White Rabbit

by London Miller

  For the moment, some things were better left unsaid.

  Though he was loathed to admit it, Uilleam was prone to making rash decisions—it was just in his nature.

  He should have been formulating a strategy on how best to avoid Karina finding out about his business arrangement with Claire, yet he found himself standing in front of the building where she worked instead.

  Further research, he tried to convince himself. There was no better way to determine how to proceed than to go in and actually talk to her. He wasn’t going to get everything he needed from her—that would come later—but a starting point would prove helpful.

  At least, that was the best excuse his mind could come up with.

  It would have to do.

  Like the very first time he had visited this place, he walked through the lobby, nodding toward the security guard seated behind the lengthy desk, knowing, without having to ask, that the footage of him walking in and inevitably walking out would be erased within minutes.

  He took the elevator upstairs, leaning against the back railing until the doors popped open once more. To keep his mind occupied, he counted the steps from the elevators to the main doors that opened onto the floor of the Gazette Post, eyeing the employees milling about on the other side.

  As he walked through them, his gaze shifted to where Karina’s desk had been, but found it cleared off and vacant. Confusion settled over him as long as it took him to turn to his right, finding her tucked away inside a different office with glass doors and her name etched into them.

  She sat oblivious to his presence, a phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she listened and took notes of whatever the person on the other line was saying. He also couldn’t help but notice the vase on her desk filled with blue roses.

  It had been such an unusual request those many months ago, and though he hadn’t had the slightest inclination where he would even be able to find them—or if he even could at all—he had agreed immediately simply because he wasn’t going to let something as simple as colorful flowers prevent him from getting what he wanted.

  And to say he coveted Karina just as much then as he did now would be an understatement.

  Which was why, even now that he had her for himself, he still sent her a new bouquet. It was the least he could do for all the clarity she brought to his life.

  He didn’t imagine she would be too happy with him if she knew what he was currently up to.

  “Can I help you?”

  Uilleam glanced over at the woman who had paused at the sight of him with a curious expression. He didn’t have to ask her name since he recognized her as the same woman Karina had been with that night in the club when he had foolishly thought he could talk her out of what he’d ultimately allowed in the end. Of course, he had thought it would be much easier than that.

  She was supposed to walk away and understand that her place wasn’t to challenge him. He was supposed to put the fear of God in her and make sure that if they ever crossed paths again, she wouldn’t be happy about it.

  She was supposed to know fear.

  Instead, he’d practically torn his own heart out and laid it at her feet to do with whatever she wanted.

  He had fallen under her spell and no matter how he tried, he hadn’t regretted a second of that emotion invading his every thought. Except, it was becoming a problem once more.

  And while he usually reveled at the idea of solving them, this wasn’t one he wanted to see the other side of.

  This wasn’t one where they both could end up on top.

  Letting that thought drift away, Uilleam glanced back at the woman who’d asked him a question. Samantha, her name was. Another reporter here.

  She was a decent one from what he had gathered from her work, but even if he weren’t biased, he would still think they lacked the passion of someone who craved a good story. Someone who lived and breathed the words they wrote on paper.

  Not like Karina …

  A little biased of him, perhaps.

  “I’m here to see Karina.”

  She blinked at him—the accent, he guessed—before she recovered soon enough and gestured to the main office space. “Is she expecting you?”

  “I was hoping to surprise her,” he said, adopting the charming half-smile that would ultimately get him his way.

  Perfecting it had been easier than he anticipated, all because he remembered one very crucial rule. It wasn’t just about getting what he needed from a person. It was about making them believe they were instrumental in getting him what he wanted.

  It made a person feel important. And there was no greater feeling to manipulate than that.

  He waited without complaint, content in the knowledge that his presence would remain a mystery to everyone in this room save for the lone woman he had come to see.

  The reporter slipped inside Karina’s office, her words lost to him, though he could see her lips moving.

  He saw the moment she realized he was here, not missing the way her face lit up when she caught his gaze. He was sure there was not a single person in the world who ever actually seemed thrilled to see him.

  Most were dubious, if not outright hostile. And if it hadn’t been bad etiquette, he didn’t doubt that every single one of them would attempt to harm him in some way the first chance they got.

  It was the nature of the business.

  As he stepped into her office—ensuring the door closed behind him—the phone was still to her ear as she listened to the person on the other line, but it was so very clear to him that he was at the very center of her focus.

  Her gaze skirted past him toward the glass doors of her office. “You know, people are going to ask questions.”

  “Are they?”

  Dark strands fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward, her focus back on him. He knew how delicate they felt—how soft. That still didn’t quell his desire to feel them running through his fingers.

  Or gripped in his fist.

  “In the nearly two years that I’ve worked here, no man has ever come to see me.”

