Dark Trade

by Miranda Kavi

  She squeezed his strong, callused fingers. Those fingers that seemed to find all her favorite spots with the gentlest of touches. “Thank you.”

  “Please, come. I must kiss you.”

  She did, scooting until they were close. He held her face between his hands and kissed her. It was a deep, invasive kiss, their tongues wrestling. Her body involuntarily pushed into his, her want awakening between her legs.

  He was feeling it too, judging by the moan that escaped his throat. He pulled back, releasing her from his kiss. He left his hand on her face, gently stroking his thumb across her cheek. “Sophia, I—”

  “Sir?”

  The door opened, and the chauffer filled the frame. Two men loomed in the background. One was the one she now knew as Gram. She’d seen the other one the day she and her coworkers were held at gun point. Blood filled her cheeks, burning at the embarrassment of being caught in an intimate moment and shame at herself for spending time with a criminal.

  She pushed back the memory. Dmitri had scooted away and dropped his hands from her face. “Yes,” he said, addressing the men peering into the limo.

  “We’re here,” Gram said, his voice impassive.

  “Good, thank you.”

  Dmitri patted her hand. “Let’s go.”

  “All right.” He scooted along the seat, carefully unfolding his considerable height from the low seat of the limo. When he stood, he straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket.

  He rotated so he was facing the limo again and then offered his hand. She pressed her knees together as he pulled her out.

  The other man with Gram gave her a long, dark look. A sneer crossed his face as he watched her with cold blue eyes. His bald head gleamed in the light. Clean shaven, she guessed. He was too young to be naturally bald.

  She met his gaze and suppressed a shudder. It was clear he didn’t like her, and if he was here, then he must be a bad man. What does that make me?

  She compartmentalized her thoughts and focused on the present.

  It was twilight out, the sun reduced to a thin, orange line in the distant horizon. They were parked at a small private airport in front of a large, metallic hanger. A small, gleaming jet, maybe fifty feet long, was parked in front, stairs lowered.

  “This is yours?” Sophia asked as they walked towards it.

  “It belongs to the company.”

  “Oh,” she managed to reply.

  She gripped both rails as they climbed the stairs. He came up right behind her, placing his hands on the rails right behind hers. His breath was hot on her neck. “I won’t let you fall,” he said in Russian.

  She said nothing, but gripped the rails tighter as she climbed the metal steps. She stepped through the door.

  The cabin was bigger than she thought it would be. Plush, expansive, white leather seats lined either side, eight seats in total. Two small granite-top tables on either side of the plane split the seats two and two. Gold rimmed double doors led to what she presumed were the facilities. “This is lovely.” She walked to the back of plane. “Where should I sit?”

  “Wherever you would like,” he said.

  She chose the very last row and sat. He settled in quickly next to her. Gram and the other man boarded and wordlessly took the seats in the front. She stiffened when the other man boarded the plan.

  Dmitri noticed, of course. “What is it?”

  “Who is that man?” she whispered.

  “It is better if you do not know our names,” Dmitri said.

  “Oh,” she said. She watched him. His green eyes were pinned to her. He didn’t offer an explanation or comfort. Just a stare.

  She watched him back.

  “Maybe this is a terrible idea,” he said in Russian, rubbing his forehead.

  “What? This?” Sophia said.

  He opened his mouth to answer when a strong British accent came over the intercom. “Prepare for take-off.”

  The engines roared to life, drowning out any further conversation. They seemed much louder than a commercial airline.

  The plane was drifting towards the runway, speeding up and then they were off in the air.

  Sophia watched the twinkling lights of Houston disappear underneath her. She glanced at Dmitri who was facing forward. He looked impassive and was quiet.

  What am I doing here? She wondered for the millionth time.

  Chapter 10

  The flight was short, maybe forty minutes. Dmitri caught her eye and smiled as the captain announced the landing. Whatever discomfort that seized him earlier was long gone.

  When the wheels touched down, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. She squeezed back, even though her mind was racing. She yearned to be there and nowhere else, but her brain was starting to catch up to her sex drive. Everything about spending time with Dmitri was wrong. Red flags were flying up everywhere in her head. How long could she ignore them? How far would she go?

  How far had she already gone?

  But the plane had already stopped and the strange man and Gram were waiting by the door of the plane.

  Dmitri helped her out of her seat and kept his hand on the small of her back as they carefully descended the stairs. Baldy was glaring at her again. She glared right back, and it didn’t escape her notice that his hands curled into fists when she did.

  A shiny red town car was waiting for them. The driver jumped out and opened the door. She slid in to the smooth leather seat. She could totally get used to the private car service thing.

  The car glided through the now dark city, past the winding interstate that looped over the above ground mausoleums, past the crowded dark streets, skirting just along the edge of downtown until they arrived in the French Quarter.

  The bright balcony flags and throngs of people in the streets told her she’d arrived in the Quarter. She hadn’t been in years. She pressed her face to the window, eagerly taking in the overwhelming array of sights.

  The driver stopped on Bourbon Street in front of a tiny, brightly lit space.

