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Completely naked now—yes, she had removed her underwear as well—she continued to splash water on herself. She would clean the puddles off the floor once she concluded her meeting and she would use the rest of the toilet paper to dry off before she resumed putting her clothes back on.
She had always had that reaction to eating strawberries. It wasn’t a full-on allergic reaction, but one that just made her feel intensely hot, but a cold shower sorted her out almost immediately.
Already she could feel relief replacing the fever in her veins. She reached out to balance herself, dropped her head, and sighed with happiness. She thought she might never know what it would feel like to be cool ever again.
She couldn’t really explain what happened exactly, but leaning her hand on the tower of paint cans against the wall seemed to trigger an avalanche. She managed, using both her hands, to push the cans back up and against the wall, but she was unable to save the small container of paint that had been at the top of the stack.
She watched in horror as the can of paint toppled over. The lid, not properly pressed down, was flung aside, and the paint-splattered and sloshed all over her clothes, which had been resting on a bigger drum of paint.
For a few moments, she stopped breathing. She was completely naked, and all of her clothes, all of them, including her underwear, were now soaked in bright red paint. Unsalvageable. Did she mention she was stark naked, and that there were three men on the other side of the wall waiting for her?
Men who were her enemies. They had already caught her off guard when they found her in the middle of realizing it was a sex shop she had been given by Marjorie to save. Add the episode with the strawberries and her barely stopping herself from stripping down in front of them before making it to the bathroom, and now, just when she had evened out the playing field a bit, when she was ready for the battle again, she found herself without a shred of clothes.
Having a verbal meltdown as she moaned and groaned, she grabbed her top intending to wash off the paint, but all she did was create a bigger mess.
She was screwed, and in a sex shop of all places too.
Chapter Four
Damien Shlykov didn’t have the time for this. Whatever it was.
The property on Merring Street was a crucial part of the business, not only for Shlykov Industries but especially the Bratva leg of their companies, which was where they made half of their money and kept their family’s legacy alive.
They ruled New York, sat on the invisible throne, and pulled the strings with but a flick of their fingers. Every other Bratva outfit running in North America knew that and respected it until the Kozlov Mafia arrived on the scene and became a threat to their operations.
They spent years and years of peace with the Kozlov Bratva—a treaty signed by the previous patriarchs of both their bratva units, but the Kozlov Bratva had a new chief. The younger brother Anton Kozlov, a loose cannon had taken over after the untimely death of his older brother and the young fucker thought he could take on the Shlykovs.
But the Kozlov Bratva had already commandeered quite a bit of land in New York and were moving in on Shlykov territory. Which was why they had to act fast. They owned the vast majority of downtown Manhattan, including the Merring Street block, which was a prime location for their new business venture.
It was close to the train station, which was going to be an integral part of the future operations running out of the Merring block. On the surface, they planned to demolish the buildings and build a call center as a front. That move would once again reinstate them as the kings of North America. Their reach was unscalable by anyone.
The other business owners on Merring Street had the better sense to sell out and move out immediately. They knew who they were dealing with and knew exactly what could happen to them if they didn’t go quietly. But then again they were also generously compensated by Damien and his brothers. It was supposed to be an easy undertaking.
But of course, there was always going to be that one store owner who was going to try to make things hard for them.
Marjorie Brown was an eighty-two-year-old woman who owned the sex shop, Cupid’s Toys, right in the middle of the block and she refused to leave. They didn’t react too strongly at her refusal to accept their overly generous compensation and a brand new location where they would move her, all at their own expense.
Maybe she didn’t know she was dealing with the Russian Mafia, and they had every intention of making themselves known to her, with gentle persuasion, of course. They weren’t barbarians, not where kids and women were concerned and certainly not with the elderly. They saved their more persuasive tactics for men who stood in their way.
But then just that morning they received information that Marjorie Brown had handed over ownership of her shop to someone else in a ploy to stand up to them. That someone else belonged to the famous hotel tycoon King family
It was just as well that Adam King, the owner, owed them his life and his whole fortune, which meant their problem in taking control of the block on Merring Street no longer had any obstacles in their way.
Except it wasn’t Adam King Marjorie had signed over ownership of her sex shop. It was his daughter.
Ansley King.
And her father had absolutely nothing to do with her new venture or even knew about it. If he had, they wouldn’t need to be here; the sex shop would be demolished as well as all the other buildings on the block, and it would be business as usual.
His daughter, on the other hand, was something else.
Within a few moments of making the discovery, they had everything there was to know about Ansley King on their desk. She seemed like trouble. And trouble seemed to be a big fan of hers too.
She was a self-proclaimed warrior of the wronged, was on every charity advisory board known to mankind, and wasn’t afraid to kick up a storm. Her recent stunt was turning Juliano’s, a renowned restaurant, into a lunch hour strip joint when she surprised a friend of hers for her birthday.
Yes, she was fucking beautiful from the images they had seen of her, Damien would give her that. Big brown eyes, chocolate-colored hair. A hot and tight body. For a moment, he imagined her on his bed. His hand on her thighs, parting them for him and his brothers to enjoy. Opening the lips of her sweet little pussy to take them in.
For another crazy hot moment, he thought he could feel her tissue-soft lips fluttering down the length of his massive cock as he drove deeper inside her silky wet heat.
