by Logan Chance
I pray it’s the first one.
Finally, I reach his table. He’s spilling over with giggling hot women who cling to his every word. Once he places his order I know why. Newly rich. Newly popular. Orders three of the most expensive bottles we have in stock. Tips me upfront.
Tonight might not be so bad after all.
Back behind the bar, a girl I simply know as “Angie” bumps into my side as I prepare my tray for another order making me spill some of the drinks. This is like high school level cattiness but in a bar setting. For shit’s sake.
She doesn’t look like she has a ‘newly rich and wants to spend it fast’ kind of guy at her table. I try to give her some slack.
“Damn, it’s busy tonight,” she huffs.
“Thank God,” I mumble, scooping ice into glasses. “I need to keep my mind off my ex.”
She turns to me. “Oh, are you alright?”
Ok, not what I was expecting her to say. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Oh hell. That is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” She searches my shirt again because we’re only “friends” at work and she’s forgotten my name. Again. “Addy.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m just having a bad day.”
Meg, another server, scoffs. “Ugh. I freaking hate men. I swear.”
I nod half-heartedly and then I get back to my serving duties. The last thing I need is to get in trouble. Well, more trouble. My whole life is basically about trouble.
But being a bottle girl, the number one rule of my job is to make the client happy at all costs. So, being late with their drinks isn’t going to make that happen. I pick up the speed and try to ignore how the man at my next table wears the same cologne as Vin. I hold my breath as I pour a glass before each person at the table. The last thing I want to do is think about my partner in crime. He’s a dick. I repeat it in my head. Dick of all dicks. Not hot. Not funny, or sweet or alarmingly sexy and good in bed. That thing with his tongue and fingers . . . oh, shit. Shut up and stop this madness.
Vin Mills is not your guy.
Not anymore.
He’s gone.
This is your life now.
You serve drinks and don’t ask questions.
You don’t have a hot federal agent fiance.
You don’t even know Vin Mills.
I’m so grateful it’s busy tonight. It keeps me hustling around and, for a while, my mind off Vin. Plus the time flies. I count down the final few hours of my shift, longing for my bed and a moment to myself to breathe and try to forget this nightmare. I’m helping to wash glasses when I see Meg again. I give her a glance and she has a rather serious expression on her face.
“Boss wants you to wait on the VIP room upstairs.”
Oh shit. That’s the big leagues.
And my target for the night.
Meet the Russian mob boss—Kesar.
Alone. Without Vin.
I check the order in the computer. Four magnum bottles of champagne.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
They say water seeks its own level—let’s pray I don’t drown.
My heart is still jack-hammering in my chest as I ride the elevator up to the second floor. Two guards stand outside the VIP room’s door which does little to calm my nerves. I have to actually remember to breathe, because I am so anxious I find myself holding it in.
One of the men follows behind me after he opens the door. They call this the Chandelier Room because the entire ceiling is dripping in crystals, like being under a sparkling amber sky. Luxury paints itself on every canvas of the interior. From the leather chairs to the rich dark wood of the tables. It takes big money to access this floor. Only the elite sit up here. Movie stars, athletes, politicians. Hell, even royalty.
I try not to look nervous even though I am. In the middle of the room there are several men gathered in dark suits. I don’t understand some of them as they speak quietly in a foriegn language.
But there is one man that speaks universally as he curls his fingers at me, silently beckoning for me to come over to him — oh my God. I’m going to kill Vin Mills. Right after I stop ogling the ever loving crap out of him.
He has on a charcoal grey suit, tailored like a glove to fit his muscular, hard body. His eyes are cast in shadows as dark as his clothing, but there is a fire inside them that makes my knees weak and sweat lick the back of my neck.
What the hell is he doing?
And why the hell does he look so damn good doing it?
I’ve dealt with powerful men before, but this is not your typical rich or famous looking man. This man, this version of Mills looks . . . dangerous. This man has a presence that makes even the men surrounding him seem nervous to breathe the wrong way. Or at all. It’s thick in the air— a complete contrast to the party atmosphere in the club below.
I swallow as I reach him and pray I don’t stammer over my words and screw up.
“Good evening, sir.” Carefully, I settle the heavy tray down, keeping my eyes fixed fiercely on him, trying to communicate my feelings how not cool this is. “I’m Addy. May I serve you a glass of champagne?”
He inclines his head as he watches me. “You’re good at that. Big job for such a tiny woman.”
I fight a scowl. “Thank you. It’s not as hard as it looks though, sir.”
He squints at me, challenging my words. “You should have had another person help you. Split up the bottles on two trays. It’s always better with two, not one, Addy.”
I smile. He won’t break me. Not tonight. Not with so much riding on the line for this take down.
“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve serviced this room many times before solo. I promise you’re in good hands.”
He nods, confidently. “That was my point.”
Flustered, I pick up a glass. “What do you mean?”
“You handled that all by yourself. Normally a person would try to lessen their workload. But not you.”
Nice try at redemption, Mills.
“Thank you, sir.”
