by R. J. Lewis
“Follow me,” I tell her.
I’m about to lead her out when the door opens again and Andrei appears this time, his face pale and apologetic. I stop dead in my tracks, looking over his shoulder as Gresham storms past him, the hulk of a man pissed beyond measure.
I let out an exhausted sigh. Fuck, here we go again. “Nothing is ever easy,” I whisper, standing in front of Alina in case he starts to swing his fists near her.
Every once in a while, a debtor has an issue with repayments. They start to deflect responsibility and avoid paying with this fucked up sense of entitlement. It becomes all about how I’m wrong, how the interest they initially agreed upon is too high, and how I’ll get the money when I get the money. That’s their favourite line when they’re starting to fear me less. You get it when you get it. It’s like they band together, this motto passed along, strengthening their pride and masculinity, though they gave both up when they decided to come see me in the first place.
“Nikolai,” Gresham roars, coming to a stop in front of me. We’re the same height. He’s broader, musclier, and therefore thinks he’s got this. “I’m tired of you sending your fucking slaves to my business! Fucking tired of it. I’ve already paid you back every cent in interest alone! You want the rest of that fucking coin? You’ll get it when you get it!”
The room has fallen silent and I give it a quick sweep. Andrei won’t meet my eye. The drunks are hungry for blood. Valeria has covered her tits and watches nearby, and Alina’s frozen in place.
“Am I to assume then you haven’t paid your instalment?” I ask, my voice neutral as I look back at him.
“You get it” – he prods my chest with his pointer finger – “when you get it.”
I frown. I am so tired of this. I’m in my new suit to boot; a custom tailored design by some wispy man in the town over I loathe to visit. It means standing in a stuffy room staring at portraits of dachshund dogs with top hats and smoking pipes on every wall. I don’t fucking understand it. All I know is there are very few things in life that make me uncomfortable, and that man and his measuring tape and those dogs staring at me from every angle at the exact same time he measures me is one of them.
If Gresham ruins my suit, I will have to face wispy man and his dachshund portraits again.
“Fuck,” I curse, annoyed now. “Fuck you, Gresham. Of all days. Of all fucking days?”
He drops his hand, shooting me a perplexed look. “What?”
“You’re forcing me to handle you.”
“I’m telling you to leave.”
“I don’t follow orders, Gresham. I make them.” I cringe just then. See what he reduces me to? Saying clichéd shit like that.
I was already edgy before, but now I’m all out of patience. Cutting to the chase, I slide out of my suit jacket and toss it at Alina. She catches it, regarding me with confusion. I answer her confusion by unbuttoning my shirt and sliding out of that too, passing it to her.
“You know what happens when I don’t get paid?” I ask Gresham, turning my attention back to him. “We settle it another way.”
“We get undressed?” he retorts sarcastically, causing the drunks to laugh.
“We fight,” I grit back. “You win and I forgive the debt. You lose and the debt is double what it was.”
Gresham chuckles. “You’re insane, Nikolai.”
“Or,” I continue on, ignoring his words, “you just let me beat you to a pulp and show the world what I do to cowards. Most take this offer. If you’re wise, you would too.”
Gresham thinks I’m joking, but the more he looks at me, the more he sees the hardness looking back at him.
I don’t fucking joke, and he realizes it.
“You’re a fucking fool,” he tells me, throwing off his shirt. I don’t know why he does. It’s a plain tee, covered in food stains and sweat. I think it’s a statement, because his chest is covered in tattoos, like he’s mirroring mine with his own, which is insulting just as it is funny. I don’t have poorly done pin-up dolls and corny red-flames with bold letters anywhere on my body. My tattoos tell a story, one that would haunt this idiot for the rest of his days.
I crack my neck and smirk at him. “The first to hit the ground is the fool, Gresham.”
Alina
This was supposed to be in and out. A quick awkward hello and an envelope given before running back home.
Instead, I’m watching two men about to rip each other apart, and I’m suddenly questioning my life’s choices.
“The first to hit the ground is the fool, Gresham,” Nikolai tells him, this boyish smile accompanying his face.
Who smiles when they’re about to face off with a man who looks like he can pummel an incoming train?
“Nikolai,” I start, stammering as I grasp his muscled arm and force him to look at me. “Please, can we just go and you can handle this later?”
He tears his eyes from Gresham and directs them to me. “Why? Are you afraid of a little blood? I’ll make it clean, I promise.”
I wince. “He’s a big guy, Nikolai.”
He looks unaffected. “What are you implying?”
“That he’s a big guy.”
“I can handle it.”
“Nikolai, stop.”
“Keep saying my name, rybka,” he suddenly tells me in a husky voice, dropping his head so that his face is almost touching mine. “Shout it while I put this prick down. I want to hear it out of your lips, the way it slides off your tongue. Don’t hold back.”
I can’t even swallow as he pins me with his stare, and then he smiles again, taking my hand and kissing my bandaged finger.
“You should take this off,” he says, prodding at the bandage. “No access for my mouth, and I do love to suck a small slit.”
I rip my hand from his. “You won’t suck anything when your mouth’s split wide open.”
He just smiles, relaxed. “You underestimate me. It’s cute.”
