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At the thought of not seeing her again, of discovering that she’s not Natalia and disappearing, I feel an unfamiliar knot in my gut. A frustrated, rebellious feeling.
What if I want her for myself?
The memory of last night comes flooding back, of being so close to her at the edge of the stage. All I would have had to do is reach out and touch her. It was so terribly hard not to. All that had kept me from it was the knowledge that I’d been thrown out of the club with Davik’s heavy hand on my shoulder if I did. I’d lose my chance to find out more.
Butgod, I’d wanted to touch her. Tograbher. To strip away the flimsy, cheap lingerie and run my hands over her bare skin. She had barely been wearing any scent, unlike the other dancers who doused themselves in perfume, but she smelled intoxicating allthe same. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to lay her back on the hard lacquered stage and feast on her pussy until she screamed, then tease her with my cock until she begged for my name so she could scream it when she came again. I wanted to fuck her, hard and deep, and find out how much she could take.
If I thought I could get away with it, I would have.
“Bladya!” I grit my teeth, slamming the laptop closed. There hasn’t been a woman in years who could hold my attention into the next day, and yet I lost myself in fantasies of the one from the club last night, until several minutes passed, and I’m left with nothing but a hard cock and a thorough frustration with myself.
I have a job to do.I set the laptop aside, doing my best to refocus my thoughts on the day ahead. I have a meeting with Valeria Belyaevna, and if I know what’s good for me, I won’t be thinking about any woman other than her.
An afternoon spent talking to the Widow Maker can be a deadly one.
Mikhail
Meeting Valeria means taking the train out to Novogrod and a night spent at a hotel there before taking the train back. It also means too many hours spent sitting with my thoughts, which continuously drift back to Athena. My sleep was fractured last night, and I find myself drifting off as the train sways on the tracks. This time, my dreams are punctuated by pale flesh and gold lingerie, blue eyes staring hotly into mine.
In the dream, there are no rules about touching. I can grab her chin in my fingers and run the pad of my thumb over her full lower lip. I can press down, the edge of my fingernail sinking into soft flesh, warning her of the bite of pain that comes with talking back to me.
In the dream, she is mine to do with as I please.
I wake when the train comes to a halt, hard and aching. I adjust myself surreptitiously, my frustration mounting. There should be no woman on Earth who distracts me this much.
Focus on the job at hand, Kasilov.
I know the way to Valeria’s loft, though no man with an ounce of self-preservation instinct would go there unless expressly invited. Fortunately for me–so long as I’m successful–I’ve been subcontracted to help her with a job. That also means that, as long as she remains happy with me, I might be able to get some information from her.
It’s a pleasant day out, and the walk from the train station to the part of town where her old, but well-kept building is located does wonders for my state of mind. I push Athena as far from my thoughts as I can, though I have no doubt she’ll come back when it’s time to ask Valeria the questions that I need answers to.
I take the stairs up to Valeria’s floor two at a time, eager to finish this meeting as soon as possible. I won’t be back in Moscow until tomorrow, no matter what. Still, every moment spent in the vicinity of Valeria Belyaevna is a moment at risk. The woman is a born killer.
Quickly, I rap on the door–three times in quick succession and then, after a moment, a fourth–as instructed. Seconds tick by, and then I hear footsteps padding softly towards the door, so quietly that someone without my long years of experience likely wouldn’t have heard them at all.
The footsteps go still and silent. I knew this would happen too, per her instructions, and I repeat the pattern of knocking on the door. Even knowing I’m supposed to be here today, with her invitation, I feel a cold ball of ice in my gut as I wait for the door to open. There are few people in the world that I fear–Valeria Belyaevna is one of them.
A second passes, and then I hear the sound of locks flipping open. The door cracks, then swings wide, and the woman herself is standing there, green eyes narrowed at me.
“Good,” she says sharply. “It’s you.”
She pivots on her heel, walking away from me with a crisp, purposeful stride, her long black braid swinging behind her as she walks further into the loft and leaves me to close and lock the door.
Objectively, she’s a beautiful woman. She’s built like an athlete, all lithe lines and muscle, a body honed as a weapon. For some–stupider men–that disciplined danger would be erotic. It would tempt them to make a foolish decision, and try to seduce her.
I’d sooner go to bed with a poisonous viper than Valeria, even if she asked. I’d have a better shot at making it out alive.
She perches on the edge of a wide ottoman in the center of her living room, a Bowie knife in her hand. She turns it over in her palm, glancing up at me as I take a seat. “You’re here about the job.”
It’s not a question; she already knows why I’m here. If anything, it’s a challenge, to see if there’s something else I want. I’m not about to rise to the bait just yet.
“Who would turn down the chance to work with the Widow Maker?” I lean back on the couch, trying to look more casual than I feel. “No one who’s heard of you, that’s for sure.”
Valeria snorts. “You won’t be workingwithme. You’ll be workingforme. Doing my dirty work, so I can concentrate on more important things.”
“Like what?” The question comes out before I can think better of it, and she looks sharply up at me, her green eyes narrowing as she reaches for the stone to sharpen her knife.
“I think that’s my business and none of yours.” Her lips press together, thinning. “Are you taking the job or not?”