  She walked quietly around the beautiful lit fountain and the line of finely dressed people. The host nodded when they came in, but didn’t ask for their names. He silently led them out to the courtyard where a candlelit table was waiting. She sat and then waited for the coattail-dressed waiter to unfold the linen napkin and drape it carefully over her lap.

  Dmitri unbuttoned his suit jacket before sitting down, sitting razor straight in his chair.

  She picked up the heavy menu in its leather case. The menu was in French, and hers was rusty at best. “Mon français est terrible. You’ll have to excuse me.” She smiled at Dmitri over the round table.

  His lips twitched. “Somehow, I am not surprised that you know French at all. What other languages do you speak beside English, Russian, and a little French?”

  “I’m fully bilingual in Spanish.” She returned her eyes to the menu, scanning over the items. “You?”

  “English, Russian, French, Ukrainian, Estonian, Farsi, Arabic, and Mandarin.” He snapped the menu shut. “And a little Spanish.”

  “Whoa. You win.” She didn’t doubt it. Intelligence blazed behind those smoldering eyes. It’s probably one of the reasons he was so successful. And dangerous, her rational mind added.

  The waiter appeared silently at their table, hands clasped behind his back.

  “May I?” Dmitri asked.

  Sophia stared at him, puzzled, until she understood he was requesting permission to order for her. “Please.”

  He did, in beautiful fluent French. She put her elbow on the table, resting her hand on her chin. Her core lit up listening to him speak. Damn it. He was at least three feet away, not even touching her, and she was ready to pounce on him, and…

  The waiter cleared his throat. She moved her hand out of the way so he could place a glass of champagne in a delicate flute in front of her.

  She took a sip. It was light and delicious, floating down her tongue. She glanced at the French label of the bottle it ca
me from. “Delightful,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like it.” His large hand looked comical wrapped around the small fluted glass.

  She leaned back in her chair and finally took in the scene around her. The courtyard was sparsely populated with a few candlelit tables around a lit fountain that was a twin of the one in front of the restaurant, a stark contrast to the crowded interior. Soft music piped through, combined with the occasional faint shout or laughter from Bourbon Street. Twinkling white lights draped around the courtyard, bathing it in soft white light.

  “Do you like it?” he said.

  She let her eyes move back to him, resplendent in his black suit, always watching her so carefully in his very perceptive way. “You already know I do,” she said. “You notice everything.”

  He smiled. His eyes drifted down to her cleavage, and back up to her face.

  “Do you like it?” She tapped the side of her glass with her fingernail.

  He licked his lips, but kept his eyes on her face. “You already know I love it.”

  His face froze when the word “love” slipped out. He recovered quickly, but she’d already seen in it.

  She said nothing, instead tipping her glass to hide her face. Her pulse filled her head. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. It could never mean anything because this was all wrong.

  When she dared to look back at him, he was rubbing his jaw, his eyes looking off to the side.

  “How did you find this place?” she asked.

  “A dear friend.” He didn’t say anything more, but at least his gaze was back on her.

  The waiter was back, slipping a fragrant bowl of soup in front of her. She took a generous spoonful, letting the delicate explosions roll across her tongue. Lobster bisque. It was literally the most wonderful thing she’d ever tasted. “This is phenomenal.”

  “It is wonderful,” he agreed. “And this is only the first course.”

  She smiled, enjoying the restaurant and the quiet, alone time with him. They finished their soup in silence. The waiter removed the bowl as soon as she set her spoon down.

  When they were alone again, his hand snaked across the table, palm open. She accepted it automatically, without thought, pushing down the red flags and alarms blaring in her head and sliding her slender fingers into his waiting grasp.

  “You are so beautiful, Sophia. Even now I have a hard time not coming around the table and putting my hands all over you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “And for your restraint as well. I’m hungry.”

  That earned her a small smile. He squeezed her hand, his eyes digging into hers with a sudden intensity. “I care for you,” he whispered. His words barely carried over the small space that separated them.

  She blinked rapidly, taken aback by his sudden admission. She didn’t speak, just searched his face.

  “Do you care for me?” He leaned forward, waiting for her response.

  “Why are saying this to me now?” she said. “On the plane, you said we shouldn’t do this.”

  “I did.” he squeezed her hand one more time, then let go. “There are…risks for a woman like you, and a man like me.”

  “A woman like me?” she echoed.

  He didn’t answer, because the waiter was back with their plates. She stared at the fragrant fish in front of her, buried in some sort of Cajun sauce that smelled like perfection.

  The waiter left, and she waited for his response, food untouched. “You were saying?” she prompted.

  “Innocent. Naïve,” he said.

  “I’m not naïve,” she snapped.

  “Please understand my intention.” He balled his hand into a fist, resting it on the table. “I do not mean it in an insulting way. I know you are educated. I know you are cultured. I know you are well traveled. I only meant that you have not been exposed to the dark trade.”

  She pushed her lips together and searched for a response, but one wouldn’t come. “I understand what you are saying,” she finally answered. She picked up her fork and forced herself to eat a bite of her food. “Sort of. As much as I can.”

  He did the same, digging into his food.

  The food was so good, it almost distracted her from the rather serious conversation at hand. “Jesus Christ. This is insanely good,” she said.