“Pride before the fall,” I mutter in warning as he’s about to turn.
He catches my words and chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’ve already fallen before, kitten.”
His eyes burn a path to forbidden places. I’m warm everywhere and he hasn’t even done anything. When he looks away, my lips twitch at his egotism. It’s one of those rare moments in my life I am actually rooting for a bad man.
Nikolai is a work of art. His entire upper body is a battlefield of tattoos and scars and rippling muscles in every place to make a woman sigh. He’s perfectly proportionate, not overly large, and not too lean either. He’s not as meaty as Gresham, but his demeanour is so confident, his movements so finely tuned, you would think he’s equal to the large man he’s circling like a shark in the waters.
His kind of confidence is so disgustingly attractive, it draws everyone in like flies to a bulb.
There’s cigarette smoke all around me as the drunks are now surrounding them, forming this small tight knit circle, filling the space with cheers and curses. It’s absolutely Palaeolithic. Like winding the evolutionary clock back to the caveman years. These men want blood, and they don’t care who it belongs to.
I fade to black around them. None of them bat me an eye as they lean over this invisible circle and holler for someone to make the first strike. Even the self-proclaimed man with the alleged eight-inch dick hasn’t so much as blinked in my direction.
Violence has officially trumped tits. In fact, they’re so immersed in this, it’s the first time in my life I’ve felt this safe around a bunch of drunks. This sort of chaos doesn’t bother me. I’m transfixed to the scene, to watching cocky Nikolai chuckle and curse in Russian, goading Gresham to hit him. He works up a sweat just circling the man, his skin glistening, those muscles constricting and relaxing. Even his hair can’t stay contained and a loose strand or two fall over his forehead. It should revolt me that it makes him look more charming – that it’s even possible is perplexing.
“Someone hit already!”
“Wha
t are you waiting for?”
The louder everyone gets, the more the blood inside my body zips through me. I’m warmer than I was a few seconds ago. My ears are aching from the screams, until the voices are so convoluted, they turn to jumbling sounds.
Gresham feels the pressure. He can’t contain himself. He lunges at Nikolai, his arm outstretched, his fist flying. Nikolai dodges the strike in half a heartbeat, stepping to the side and landing a crack against the back of Gresham’s head. The force of the strike is astounding; I can hear the sound of bone cracking. Then…
It’s over before it began.
The scene happens so quick, my brain shorts out.
All I know is it goes from chaos to absolute silence. Gresham staggers, his eyes wide, and then he topples to the ground face first at Nikolai’s feet.
I’m shocked.
Bloody shocked.
I…I don’t even know what’s happened. My brain grasps for logic. My eyes dart from the unconscious man to Nikolai’s face, putting together the pieces. And the cocky beast that is Nikolai is shrugging to the crowd, looking bored. He’s not even stretching out his fist that must be pounding in agony after that hit. He looks at me just then, a smug smile accompanying his lips as he takes me in.
I fight the twitch in my own lips. I refuse to smile in front of him but I feel warmer than before. I’m…impressed. Legitimately impressed. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt this way. Am I…am I swooning?
He moves to me and I take him all in, feasting on his rogue beauty. Stopping in front of me, he leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear, and prods, “Why do you look so surprised?”
“I…. didn’t expect that.” I look at his hand still fisted and reddening by the second.
“That’s nothing compared to what else I have in store,” he replies softly, an underlying meaning in his words.
My eyes dart to his. He’s so close I can feel his breaths hitting my face. There’s something so primal about the way he’s looking at me. I’m enamoured by him. It’s dangerous. I recognize he’s not the kind of man I want this close to me. But there’s more to him than the smug hard surface he shows to everyone. I saw it last night when he helped me. When he kissed me. When he fought hard not to do again.
He pulls away and gestures behind me. “Now that that’s finished, let’s have this chat.”
He’s so fucking badass, I want to die.
Chapter Nine.
Nikolai
Alina’s guard has completely dropped. She’s stunned by me. I feel like the embodiment of power with that look. In reality, I want to wrap my hand in ice and have it x-rayed for broken bones. Wouldn’t be the first time. I resist stretching my hand out to inspect the damage; the last thing I want is to feel my bones grinding against one another.
As I lead her out of the room and past the main bar and stage, she asks, “Where did you learn to hit like that?”
“Happens when you grow up fighting,” I flippantly lie. The truth would scare her.
When she doesn’t respond, I glance back at her. She’s curious more than ever, but she won’t press the matter.
She follows behind as I turn into a hallway and open the dusty office lounge that’s, as usual, empty. I’ve been here countless times floating this business because Gresham is a hopeless fool. It comes with the territory of a loan. I have to make sure the business is making enough money to pay me back, and because of that, I’ve been in this office looking over the books on a regular basis.
In short, the place does make enough money, but under better management it could be earning double. Only I’ve never said that to Gresham, and after his defiance I probably never will. I want him in my pocket. If the loan ever falls through, I can scoop this place up for pennies on the dollar. It would send him broke, but that’s not my problem. None of it is personal; it’s just good business.
