Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I glare at him.
“She was in my line of sight, and she was just doing her job. He was yelling so loudly that half the room was watching. It was bad for business.”
“Right,” Alek repeats.
I ball my hand into a fist against my knee. The memory of that asshole’s face makes my knuckles itch. The fear when I yanked him back, the way he choked on panic. The satisfying silence in the room when everyone saw who was in control.
Then I think about Lyra.
She had her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in that neat bun, curls fighting to get free around her face. Her green eyes wouldn’t back down even when she was scared.
I didn’t do it for her, I tell myself. I did it because it was necessary, because no one should make that much noise in my presence without consequences. But that’s bullshit and I know it.
“She could have at least thanked you properly,” he says obscenely, making a lewd gesture with his hands. “I would have waited.”
I snort. “Fuck off,” I grumble, slapping his hands away. “Her thank-you was fine.”
“‘Ooh, Damien, you have such a hot Russian accent, want to do me in the alley?’” he mocks in a high-pitched, awful imitation of Lyra.
I shrug. “It was appropriate. She was working, for fuck’s sake.”
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’d say you’ve gone soft, but I think we both know you’ll be taking a cold shower tonight.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s probably right.
When I’m home, in the comfort of my own place, I won’t be able to help myself from thinking about her. And I know it. She was extremely stunning, obviously, but there was also a sweetness and naivete about her that was damn near irresistible. And something about her struck me as intelligent. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she seemed like the kind of girl who’s too good to be waitressing.
I close my eyes and picture those innocent green eyes in my mind. I imagine putting my hands on those supple curves and hearing her moan out my name as I make her come. And then… what? I’d fuck her and never see her again.
That’s how it goes in my life. Women are great for scratching the itch, but I don’t have the space for anything more. My business demands too much from me. My family demands even more, though the two usually become indistinguishable from one another. The point is, Lyra would be great for a night, but I could never let myself have more. And she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would want that. I could tell she had respect for herself and didn’t want to impede on that.
Still, I left my card on the table just in case. The ball’s in her court now, and if she wants to pursue this any further, I’ll just have to make sure she knows what’s what.
Alek shifts in his seat, checking his phone before sliding it back into his coat. The car hums through traffic, muted city lights reflecting in the tinted windows. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s waiting, calculating. That’s what he’s best at. Well, that and reading me, even when I wish he wouldn’t.
Finally, he clears his throat, casual as can be. “Anyway, when do you want to make the move on the Vasilievs?”
I grunt, not looking at him yet.
He keeps going, voice even. “I heard they’re snatching up women at the docks. Broads who look just as good as the waitress. He’s loading them into shipping containers like fucking cattle.”
The words land hard, and for a second, I don’t say anything. I stare at the streaks of rain on the glass. My hand flexes once against my thigh. He says it deliberately. He knows it’ll get a reaction.
Because I see her face again, those bright green eyes. I swallow the tightness in my throat before it can show. When I finally speak, my voice is even. Deadly calm.
“Tonight,” I tell him with finality.
Alek nods without surprise. “I’ll make it happen,” he says, obedient as ever.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive.
My mind is already there. At the docks. Planning. Measuring. Every time I see Rurik’s smug, scarred face in my head, my jaw tightens until it aches. I tap my fingers once on the leather seat, forcing the tension out.
Alek makes the calls. Even as he gets out of the car, I hear clipped Russian instructions, careful deployment. My men know how to move quietly until it’s time to be loud.
I nod at him. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Alek gives me a wry half-smile. “You know me.”
“That’s why I’m reminding you.”
He chuckles, then slams the door shut behind him.
The driver doesn’t need further direction. He glances at me once in the mirror, gets nothing back from me, and starts the slow turn uptown toward my place.