by Leslie North
"Why am I not surprised to see you here?" he asked as soon as she had joined them. His blue eyes flashed in an accusation she knew he couldn't voice aloud in their present company. Harper smiled innocently, directing the brunt of her charms toward Dmitry's friend.
"Hey, handsome," she offered the other man in greeting. She kept her voice both friendly and flirtatious.
She could see almost instantly that this had been a mistake. She had plied her wiles too well, and now the man standing across from Dmitry had all of his attention fixed on her. She could see it clearly broadcasted in his eyes that her appearance was a sexual revelation for him; the quality of his look went a little beyond mere appreciation.
And no, she wasn't just satisfying her ego, although it was pretty fun to show Dmitry just how much other men desired her. Harper knew how to work what she had; the only problem was, sometimes she worked it a little too well.
"Harper, this is Lukas Safin." The coldness in Dmitry's introduction told her nothing she had done so far had escaped his notice. "We were just arguing."
Harper schooled her expression to one of polite interest. Of course, having dug through every Mafia file she could get her hands on, she recognized the name and knew instantly who Lukas Safin was. The Safins had run security for Dmitry's father for over three generations. They were loyal, and she had found nothing more than the usual dirt on them; she hadn't counted them high on her list of suspects.
Just what had Dmitry found out in her absence?
Maybe, just maybe, she felt a little bit unsettled by the idea that Dmitry might not need her talents as much as she liked to think. She didn't like her place on the team being threatened.
"Harper." Lukas appeared to taste the word and like the flavor. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Harper lowered her eyelashes and let a giggle bubble up past her lips, just to put Dmitry over the edge. Lukas kissed her hand, and the temperature between the three of them felt as if it dropped ten degrees.
"What were the two of you arguing about?" she asked, batting her eyes doltishly. A part of her enjoyed pretending fewer brains than she actually boasted. Her looks had caused men to underestimate her all her life—she was just bringing the trend full-circle now by using it to her advantage. What information could she draw out of Lukas, all while completely ignoring Dmitry?
"She with you?" Lukas' eyes cut to Dmitry, although he couldn't seem to keep them off her for long.
"Yes," Dmitry stated flatly.
"She doesn't seem like she's with you."
"Lukas was just about to tell me the last few times he saw my uncle," Dmitry said. Harper was surprised by a flash of reluctance she saw flit across Lukas' face, followed by something else… something that almost looked like fear. Not that she could blame him. The Ivankov-Karevs were a mafia dynasty not to be fucked with, which was why Sergey's murder several months ago still had terrible reverberations in the underworld today.
Before Lukas could find the words he was looking for, something by the front door provided a much-needed distraction. "Excuse me. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," he stated as he detached himself from Harper.
"My Uncle Igor owns this club," Dmitry explained as Lukas walked off to bark at the boxer she had passed on his smoke break. "Although our mutual friend Lukas Safin is here most often."
As soon as Lukas was out of earshot, Harper dropped the act. "Your Uncle Igor is exactly what I want to talk to you about!" She kept her voice hushed, but her attitude had returned with a vengeance. "I ran all the data we uncovered. I can't prove anything beyond a shadow of a doubt, but your uncle is almost definitely the one running the diamond-smuggling ring out of your family's business. It makes all the sense in the world, Dmitry: Igor was the one perfectly positioned to take your father out. He had the most to gain by killing his own brother—especially if Sergey uncovered that Igor had been using mafia properties to enable his trafficking all these years. Don't you see that?"
"I see it," Dmitry said.
Harper, taking in his expression, closed her mouth with a little click. She had expected a fight, but what she got instead was resignation, and maybe even a little bit of nausea. For a moment, she had forgotten Dmitry had two brothers of his own, and that the three of them together, despite their differences, had been bound together by their bloodline since birth. To willingly spill that same blood must have been almost beyond comprehension to Dmitry.
Almost.
"I'm sorry," Harper whispered. "For your sake, I hope I'm not right. I know you and your uncle are close."
