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Turns out—and my gut was right—she didn’t come to Zion to look for work and shelter in paradise. She cameto work. To fucking spy, to be exact, and for the biggest Russian mobster, who is looking for his missing daughter.
Inconspicuously.
Amir’s words make me angry again.
Millions of dollars poured into this island’s security by the almighty of this world to keep Gen-Alpha Project secure, and that Russian thug thinks he can send spies. A nineteen-year-old, to be exact. What a fucking joke.
Katura had the nerve to come. Let’s see if she has the nerve to stay.
My living room is dim and empty. Usually, the gray walls and floors and the minimalistic giant rectangular space are calming. Now, Latin music trickles softly from the speakers—the pretty spy got comfortable. Probably snooping around as we speak.
She is my new entertainment. At least, if she doesn’t completely piss me off, which she’s done several times already in just the few days she’s been on the Westside.
Katura Ortiz is only nineteen, but judging from what I’ve seen on cams on the Eastside, she exceeds most people her age in physical endurance and wit.
I knew it was for a reason. But I was fascinated.
More than anything, this whole thing with Droga and his girl took up my entire attention while this little spy was observing, calculating, and cleverly weaving her way in. Making friends with Marlow—surprise-surprise, the head of Zion security—I should’ve fucking seen it for what it was.
I kick off my wet shoes and walk across the spacious living room toward the bar to pour myself a drink—Archer’s breakfast.
It’s eight in the morning.
I close my eyes wearily as I take a sip.
I might tell my secretaries to handle everything and day drink. Sounds like a good idea. For a month in a row now.
Work stuff never ends. Australia. Emirates. DNA research. Blood testing. Formulas. Emails from health organizations. More emails from Dad, or his secretary, to be exact, aka mistress—who knows, I lost touch with his personal life. I can reply, but he never looks at my emails. Like I am an outsourcing agency.
I have an urge to pull down the blinds to block the annoying happy sunshine and spend a couple of days in the dark, snorting blow, drinking, listening to old rock, and not answering the phone. My secretaries can deal with Amir or Margot. Gen-Alpha is a money-making machine by now.
I should’ve kept an escort here for several days longer. I need to get laid. My cock is too familiar with my right hand. Maybe, just maybe, I can get that wild kitten—
“How is everything, Mr. Chancellor?”
The voice is like a taser.
Hers.
Always cutting through my peace.
Slowly, I turn to see Katura leaning against the wall, arms crossed at her chest.
For someone who’s been held up overnight, she looks fresh and cheerful. Her hair, braided at the scalp, cascades in thick waves down her front and her delicious cleavage. She is wearing Ayana resort apparel, green shorts, and a tank, exposing her slender long legs that look great but would look better over my shoulders as I fuck her raw.
“Rough morning?” she asks, studying me up and down.
After what she pulled off the night before, she needs a lesson. Or two. Or sixty-nine.
I don’t need to get my drug fix to feel the rush in my veins. Her voice makes my skin crawl. It brings out my frustration. She is in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong fucking agenda that she thought would fly past me.
I walk slowly toward her as I take a sip of cognac, my eyes never leaving hers. The liquid pleasantly burns my throat. The sight of her burns through me in a strange way that surprisingly points down south. Everything about her stirs my anger, which weirdly makes me hard.
Her haughty chin tilts up in that defensive way of hers. She is good at reading people, but not as good as me. It’s only a matter of time until I learn every little detail about this wild thing and wrap her around my finger.
I take the last sip and, without taking my eyes off her, set the empty glass on the shelf I am passing and approach her.
Oh, she knows she got caught. It’s in her gaze that’s too intense and the jaw that’s clenching as she tries to project confidence that’s starting to falter.
