Nikolai

by Shandi Boyes

  Her lips purse in preparation to respond, but before she can, she’s interrupted by a girl nowhere near as mind-hazing as her. If I were a preaching man, I’d say her interruption was a sign from God for me to slow down, but since I’m more sinner than a saint, I get to the real reason she’s standing across from me, riling me like the life in her eyes wasn’t extinguished years ago.

  “How far are you willing to go to secure me as your client? Will you dance with the devil? Or sleep in Satan’s bed?” When her eyes snap back to mine, the need in them is almost my undoing. “I’m tempted as fuck to discover how loud you scream, but are my desires potent enough to work with this vyperdusch? I already have one lawyer breathing down my neck, do I really want another?”

  With the redhead unable to speak, Carmichael uses her silence to toy with my insecurities. “You know I don’t play fair, Nikolai. Fair is not a word in my dictionary. Justine was brought in to entice your less astute head. Clearly, her presence has piqued your interest.”

  His confirmation the redhead was brought in as a ploy has me plotting his death. It is violent and gruesome, and will commence at the slug he calls his dick.

  “But, Justine isn't just a knock-out, she’s the shrewdest member of my team. If you don’t want to sleep in a cell this evening, she’s your signed guarantee that will not happen. Not maybe. Not possibly. Will not happen.”

  “I have an attorney. I don’t need another—”

  “Perhaps this will change your mind on who you want representing you.”

  With a grin I plan to slit two inches lower, Carmichael slides a piece of paper across the table. I don’t look at it. I can’t. I’m do busy staring at Justine, assessing every inch of her angelic face for signs she knew about Carmichael’s plans to play me as a fool. If she is aware, her death will be as painful as Carmichael’s.

  I don’t trust anyone, not even an angel, because the devil was once an angel too.

  After several long heartbeats, I lower my eyes to the document. Justine is none the wiser to Carmichael’s trick as the rest of his minions. How do I know this? She’s as interested to discover Carmichael’s next move as I am.

  My jaw ticks profusely when I read the one sentence of text on the full-size document.

  Erik Monstrateo—FBI Agent No: 1183429

  Erik is my lawyer. Or should I say, was my lawyer. If what Carmichael is presenting is true, if Erik is a snitch, he’ll be in hell by the end of the week, and I’ll be the man driving him there.

  I scrub my hand over my jaw, tracing the tremor there before returning my focus to Carmichael. The fury bubbling my veins doubles when I see the hope in his eyes. He thinks he has me over the barrel. I’m not so inclined to agree.

  “If this is found to be untrue, the smile you’re wearing will drop two inches when I slit your throat and watch you take your last breath.”

  His voice gives no indication he’s panicked about my threat when he replies, "You have my word, what I’m presenting is true," but his scent sure does. I don’t need to see a puddle around his fancy shoes to know he’s on the verge of pissing his pants. I can smell the fear on his skin.

  “Okay.” Even with my apprehension as high as my agitation, a grin curls on my lips when my stand from my chair puts the armed guards on high alert. They watch me like a hawk. I’m used to being scrutinized, but what I say next is completely new. “You have one chance to prove your worth, Ahren. If all charges against me are dismissed, I’ll sign you on as my counsel.”

  I’ve never trusted anyone before. Not my mother or the man who raised me, so this isn’t just foreign, it is also dangerous. If this goes wrong, I’ll pay for my stupidity for months to come. But if I don’t do this, I am a coward in every sense of the word.

  I’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than be seen as a coward.

  “No misdemeanors, plea bargains, or community service. All charges are to be dropped without record.”

  The reason for my unusual bend of the rules is given credit when Justine says, “And?”

  A normal person would have jumped at the opportunity to have me as her client, but she knows there’s more to this than the chance to be my attorney.

  “And...” I wait, my silence building the suspense as well as the steps I take to bridge the gap between us. She should be running. She should be quaking in fear, but instead of doing either of those things, she watches me cross the room with her breaths as jagged as my swagger.