"I hope that neither of us is right," he reiterated. He kept his gaze trained above her head and focused on Lukas. "Now you know why I didn't want to bring you here. It's too dangerous. I can't risk word getting back to my uncle that I was with anyone here looking for him. He's a dangerous man, Harper. My father always said Uncle Igor was more dangerous than him. I wish my brothers and I had listened. I have no idea what he's capable of. But maybe Lukas does."
"He's spooked, Dmitry," Harper whispered. "What makes you think he'll tell you anything?"
"He'll talk. I just need leverage. I need to think. In the meantime, any idea what this means?" Dmitry asked her out the corner of his mouth. Harper felt a folded sheet of paper passed into her hand. She brought it up to look and frowned.
"What is it?" Harper studied the code. It was in Dmitry's handwriting; shouldn't he know what it meant?
"I transcribed all the numbers I found in my books," Dmitry said. "This was just in the most recent shipment. I'm sure there are more, maybe hundreds more, that I've missed. I think they're messages being passed. You were right, Harper—someone, likely my uncle, is using the bookstore to help in his smuggling."
"Give me a second." Harper whipped her phone out. "Whoops," she added, when it became apparent she hadn't closed out of her Dmitry Tracker. "Sorry, I was just on… Yelp. This club is great. A solid four stars."
"I know what you were doing." He sounded amused. "We can talk about my renewed trust issues with you later. Do you have something that can decrypt this?"
"Already on it." Harper keyed in the numbers as Dmitry held the note open for her. He was increasingly shooting looks over her shoulder, and she was certain Lukas must be doing the same, indicating his intentions of returning…
"I programed an app on my phone to decode cyphers, with a special emphasis on what I found the diamond smugglers using in their private files," she explained quickly.
"Hurry," Dmitry said through his teeth.
"Aaand… whoa. It looks like directions to a fight club." Harper zoomed in on the coordinates. "Somewhere on Twenty-First and Third?"
"I know where that is." Dmitry didn't elaborate. Lukas was back, and the way his shoulder brushed against Harper's was anything but accidental.
"So like I was saying, Karev, I can't help you," Lukas said. "Much as I may want to." His eyes lingered on Harper as he said this.
"Do you mind giving us a moment?" Dmitry asked Harper. She shook her head, although her brows pulled together in question. What did he have planned? And why was he adamant his proposal not involve her? Then again, she wondered just how much mob business they would be willing to speak aloud in front of the 'character' she had established on a whim.
That's what being impulsive gets you, she chastised herself as she moved off to the side. The two men turned their backs on her and continued their discussion in lowered voices; she realized to her dismay that they were now speaking in Russian. She may not have understood the words, but it sure sounded like they were starting to negotiate.
Was it her imagination, or was Lukas openly staring at her now with a smile on his face?
The two men broke off, and Lukas dismissed himself with a nod before strolling into the back. Dmitry rejoined her.
"Well?" Harper thought she would burst if she didn't get some answers
"He's going to fight me," Dmitry said. "Tonight. The club on Twenty-First and Third."
"Oh." Harper tried n
ot to look as stricken as she felt. Dmitry had managed to leverage their way into the location in less than five minutes after learning about it—that was a feat to be admired. Still, the thought of him putting himself on the receiving end of Lukas' fists…
"I'm going with you," she said. "Seriously. I will find a way to follow you if you don't let me come along to watch your back.
"Honestly, I was counting on it."
Was it her imagination acting up again, or was Dmitry wearing a slightly guilty look now? It certainly wasn't like him to give into her demands so easily. Harper put her hands on her hips. "Dmitry, what did you promise him if he won?" she demanded.
This time, his eyes met hers unflinchingly. "You," he said.
Another roar from the crowd.
Harper winced and looked away as Dmitry spun through the air and hit the ground a third time. He braced himself on his arms and remained on his knees for a moment to catch his breath then spat out a bright red stream of blood onto the dirt floor and rose.
