by Kenya Wright
Luka came up after me and immediately checked my office. “No one’s in here. I’ll check out the gallery and the outside. Stay inside the office until I get back.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
Kazimir appeared next and then shut the hatch. “I can’t believe you walk down there by yourself.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “No one’s ever attacked me.”
He squared off on me as if asserting his authority over me. “Because even crazy people have their limits, and even a serial killer would think twice about going down there.”
I smirked as I looked up at him. “My tunnels scare you?”
“No.” He brushed off the dust on his arm. “But your tunnels showed you in another light. You intrigue and scare me.”
I backed away from him. “How so?”
“It showed me that you’re not scared of a lot.” He took off his jacket and placed it on my desk. His muscles rippled under the crisp material. “A person that can walk in darkness for close to an hour by themselves, in some tunnel under a city where no one could hear you scream. . .that is a person that I wouldn’t want to go up against.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He raised his eyebrows. “How can you stay down there by yourself for so long?”
The question made me uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is. How long have you been hiding in the dark?”
All my life.
I crossed my arms across my chest. “Some little girls have to hide more than others.”
An intensity blazed in his eyes. “You’re quite a woman. You saved me twice. First from the Jamaicans, and then from the bomb. What do you want?”
“I get something?”
“Yes. Two things. You’ll already get your brother back, so pick two other favors.”
I turned around and headed to my coffee machine on the other side of the room, needing something to do with my hands. First, I was too eager to ask him for the only thing I wanted—freedom. I had to play it right or lose. He’d already promised to hand over Darryl. I should just focus on the freedom.
But then the second reason I’d gone to the coffee maker was because without that jacket, he looked damn good. And I’d been full anxiety after the bomb. What I needed right now was a good fuck on the desk to straighten my nerves out.
But Kazimir wouldn’t be a smart choice. He was too dangerous, and now he knew too much about me. He knew my escape routes, and although it would still take them time to find me if I hid down in the tunnels, they could find me.
I didn’t like that at all.
If I fucked a guy, I barely wanted him to know my real name. The less information, the less they came back.
No. I can’t fuck him. Somehow, he’s gotten too close.
“Would you like some coffee while Luka clears my gallery?” I glanced over my shoulder. “I can get a pot brewing.”
“No, thank you. Your tunnels walk was enough stimulation for today.”
Our gazes met.
I grinned.
Kazimir leaned against my desk with those sexy, bulging arms. His shirt stretched around those muscles. It didn’t even feel like my office anymore with him in it. He suddenly owned every inch of the space. And he watched me with intensity.
Warmth pooled between my thighs. His gaze penetrated. It was heat and desire. Physical and intimate. A vision flashed through my head—him and I writhing together in the darkness of my bedroom.
It would be so good. His gaze had promised that. I could see it in those thick lashes and sexy eyes.
“You were dating the night Rumi died?” he asked.
I blinked and was caught off guard. “Something like that.”
“Who were you dating?”
“No one in particular.”
“Explain.”
“They’re not dates. They’re hook ups. Just a little. . .something. . .to keep the edge off.”
He licked his lips in response.
I swore heat reached out from his eyes, threatening to burn me. Instantly, I thought about how he could take care of me. One of his favors could be his cock. Surely, he would not only keep the edge off, my body would probably crumble under his frame.
It would be so damn good.
“I just met a guy and had a fling.”
“You’re very truthful.”
When I want to be.
“Where did you meet this person?” he asked.
“From the Tinder app on my phone.”
Kazimir frowned, but that erotic warmth in his eyes never left. “Do you always do that?”
“Yes.” I averted his heated gaze.
“But, what about this Tinder Killer?”
“He’s killing men.”
“You should still be careful.”
“If you don’t mind me asking. . .why are you asking about this? Why does my sex life matter?”
“I wondered what type of man would get your attention.”
“I guess it would be one that likes abandoned subway tunnels.” That expression of lust didn’t change on his face.
In my mind, I could feel his hard muscles beneath my fingertips, his firm body moving over me, his thick, fat cock filling and stretching me.
I stirred in place, pushing the image away.
The room went warm. So much that I would’ve been happy if we both took off our clothes.
Fuck. I need to masturbate or something. This is insane.
I cleared my throat. “And what do you do? I doubt you go on Tinder.”
“I have a few women who I call to please me.”
“You sound like a king.”
He didn’t respond as he continued to trap me in that intense gaze.
“Well. . .” I shifted my weight to my other foot, not used to being off balance like this. “It must be good to have someone that’s on call to please you.”
“And you have difficulty with that, Emily?”
“Yes. At the present moment, my new employer told me that I’m not allowed to date.”
“He sounds mean.”
“Bosses are bosses. Either way, I won’t be able to. . .you know?” I shrugged. “I won’t be able to get the edge off.”
“Correct.” He growled the word. “You’ll be busy.”
“Yes.” I bit my bottom lip, unable to look away from him. “I’ll be busy.”
Okay. New topic.