  My cock thickens painfully quick when I bring myself to within an inch of her face. She’s even more enticing up close. Slightly glossed lips, unique aquamarine eyes, and a petite nose with nostrils that flare as rapidly as mine when I imagine how intoxicating her scent will be once it’s combined with mine.

  Her pure smell is my undoing, because as much as I love it, I have every intention of ruining it. She’ll smell far from pure by the time I’m done with her, so I better take advantage of her intoxicating scent now.

  When I sniff Justine’s hair, in the corner of my eye, I witness Carmichael demanding for the guards to step in. The fury on his face doubles when Justine signals for them to stand down just as quickly. She thinks I’m testing her loyalty. I’m not. But if it keeps her still long enough I can confirm she smells nothing like Carmichael, I’m happy for her to believe that.

  When my nose tracks across her collarbone, a growl rumbles in my chest. The sweat dotting her skin has me confident her cunt will taste as good as her lip gloss smells, and it does weird things to my insides.

  While tracing the goosebumps mottling Justine’s wrist with my index finger, I stray my narrowed gaze to Carmichael. His eyes are wide, shocked I stole the pie from his oven before he had even finished baking it.

  I’m not sure why he’s stunned. No matter how often a snake sheds his skin, at the end of the day, he’s still a snake.

  Carmichael knows that better than anyone.

  When jealousy ignites in Carmichael’s slit gaze, I add words to the threats I’m issuing him. “If you get within an inch of her, I’ll cut off your cock and feed it to you.”

  My eyes snap back to Justine when she inhales sharply. She’s not just turned on by my threat, the fire hidden deep in her eyes is thriving, begging to be lit.

  She wants this almost as much as me.

  My theory is proven without doubt when I pinch her chin to return her eyes to mine. Her eyelids are weighed down with longing, and her pulse is thunderous. “And don't think I won't know if he touches you, Justine.” Her quick inhalation nearly pops the buttons in her blouse, excited about my growly purr of her name. “I smelled your purity. I’ll know if it changes.”

  I never understood a man’s desire to fall to his knees until now. Justine’s nod has my knees wanting to buckle—more to verify the syrupy taste of her cunt than to bow at her feet—but nevertheless, if a man is on his knees, he is on his knees. You can’t sugarcoat it.

  Smirking about the sappy fuck I’m portraying, I head back to my seat. I walk backward to ensure Justine knows who I’m referencing when I say, “Let's get this wrapped up. I have crack to be snorting.”

  Carmichael and his dorky-looking minions jump to the clipped command in my tone. The only one who remains standing firm is Justine. Just like earlier, she knows not all of my demand has been voiced, which isn’t shocking considering the rest of my requirements can only be fulfilled by her.

  “Don’t make plans this weekend, Ahren. Your calendar just got blacked out by the man determined to read your wicked thoughts.”

  Chapter Three

  Tick, tick, boom. Carmichael is a dead man walking.

  Celebratory kiss or not, I warned him what would happen if he got within an inch of Justine. He failed to take my threat as literal. I’d kill him now if his quick departure didn’t present a perfect opportunity for me to sample the lips that have been teasing me the past forty-five minutes.

  I could have ended the game sooner by giving Justine Judge Santos’s contact details, but not only is my tru
st low after my Russian operative confirmed Carmichael’s claim about Erik being an FBI agent, I’ve also grown a sudden fascination with this side of the law.

  The saying, ‘you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink,’ doesn’t resonate with Justine. Not only did she lap up every drop in the dish I left out for her, she’s watching me via hooded eyes, pleading for another serving.

  I told you she was thirsty.

  My crew call me The Snake because of my ability to sneak up on my targets unaware. By the time they know I’m coming, my knife is already halfway across their throats.

  Justine is too smart for that. She senses my presence long before I can brush away the weighed-down curl hiding the scar I spotted earlier.

  As she stills, her breathing turns choppy and loud. She stares at the chair I left neatly tucked under the table, her scent imposingly strong. I want to arch her over the table, hike her fire-engine red skirt over her thighs, then eat her cunt as I’m sure it’s never been eaten, but I can’t. This room has eyes, and I’m not their handler.