Things were not going well for them. Harper, who had only ever seen the movie Fight Club, had been vastly underprepared for the sort of brutality she was witnessing now. This was no boxing ring that Dmitry and Lukas Safin battled in: it was the empty dirt floor of a warehouse. A ring had been drawn in chalk around the combatants, and the place was packed with the surging, jeering bodies of the audience. Vodka sloshed out of flasks and bottles, darkening the floor. Neither of the fighters wore gloves, or any sort of protection. It was a bare-knuckle throw-down, and Dmitry was the one getting thrown down more often than not. His superior height and build—not to mention his adherence to the rules—were putting him at a massive disadvantage. His opponent was much more compact, and much more willing to bend the rules of engagement; what's more, he hadn't been out of the mob scene for five years. He was in peak condition, and he was playing to take home the prize.
It's not like you really have to spend the night with Lukas Safin if he wins. This isn't the Dark Ages.
Besides, hadn't Dmitry just been going on that morning about how she was 'his' property? The terms of this recent wager so flew in the face of what he claimed he stood for. Still, the atmosphere inside the club made Harper more than a little nervous. It was like she had left the civilized world and entered into a dangerous underworld, where electricity charged the air and the rules society abided by no longer applied. Normally she would have thought this was the exact sort of place she might like to find herself—now, she just wished they could learn what Lukas knew and get the hell out.
God, this asshole better have the information we need.
She had spoken to a few people in the crowd already and come up short. Nobody appeared to know anything outside of the fact that Igor Ivankov owned the fight club. As soon as it became evident that it was one of the Karev brothers going up against Lukas tonight, Harper had found her questions ignored in favor of the fight.
The crowd around her hushed slightly, expectantly, and Harper glanced back into the arena. Dmitry was down again, and Lukas was sauntering over to her. His smile was sloppy, his eyes glassy; clearly it wasn't water that he had been drinking on the sidelines. "Hey, honey, you ready to have our own tussle in round two? How about a kiss for good luck?"
Before Harper knew what was happening, Lukas Safin leaned into the crowd, grasped the back of her neck, and planted his lips on hers. Her eyes flew open in shock. She could hear the audience going nuts around her, egging him on, but the salacious din drowned itself out as she caught sight of Dmitry over Lukas’ shoulder.
She didn't bother raising her own fists to ward Safin off. She could see the storm that was already coming, and she was going to relish the destruction.
Lukas disengaged from her, winked, turned—and met Dmitry's fist head-on. Harper could have sworn she heard every vertebra in his neck pop at once as his head whipped around on his shoulders. The crowd backed up quickly to make room for Lukas' body as he fell.
He lay on the floor, crumpled and dazed. Harper pushed him with her toe for good measure; several people laughed at the display. Dmitry yanked Lukas up by his shirt collar. "Fight's over. Let's have a drink," he suggested.
Lukas glanced around deliriously, but could see that money was already changing hands. On the other side of the ring, the next fighter bounced and socked the air in rapid succession as he prepared for the upcoming round. Lukas groaned. "Next time, sweetheart," he promised Harper through a bloody nose. Harper briefly thought about bloodying his other nostril—just to even things out—but Dmitry, perhaps anticipating the violence in her heart, dragged Lukas away before she could get her own crack at him.
When he returned to rejoin her in the crowd moments later, he looked troubled. His handsome face was downcast in a grave expression, and there was already a black eye beginning to form below his left eye. Harper took his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. She felt him relax into her instantly, as if a kiss of affection from her was a balm that could take all his pain away.
"What did you find out?" he asked her as she drew back.
"Nothing. You?"
"Lukas has been doing some investigating of his own, although his methodology isn't exactly foolproof. Still, he's good friends with my brother, Vlad, and since the failed assassination attempt at the O'Connor Art Gallery, he's felt as if he had a personal stake in bringing our father's killer to justice. He thinks Igor is the one pulling the strings and ordering hits inside the family, but he still doesn't have definitive proof."
"Baby makes three," Harper remarked. "That's three people who have arrived at your Uncle Igor. So, what now?"
