Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I had the weirdest feeling, like her being here, me being here, were unshakable certainties, like I was a planet and she was a comet slamming into me, our paths determined millions of years before.
I inspected her, coldly analytical. I looked at the small breasts that pushed out her black vest top. The wisps of black hair that had escaped the tight little bun at the back of her head fell to caress her neck. She was glowering up at me, furious, and it was making her lips pout in a way that was—
That was—
I looked up, meeting her eyes.
Her fist slammed into my face.
I went staggering backwards. At first, there was just numbness and shock. Two of my men who’d been near me stood frozen as well. None of us could believe someone would dare to hit me.
Then the pain arrived. The whole side of my face started to throb. That actually hurt. She was small, but she had power. I’m going to have a bruise. Worse, people were looking. Casino staff, Bratva, customers...they’d all just seen Gennadiy Aristov get punched in his own casino by this...this tiny little thing. I let the anger expand in my chest, filling me, and stepped forward,
My men finally woke up and overcompensated for being caught off guard. One of them drew his gun, and the other ran forward to hit her.
She just...flowed sideways, gripped the wrist of the first guy and twisted, and he screamed and dropped his gun. The second guy tried to punch her, and she spun and brought her knee up, and he crumpled to the ground, cradling his balls.
Now everyone was looking. The rage darkened, becoming thick, black clouds that crackled with energy. How fucking dare you?
I jumped forward and grabbed the woman. She twisted, and for a second her breast brushed my forearm, soft and warm through her vest top, and I froze. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled it in a way it wasn’t supposed to go. Ow! I released her, grabbed her again, and she broke free again. I tried again, and again, but she was so fast, it felt like she had about six arms.
I finally wrapped her up in a bear hug from behind, trapping her arms against her. There.
She stamped down on my shin. I managed not to cry out, but my face went scarlet with pain and anger. I lifted her fully off the floor so that her legs were kicking helplessly in the air. There!
She threw back her head and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Get off me, you—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth and—finally—she was under control.
I stood there panting and furious, and took stock. Her long hair had been shaken half out of its bun, and it was so deeply, coolly black it was almost blue-black, and so fine that it looked like black smoke where it waterfalled down over my arms. Her head was only a few inches from mine, and I could smell the soft cherry scent of her shampoo. Her back was pressed so tightly against my chest that I could feel every breath she took. Her leather pants were superhero-tight, and the firm half-globes of her ass stroked against my cock every time she wriggled. She was still trying to talk, and the feel of her lips and hot little exhales against my palm made me feel...odd.
The anger felt different. Like there was something in those dark clouds, little flecks of gold helplessly caught in the howling winds. The angrier I got, the more they billowed around, gleaming bright...
I suddenly remembered all the people watching. I growled, turned away from them, and carried her across the casino and into my private office.
I marched across the room and around my desk, my anger building with each step. I dumped her into my big leather chair and then slammed my office door. Instantly, the noise of the casino disappeared. I saw her body go stiff with shock as it sank in: she was alone with me, and the office was as good as soundproof. No one would hear her scream, in here.
I stormed over to the chair and loomed over her, gripping the top corners and caging her in with my arms. She was panting, scared. But then she lifted her chin and glared up at me, defiant.
She was irritatingly pretty. Those deep blue eyes were so hard, so strong...just for a second, I wondered what it would take to make them weaken. “Who are you?!” I demanded.
She panted a few more times while she considered, her chest rising and falling. “Brooks,” she said at last. “FBI.”
My hands tightened on the top of the chair, and I felt my jaw clench. I hate the FBI. They’re so much worse than regular cops. The FBI is a shambling, slow-witted giant, its legs tied together with red tape, and its sole purpose is to crush the lean, efficient business my brothers and I have built. The FBI might be American, not Russian, but it’s still part of the same corrupt government machine that tore the Aristov family apart.