I don’t barter.
After banding my arm around Ms. Aaronson’s chubby waist, I guide her to the door—forcefully. “I’ll get you what’s needed, then, if Justine is up for it, she’ll join you for alatebrunch tomorrow morning.” Late because Justine and I have more than just the issues of my cock to tackle tonight.
I’m not surprised when the opening of Justine’s front door occurs with the shuffling of an expensive pair of black boots. Roman doesn’t back down as readily as my crew. That’s probably more due to the fact he’s my mentor than a solider hoping to climb the ranks. He challenges me as much as I grate his last nerve.
Ms. Aaronson brings out all her tricks when Roman steps out of shadow covering his face. As she takes in his six foot frame, cut jaw, and deadly black eyes, she appears more and more like a lady on the brink of climax. When she drags her teeth over her lower lip, my stomach’s cramps have me grateful I skipped lunch.
“Oh, hello there, young man.” She bats her lashes that are as glistening as much as the sweat mustache on her top lip. “What are you doing hiding out here?”
Roman chokes on his spit when I say, “He’s here to take you to the store.”
I can see the fight in his eyes, smell his wish for an argument on his skin, but since he knows better than to double guess anything I tell him to do, he gestures for Ms. Aaronson to lead the way. “After you.”
She slices her hand through the air, pretending she’s not on the verge of coronary failure before saying, “Sheesh, slow down young man. I need to get my purse first.”
While wiggling his finger in his ear to ease the damage Ms. Aaronson’s high-pitch squeal caused to his hearing, Roman strays his eyes to mine. He doesn’t speak, but I see the demand in his slit gaze. I owe him.
After jerking up my chin, caving to his silent bid, I farewell Roman and Ms. Aaronson by slamming the door in their faces. I’ve barely slide the lock into place when the sense of being watched rains down on me. While watching Ms. Aaronson make her way to her apartment to gather her purse through the sheer curtain on the window in Justine’s living room, I pivot on my heels to face Justine. Her face is as impassive as the blankness in her eyes.
“Ms. Aaronson wishes for me to pass on her apologies for the interruption, and she has assured me it won’t happen again.” The smug prick inside me roars when I mutter, “No matter how loud you scream.”
My eyes sweep over her body, seeking any signs she heard my comment as I intended. Her nipples are tilted upward, begging to be touched, but her eyes remain hollow.
I fucking hate it.
I step closer to her, struggling as to which emotion I should act on first: anger or pleasure.
When several seconds of deliberating gets me nowhere fast, I seek assistance from the source of my dilemma. “I don’t know where to start,Ahren. At the event we were undertaking before Ms. Aaronson arrived, or the secrets your twenty-minute bathroom break was hoping to conceal.”
As her throat works through a hearty swallow, I bridge the gap between us. I don’t race for her like I did earlier. I take my time, allowing her to see the snake standing directly in front of her. She’ll have a better chance of overcoming her fears if she faces them head-on. It just isn’t a physical hazard she needs to be wary of. It’s much deeper than that.
A grin raises my cheeks when Justine responds to the fire roaring in her gut with more intensity than I bargained for. She vaults over the outdated couch Officer Prentice made as worthless as his life, lands a near perfect dismount without so much as ruffling a hair on her head, then charges into the room still housing over two dozen sex toys on its bed.
She slams her bedroom door shut with as much force as she used on the bathroom door earlier, except this time, I fail to hear a lock slide into place.
Curious, I move closer to the door. I’ll never take anything unwillingly given, but that doesn’t mean I can’t snoop. The motto ‘I can look but can’t touch’ works well for me—although I’m tempted as fuck to ignore it when the patter of Justine’s heart resonates through the door.
Once again, it isn’t the thump of someone in fear.
She’s fighting no one but herself.
“After my performance in the foyer, I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s best for all involved if we pretend tonight never happened. I’m your attorney, Nikolai. Ethically, we can only have a client/attorney relationship.”
I lose the chance to refute her fabricated statement when a flash of amber catches my eye.
Chapter Seven
My blood boils when the winded grunt of the bottom-feeder I have nailed to the brickwork of Justine’s apartment registers as familiar. It’s pathetic and weak even with its owner being a direct descendent to one of the longest serving criminal entities this side of Russia.
Sergei may have Popov blood, but he willneverbe a true Popov. He’s too weak, too?????????.After what he did to Rico, his limbs should be feeding fish in the bottom of the ocean, not lurking outside of my attorney’s apartment.
I revel the feeling of his pulse weakening for several long seconds before loosening my grip on his throat. When I fully relinquish him from my hold, he falls to his knees to suck in some much-needed breaths. His lungs are heaving as much now as they did when I stunned him with a quick left, right, left combination before ramming him into the brickwork outside of Justine’s bedroom. I should have killed him, but there were too many onlookers to pretend his death was in self-defense.
“What are you doing here, Sergei?” I sound calm even with my insides engulfed by fury. He was right there, peering through the glass door of Justine’s balcony, closer to her than I was.
That’s unacceptable.
After another three wheezy breaths, Sergei says, “He sent me to check on you.”