  He laughed. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him laugh like that before. “You always surprise me.” He took another bite of his food, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “And you always interest me.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad I interest you.” She took a long drink of her champagne, draining the glass. “But I have some questions.”

  His smiled slipped. “I am limited in what I can discuss with you, Sophia.”

  “Why?” He was silent when the waiter appeared and refilled both of their champagne glasses.

  When the waiter slipped away, he continued, “It is for you own safety.” His eyes darted around. “This is not the ideal setting for this type of discussion.”

  She gripped her glass tighter, nerves sending her heart rate higher and higher. “Am I in danger? Am I in danger right now...with you?”

  He slammed his glass down, making some of the bubbly champagne splash over the rim. “Never with me, Sophia. I would never hurt you.”

  “Then?” she asked in a weak voice. “Because of you?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can protect you.”

  Heat rushed through her chest. Not happy heat, but nervous heat. It was the first time he openly spoke of danger. It had been there the whole time, but now that he was admitting it, she was frightened.

  She shifted in her seat. She didn’t know where to look anymore.

  He swiped his hand across his jaw. She recognized it now as a nervous gesture. He’d caught on to her discomfort. “You are afraid of me, finally. I am very sorry,” he said.

  “Are you having me followed? Are you watching me?” She’d thought of the strange man she’d seen in the parking garage, and the words had flown out before she thought to stop them.

  “No,” he said, his voice flat. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  She looked up, meeting his eyes. His face went from impassive to concerned. “Oh God, Sophia. Why did you ask such a thing?”

  She clutched her hand into a fist. The worry in his face only made her panic ratchet up. “I’ve seen a strange man. In a suit.”

  He leaned forward. “Where? How many times?”

  “Um...” She released her sweaty hand from the fist, wiping it on the table. “Two, maybe three times. In the parking garage at work.”

  “What was he doing? What did he look like? Was it the same person each time? I need more details.”

  She lifted her palm from the table. “It wasn’t you? Or one of your…people?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do something like that to you. But I wish it was. I don’t know what this is. And, lyubov moya, it is nothing good. I can tell you that.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat when he called her ‘my love’, then sputtered to a stop when she realized the danger. “Who could it be?”

  He folded his napkin. “This was wrong, Sophia. This was so wrong for you. I’ve been selfish. I should have been better for you.”

  “What?” she hissed. “What are you saying?”

  They were interrupted by a massively fat man with thick red hair in a not-so-subtle powder blue suit. “Dmitri!” he said in a thick French accent. “We are so glad to see you here this evening.”

  He spread his arms and bowed low. Dmitri straightened his spine. “Pierre, it is a pleasure to be here.” He relaxed his large frame, but Sophia could still see the tension in his arms and hands.

  Pierre turned to her, turning his full ruddy-faced charm on her. “And who is the beautiful woman?” He held out his hand.

  Dmitri started to answer, but Sophia cut him off. “My name is Sophia.”

  Dmitri bit his lower lip, and she wondered if maybe she shouldn’
t have given her real name to Pierre.

  Pierre was still holding his hand out to her. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, so she held out her hand in return. Pierre gently grasped it and planted a quick, cool kiss on the top of her hand. “It is so nice to see him here with a young lady. He’s always alone, this one, in the many moons I’ve known him.”

  “Pierre,” Dmitri said in a warning tone.

  “All right, all right,” Pierre waved his hands around his head, “I’ll stop. Please, at least tell me the food was delicious.”

  “Wonderful,” Dmitri said.

  “Amazing,” Sophia added.

  Pierre clapped Dmitri on the back. “It was good seeing you, old friend.” He directed his next statement to Sophia. “I hope I see you around, Sophia.”

  Sophia watched him leave, fluttering from table to table to flatter the guests.

  “We need to go,” Dmitri said.

  “Right now?” Sophia asked.

  “Now.” He stood, his chair bouncing back. The waiter appeared seconds later. Dmitri spoke in low tones to him, handing him a large wad of cash.

  He walked toward the entrance, pausing after a few feet, waiting for her.

  She threw her napkin down and followed him. “What in the blazes did I do? Is Pierre dangerous?”

  Dmitri spoke under his breath as they wove through the crowded restaurant interior. “Pierre is one of the few who really knows me, who I trust. You wouldn’t be meeting him unless I trusted him.”

  “Then what did I do?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop in front of the restaurant. The red car was waiting and streams of tourists wove around them, laughing in a free joy she didn’t get to feel.

  He stared at her, the bright lights of the Quarter reflecting in his eyes. “It is I that has been wrong. You’ve just been naïve. That is your only crime.” He pulled his arm away gently and stepped into the waiting car. “Get in,” he growled through the open door.

  “Whatever,” she muttered under her breath, but she slid in next to him. She didn’t have a choice.

  He didn’t touch her or kiss her or even look at her. He just stared at the floorboard while the chauffer shut the door and the engine roared to life.

  She stared at her lap, too. Her mind raced through the emotions she was feeling: hurt at his rejection, stupidity for the danger she was in, and fear. Plain, cold, fear.