When the redhead struggles to comprehend what I’m saying, I rip off the Band-Aid in one foul sweep. I could use a gentler approach, but they don’t call me The Snake for no reason. There’s more than venom in my bite. “If I agree for Carmichael to be my counsel, his celebration will entail a part of your body wrapped around his cock, so I’m interested in discovering if that is something you want, or something you’ve already had?”
Her reply isn’t exactly as I’m hoping. Her dilated gaze confirms my suspicions that Carmichael hasn’t hidden his admiration of her, but it also reveals he doesn’t have the arsenal required to seal the deal. I guarantee he’s attempting to coerce her into his bed like all soft cocks do, with almost touches and flirty comments, whereas she gives off the vibe she wants to be fucked into submission.
Every girl wants a bad boy, they’re just too shy to admit. Luckily for me, I can see it in the redhead’s eyes. She’ll be as feisty in the bedroom as her flaming red hair, and as determined not to fall under my spell as the fighting spirit hidden deep within her eyes.
Needing to hide the flare of hope thickening my veins, I snag a cigarette out of the packet, stuff it between my quirked lips, then light it.
For a man in a trench, a hit of nicotine is usually the stuff of magic.
To Carmichael, it’s another nail in his coffin.
“I knew I remained shirtless for a reason.” I arch my brow at the redhead, announcing I noticed her hungry stare of my tattooed biceps. “Up here is for the thinking.” I tap my temple with my index finger. “Down there is for the dancing.” When her eyes snap away, embarrassed she’s been busted perving, I chuckle. “I always thought red was the color of the devil. Now I’m not so sure.”
I’m not just referencing to blood-red tinge creeping across the redhead’s cheeks. I’m also referring to Carmichael’s flaming-with-anger face. It tells me everything I need to know, and has me grateful I don’t need to get inventive with my weapon of choice since Viktor snuck my knife out of my nightclub along with his ginormous frame.
“Not yet happened, but you’re not against the idea.” Testosterone pumps through my veins hard and fast when I assure, “Trust me, we’d have a lot more fun.”
The rolling of the redhead’s shoulders doubles the fire in my gut. As do the words she speaks next. “This is a government building. You’re not allowed to smoke in here.”
Her voice… Fuck. Me. Hotter than hell. Add its sexiness to the fact men don’t have the gall to go against me, yet she did without the slightest quiver to her words, and you’ve got me hard enough to break the zipper in my jeans.
How is it men with weapons strapped to their chests are shaking more than she is? She either believes I’m no threat to her, or she has no clue who she’s dealing with.
Perhaps I should give her a hint?
After blowing out the smoke burning my lungs, I say, “This building is situated on grounds I own in a town I rule. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” I try to hold in the last half of my reply by dragging my teeth over my bottom lip, but I can smell the needs of her greedy cunt from here, so I’m done playing nice. “I can even do you if I want.”
My nostrils flare as her erotic smell doubles. She folds her arms in front of her chest, trying to act pissed about my comment. Her acting skills are as low as her colleagues’ endeavors to pretend they’re not watching our exchange with wide, scheming eyes. They know the wolf has spotted Little Red Riding Hood but instead of coming to her defense, they dangle meat over her head, encouraging me to stalk closer, to take the bait they’re throwing out.
I do precisely that when the redhead’s eyes drop to the floor a few seconds later. She’s got more fight in her eyes than she’s portraying. Although I usually relish the struggle of others, I refuse for her to bow like a dog. Even if her wings are broken, she needs to remember she still has claws.
My wish to clear the room of anyone but us evaporates when the tapping of my knuckles on the tabletop returns her eyes to mine. “Smart and beautiful. Who would have known.” I stare at her, ensuring she can hear the words I can’t speak. She can be as pure as an angel with the determination of the devil. They are, after all, the same species. “There are devilish thoughts in the most angelic minds,Ahren. I can’t wait to hear yours.”
Her lips purse in preparation to respond, but before she can, she’s interrupted by a girl nowhere near as mind-hazing as her. If I were a preaching man, I’d say her interruption was a sign from God for me to slow down, but since I’m more sinner than a saint, I get to the real reason she’s standing across from me, riling me like the life in her eyes wasn’t extinguished years ago.
“How far are you willing to go to secure me as your client? Will you dance with the devil? Or sleep in Satan’s bed?” When her eyes snap back to mine, the need in them is almost my undoing. “I’m tempted as fuck to discover how loud you scream, but are my desires potent enough to work with thisvyperdusch? I already have one lawyer breathing down my neck, do I really want another?”
With the redhead unable to speak, Carmichael uses her silence to toy with my insecurities. “You know I don’t play fair, Nikolai. Fair is not a word in my dictionary. Justine was brought in to entice your less astute head. Clearly, her presence has piqued your interest.”
His confirmation the redhead was brought in as a ploy has me plotting his death. It is violent and gruesome, and will commence at the slug he calls his dick.
“But, Justine isn't just a knock-out, she’s the shrewdest member of my team. If you don’t want to sleep in a cell this evening, she’s your signed guarantee that will not happen. Not maybe. Not possibly. Willnothappen.”
“I have an attorney. I don’t need another—”
“Perhaps this will change your mind on who you want representing you.”
With a grin I plan to slit two inches lower, Carmichael slides a piece of paper across the table. I don’t look at it. I can’t. I’m do busy staring at Justine, assessing every inch of her angelic face for signs she knew about Carmichael’s plans to play me as a fool. If she is aware, her death will be as painful as Carmichael’s.
I don’t trust anyone, not even an angel, because the devil was once an angel too.
After several long heartbeats, I lower my eyes to the document. Justine is none the wiser to Carmichael’s trick as the rest of his minions. How do I know this? She’s as interested to discover Carmichael’s next move as I am.
My jaw ticks profusely when I read the one sentence of text on the full-size document.
Erik Monstrateo—FBI Agent No: 1183429
Erik is my lawyer. Or should I say,wasmy lawyer. If what Carmichael is presenting is true, if Erik is a snitch, he’ll be in hell by the end of the week, and I’ll be the man driving him there.