  Usually, that fact wouldn’t bother me. Gangbangs are more about the number of eyes on you than how many participants there are, but for some reason, a voice in my head is begging for me not to treat Justine like I do the whores at Clarks. It thinks she’s special, that she should be treated like a princess, and for some fucked-up reason, the devil on my shoulder agrees with its less evil counterpart.

  There’s no doubt Justine is threatened by me. The misting of sweat on her skin proves this without a doubt, but she doesn’t fear me. She’s afraid she finds me attractive, and is cautious about the trouble I bring to the table, but curiosity is still her strongest emotion of them all.

  It’s for the best. My persuasive techniques almost always end with body parts being sunk into a deep watering hole.

  When a creak sounds through my ears, I look up. My endeavor not to railroad Justine into submission flies out the window when I spot her race for the door. She can’t trust herself to be alone with me, and for once in my life, I’m inclined to agree with her.

  A squeak pops from her mouth when I reach the door a mere second faster than her. I slap it shut with my palm before using my other hand to silence her squeals. She’s not screaming to alert the guards she’s in danger. She is shocked about how agilely I moved.

  “My crew calls me ‘The Snake.’ So do the ahrens I bed.” I take a moment to relish in her scent before leaning into her even more. “But you, my sweet Justine, you can call me Catacha.”

  The nicknames I chose are perfect for us. She’s an angel seeking chaos, and I am a demon seeking peace. Together, we will be explosive.

  After burrowing my nose into her molten-red hair, I squash the fear I feel pulsating through her veins with my body before warning myself to slow the fuck down. My eagerness is making me rush, which will only give me half the thrill. With this being the most playful I’ve felt in years, I don’t want it over quickly.

  “I won’t hurt you, Justine.”

  My eyes bounce around the room, confused as to who spoke those five words. They projected from the direction of my mouth, but my voice was unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It was almost protective, like Justine has my sworn pledge that she’ll forever be safe.

  She doesn’t. But it isn’t her life at risk. It is her sanity.

  When her squeaky breaths stop whistling through my fingers, I press my lips to the shell of her ear. “If I remove my hand, will you squeal?”

  My stomach’s response to the moisture sliding down her cheeks when she shakes her head is new. I usually see tears as a sign of weakness. Everyone uses them. Men, children, women determined to break you. My mother was the worst of them all. Even while throwing me to the wolves, she shed crocodile tears, so I should be more angered by Justine’s tears than frustrated by them.

  With my past weighing down my faith, I snarl, “Don’t break my trust, Justine,” before lowering my hand from her mouth to the vein fluttering in her neck. When she keeps her word, I get honest. “I thought we had a connection, Ahren, but when I came to offer you assistance, you bolted for the door without even saying goodbye. It’s rude to run off without first issuing a farewell. That’s your second strike of the day. One more and I don’t think we can be friends. You might be too naughty for me.”

  She sucks down a big breath before raising her sinless eyes to my corrupt ones. “I wasn’t meaning to be impolite. I was just rushing to have these documents lodged with the court before 5 PM. Unless you want to spend the next three nights in lockup, you need to let me go.”

  The growl her scent rumbled in my chest escapes when I murmur, “I think the pleasure would outweigh the penance.”

  I grind my stiffened shaft against her ass to ensure she can’t mistake what I’m referencing. It sparks more than need in her eyes. She’s begging to resurrected from the dead. To live. And fear isn’t rousing her pleas. It’s me.

  “I’m flattered you think I’m worth spending three nights in a concrete cell…”

  Her reply shifts to a moan when I bring my lips close enough to her ear, tiny beads of condensation are left in the wake of my zealous breaths. When the scent of her hungry cunt lingers into my nostrils, my zipper bites the head of my cock. Despite an audience, he wants to be sunk into her heat.

  “I don’t think you’ll be worth three days in lockup, Ahren. I know you’ll be worth it.”

  I bite her earlobe, wordlessly warning her how close to the edge I am. I’m teetering dangerously, trapped between wanting to rule my empire and slaying anyone responsible from me not taking her now—Vladimir included.

