by Julia Sykes
I looked out the window, turning my face away so she couldn’t read my expression. Her description of her relationship with Derek made something like yearning tug at my heart. In that moment, I wasn’t at all sure that I was a woman who knew my own needs. I only knew that I didn’t want to truly submit to anyone. I couldn’t trust anyone the way Sharon so obviously trusted her Dom. My trust had been betrayed more deeply than I would have ever thought possible, and I wasn’t willing to open myself up to that kind of pain again.
“You should come back to Decadence,” she said, interrupting my brooding. “I’ll introduce you to Derek. You can ask him anything you want about the club scene. He’d be happy to help with your book research. Just don’t ask him about the Latin Kings or Charlotte. That’s still a sore spot for him.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I confirmed. “I don’t want to mix my book research and my journalistic endeavors. My two worlds are already colliding more than I’d like.”
“I used to be the same way,” she said. “It was hard letting my kinky lifestyle spill over into my everyday life. But it’s who I am, and I’ve gotten comfortable with the two coexisting.”
Before I could reiterate that I wasn’t actually in the lifestyle, Sharon’s cell phone rang.
“Silverman,” she answered in a clipped, professional tone. “Okay, I’m on my way.”
She ended the call, then took a sharp left and started weaving through traffic. “Sorry, I need to hurry up and help Clayton out,” she told me. “Our informant is giving him some trouble.”
“An informant for what?” I asked, bracing my hand on the dashboard as we swerved around a corner.
She didn’t take her eyes from the road. “We’ve been dealing with a new drug called Bliss. We’re trying to take down the people responsible for bringing it into the States. It started with the Russian Mafia, but now it looks like Moreno is getting involved.”
“Moreno?”
“Cristian Moreno is a Colombian drug lord. He was working with the Russians until we took out their Pakhan a few months ago. Bliss trafficking has slowed down in New York since then, but it looks like Moreno might be trying to take control of distribution. If he does, we’ll have a much bigger problem to deal with. We want to stop this before it starts.”
Her eyes cut over to me briefly. “None of this can go public,” she said, her voice heavy with seriousness. “Kennedy said you could shadow me, so I’m filling you in. But your story is the Latin Kings. You can’t print anything about what’s going on with Moreno.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured her, my body jolting forward as she hit the brakes hard. “I’m getting good material just seeing what a normal day is like for you. Did you get calls like this when you were working against the Latin Kings?”
She nodded. “Before I went in undercover, Clayton had an informant with the Kings. The brother of his fiancée, actually. Clayton met Rose while working that case. I helped him protect her while her brother kept tabs on the Kings for us.” She grimaced. “I could have done a better job of it.”
“What happened?”
“The Kings got their hands on Rose. It was bad. If Javier hadn’t been in deep cover with the Kings, I don’t think we would have found her in time.”
“Javier. You mentioned him before. He’s the one who helped take down the Kings for good in New York?”
“Yes. It wasn’t easy for him. By the end of his time undercover, I think he lost himself. He went a little off the rails. Charlotte helped bring him back to us, though. You can talk to both of them about it, if you want. Javi’s very well-adjusted these days, so I don’t think it’ll upset him to discuss his time with the Kings.”
“Wait. Charlotte. This isn’t Derek’s sister Charlotte, is it?”
“It is. Funny how things work out. When Derek’s father sold Charlotte to the Kings, Javier claimed her to keep her safe from the others. He protected her while maintaining his cover. They’re married now.”
“Wow. I’d love to talk to them. Could you help me set it up? I don’t want to have to ask Kennedy for anything else.”
She shot me a knowing smile. “I don’t blame you. The boss can be pretty intimidating. He’s so much more tolerable now that he’s found Carina, though.”
“He used to be worse?” I asked, incredulous.
“Much,” she affirmed. “I’ll set things up with Javi for you, so you don’t need to worry about Ken. And if you come to Decadence, you can ask Derek anything you want about BDSM.”
“That’s fantastic. Thanks, Sharon.” I beamed at her. I was getting more material for both of my careers than I’d ever imagined. I was thrilled Carina had invited me to New York to work on my Latin Kings story. I needed to take her out for thank-you-cocktails as soon as possible.
“I’m happy to do it,” she said. “But right now, I need to go help Clayton.” The car came to an abrupt stop in front of a nondescript brick apartment block. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to leave you for a little while. The informant isn’t being very forthcoming, and he’ll probably be less likely to talk if I bring a stranger. Will you be okay by yourself?”
“Of course.” I pulled out my phone and gave her a reassuring smile. “I need to check up on my social media, and I have my e-reader app. I won’t be bored.”
“Great. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I don’t know how long this will take. Sorry,” she apologized again.
“It’s okay. Really. I’ve been dying to know what happens in this dark romance novel I’m reading.”
“All right. See you soon.”
She got out of the car, and I watched her walk away and enter the apartment block. My eyes caught on a café next door. The Cyrillic lettering on the awning sign was faded, indicating the restaurant had been in business for a long time, but wasn’t so lucrative that the owners could afford to keep up their signage.
