AFTER THE KISS
Violet Wil iams
Smashwords Edition
Quiver Publishing
Copyright 2012 Violet Wil iams
Ebony Rivers is caught in a dangerous relationship with Maxhew Kournikova, son of crime boss Nikolai Kournikova. She knows she needs to get out before she ends up on the wrong side of his fist and put as much distance between her and the Kournikova name--until she meets Demetrius Sorventinos.
Tony Suarez is going undercover as Demetrius Sorventinos, determined to gather enough evidence against Nikolai Kournikova to put an end to his reign of terror. Everything the Kournikovas touch turns to dust, except for Ebony. He's drawn to her innocence, her beauty--
out of place in the ugly world of crime.
Both battle an undeniable attraction that could cost more than just their hearts...
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
1
EBONY
The waiter peered at the two of us with skepticism. "I’m sorry—you said you wanted a glass of the Chateau Bleu?"
I perked an eyebrow. It was fairly obvious that he spoke English, as did I. "Yes, the Chateau Bleu, please."
"And you're ful y aware that a glass is twenty dol ars?"
Embarrassment flooded my deep brown cheeks, but it was immediately replaced by worry as soon as I looked over at my boyfriend, Max. He was definitely not embarrassed at the assumption that he couldn’t afford a twenty dol ar glass of wine. He was infuriated.
"Wel , you've sold me,” Max said darkly, struggling to maintain his composure. “We’l take the whole damn bottle."
“But that’s-”
“A bottle!” Max snapped, his voice like a whip. “Now.”
The waiter muttered something under his breath and hustled away.
I could understand the waiter’s hesitation on some level. We were, after al , rocking our university sweatshirts in one of the more posh restaurants in town.
Town was probably a bit of an exaggeration. Fal s Lake was a chunk of a smal town outside of the bustling metropolis of New City. La Chateau was their slice of big city elegance, packed with wait staff that shuffled around like penguins and menus that didn’t even have numbers beneath the selection.
The only reason the maître d didn't right out tel the two of us to scram as soon as we walked in was because he recognized Max. Maxhew Kournikova, to be more precise. He was the son of Nikolai Kournikova, a powerful business man that ruled Fal s Lake like a king on a throne.
Max slurped an oyster obnoxiously and snapped his napkin like a bul fighter. "Our waiter must be new." His eyes turned navy as he glanced in the direction the waiter had departed.
"Maybe I should have a talk with management."
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my water. There was something in his voice that made my heart tap dance in my chest. I knew the whole Russian mob bit was a thing from the movies, but I’d also met his dad and the guy scared the hel out of me. It was more than his dominating form, towering above me at 6’2, maybe 6’3; more than the look of contempt in his eyes, even as he shook my hand saying how nice it was to meet me. The fear he invoked was a result of the fact he moved and everyone around scattered like roaches. I didn't want to wonder if our waiter made it home okay just because he was skeptical about two col ege students being able to afford a pricey bottle of wine.
Max got a look in his eyes, like he’d decided the man’s fate. His attention was locked on the back area where the kitchen was. “Yeah…that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
"No,” I said with a quick smile, trying to diffuse the situation. "I'm sure he's just having a bad day or something. Probably a long shift.”
Max shrugged his muscular shoulders as he crunched on a piece of bread. "Whatever."
The waiter saddled back up to our table, holding the bottle of wine and two glasses.
With a flourish, he poured the blood red liquid into the first glass. It was the same color that flashed in Max’s cheeks.
"…And I'l just hold on to the bottle for you.” He flashed me a smile before turning his condescending gaze on Max.
"Excuse me?" Max said, going rigid.
The waiter leaned in, dropping his tone to a confidential level. "Trust me kid—you’l thank me for it when you see the bil ."
Max's aqua eyes went wide with anger. "Do you know who I fucking am?"
The waiter shrugged. "Some kid trying to show off for his date?"
I put a hand on Max's forearm to try and calm him down, but I had a feeling that this was ground zero and at any second, hel would rain down on al of us.
I forced a smile and set my sights on the waiter. "Leave the bottle. Please."
“Whatever.” He gave a curt nod and left the bottle on the table before shuffling away.
I knew my boyfriend well enough to know he was far from done. I was intimately familiar with his quick temper, and the handful of glasses of wine we’d had before and during dinner just tipped the scales.