Vin calls out behind him to the men in another language. Immediately they face him like toy soldiers. It knocks me a bit breathless how easily he can do that—make people snap-to on command, honing his role as a leader so seamless and perfectly.
“Meet my friend, Addy,” he says to them. “You could learn something from a hardworking girl like this.” He says something else in their language.
“This is my top four,” he says to me, nodding to the men as he counts them off slowly. “Vlad, Yegor, Ivan, Pasha.” His eyes blaze as he stares at me. “Understand, Addy?”
Ah, there it is. The coded way of speaking we know so well about each other. So these guys are under Vin, and also the top four we want to talk to for info on our main objective—Kesar. I quickly scan them, trying to note any tattoos or significant things that make them stand out, but they all are dressed in long sleeves and jackets with high collars. It’s like a uniform. Not much to go on except names. I hope intel caught the names. I don’t even know if Vin is wearing a wire right now. If I had to guess, by his level of cockiness, I’d wager a negative. You get caught being hot by this group, you’re not going home.
I’m a bottle girl. I’ve got a wire. But they don’t want much from me except for a good cleavage show and booze.
I smile at them. “Happy to meet you all.”
They snicker at me. The man who appears to be in charge of them has a wicked grin spread across his face, too, but much more severe. “You would be the first person to ever say that, Addy.”
They all stare at me trying to hide their amusement. I laugh to brush off the awkwardness and busy myself with serving, pouring flutes of bubbling champagne and hiding how very interested I am in scouring the room with my eyes to pick up any more clues about these “guests” AKA violent killers and soldiers of the Russian Bratva who could kill me at the moment of their choosing. Not that I don’t trust the FEDS to back me, but things can go sideways quickly. Look at my situation with V
in. Who would have thought we’d be on opposite sides of the table today? I get the whole good cop bad cop thing but this is taking stuff to a whole new level. And by the looks of him, it seems as if he has dove deep into his role playing gig—even making me question which side he is actually on. I don’t know if that should make me wet or scare the crap out of me.
“Have you worked here a long time?” Vin asks from behind, his voice suddenly much closer. I glance over my shoulder to see he’s coming to stand beside me. I feel hot all over, remembering how good he feels against me, how well he knows my body. I ache to feel his touch even though I want to kill him right now.
“Just trying to earn a living while I get my business off the ground.” I hand him a filled flute of bubbly. “For you, sir.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, staring at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes of his until I am swimming in my own desire for him. Our fingers touch briefly as he takes the glass from me, sending sweet shivers down my spine. My cheeks flame and he wets his lower lip slowly, making me melt before him.
“Please,” he says, taking it from me, “call me Dima.” He takes a sip and I can’t help but watch the muscles in his neck reflex as he swallows. He’s tall like a skyscraper which only adds to the intimidating factor. Hot. So damn hot.
No. Stop looking at him like you know him. Like you know exactly how his kisses feel.
This is exactly why I can’t go undercover with him anymore.
Dima . . . Damn it, Vin, how deep in this are you?
“What is your business?” he asks, finally, tucking his free hand into the pocket of his perfectly tailored slacks.
“I like to bake. I’d like to have my own place someday.”
He inclines his head. “Is that right?”
I lift my chin higher. “Yes, I love baking.”
He grins. “You should say it like you mean it.”
I’m gonna kill him.
“Yeah, it’s not really something I share about myself, especially with strange men. More champagne, sir?”
He feigns being hurt by my words. “And here I thought we were friends, Addy.” He hands me back his empty flute. “Me and my men are going to play a game at the table. Poker. Please serve us there. We could really use a girl like you around tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grins and I make a vow to get even with him for this. Infiltrating the case I’ve been working on for months. Waltzing around like a Russian mob boss? Mocking me? Giving me tips about my undercover disguise and acting? Making me bring him four bottles of champagne and serve him?
Oh, hell to the no.
Not on my watch.
Vin Mills wants to masquerade as a mobster? Well then I’m going to treat him just like one.
I’m going to take Vin Mills down, too.
Two
By the third game of poker, the atmosphere shifts from funeral parlor to after party. And oddly, I’m actually enjoying my time serving them drinks and watching as they drunkenly argue and fight over the game, laughing and joking with each other like quibbling siblings. There is one man who is a little more drunk than the rest—the man Dima introduced as Yegor. He makes eyes at me every time I pass and keeps putting his hand on my waist as I serve him drinks. I try to smile and brave my way through it all, but sometimes men with too much money and power have never heard the word “no” from anyone. And I’m surrounded by them in this room.
I’m serving him another shot when he grabs a hold of me this time, nearly making me fall into his lap. I try to catch myself, and the bottle falls from my hands and clatters against the floor, the glass exploding into a million shards.
The room instantly falls silent.
Shit, shit, shit.
Yegor says something I don’t understand and pushes me from his lap. But none of them reply or make a single move. None of them except Vin. He rises from his chair and leans on the table speaking to Yegor under his breath. Just one word in Russian. I don’t need to speak Russian to know what it is—a deadly warning.