In a low tone, he whispered, “Come here.”
An instant blast of heat flooded me. My breath caught in my throat. I knew what those words really meant. They were lathered in lust. Dotted in hunger. And sex was all over his face, thickening in the air. I could taste it on my tongue, and I loved the sweetness.
That accent made his voice even more delicious as he licked his lips. “Emily.”
Slowly, I walked over to him.
I’m not going to have sex with him. I’m not going to have sex with him.
I stopped right in front of him. An inch closer and my breasts would’ve touched his chest.
He raised his hand to my head and ran his fingers through my curls. “This is how I like your hair.”
I blushed.
“I’m just telling you, but I know you will look different tomorrow and the day after that and the day after.” He slipped his hand to the back of my head and fisted my curls into his hand. No pain came, but he had a strong hold on me. “Beautiful. Stunning. But then, you’re more than that.”
I didn’t whimper or gasp, although I wanted to. But for some reason, I had to show that I was tough. I had to prove that he wasn’t getting to me, even though every inch of my body screamed for him to fuck me.
He tossed me a wicked smile. “I’m sure I’ll like all of the other looks too. I love your surprises.”
I just gazed at him, so lost in his heat—the way he could dominate me with ease and come closer to me than any other had ever come.
“What you did earlier today, not many would’ve done
the same, especially in your position. You saved Luka’s and my life.” Still fisting my hair, he gently leaned my head back, exposing the curve of my neck to him. “So, I will give you two favors. But there’s one wish that I won’t ever give you.”
My chest rose and fell. He pressed against me so close that when my breasts rose with my breathing, my nipples rubbed against his muscular chest.
“For now, I don’t know if I can give you a temporary employment deal.” He slipped his lips along the curve of my neck. “You’re too smart. Too valuable. And too goddamn sexy. I like seeing you. Smelling you. I want to touch your skin too much.”
A whimper escaped me.
“I don’t like the idea of temporary, when it comes to you, Emily.” He nibbled at the curve, driving me crazy. My knees almost gave way. I leaned into him more as I arched my back, wanting to feel more of him. A thrill moved through me. Exciting. Intoxicating.
“And on the topic of your dating, I don’t want anyone else. . .keeping the edge off.” He growled those last words as he slipped his lips along my chin and then stopped at my mouth.
I shuddered against him, but still he didn’t kiss me.
I almost begged him too.
“Don’t be mad at me, little mysh.”
“I’m not,” I whispered.
“Hmmm.” And then his mouth went to mine before I could process what was happening. I thought a kiss from him would be rough and fast, but it was sweet, warm, and so soft. He took his time, giving me lazy wet strokes of his tongue, savoring my taste.
“Oh, mysh.” He captured my lips again, sweeping his tongue over mine and then fully claiming my mouth for his. Consuming me. His scent filled the air to the point where I knew I would smell like him the rest of the night—powerful and seductively masculine.
“You've taken good care of me today,” he whispered against my lips. “Besides giving you those two favors, you should let me further take care of you.”
Before I could respond, he stole another kiss.
Fuck!
And when he nibbled my bottom lip, desire shot through me. I needed more too. Whimpering, I rose on my tippy toes and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, needing to taste more of him. I sucked on his tongue, and he groaned in pure male pleasure, triggering carnal need to slice up my body.
And for several hot minutes, we finished the conversation without words. It was gasps and throaty moans. Lips smacking and sensual grasps of clothing and hair.
As if deranged with lust, he guided me backwards and pushed me up against the wall, cradling my face. Tasting me deeper than any man had ever tried.
My nipples pebbled in my bra. He sucked on my tongue and I could take no more. I didn’t even want to come up for air.
I need this.
I raised one of my thighs to his hip, wanting to climb this sexy man and rub my pussy all over him.
“Oh, Emily.” Understanding my hunger, he gripped both of my thighs, lifting me up with his palms. I moaned and wrapped my legs around his waist and locked my ankles. I straddled that huge waist. My dress climbed up and gathered above my hips.
He gripped my ass hard—pushing me back and forth between pain and pleasure. And then he ground his stiff cock between my thighs, rubbing that thick length against me.
He broke our kiss for an instant, looking into my eyes as he ground into me with slow, meaningful thrusts. Fucking me with clothes on, right through my thin panties. I grew so wet, my pussy probably would stain the front of his pants, but he didn’t appear to care as he returned to fucking my mouth with his tongue and continuing to rub his cock rhythmically against my clit.
Someone knocked at the door.
It was most likely Luka.
No. Not right now. Wait.
A dark growl left Kazimir. “What?”
The door opened right as Kazimir gently put me down.
Really, Luka?! I was just starting to like you.
Yanking my dress past my hips, I tried to walk around Kazimir, but he gripped my waist and kept me there.
“No.” He kissed me again.
A throat cleared behind us. Luka’s rough voice sounded next. “Kazimir, we have a problem.”
Groaning, Kazimir dragged his lips from mine. “More problems?”