My mind jetted to the last time his anger reared its ugly head when a TA made a pass at me in the dining hal on campus. Max had been feet away, joking around with his friends, when some warped sixth sense tingled and he went from calm, cool, and col ected, to ramming the guy’s face into the carpeted floor. Anyone else would have been expel ed, hel , thrown in jail, but the TA was the one who disappeared, taking a leave of absence for the rest of the year.
I watched as my boyfriend turn five shades of red, his fury bubbling behind his steely gaze. Quietly stewing. Probably imagining al the things he wanted to do to the guy.
A quiet night out, I thought bitterly, scooting my chair into the danger zone. I should have known it was impossible.
"Please, Max," I said, pleading with him. I placed my hand over his, trying to calm him down. "Please, baby. Just let it go."
"Let it go?" he said, his eyes becoming navy slits. His jaw line tightened to a razor’s edge as he ripped his hand from mine. "Don't be stupid, Ebony."
Now his anger was contagious. "Stupid? How am I stupid?" My volume rose to match his and I knew the diners were looking at us. A black girl and a Russian, getting loud and boorish.
We were doing the stereotypes justice tonight. “You’re the one that insists on picking a fight with some sil y waiter.” I didn’t say what I wanted—that if he real y wanted to prove something he should just leave it alone. Show some restraint.
He slammed his fists on the table and I felt the rattle of the utensils in my bones. "You know I can't just let it go. You know I can't."
He looked me dead on, nostrils flared, shoulders squared like he was ready for battle. “I can’t let it slide.”
And with that, he slid back from the table with a screech. His napkin, and the romantic dinner I’d been hoping for, went crashing to the hardwood floor.
My cheeks flamed as al eyes locked on the scene unfolding before them, watching as Max plowed past like a bul with a flash
of red in sight, leaving an upended chair in his wake. A sickening part of me watched his solid back, taut as a bowstring and a flash of want rushed through me. It was the testosterone, the innate attraction to him ready to go to blows. But Max popped off for al the wrong reasons. It wasn’t like the two of them would go a round and then walk away. Max would hurt him. It was just in his nature.
I knew Max was trouble the minute I laid eyes on him. Even though it had only been three months ago, it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime before the drama. Before he chipped away bits of my sanity and made it almost rational that I stay caught up in a dangerous love.
His attractiveness wasn’t lost on me. The fact that my best friend Liani had spit up a little of her Red Bul when the professor cal ed out Ebony Rivers and Max Kournikova said it al . Max stalked over like some Greek god. He was al pale skin and striking blue eyes, matched with muscles and confidence. When he flashed a megawatt smile, my heart jumped to my throat.
The only thing that kept me from stammering was the memory of seeing him at orientation, loud and cocky, talking to the staff like they were his personal employees.
He'd tried to charm me, and with perfect white blond hair that spil ed into his eyes when he laughed and jeans that accentuated his sturdy frame, a weaker girl would have given up right off the bat. She would have gladly settled for doing the project al alone and maybe getting a romp out of it.
But I was at State U. on an academic scholarship and my dad couldn’t drop thousands to solidify my academic career. Max may have been used to flexing his pecs and getting his way, but I refused to do the project alone.
Instead of getting indignant that I insist he do his fair share, he respected me for giving it to him straight and earned a bit himself for doing a 180. Over the scope of the project, I learned he was more than a pretty face with a bottomless bank account. I found out that he had a hel of a sense of humor and didn’t mind listening to me ramble on and on about my omnipresent mother and the stress of graduation looming. But I also found out he had some serious anger issues. When someone cut in line in traffic, a normal person might gripe, but they let it slide.
Max would tailgate the offender. He even fol owed someone al the way back to their house, only dropping his psychotic crusade when he saw it was a woman with a van ful of kids.
Everything was a battle, a chance for him to prove himself. He couldn’t back down. Ever.
I sat at the table alone, mul ing over my options beneath the glittering chandelier overhead. I could just go. Let the inevitable crazy pan out. Or I could go play therapist and talk Max down.
I cleared my throat, the room suddenly muggy and stuffy. I picked up my glass of water and swal owed slowly. The liquid went down my throat like a rock. I knew the right thing to do. If anything happened to the waiter and I just looked the other way--that was on me. It didn’t make actual y stepping in the line of fire any easier.
I let out a weary sigh and eased from the table. As I fol owed Max's path toward the kitchen, I made a promise to myself. Tonight was it. There'd have to be some changes, some therapy, some something. We wouldn't make it otherwise.
I pushed into the kitchen, only pausing when I noted that my presence didn’t draw a single pair of eyes. What did it say about this place that some random woman could storm through the kitchen and the staff al kept their heads obediently bowed? Or better yet, what did it say about the Kournikova name? Hel , what did it say about me that I was marching after some guy that was just outside, up to no good? I should have been in my apartment, vegging out with Liani, worrying about papers instead of my boyfriend going atomic.
The squirrely maître d from earlier met my gaze as I stepped up to the back door. He immediately moved aside, al owing me passage. The cool of the doorknob sent an electric shock through my system.
Al around me, the sounds of dishes clanging and orders being barked mixed with my reservations. Common sense told me to book it out of there, but I stood planted at the door. It was hard to reconcile the thril of being with him when it was just the two of us with this person that was dangerous and terrifying.
I took a deep breath and pushed the back door open. The November chil whipped around me and sent raven colored braids spinning around my head like a cyclone. I pul ed up my hood and took a cautious step forward. A sickening crunch came hurtling out of the black silence behind the restaurant and natural instinct made me hesitate, wondering if I should even get involved. Max had never struck me, but it was dark and when he got into a mood, he was unpredictable.
I heard a scuffle ahead in the spotty light, accompanied by the groan of metal and gasped.
To hel with this. I’d just cal the police. I’d-
“They’re over by the dumpster.”
I whipped my head to the left, nearly jumping out of my bones at the voice behind me.
The maître d was peeking out the back door.
He held up a hand in apology. “Sorry.” His scrunched features softened. “This is Bil y’s third night. He’s from out of town and-” He swal owed. “He didn’t know.”
I gave the man a smal nod that he returned before inching back inside and closing the door with a thud. Now I had to go forward with it. There was something in the man’s beady eyes that would hold me accountable if I darted back inside.
I moved forward, wincing as I heard a muffled cry of pain. And another--fol owed by a low voice begging for mercy. “P-please...Don’t...”
I hustled down the steps, glad I’d decided on boots and not tennis shoes. The stairs were caked with a fluffy layer of snow and I was pretty sure a slick layer of black ice lied beneath. Fal ing and breaking my neck would have been the icing on a perfect night.
I announced myself. “Max! It’s me.”
I froze at the landing when I saw his form, dark and ominous in the dim light. His back was to me but I could see his erratic breathing in the way it heaved up and down.
My eyes widened in horror when I saw the waiter crumpled on the ground. He was barely twenty five pounds wet, but in a bundle at Max’s feet, he seemed even frailer. He raised his head and even in the near dark I could see that Max had done a number on his face. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle. Blood was gushing from his nose and an unhealthy amount of it was already smeared on the front of his white shirt. One of his eyes was starting to swell shut and the other peered in my direction.
“H-Help,” he stammered. “Cal the fucking cops!”
“Oh god, Max,” I whispered hoarsely, feeling bile rise in my throat. “Jesus Christ!”
When Bil y opened his mouth to speak again, nothing came out except a cough and another groan of pain. Before I could react or digest the scene before me, Max kicked the him in the gut, his boot crunching against bone.
I cried out with the waiter, like Max had dealt me the blow instead of the poor schmuck at the other end of his steel-toe boot.
"Max, STOP it!" I screeched. I jerked forward and pul ed at his arm. “Let’s just go!”
He yanked away and delivered another kick. Bil y made an animal like mewl that knocked me into overdrive. I had to do something.
I launched myself down, covering Bil y’s broken body. I didn’t feel the frigid snow and ice that crunched around me. His jerks and cries were silenced. My whole body was numb except for one thing I felt with every ounce of me: fear. I braced myself for him to hit me in his fury.
But nothing happened. Everything was stil . Painful y silent.
"He disrespected me," Max said after a moment. “He disrespected you too, Ebony.”
I shook my head, opening my mouth to say no, but nothing but a sob came out.
“He had jokes, Ebony,” he said adamantly. “I had to show him. My last name is Kournikova.” He took a step back and I squeezed my eyes shut as he punched the side of the dumpster with a mighty grunt.
Fear caught in my throat when Max came back over, his boots crunching as he paced back and forth before he stopped beside us. How long before he just said to hel wit
h it and let loose on me for getting involved. I tightened my muscles and squeezed my eyes shut.
But Instead of descending into another fit of rage, I let out a hiss of air when he leaned down and placed his hand on my head. He was stroking me. