But mostly, she pissed me off.
A couple of weeks after that 5 a.m. kitchen ambush, I had a job at one of those overpriced nightclubs where rich kids blew money to feel important and poor kids blew money trying to look rich. Neon lights pulsed like seizures, velvet ropes snaked through the entrance, and bass rattled the floors hard enough to fake a heartbeat. Vodka and perfume hung heavy in the air, but it was the scent of craving—money, power, attention—that really choked you.
The owner had fallen behind on his payments—again. Rumor was, he thought his connections made him untouchable. Pakhan didn’t like rumors like that. My job was to remind the man whose city this was.
It didn’t take long. A brief conversation in the back office, a few cold threats, and the money was in my jacket pocket. Done.
I was heading out when I saw her.
Of course she was fucking here.
Perched in one of the VIP booths above the dance floor, legs crossed, drink in hand, dress so short it didn’t look legal. Like she wanted every man in the room to want her—and every woman to hate her for it.Her laugh was bright, detached—like she wasn’t the daughter of the most dangerous man in Ukraine.
Of all the fucking places.
My night was already shit. Now it was worse.
I stood by the edge of the crowd, watching her like a problem I didn’t want but couldn’t ignore. She was grinding on some slick-haired trust fund clown, throwing her head back like nothing mattered. My jaw clenched. I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t. But the way that dress hugged her ass, the way her legs wrapped around that boy’s thigh like she’d done it a hundred times—fuck.
She was reckless. Insufferable. Tempting in all the wrong ways.
And it made me want to throw that idiot over the railing and drag her out by the hair.
Every inch of me screamed to walk away. Let her choke on the mess she made. But if something happened to her—and I’d been here, seen her, and left?
Pakhan wouldn’t care what I did. He’d put a bullet in my skull before anyone asked a question.
I muttered a curse under my breath and started moving.
Everyone in the club knew who I was. No one stopped me. Not the bouncers, not the bartenders, not even the big guy guarding the VIP area. I unlatched the little rope like it was nothing and climbed the steps.
She saw me the second I got close. Smirked like she’d won something.
“Came to dance, Reaper?”
I ignored the sass. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Having a good time. Dancing. Existing.”
I glanced down at her—legs bare, skin glowing in the low lights, body moving like sin itself. The kind of sight that made men do stupid things. And I wasn’t immune.
“If your father finds out—”
“Relax.” She cut me off, rolling her eyes. “My mother’s high. She said I could go.”
“You’re coming with me.”
She took a sip of her drink, unbothered. “I’m not done. Still drinking. Still dancing.”
“You’re done now.”
“What are you, my babysitter?”
“Your father finds out I saw you grinding on frat trash and didn’t intervene? He won’t ask questions—he’ll just start digging my grave. Is that clear enough for your pretty little brain?”
Her smile widened. “What if I don’t go?”
I stared at her, jaw tight. “Don’t test me tonight, Malaya. Wrap it up—we’re leaving.”
