the key over her shoulder.
Story’s brows are down, like she doesn’t like it, and I suddenly feel like the worst kind of bastard.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Don’t judge, please. I like this girl.”
Story’s face clears. All of them soften, in fact. Like I suddenly became the subject of their empathy, rather than the criminal who took someone’s sister as payment for a debt to the mob.
“We’ll be nice,” Sasha promises. “I didn’t talk to her much last night, but she seemed cool. Maybe I can hire her publicity firm for the theatre’s next show.”
A thread of relief flows through me. They’re dropping the inquisition and accepting Chelle into the fold, just like that.
It’s one of the many miracles of my life in Ravil’s cell. They are family in the best sense of the word. I don’t know why I was feeling like I didn’t belong lately.
“Yeah, and what’s the deal with Skate 32?” Story pipes in. “Do you think they’ll really use our music in their videos?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but I’m sure Chelle would try to make it happen if you’re into it.”
I think that’s true. I hope so, anyway.
I catch Oleg’s eye. “You ready to do some enforcing?” I ask. It’s Friday, which means we make the rounds to collect money we’re owed.
I don’t think Oleg loves his job, but he’s stoic as ever. He nods, then signs to Story and gives her a kiss.
For the first time since Dima left, I don’t feel the sharp stab of jealousy at witnessing that intimacy. The sense of being left out.
Because tonight, I won’t be sleeping alone.
10
Chelle
As promised, a very tattooed courier with a thick Russian accent showed up at my work to deliver an envelope for me this afternoon. Inside was a keycard and a note written in Nikolai’s neat, square letters.
Chelle,
I look forward to having you as my sex slave.
I’m in Suite 1110. You’ll need the keycard for the elevator and my door. You can also use it to park in the garage beneath the building.
I want you there by nine, but don’t expect me home until after midnight.
—N
* * *
I read and reread that first line twenty times. How seriously is he taking this sex slave thing?
Well, obviously, seriously, considering the texts we exchanged. I think it’s the word “slave” that’s throwing me.
But knowing Nikolai—do I know Nikolai?—he’s being tongue-in-cheek. The guy doesn’t strike me as hard-core anything.
Then again, I saw my brother’s face after he visited him.
Oh, and he did go back to break his nose after Zane took the ring from my purse and almost got me fired. I couldn’t find it in me to resent that one, much. He had it coming.
At four o’clock, the skateboarders come out of the conference room and over to my desk.
“Cheeeeeeeeelle! Come here and give me some sugar.” Randy holds his arms out for a hug.
I stand and let him pick me up off the ground in a bear hug. “Good thing Nikolai isn’t here, or he’d break my legs, right?” he jokes, probably not realizing how true it might be.
Still, I don’t mind it today. What felt slightly threatening and icky yesterday all seems in good fun now. We’re friends. They want me as their publicist. They think I’m cool.
“We said we wanted you, or we wouldn’t sign,” Randy says in a low voice as he puts me back down on my feet.
“And?” I ask, breathless.
“And it’s done.” He beams. “Get us in touch with Flynn’s band, okay?”
“I will,” I promise as Bones gives me the same pick-up and spin me around treatment.
“Hey, just because I’m small doesn’t mean you can manhandle me,” I point out.
“I won’t manhandle you,” Tiny promises, holding out his hand, but when I go to shake it, he rushes in for the bear hug.
“Bye, thanks for a good time,” he says when he drops me back on my feet.
I shake my head. “You guys are going to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?”
All three grin at me. “You know it!” They point and make pseudo-gang gestures as they back away from my desk. I roll my eyes.
When they leave, I grow a pair and knock on Janette’s door.
“Well, I guess you impressed them,” she says.
“I haven’t told you how much I spent for dinner,” I say, wincing. “They insisted on the best sushi restaurant in town and then ordered drink after drink and plate after plate.”
“What was the damage? You know what?” She holds up a manicured hand. Her plum-colored nails look elegant against her dark skin. “I don’t even want to know. I got them signed on for a two-year contract, so it’s all good. But next time they want sushi they can treat you. They certainly make enough money.”
I latch onto her words, they can treat you.
“So…” I cock my head, trying to figure out how to phrase my question.
“So, it looks like you’re my new Junior Publicist. Congratulations.”
I beam at her. “Thank you. I’m thrilled. These guys are a handful, but I have ideas for them. I think I can really help define their brand and get it out there.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about the creative part. It’s the fact that you managed them that impressed me. The customer-client relationship is just as important as the work we do for our clients, and that’s the piece I wasn’t sure you were ready for. But I was wrong.” She lifts her brows and smiles. “I’ll put a contract together for you over the weekend. Your first task Monday morning needs to be hiring me a new assistant. You’re going to be hard to replace in that department.”
I stand. “Thank you. Are you okay if I leave early? I had a late night with the skate-boys, and I’m wiped.”
She tips her head. “Well, you look great, but sure. See you Monday.”
I grab my purse from my desk and head out.
Time to head to my second job. The one where I answer to a bossy Russian. I climb in the elevator and ignore the way my nipples tighten and burn thinking about him.
About his orders for tonight.
About taking my clothes off for him.
Waiting in bed for Nikolai to come home and find me waiting.
Naked.
Ready.
Wet.
Nikolai
Longest. Fucking. Poker night. Ever.
I was ready to be done before it even started, and now that it’s finally wrapping up, I can barely contain my irritation. To make it worse, Dima didn’t come to Chicago this weekend, so being here feels especially meaningless.