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“Not so fast,” Sean snapped, glaring me in the eyes. “Why don’t you get another tee shirt from the back room and take a minute and change?”
At least Neanderthal boy was swaying back and forth. I only hoped one of his friends would help carry him back to whatever sleazy location he lived in.
“Fine.” I walked away, my ponytail swinging back and forth.
Tanya lifted her eyebrows as I passed, trying to keep from laughing. Maybe I’d made her night. Who knew? Exhaling, I realized by the time I made it into the storeroom that I was shaking, only able to almost engage in a fight because of adrenaline. I grabbed my size, cursing under my breath as I headed to the bathroom.
Even the new shirt wasn’t going to keep me from stinking like beer for the rest of the night. I jerked off the dirty one, fighting to get the other one over my head. Then I remained exactly where I was hours before, staring into the mirror as if the strange feeling pooling in my stomach and tickling sensations would pass. The bastard had managed to break through my hard shell, finding the ooey-gooey center inside. That seemed like weakness to me and not something I wanted to partake in.
I tucked the shirt into my skirt, lifting my middle finger at the mirror. At least that gave me a slight laugh. Fortunately, there were just a few short hours left before I could slink into my apartment and lock the door.
Then I’d crawl under the covers, ignoring the rest of the world, especially Mr. Four-F.
When I walked down the hall, a strange sense of foreboding washed over me. Someone was watching me. I sucked in my breath, moving into the main room, taking a few seconds to scan the area.
“They’re gone,” Tanya said as she flew by.
I wasn’t worried about them. The vibe skittering through me was entirely different. I half expected Kirill to be sitting at the bar, or at least one of the closest tables, but he wasn’t. Maybe I was imagining things.
Or maybe it was wishful thinking.
“Uh-oh.” Tanya’s voice got my attention a few seconds later.
“What is it?”
“Trouble with a capital T.” She nodded toward one of the back tables. I had no idea what she was talking about. “They are with one of the unions, like the big boys. They make or break careers, companies, and kneecaps if you ask me, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“O-kay. So?” Kneecaps? I knew some unions were rough in years past, but was that practice still going on today?
“So when they’re around, it seems trouble follows. Just be careful. That’s your station.”
Careful. I shifted my gaze. Sean wasn’t paying any attention, which usually meant they weren’t an issue. While I knew part of the Walsh family was involved in at least one union, I hadn’t talked to Rian or anyone else about their involvement. What bothered me was that a dude had been waiting in the corner closest to the hallway. Just standing there. When he passed, he gave me a look that sent a series of shivers down my legs. When he sat down at the very table I was supposed to service, I froze for a few seconds before my resolve kicked in. I hoped he enjoyed the view because that was as close as the prick would ever get.
I moved through the crowd to their table, planting my usual Barbie doll smile on my face.
“You should have seen the Russian pricks today. They thought they were going to lay down a threat and have Michael cower. They learned,” one of the guys as the small table said, or maybe I should say pontificated. The others laughed.
“Yeah, that might be true, but you’ve heard stories about the Bratva,” another one said. “They are nothing but animals.”
Bratva.
The smile was put away, a smirk replacing it. Still, I swallowed hard, a tiny bead of perspiration trickling down the back of my neck.
“What can I get you, boys?” I asked after I was ignored for a full ten seconds.
The first guy lifted his head, grinning at me like half the other patrons had all night long. “What are you offering?” He was the gawker and the look in his eyes remained malevolent even though his words were said in jest.
“Don’t give her any crap, Rory.” The third guy offered a genuine smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s trying out his usual Wednesday night asshole status.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Rory snarled. “Why don’t you give us a round of Killian’s? Sugar pie.” He stared me in the eyes as if he was memorizing my face or as if he’d recognized me from somewhere.
“Sure thing, dick weed.” While I’d muttered the last two words, I couldn’t give a shit about a tip. As I was turning to leave, the front door opened. While Kirill wasn’t trying to make a statement with his entrance, he did. Within seconds, you could have heard a pin drop inside the bar.
“Fuck me,” good ole Rory hissed.
As soon as Kirill walked inside, he turned his head in my direction, darting his eyes toward the table of men who’d just ordered. I’d already witnessed his cold, hard stare several times. Tonight, his aggressive look was entirely different, the darkness of his eyes startling.
Everything was at a standstill, including my heart. He locked his eyes with mine, his jaw clenching.