I inhale, realizing how much worse I’ve just made everything. I should have just apologized and cleaned it up. I’m about to start doing that but Vin splits through the tension in the room by laughing.
“Yegor,” he says, “you should know better than to get between a woman and her shoes. Especially when they have a heel on them long enough to stab you in the fucking heart.” Vin offers his hand to me. “Careful.”
Great, now all eyes are on me.
I walk over to him through the wet glass around my feet, stumbling slightly until he has a firm grasp on me. “Now, for the shoes.” He lifts me up easily into his strong arms and I can’t breathe. His warmth permeates through his designer jacket and right through me like a flood. I’m also hyper aware of how many eyes are on us and that sends the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. Vin settles me on a plush leather sofa. Then he looks up to the men and orders them out with one wave of his hand. Just like that, a fleet of grown men flee.
I scoff once the room is free and cleared of armed thugs who’d kill us if they knew we were actually Federal Agents that deeply love each other.
“What the hell?” I slap his shoulder. “What in the actual hell, Vin?”
He half-grins but then sours, looking at the mess all around the room. “Are you honestly pissed off that I’m here right now?”
“I’m pissed that—” he lowers his hand, silently requesting I need to bring it down a notch. That much I agree with. I take a deep breath and start over, lower this time, just above an angry murderous whisper. “I’m pissed that you lied to me.”
“We are literally professional liars. Try again.”
“We lie to criminals, not each other, Mills.”
“Sometimes we need to lie to each other to keep each other alive. Like tonight.”
“How long have you been pretending to be a hot ass Russian gangster, exactly?”
Vin fully grins this time. The jerk. “It’s been on my bucket list for quite a while now.”
“Vin.”
“Baby, I love the threatening tone, but we need to come to a compromise before we blow our cover.”
“I don’t even know what our cover is, Vin.”
He puts his hand over my lips and then slowly lowers it. “Kitty needs to calm down.”
“Kitty is calm. Kitty is puuurrrrfectly freaking calm.” I’m so not.
He snickers. “Oh God, Addison, I just love you.”
“Vin. Mills.”
“Ok, ok. Shit. I’m undercover as Dima Black, running a ring of men for Kesar, the number one in the Bratva. We need to drop a shipment of product but they are super paranoid right now because they keep getting taken out by the Mexican cartel that have authority over a new territory. I’ve promised to gain that territory and take out Manuel, the king of the cartel.”
I stare at him. “You what?”
“It’s my job.”
“I was only supposed to eavesdrop on these little parties, Vin. Not get balls deep involved with the Russian Bratva kingpin.”
He shrugs. “You can still do that.”
“Not now I can’t. You put yourself directly in the middle of this crap.”
“Sure you can. I’m a big boy and can take care of myself.” He smiles.
“You’re in the middle of a mob war, Mills. I cannot believe I even need to point that out to you, Mr. Big Boy Pants.”
He rubs his fingers up my thighs because I am so damn right and now he’s trying to distract me. I swat his hands away.
“Baby, we’re FEDS. Maybe you’re cool with taking the easy pitches, but I want to be an actual crime solver.”
“Crime solver? Excuse me? We solve things. Oh, we solve things, Mr. Man.”
“White collar crimes. Rich people stealing from other rich people. I mean, honestly, who cares, Addy.”
“I do. Crime is crime. And white collar crime doesn’t put you in the middle of a territory war between the Russians and Mexicans. That is not a
wish to solve crime. That is a wish to be dead. Dead, Mills. Freaking dead. See how many crimes you solve then.”
“I’m starting to feel like you don’t believe I’m capable at doing my job.”
“I believe in you. But I don’t want to see you hurt . . or worse.”
“Then be my number two again. Damn it, Addison, I need someone now more than ever that I can trust and rely on.”
There he goes. Giving me those epic Vin lines mixed with the hypnotizing gaze of beautiful hazel sex me orbs.
Sex me is right. I am. So incredibly screwed.
How do I tell him no when he riles me up like this?
His fingers skate back up my legs, sending tingles all over my skin.
“Addison, how much you care about me truly means the world to me. You know that, babe?”
“Don’t babe me right now. I’m on the job and so are you. I’m Detective Buckley to you right now.”
“Sure about that?” He traces his fingers higher, under my barely there cocktail dress.
“Completely effing positive.” I huff a little, trying to avoid his gaze. “You know when we agreed to not be partners on the job anymore it was for a good reason.”
Vin leans in and dots hot wet kisses on my throat. “What reason was that and who was dumb enough to agree to such nonsense?”
“It was both of us.”
“Damn, we’re dumb.”
“Mills,” I warn, pulling back a tad. “We know each other too well. We’ll blow our cover. It goes against everything we're taught.”
“Maybe knowing each other so well has been what makes us a kickass team. Ever consider that? Baby, I can read you just by looking at you. I know what makes you tick, what fires you up, what calms you down and everything in between. I can tell when you stutter just ever so slightly over your words that you’re scared, not nervous, because you rarely get nervous. But, you do get scared because you care so deeply about things. I know you better, quite possibly, than I know myself.”