I took that moment to catch my breath and process Luka’s words. But I didn’t get the time.
The burly man stepped inside my office.
“There’s a dead woman in the back of the gallery,” Luka said. “Still warm. We might’ve just missed who killed her as we were climbing up the ladder. It’s our style. Classic. Straight shot to the center of her forehead. No gun or nothing else was left behind.”
A dead woman? In my gallery? Who? Why?
Chapter 12
Maxwell
I watched the news. My eyes watered.
“As the death toll continues to rise in the bombing of the Financial District,” the news reporter stood in front of the bombed building and spoke into the microphone, “authorities believe the man in the street cam’s photo is Kazimir Solonik, head of the Russian Mafia known as the Bratva.”
I turned the volume up.
“Solonik is tied to a numerous amount of crimes and has proven ties with terrorists and a direct line to Russian President Vladimir Putin.”
Another image flashed of a big bear of a man with scars on his chin.
“Authorities say that the other man in the photo is suspected to be Luka Ivankov also known as The Butcher. He is an infamous hitman who has committed several high-profile murders.”
A distorted image of a woman showed on the next screen.
I knew it was Emily.
“Authorities are requesting that anyone call if they have information about this unidentified woman. The police are slowly trying to piece this situation together and would like anyone to call, no matter how small they think the detail could be.”
The screen shifted to the news people back at the station.
“This entire situation is mind-blowing.” The male broadcaster had a bad haircut and an ugly suit. “Now, Patty, do they think these three people were involved in the bombing or the chaotic shooting that happened outside?”
Patty touched her ear as if just hearing the question, nodded, and spoke, “Unfortunately, Tim, I believe that these people may be along with the many bodies found in the rubble. Police are just trying to discover why these three individuals were in this location before the bombing and gunfight ensued. So far. . .”
I put the television on mute.
She can’t be dead. Not Emily.
I gripped the phone in my hand.
Emily had still not answered or texted me back that she was okay.
The news played the bombing all day. I wouldn’t have even thought Emily could’ve been in the facility until they flashed the Russian mafia boss’s face. His photo had been showing all day. Street cameras had picked up an image of Emily, another big guy, and him walking into the building. Minutes later, it exploded on the third level, dragging down bricks, people, and dust to swarm throughout the Financial District. Traffic had been backed up. Fire trucks and police cars blocked off most of the ways.
News feeds showed dead bodies on the ground.
Jamaicans and Russians? What the fuck is going on today?
I typed into my phone again, knowing it was stupid to do so. Emily hadn’t made it. She was dead. Her photo had flashed on the screen next to the Russian. They’d only had the shot from the street camera, unsure of who she was.
The Feds had already done a press conference with the Mayor declaring this a bittersweet victory in the war on organized crime.
She can’t be dead. Jamaicans were there, Emily. How did you not think something was up?
Sitting the phone on my coffee table, I rose from the couch and paced in front of the tv.
Now, what do I do?
Every part of my life had been dedicated to protecting Emily. I made no move unless her benefit was involved. If not, I laid low
and minded my business.
She’s gone.
I stopped in front of the tv and stared at my hands, hoping my palms would give me an answer. I watched my chest rise and fall.
She can’t be dead. My heart is still beating. My lungs are still moving. She can’t be dead. How am I able to breathe without her?
My phone rang. I leaped to the coffee table and grabbed it. Darryl’s name flashed on the screen.
“Yo!” I had no patience. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Is Emily there?”
“No, and where the fuck are you at?”
His voice sounded shaky. “That’s. . .a complicated answer.”
“Have you heard about the explosion in the Financial District?”
“Yeah.”
“Emily was there.”
“Yeah. I figured. Rumi’s lawyers are down there. The Lion would have wanted her to go there this morning—”
“Yeah, let’s talk about this Lion. Why the fuck would you send him to Emily?”
“Listen, Max. You have to calm down—”
“I’m not calming down. You ended up getting me in this shit, and you know more than you’re telling.”
“I didn’t get you into this. Emily got you into it. You’re the one cleaning up her messes.”
“Because her brother won’t look after her.”
“Oh, that’s why?”
Silence hit the line.
My breathing increased. Rage blazed in my blood. I felt myself growing hot and ready to combust.
With the phone still on my ear, I turned the tv. The distorted photo of Emily’s face showed on the screen again.
Sighing, I said into the phone, “I think. . .I think that. . .she’s dead.”
His words were sad and low. “Me too.”
I closed my eyes and tried to shut the agony away. “Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter. We have some shit to take care of first, and then we’ll meet up.”
“What shit?”
“Where’s the hooker?”
“I killed her.”
An evil chuckle left him. “You didn’t. You don’t kill women, and you don’t kill unless Emily tells you.”
I opened my eyes and sat down on the couch. “I’ve got her somewhere.”
“Why did you lie?”
“Because I don’t fucking trust you right now. You sent that Russian to Emily and now she’s dead right along with him. Too convenient for you.”