  “No? It’s a pleasure to be your first.”

  He watched as those words sunk in. As her heart-shaped face bloomed with color as she quite understood his meaning.

  Clearing her throat, she leaned back in her office chair, the sight of her like that doing very strange things to his chest. She was beautiful, sure. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t utterly captivated by her, but seeing her sitting there behind her desk where she was just as capable of creating her own narrative as he was ... it was indescribable.

  “You’re staring,” she said.

  As if she didn’t understand her own allure. “You’re worth staring at.”

  The color in her cheeks rose higher. “Surely, you didn’t pop by simply because you wanted to pay me compliments ...”

  “Not entirely, no. An associate has invited me to dinner. Unfortunately, he’ll be bringing that wife of his, so it would probably be in my best interest if I have you there to keep me on my best behavior.”

  Her laugh was rich and lyrical, the sound like music to his ears. “Well, with an invitation like that, how could I possibly say no?”

  “Excellent. Be ready by seven and I’ll have a car pick you up.”

  “No Skorpion tonight?” she asked, her tone curious. “I don’t think I’ve seen much of him lately.”

  Because he was assisting with the training, but he didn’t mention that. And probably wouldn’t for a while longer.

  Nor had he told her about the Den he was creating and the roles his mercenaries would play in the near future. Though she was rather accepting of what he did—to a certain extent—she still had her moments where she thought his greatness was madness.

  He still needed time to figure out how to explain it to her ... if he intended to tell her at all.

  “He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment,” he settled on saying. “But not to worry, you’ll be in safe hands with me, I promise.”

/>   And after a short while longer—once his Den came to fruition—he’d be able to guarantee it.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Dinner is at Le Londe’s.”

  Her brow crept up. “You usually don’t tell me where we’re going until we get there.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Thought you’ve liked to know.”

  Resting back against the desk, she folded her arms across her chest, giving him an ample view down the blouse she wore. The sight was made all the better by the way she glared at him, looking exasperated.

  “Are you telling me to dress appropriately, Uilleam?”

  She might have been smiling as she asked the question, but he was smart enough to recognize the trap those words presented.

  “Have I ever?” he asked, still knowing she wouldn’t accept that. “I wouldn’t doubt you for a moment.”

  “You should,” she said with a smile of her own. “You certainly should.”

  10

  Meetings With Wolves

  Standing out in front of Le Londe’s in a black Armani suit tailored for his height and build, Uilleam peered down at his cuff links as he straightened the square-shaped silver, ensuring they were as flawless as the rest of him.

  It wasn’t so much that he was worried about making a good first impression—he already had on two separate occasions with his dinner companions—but rather making sure the man he was having dinner with understood his change of position since the last time they’d been in the same room together.

  Uilleam was already a fixer—the fixer for those of discerning means—and now, more than ever, he needed to make sure everyone else understood that change as well.

  As seven fifteen came and went, he glanced at his mobile once more, tempted to call Karina to make sure she was well on her way.

  Thoughts of Paris briefly flared to life inside his mind, making him wonder whether he should assign Skorpion to her for nights like this. It didn’t matter that Gaspard had stopped breathing weeks earlier once the plug to his life support machine had mysteriously disconnected from the wall, he was still cautious.

  It didn’t even matter that no one else knew about his involvement in the man’s inevitable downfall—it only ever took one person digging a little too deep to ruin the image he’d crafted. And if someone chose to look for his weakness, it wouldn’t take them long before they found that answer in Karina.

  Many would be too afraid to act against him directly, but she was the next best target. It was what he would do if he were on the opposing end.

  It was the logical choice even as the thought made his chest feel tight.

  For so long, he had never concerned himself with whether or not someone else might get harmed because of the life he lived. He never thought he would get close enough to care whether they lost their life or not.

  But now … things were different.

  Thoughts of violence slipped away as he noticed the car rolling to a stop a few feet away from him.

  He lingered there on the sidewalk, curious but not afraid, before he started toward it, anticipating that moment of truth to see whether she had listened to what he’d said in her office earlier.

  Or if she’d done the complete opposite the way she’d hinted.

  He’d known he wouldn’t get away with that little remark, and a part of him eagerly awaited however she answered.

  Before he could set his hand on the door handle, it came swinging open slowly, just far enough that he could see the diamonds winking on her dainty wrist before her arm disappeared back inside again.

  He was only allowed a second to prepare himself for what the sight of her would do to him.

  How foolish of him to doubt her for a second.

  Maroon velvet hugged every inch of her from her breasts, to that waspish waist he was eager to get his hands on, and down curvy hips until it stopped just above her knees.

  He was at a loss for fucking words as he stared at her.

  “You don’t like it?” she asked, though the hint of a smile on her face told him she knew exactly the effect she had on him.

