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His eyebrow arches. Like it’s a warning to do what he says. And since my ass is still humming from his last little lesson, I relent and let go.
He tosses the pillow onto the bed. “Never hide yourself from me, Avery. It will make me angry.” He shakes his head. “You are a gorgeous woman.”
“That makes you upset?” I reach down and pluck my shirt off the pile, jerking it over my head. I can at least get dressed.
“No, but it makes me want you again and I don’t have time to fuck you properly. Take your shower. Pack a bag.” He touches my hip and leans down to kiss me, a tender kiss that warms my insides. “Two hours.” He taps my nose.
Two hours.
I have that long to figure out what I’m going to do. I have no reason to get involved with this man. He doesn’t even live here. When he’s done with whatever he’s doing here, he’ll leave, and I’ll be alone again.
But during that time, I could have fun. If he would stop being so bossy. If he promises not to be so damn bossy, then maybe it’s time I live a little.
What harm could it do to have a little fling with Luka Romanov?
Luka
Stepan stands outside a bakery,waiting for me when I pull up to the curb. He sees me and flicks his lit cigarette onto the cement before crushing it with his booted heel. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, but I’ve known Stepan since I was still clinging to my mama’s skirt. He’s annoyed.
“I got here as quickly as I could. Why do you look so sour?” I greet him with a slap to his back.
“I’m in New York. Why would I be anything else?” he responds, then jerks a thumb at the bakery entrance. “Let’s talk inside.”
Stepan’s family has owned this bakery since his grandparents moved to the states after the Great War. His sister runs it now, but she closes it on Mondays. Stepan unlocks the front door, and we go inside. Immediately I’m hit with the scents of my mama’s kitchen back home.
“Smells good in here, no?” Stepan grins with pride. His mother and father moved back to Russia as soon as the ink was dry on their marriage certificate, his father having only been in the city for a visit with his family. Stepan grew up mostly in Russia but was forced to the states to have long visits with his grandparents. Only his sister has moved here permanently.
“Your sister has made a good investment keeping this place when your grandparents passed.” I nod, plucking up a pryaniki cookie from the glass case.
“Good right?” He puffs up his chest as though he has anything to do with his sisters’ success.
“Like my mama’s back home.” I nod. I can give credit where it’s due. “What was so urgent that you needed me to come down here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow.”
“I received the information you needed.” He pulls out a photograph from the inside pocket of his suit and flattens it on the counter. “Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov.” He points to the fat man sipping an espresso outside a coffee shop.
“This is him?” I pick up the photo, staring at his face, memorizing it.
“The photograph is a year old, but it’s the best I could do,” he says, serving as the messenger for this death note. “I just received the name yesterday before I boarded my plane.”
He looks carefree in the photo, enjoying an afternoon outside a café with a young woman. His wife? His mistress? His daughter? Will he be missed when he’s gone? None of that matters. Whatever these bastards did to have a price put on their heads is for their souls to deal with once I’m done with them. Rodion is no different.
“Do you know anything about him? Where he’d be? What sort of people he hangs with?”
Stepan shakes his head. “No idea. That’s why you get the big bucks, my friend.”
“Is this at least his legal name? Not an alias?”
“It’s real.” He scrolls through his phone, then shows me the screen. “Looks like he’s on social media. The fool.”
This will be too easy of a kill, I think. I grab a pen from the cup near the register and scribble the bastard’s name on the back of the photo before folding it and stuffing it in my back pocket.
“You didn’t fly all the way here to give me the name.” I snag another cookie.
“No. Stepania wouldn’t stop pestering me until I came for a visit.” He admits. “I’ve been away too long this time, she says.”
“Is your sister married yet?”
He glares at me. “Stay away from Stepania.” He’s always been overly protective of his little sister.