My mind went into writer-mode as I considered the place. Did the owner struggle to make ends meet? How well could a Russian café possibly do in this neighborhood? For that matter, who lived in this neighborhood? What were their lives like? Where did they work, what did they do for fun? Was there a sense of community, or did people keep to themselves?
I realized I was chewing on my pen cap, a bad habit I had when I was deep in thought. I took it from my mouth and touched the tip to my notepad, which was still in my hands from when I’d been taking notes on Sharon. I quickly flipped to a new page and wrote down all of my questions about the café.
My gaze found the faded sign again, and I began idly tapping the pen against my lips.
I’d never written a Russian character before. I didn’t know much about the culture. It would be an interesting challenge. Russian heroes were hot in the romance industry at the moment. Maybe I could try writing one.
This was an excellent opportunity for character research. I’d come to New York with the intention to work on my novels and my Latin Kings story. The latter was on hold for the moment while I waited for Sharon. Why not take advantage of the opportunity to enrich my fiction while I was in town?
My decision made, I tucked my notepad and pen back into my purse and got out of the car.
Excitement buzzed in my mind as I tapped into the creative part of my brain. I could be clinical, analytical when it came to journalism, but fiction was exploration, creation. It provided a special kind of high.
A bell dinged as I pushed open the glass door and entered the café. The place was almost completely empty. Either the morning rush had died down, or the restaurant wasn’t attracting the clientele it needed to stay open. That brought back all my questions about the surrounding community.
I’d get my answers soon. My eyes roved over the space, assessing. A man on the late side of middle age occupied a booth by the windows that lined the side of the restaurant that faced the street. A narrow aisle separated the booths from a long counter with barstools. A huge menu that I couldn’t even begin to decipher was scrawled in chalk on the wall abov
e the counter.
I was aware of eyes on me; both the middle-aged man and the younger server behind the cash register had looked up when I entered. The place was silent save for faint instrumental music. It was rough with static, as though emanating from an aged record player. Or maybe it was playing on a slightly out of range radio station.
I absorbed all these details in less than thirty seconds, storing them all away in my mind for a setting description.
I smiled at the server and approached the counter with purpose, hopping up onto one of the barstools. He returned my smile, giving me a dazzling grin. I noted that he was young, attractive; maybe twenty-five, with dark, curling hair and a strong, square jaw. Muscles bulged against his tight white t-shirt as he wiped the counter with a damp rag. His dark brown eyes glinted with interest as they made a quick appraisal of my face, flicking lower to my body for half a second.
I didn’t mind. If anything, a little flirtation often got me more information. It was the easiest way to gather intel for my research. I quickly memorized his facial features. He was hot enough to be a romantic hero. My next character was standing in front of me. He was perfect.
“Hi,” I greeted brightly.
“See something you want?” he asked, his voice deep and his accent thick. His sly grin let me know he meant more than what was on the menu.
“I don’t know,” I responded coyly. “What’s good here?”
“Everything is good here.”
Cocky. Oh yeah, definitely perfect hero material.
“I don’t know much about Russian cuisine,” I said, wanting more information for my book. “What do you recommend?”
“We make the best pelmeni in the city,” he replied, proud.
“I’ll try that, then.”
“Matvei!” he called out suddenly.
A green door behind the counter swung open, and a slightly older man poked his head out. His doughy features were drawn with irritation, his forehead wrinkling all the way up to his buzz-cut brown hair.
He barked something in Russian, glowering at the younger server. I caught the name “Leo,” but I couldn’t understand anything else.
Leo gestured toward me and answered in the same language. Matvei’s eyes turned to me. They were the same dark shade as Leo’s, making me wonder if they were related.
He studied me for a moment, then his sour expression lifted into a smile.
“You are not from around here,” he surmised, his accent even heavier than Leo’s.
“I’m not,” I confirmed genially. “Actually, I’m in town for research. I’m an author. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the area?” I pulled out my notepad and pen before he could answer.
“You write books?” Leo asked, intrigued.
I nodded. “Romance novels.”
Matvei laughed, but it was a delighted sound rather than derisive. “Grigory!” he called over to the older man sitting at the booth. He said something else in Russian.
To my surprise, Grigory scowled at me, his gaze fixing on my pen where it was poised over my notebook. “You want to ask questions?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Leo asked in English. “She writes romance books.”
“You should not talk to strangers asking questions. She doesn’t belong.” His equally dark eyes bored into me, and I knew he was speaking in disapproving English for my benefit.
Leo chuckled. “You are being paranoid, old man.” He glanced up and down my body again, his gaze lingering on my breasts a little longer this time. He said something else in Russian, his eyes dancing with amusement.
I kept my smile in place, staying focused on him. Leo was my ally, even if he was being a little sleazy. If he could convince Grigory that I was cool, I could get the answers I wanted.
I opened my mouth to reiterate that I only wanted information for my novel, but the chime of the entry bell interrupted me. I swiveled on my stool to face the open door. My jaw dropped when I registered the familiar, hulking form that filled the threshold.