  Uilleam prided himself on his ability to adapt to any situation—to find the right words to say when there were none—but seeing her standing in that dress … his thoughts went blank.

  But it wasn’t until she took a step toward him and revealed the slit in the skirt of her dress with the creamy expanse of her thigh that made him swallow.

  The dress was obscene in the best way possible—a lure meant to tempt him into forgetting himself and the purpose of this night. She made walking in those heels look effortless as she approached him, holding that dainty purse she carried in front of her.

  “If you like the dress,” she said as she circled around him, her fingers briefly brushing along the line of his belt, “just wait until you see what I’m wearing beneath it.”

  Had his cock ever gotten so hard as quickly as it did at that moment?

  Her words certainly made him drop his gaze down the length of her back exposed by the clinging fabric she wore, only to find no lines at all beneath the dress.

  God help him.

  She was going to be the death of him.

  Following her into the restaurant, he reached her side and steered her toward the table in the middle of the crowded restaurant where their guests were already waiting. With his hand on the small of her back, Uilleam allowed himself that moment to appreciate her presence beside him before he forced his attention back to why this meeting was important.

  As much as he would have loved for it to just be the pair of them, there was work to be done.

  Already seated at the table was the man he had agreed to meet with as well as the woman who Uilleam could have gone at least another thirty years without laying eyes on.

  But no matter how much he might have detested the man’s wife, Uilleam knew it would be in his best interest to have a meeting with Mikhail Volkov, if only because he was one of the most powerful men in the city.

  As the Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva out of Manhattan and the greater populace of New York, Mikhail had connections to people most could only dream about. And though Uilleam could very well form those same relationships at some point in the future, things progressed far more quickly when he already had an inside connection. From there, he could handle the rest. It was just a matter of finding the right person to get into contact with for what he needed.

  “Is there anything I should know?” Karina asked, dark hair that smelled faintly of vanilla, gliding over her shoulder as she turned to glance up at him.

  And oh how he wished that look on her face didn’t send his thoughts racing back to Paris. Some part of him had known, even then, that she wasn’t at all like any other woman he had ever met before.

  That she saw what others didn’t see.

  While she might have viewed the world differently—far more optimistic than he was, certainly—she was just as good at reading people as he was. Seeing what others tried to keep hidden.

  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known how to tell Nakamura’s wife from his mistress. That she hadn’t stumbled in the slightest once dinner had come to an end despite what little information he had given her at the start of it.

  If anything, she had rather enjoyed the game they played—smiling coyly once she realized her deductions had been right.

  And now, she wanted to play it again.

  He could have told her no, that this was merely a night for her to enjoy herself—even if it was work for him—but then he remembered his other reason for bringing her along tonight. That this was meant to be a distraction to keep her occupied and away from Hugh McDonall and that stupid bloody wife of his.

  Now, it was just a matter of how he wanted to proceed.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, tracing the pad of his thumb down the length of her spine. “We have all night to play.”

  As they neared their table, Uilleam forced himself to think of anything other than getting her undressed as s
oon as possible.

  Mikhail Volkov was a bull of a man with more muscle than neck, though his girth had softened over the years, but if his appearance didn’t deter his enemies, his reputation did.

  He might have been nearing his late forties—and had the tattoos to show for his time in the gulags back in Russia. His wife, however, was half his age.

  With blond hair so pale it was almost white and red painted lips that were perpetually set in a disinterested line, Anya Volkov reminded him very much of the women who weren’t very good for much more than what they could do on their knees.

  Though he detested her—and with very good reason—Uilleam still treated her with the respect one was due to a woman in her position. Even as it grated on every last one of his nerves.

  But it was always better to keep his enemies close—they never saw him coming that way.

  Spotting them as they weaved through the tables, Mikhail smiled boisterously before he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin he had tucked into his shirt collar and stood.

  “Uilleam Runehart,” he greeted, his voice just as prominent as the rest of him. “Or should I be calling you by your new title?”

  It was impossible not to feel a certain level of pride as Uilleam extended his hand to shake Volkov’s, especially knowing the sheer amount of effort he had put into growing not just his empire, but the new title he had started responding to over the past several months as well.

  The Kingmaker had a nice ring to it, and he was pleased others recognized that.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Volkov. It seemed only right we meet again.”

  Especially now that he would be extending his time here in New York through the near future, and with the way things were going with Karina—and his soon-to-be-formed Den of mercenaries—he was almost positive that he would likely be making the move here permanent.

  Next to Mikhail, Anya cleared her throat almost violently, ensuring all eyes turned to her, but it was the delicate cough from Karina that had Uilleam glancing down in her direction, barely catching the smile she quickly tried to hide. This, he knew, was why he enjoyed her so much.