"Go home and get an ice pack," Dmitry said wearily. "Regroup. Then we outline an efficient plan on how to move forward in the morning."
"I guess you're taking home the prize tonight," Harper mentioned. She looped her arm through Dmitry's as they headed out the back door of the warehouse together. "The question is, what do you intend to do with her? And please don't outline a five-point plan."
"Something tells me a plan wouldn't do me any good in this instance," Dmitry murmured as he drew her into his arms. "That kiss you gave me earlier… there was something about it."
"I was trying to wash the Safin taste out of my mouth," Harper protested. It was only the two of them in the back alley shadows, with everyone else gathered in the club, yet she had never felt more crowded, more captive. In his arms, her free spirit was in no danger of being tamed—if anything, it soared more freely than she could ever remember feeling in her life. She knew exactly what Dmitry was referring to about the kiss, and Dmitry knew she hadn't misunderstood. She was stalling, still trying to find a way out of this.
But there was no going back for either of them now.
"What do you feel for me, Harper? I need to know the truth," Dmitry said. His piercing blue gaze pinned her to the spot. "I need to know, because I—"
Her silencing lips answered him. In the next moment, Harper privately cursed herself for interrupting what he had been about to confess, but the impulse to keep certain feelings between them unsaid and unexplored was too overwhelming. She had never been a woman to let herself be pinned down by someone else; to feel utterly captive to another's embrace… It felt like a betrayal of herself, and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her. What had this hard-ass Russian done to her?
More importantly, what was he about to do to her?
Her lips on his were all the provocation either of them needed. Dmitry grasped her shoulders and crowded her back into the deep shadows of the warehouse. Harper barely noticed it when her shoulder blades connected with the hard surface of the building; she was too busy fumbling with his belt buckle. The way he grappled to subdue her, she wondered if he wasn't still completely adrenaline-fueled from his fight… and considered this the final round before he claimed his ultimate reward.
"I see you have a thing about walls!" she gasped, even as she reached between them to rip open the buttons of his jacket. Dmitry growled in response—po
ssibly because he didn't like his clothes being on the receiving end of her roughness—and fought to work his shoulders out of the coat.
"You wanted me to get into bed, all you had to do was ask," he replied, before swooping in again. His muscular arms, now divested of his jacket, rippled with barely-checked strength; his hands, bruised and bloody-knuckled, gripped either side of her face as he crushed his lips against hers once more. The stars above would have been spinning, had Harper been able to see them from the shadows. It didn't matter—she and Dmitry were igniting their own sparks in the darkness.
His hand detached from her face to explore between her legs. Another night, another dress ruined by a relentless Russian. Then her ability to think was gone. Dmitry's fingers slid beneath the tight band of her thong and inserted themselves in slick, warm heat. Harper's body responded at once to the invasion, and soon Dmitry's fingers were wet with the evidence of just how badly she needed to be satisfied.
The front of his pants hung open, thanks to her dexterous hacker's fingers, and the thickness of his erection pressed beneath the fabric of her dress. He withdrew his hand, tweaking her panties aside as a parting farewell. He thrust himself into her, swallowing Harper's ecstatic cry of surprise. He grasped her thigh and hauled it against him to get a better angle; already she could feel beads of perspiration collecting behind her quaking knees. She was too turned-on to think straight. If she had thought their last sexual encounter public, it was nothing compared to their transgression now.
She had never been so hot in her life.
"Yes, Dmitry… fuck!" she gasped nonsensically into his ear. He took her with a hard, steady rhythm, and it wasn't long before Harper was clinging to him to keep from melting completely into their surging shadows. The intense pleasure of having him inside her was muscle-weakening, knee-bucklingly good.
He pressed the side of his face against hers. They were breathing too hard now, in ragged, irregular expulsions, to keep kissing. Dmitry's jaw clenched against hers. He gave himself over to a desperate moan with his next thrust, breaking the careful control he had been fighting all along to maintain.