Page 8 of Flames

Lev is my right hand man. A truly loyal and constant companion over the years, he is not exactly a monster and not exactly a man, making him something truly unique and unusual in this world. I find his calm and stoic presence reassuring. I would trust the druzhban with my life. The bald bartender, whose name I always forget, slides me two double whiskey neats. I take one and hand the second to Lev.

Slipping the check from my pocket, I hand it over to Lev who lets out a low whistle. “That worked out exactly how you’d hoped for.”

It is at that exact moment that the door to the bar swings open, crashing against the wall with a resounding thunk. All eyes swing towards the noise. Several guns cock. I can’t stop the slow smirk that spreads across my face as I feel her eyes land on my back. I take a slow sip of my drink, reveling in the burn.

“Phoenix, you asshole!” my favorite redhead calls out from the door she just kicked open. The righteous fury in her voice has my entire body crackling with excitement.

I knew she’d find me.

FOUR

MARISA

The focus of my fury sits with his back to me at the bar. All eyes have swiveled to stare at me—all except Phoenix. The cocky bastard seems determined to piss me off more than he already has, refusing to turn around and look at me.

Dick.

“That was my mark and you know it,” I yell at his back as he takes a sip from his glass. The silence following my tirade is stifling. It’s quiet enough in the dive bar that you could hear a pin drop; everyone holds their breath, waiting to see what will happen next.

“Wrack them up, Lev,” the King of the Assholes himself says, causing the man next to him to slide from his barstool and make his way over to the pool table. Phoenix follows close behind, not sparing me a single glance.

The rest of the patrons seem to follow the other man’s lead, going back to their business and essentially ignoring my attempted confrontation. Simmering anger turns into a full blown boiling rage as I watch the man who stole my millions grab a pool cue and begin swirling the chalk around the tip. Nevermind the way his broad, muscular shoulders shift beneath his tight leather jacket in a way that has me wondering how easily he could throw me around.

Nope. Not thinking about that—he’s an ass. An attractive ass, though.

“Phoenix, I’m talking to you!” I seethe as he continues to ignore me. In one swift motion, he slips his leather jacket off of his shoulders, exposing his muscular arms covered in an array of dark ink. His tattoos seem to mainly depict flames and feathers of some type of flaming bird, wrapping around the trunks of his very large and very veiny and very, very attractive arms. Why are the most attractive ones always such douche bags? “Will you stop fucking ignoring me!”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he states flatly before bending forward, lining up his cue, and popping a shot. Balls scatter in all directions as the crashing noise of the collision ricochets off the walls of the bar. “I’m simply letting you get it all out before I reply,” he states as he watches the balls roll across the felt table. One flies into the corner pocket. “Poloski.”

I take another step towards him, letting my anger cascade out in full force. “You knew I was going for the tapestry and you stalled me, then nabbed it right out from under my nose! You–you–” I stammer over my words, trying to find an appropriate insult for the man. “You dick.”

He spins, a smirk pulling at his lips. That damn dimple pops in his cheek, which is now dusted with a light shadow of dark stubble. He has a match lodged in the corner of his mouth, which he shifts back and forth before speaking. “I bet you wouldn’t mind having a little more time with this dick,” he snarks with a seductive raise of his eyebrows.

Oh no, he did not.

I march right up to him, my Doc Martens crunching on the stale remnants of cigarette butts and peanut shells which litter the wood floor. This man might be a giant with shoulders wider than I am tall, but I do not back down easily. I square right up with him, my chin held high in defiance as he looks down at me with his cocky ass grin. His body seems to radiate heat, the closer I get to him, the more I can feel the warmth flowing off him in waves. As someone who is perpetually cold, I would absolutely be reveling in the warmth if I didn’t absolutely detest the man. Sliding my hand along his muscular forearm, I let my red nails scrape across his skin. He hisses slightly as I draw blood. Good. When I reach the glass of whiskey perched in his hand, I close my fingers around it. He instantly relents, allowing me to steal his drink.

“The least you can do is buy me all the drinks I want after that,” I snark before bringing the glass to my lips and slinging back the shot. The burn is instantaneous as the liquor slides down my windpipe. But following the burn is the warmth which radiates through me. “Ugh,” I groan as I slam the glass back on the edge of the table. “Straight whiskey? You couldn’t have ordered cinnamon whiskey at least?”

His body tenses next to me, and I look up to see his nostrils flaring and his eyes blazing with intensity. He stares at me in something akin to horror. “You like cinnamon whiskey?” he asks, his snide smirk growing deeper as if he’s telling a joke that I am clearly not in on.

“Who doesn’t love a shot of Fireball?” I ask suspiciously, trying to break the intensity of his stare with a lighthearted comment, but it doesn’t work. In fact, it seems to have the opposite effect.

I let out a small sound of surprise as his large arm wraps around me, his hand landing on my waist and hauling me towards him until our bodies are flush against each other. His hard, muscular form is pushed so tightly against my soft curves that I can feel the growing stiffness of his cock against my stomach. I squirm against him, trying to get some space, but that only seems to make him more excited, his length twitching against me. He leans in, his nose running along the column of my neck and sending an involuntary shiver running down my spine.

“You smell absolutely delectable, moya pŭtěnĭcĭ. Like spun sugar.” He inhales then lets out a groan against the shell of my ear. “I cannot wait to devour you.”

My body melts against his heat and his filthy words for a moment, until my mind catches up to what’s happening. Swiftly, I shove him away, putting space between us. Glaring up at him, I do my best to not let on how utterly turned on I am at the moment.

“You cost me a cool twenty million,” I tell him, convincing myself just as much as I am him that he is a douche bag that does not deserve the honor of tasting my pussy.

“Forty,” he responds before kicking the matchstick around between his teeth, alternating sides and chewing on the wooden stick.

I look at him perplexed. “What?” I ask, trying to decipher what he’s on about when all I can think about is the length of his tongue. It’s longer than normal, right? I bet it would feel absolutely exceptional against my clit.

Shit, nope. Gotta stop doing that.

“Forty million,” he replies. “I got forty million for the tapestry.”