  Pretending a hard and fast fuck in one of Las Vegas PD’s many holding rooms is worth scarifying the vengeance I’ve been striving for since I was sixteen is fucking ludicrous, but it’s also the most honest I’ve ever been. That’s how bad I want to hear Justine screaming my name. I climbed the mountain, I reached the summit, now I’m dangling one foot over the cliff edge to prove my life is more edgy than it is mundane.

  I could have both her and my revenge, but that would need a commitment from both sides of the fence.

  The angel and the demon.

  Heaven and hell.

  Her and me.

  I’d have a better chance of coercing her to dance with the devil if I hadn’t marked her with my teeth.

  After soothing the angry red welt on her fleshy skin by sucking it into my mouth, I ask, “Do you want to leave, Ahren? Or shall you stay and let me play?”

  Shock is the first thing registered on her face. It’s quickly chased by innocence. “Leave.”

  Her reply is short, but it does little to douse the fire roaring in my gut. I can smell the excitement slicking her skin and feel the lusty heat blazing through her body. She wants this; she’s just too afraid to admit it.

  “If you truly want to leave, Ahren, all you need to do is say goodbye.”

  Goosebumps follow the trek my hand makes when I drop it from the throb in her throat to the one between her legs. I don’t touch her without permission; rape is Vladimir’s pleasure of choice, not mine, but I keep my fingers a mere inch from the area I feel growing more heated with every second she spends pinned to the door.

  “You have to the count of five.” I’m being lenient. Usually, I don’t issue a warning before ending someone’s life, but since this is different, I more want to steal her life than cut it short, I’m open to trying something new. “If you haven’t bid me farewell by then, I’ll start my weekend by discovering if you’re a true redhead. Five... Four... Three—”

  “Goodbye.” Her voice is as impish as the devil on my shoulder goading me to listen to him.

  You don’t ask, he says. You take.

  “Louder.” Because if an angel can’t steer me in the right direction, she won’t leave this room in one piece.

  Justine’s throat works hard to swallow before she mutters, “Goodbye, Nikolai.”

  I groan. It’s full of disappointment.

&nbs
p; I’m not the only one disheartened. When I step back, unpinning Justine from the door, her sigh has the devil on my shoulder calling me a soft cock.

  I’ll show him.

  “Turn around. No one says goodbye without a farewell kiss. Not even your boss could leave this room without putting his lips on you.” My tone is the one that generally comes out of my mouth. It’s gruff and full of command. “Hurry, Ahren. The courts close in five minutes, not only trapping me in here for the long weekend, but also costing you the chance to have Carmichael I'm-going-to-gut-him-alive Fletcher defend your brother.”

  Justine sucks in a sharp breath, shocked I know about her brother’s incarceration. I don’t know why. I haven’t taken my eyes off her for a second, so I know every word Carmichael and her shared.

  “Now four and a half minutes.”

  Unsure on the authenticity of my threat, she spins around to face me. Since I’m standing so close to her, she can’t rotate with grinding herself against the area of my body still maintaining its own pulse.

  When her eyes lift to mine, cockiness thunders through me. If she wants me to believe her wish to flee me is legitimate, she needs to have a word with her eyes. They’re flaring with hope, although it’s barely seen through the yearning clouding them.

  Smirking, I tap my index finger on my right cheek. Not needing further prompting, Justine leans forward to press her lips where I’m pointing.

  Incapable of reeling in my domineering personality, I crank my neck to the side in just enough time to force her mouth onto mine. My gall causes Justine to freeze like a statue, but her lips remain planted on mine, no doubt to relish the revitalizing zap sparking through her body from the joining of our mouths.

  The bolt is so intense, she physically shudders. I’m not going to tell you my body’s response, or the only person I’ll be killing today is myself.

  The jerking movements of Justine’s body causes her head to bump into the door I had her pinned to. She barely taps the glass, but it’s enough to alert the officers’ standing guard outside the door that she’s in trouble.