“Dex? What are you doing here?”
His angular features were fixed in a scowl. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, his blue eyes like chips of ice. “Come on, Chloe. We’re leaving. Now.”
“I told you,” Grigory growled. “She can’t be trusted. She brought a cop with her.”
“I’m not a cop,” Dex said smoothly. “I’m her boyfriend.”
My jaw fell further. What the hell was he doing?
Grigory spat a Russian curse. “You walk like a cop.” He pointed at me, turning his attention to Matvei. “She is a spy.”
The atmosphere changed instantly, growing heavy with tension in the space of a second. I looked back at Leo to find his full lips curled with anger.
“Is this true?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “You come here to spy on us?”
“No!” I insisted, alarmed. Leo’s muscles flexed with barely-contained violence. Matvei stepped out from where he’d lingered in the kitchen. I’d thought he was overweight, but the bulge of his belly didn’t diminish the intimidation factor as he fisted his hand and cracked his knuckles against his palm.
Dex was suddenly at my side, his arm curving around my waist as he hauled me off the barstool and tucked me close to his body.
“We’re leaving,” he declared.
The sharp click of a knife flicking open echoed through the small café. The blade glinted in Leo’s fist.
Dex snapped something unintelligible. It took me half a second to register that he’d spoken in Russian. In that short heartbeat of time, he’d reached beneath his suit jacket to place his hand on the gun that was holstered to his side.
Leo froze, his handsome features twisting with a snarl.
Dex’s fingers curled into my waist, and he began to back out of the café, dragging me along with him. I followed without resistance, not breathing until the door chimed above us. The heat of the pavement outside rose up around us, and I gasped in warm air.
We were out.
Dex turned, keeping his body curved around mine as he hustled me to a waiting black sedan and half-lifted me into the passenger seat. He slammed my door and hurried to the other side of the car, getting in and jamming the keys into the ignition. Tires squealed, and we jolted forward.
“Sharon,” he growled. I looked over and realized he was speaking into his phone. “I’m taking Chloe back to the field office.” There was a pause. “Because you weren’t watching her. You let her wander off on her own. I’m taking her to Kennedy.”
“Wander off?” I demanded as he ended the call. “I’m not some puppy that slipped its collar.”
He glared at me. “Well, consider yourself officially leashed. You’re welcome.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, seething. “You can’t talk to me like this.”
“Like what? Like I just saved your ass?”
“Everything was fine until you barged in. I don’t remember calling in the cavalry. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?”
“Other than rescuing you?” he ground out. “Clayton called in about his informant. When I heard Sharon was taking you to Brighton Beach, I decided to come make sure you were safe. Again, you’re welcome.”
“Well, I’m not going to thank you. I was just having a conversation. Like I said, I was fine until you came in.”
“Do you know who those men were? You were having a conversation with members of the Bratva. Do you know what the Russian Mafia does with beautiful women like you? Do you have any idea the kind of danger you were in?”
“I wasn’t in danger,” I insisted, but doubt made my stomach clench. “Seriously, we were only talking.”
Dex’s jaw firmed. “You do need a leash.”
“What I need is for you to stop being a dick and take me back to Sharon.”
“I don’t think so. I’m taking you to Kennedy. He can deal with you.”
I threw up my hands, exasperated. “I don’t need to be dealt with.”
> “This conversation is over. I’m taking you back to the field office, and that’s final.”
“You’re a domineering ass.”
“When it comes to keeping you safe, I’ll be as domineering as I need to be.”
“So that’s what this is about? You’re the noble Dom in shining armor protecting the helpless sub? God, you have a major hero complex.”
His lips pressed together in an angry line, and he didn’t respond. We rode back to the field office in stony silence, neither of us willing to admit that we were at fault.
6
Dex
I didn’t understand her attitude. A hero complex? Really?
She obviously didn’t have a clue what the Bratva was capable of. I’d witnessed it firsthand, had seen my friends tortured and violated by the ruthless vory. When I’d found her in that café, so close to men who took gorgeous women like her and sold their bodies…
I felt sick just thinking about it. Sick and angry. I couldn’t believe Sharon had taken Chloe to Brighton Beach and left her alone in an area where we knew the Bratva operated. Why had Chloe gone into that café in the first place? Did she have no sense of self-preservation?
I ground my teeth together against further questions. Interrogating her wouldn’t get me anywhere. She was obviously just as frustrated with me as I was with her.
Kennedy will deal with her. He’ll send her home, where she’ll be safe.
If anyone could intimidate the fiery woman into cooperating, it was Ken. There was a reason he was the director in a team full of Doms. He commanded respect from everyone. Hell, even Smith deferred to him.
I kept my body close to Chloe’s as I ushered her out of the elevator and into the field office, flanking her like a prisoner. Her tension indicated that she wasn’t keen to face Kennedy again, but that was too bad for her. My boss would make her see reason.
“What’s going on?” Ken asked as soon as we stepped into his office. “Why isn’t Miss Martin with Silverman?”