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All her hard work. The determination to establish a name for herself and be successful, a workaholic was to maintain her sanity and ignore her fears. She worked herself to exhaustion in hopes that at night when her head hit the pillow she would be too tired to remember and to experience her terrible nightmares. No such luck.
So much had changed in the last year. Finding out who the real players were in a world of organized crime, sex slave businesses, and other illegal activities that nearly cost her life, had become her obsession. She sought revenge, payback, a way of finding closure. All her strategic moves would either bring her closure she so desperately needed or would bring her death. She really didn’t care. She had lost the ability to feel, to be capable of having love and being loved years ago as a teen. When others turned to addictions like alcohol, drugs, or even sex, she turned toward the adrenaline rush of negotiating and securing secret multimillion dollar deals. Now that she’d secured the silent partnership with Dmitri for the huge job and the bonus she received for securing it, she was set for life. She didn’t have to work another day if she didn’t want to. But what would she do? She wasn’t the kind to sit around and do nothing. She didn’t have a boyfriend or lover. Call her crazy, but she liked fixing messes. She enjoyed coming into a company, a business center, and retraining them to better serve the business and the owners’ wallets. That was what got her the big bucks. That was what changed her life from having nothing to gaining opportunity.
She was street smart, business savvy, and a lot of men found that intimidating. She found it to be empowering. And thinking about settling down in a place like Salvation made her sad. Seeing all the couples, the ménage relationships full bloom was depressing. It made her want things she could never have, nor could ever handle physically and emotionally. No, it seemed working herself to death was her destiny.
“Now this night just became completely tolerable. How are you, Aspen?”
She heard the deep voice and turned to see Demyan Sakoyvitcz. He was a Russian businessman who had ties to the Russian mob, an organization she was more than familiar with considering the silent owner of the company she worked for was his boss, a made man.
She showed the required respect for such an important man by lowering her head and greeting him. When she looked up, he was checking out her breasts before he focused on her eyes.
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the top of her skin.
“You look as beautiful as always, Aspen,” he said in that thick Russian accent that had an instant effect on her body. She was only human. She liked a good, thick accent. Anything from Southern to Canadian and she was all intrigued and aroused.
“Thank you, Mr. Sakoyvitcz,” she replied and his eyes squinted at her.
“Tsk, tsk. How many times do I have to tell you to please call me Demyan? We’ve known one another for a while now, Aspen. I think we can be more personal. In fact, I think you need to let me get you another a drink.”
He snapped his fingers and to the right she saw one of his security guy’s stop a waiter carrying a tray of crystal glasses, and another one with a bottle of Bordeaux. In a flash the waiter was opening the bottle as the other one held two glasses that shook in his hand. Demyan had a way of intimidating people. Knowing the people she did, Aspen heard about Demyan’s stint in prison for murder as well as a few other short terms behind bars for getting busted for illegal business infractions. The Feds were regulars to his home, or at least used to be before her boss’s company, Sparks Industries, helped him clean up his paperwork.
“I prefer to keep things more businesslike, Demyan. I may be called to work for one of your companies again and would hate to overstep my boundaries.”
“Aspen, you could never overstep your boundaries.” He stared at her over the glass as he took a sip. His eyes, dark brown and filled with lies, held her gaze. She knew how to handle men like Demyan. She had been dealing with them most of her life, especially when Porter was serving and not around to protect her.
She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to think about that. Why this man made her think such bad memories she didn’t want to analyze. It wasn’t like every Russian mobster had something to do with illegal sex slave businesses. Nor did she have to find them all guilty by association. But it was habit. As far as she was concerned, most men involved with the Russian mafia and bosses like Demyan, Iakov, and of course Andrei, were the enemy. Her enemy. Having only recalled bits and p
ieces of her near death, she learned that no one could be trusted. At least no one but her brother Porter, as far as she was concerned.
Under this red Vera Wang evening dress she’d paid a discounted price for was a capable, well-trained woman. Although she hoped to never use her knowledge of shooting both guns and bow and arrows, skinning a deer, surviving in all weather conditions and knowing how to place a person in a choke hold and killing them, it gave her an edge against men like Demyan. Intimidating, powerful, untrustworthy, and looking for a piece of ass, she would be the one to decide to proceed or disengage. Control is what kept her levelheaded and in charge.
“So what do you think about the event? You seem unimpressed.” He pushed to converse.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s elaborate and classy as usual. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Dmitri.” She looked around her, noticing the stares and looks she was receiving being caught conversing with Demyan Sakoyvictz.
“You know him well. You worked for him for a while didn’t you?” he asked her and she cringed only slightly. There had been a rumor that she was sleeping with Dmitri around the same time there seemed to be some sort of bet as to who could land her as a lover. She immediately put a halt to it all by parading herself around town at all the major hot spots with Jester, a good friend from New York who stayed to visit for a month while he searched for employment opportunities. No one needed to know he preferred the company of men in his bed not women. He enjoyed the little role playing. She didn’t have to beg him to partake. She had the connections of getting him into all the major nightclubs, mostly owned by Russian mobsters and of course Storm Jones and his team of retired Navy SEALs who were so desperately trying to go legit. That wasn’t happening. Thoughts of them made her belly tingle. They were gorgeous men.
“Now, Demyan, you know that was a rumor. I don’t date or sleep with men I work for or have ever worked for.”
“That’s a terrible rule. One I’m hoping to break, tonight,” he said as he reached out and caressed his knuckles down her cheek. He was quite charismatic, but still, he was cold, distant, a man capable of too many bad things. Plus, she didn’t trust him at all. He, too, was interested in expanding Andrei’s territory. That meant he was interested in her business associate’s company, Sparks Industries. Gary Sparks would be smart to sell to Storm and Pro-Tech Industries.
“That’s sweet of you to try, but I’m not biting,” she replied with confidence.
He stepped a little closer, his eyes darker somehow, and his tone more disconcerting.
“It may not be up to you. Ya khochu tebya,” he whispered next to her cheek. She tightened up immediately as he told her that he wanted her, in Russian.
She tilted her head up toward him as he held her gaze. Then she nearly jumped when she felt the large hands on her shoulders from behind and Demyan’s face take on an expression of anger for being interrupted.
“There you are. I thought I wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you.”
She turned around to see Storm Jones, one of her brother’s good friends, and couldn’t help but to feel relieved from being saved from that uncomfortable situation.
She smiled as Storm leaned down and kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger against her skin. She wouldn’t read into that. He was playing his role. Her protector. Her big brother. Kill me now. He smells incredible, and his hands feel so good on me. I feel safe. That’s nuts.
“You look lovely as always, Aspen,” he said, his eyes holding hers instead of immediately roaming over her breasts. She wasn’t sure if she should be thrilled or annoyed. Storm was sexy, hard core, and big. Standing at nearly six feet four he wore intimidation and that designer black tux too well. He made her thighs quiver and her pussy react, which was an impossible task to accomplish without physically touching those places. But Storm, Winter, Weston, York, and Zin seemed to have the capabilities of doing just that with only a glance or a bump.
“Storm, it’s so nice to see you here. You know Demyan, I presume.” She introduced the two men but knew that they knew one another. In fact, she thought there was some friction between them. More than likely over the fact that both men were interested in Sparks Industries. Both men had reputations.