I motion her inside first, and she walks in. When I shut the door behind us, she spins around abruptly, looking between the door and me, fleeting panic that disappears just as it shows itself. I’m learning a lot about her just by these simple moments. She’s skittish, afraid of being trapped. It doesn’t sit well with me.
“So where are we going to do this?” I ask, my voice playful. “On the dusty table? Or the rackety chair?”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “What?”
“Where do you want me to suck your lips?”
She stills, her pale face falling in surprise. Slowly, her cheeks grow pink as she takes small steps back, so the rickety table in the middle of the vapid room separates us. Her eyes fall on my exposed chest, taking in my tattoos and thick scars I’ve earned the hard way. “No,” she stammers, shaking her head. “I…I’m not here for that.”
I take a step to her, my hands sliding into my pockets. “What are you here for then?”
“It wasn’t to sit in your lap, or watch you hit a man, and it’s certainly not to talk.”
My lips flatten. “Twice now you said you needed to speak to me.”
“Yes, I said that because I didn’t want to give you this in front of everyone.”
“Give me what?”
She pulls out a folded envelope from her pocket, and instantly my body cools. My face tightens and I have to suppress the sudden bolt of anger I feel at the sight of it.
An envelope.
She’s here to give me an envelope.
I’m a fool. The Bratva would be laughing right now.
I grind my teeth as she holds it out to me. All at once, my wants for her vanish and I’m back to business mode. “What did I say about giving me envelopes, rybka?” I growl out, my disapproval inescapable.
Her blue eyes flash to mine when she hears my tone. Her body goes taut, like it did last night when she closed her eyes, preparing for the worst. Again, I don’t like it.
“I know what you said,” she says quietly.
“You told me you weren’t Ivan’s courier,” I remind her.
“I didn’t think I was.” She stops there, even though I can tell she wants to expand. There’s something she’s not saying about it.
I move to her slowly, making sure she’s aware I’m not going to harm her, since she looks at me like I might. Every step forward, she takes a step back, until she’s between the wall and me. I come to a stop, frowning at the way she glances at me and then the door. Her body seizes when I stretch my arm out and, still looking at her, I gently take the envelope from her hand.
I don’t look inside it. I know it’s money Benji owes me because Ivan’s already paid his monthly debt to me. I want to blow their little convenience store up for being cowards and sending a petite thing like Alina over to pay.
“Relax,” I whisper gently.
Slowly, her body loosens as she observes me.
“Did he force you to do this?” I then ask her. I know Ivan did it because I wouldn’t do anything to her, but I want to hear her confirm it.
Alina licks her lips, and just seeing that little tongue journey along it makes my eyes narrow and my body tighten with hunger. Hitting Gresham did nothing to help my edginess.
“No,” she answers, directing her eyes at my chest.
She’s lying. Maybe she’s devoted to the old man and is trying to protect him, something I now question my own men would do, and yet this hundred-pound girl didn’t waste a second.
I shuffle closer to her, and while her eyes flash brighter in alarm, her body remains in place, something I can’t help but admire about her. I drop my head to hers, my eyes roaming over her face, lingering on the freckle beneath her right eye and then along the soft curve of her small nose. Her lips part a little, and she breathes lightly. But I know how heavy they can get – those tiny little breaths. I swallowed every last one of them last night when she ravaged my mouth, and I’d do it again if she’d let me.
“Did he force you to do this?” I repeat, this time slower than before and more firmly.
She blinks slowly. “What does it matter, Nikolai?”
My face cracks a little. Every time she says my name it goes straight to my dick. It just rolls off her tongue, unintentionally sensuous. I wonder if she’s been put on this wasteful earth just to make me go mad when she utters it so softly. I imagine it whispered in my ear, her body wrapped around me as she convulses and pants. She must be so beautiful when she’s come undone. I’m jealous of the men that have witnessed it.
I work my jaw, my gaze directed at her mouth. “It matters to me. Does he usually force you to do things?”
She looks troubled. “No, he…he sent me because he thinks, I don’t know, he thinks you’d go soft on me.”
“What do you think?”
She shrugs, looking lost. “I don’t think you’d go soft me.”
My lips flinch upwards. “No? I’d go… hard on you?”
She begins to shake her head and then stops when she catches the tone in my voice. Her face hardens a little, but her cheeks flush too, a dead giveaway my words affect her.
“Come on,” I urge, smirking. “You want to smile at that. I know you do.”
Her lips twitch but she fights it. “I don’t want to smile, Nikolai.”
Again, my dick stirs and warmth pools inside my chest as I move in closer. “Not even a little bit? I’m not funny?”
“No, you’re not.”
“You wound me.”
This time her lips spread and she turns her face from me so I don’t see it. I lift my hand and hook my finger around her chin and turn her to me. We stare at each other, and the more I smirk the more she begins to smile, until she’s biting the inside of her cheek.
“It’s there,” I mutter. “I see it. Too late to hide it now.”
Now she can’t stop herself. That shy smile stretches and she fights it, meanwhile I’m absolutely enchanted by the sight of it. It’s not often I see this rybka smile.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. I don’t say that because I want to; I say it because I must. “You should smile more. The world would smile back.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes my hand away. “Do your lines work on other women?”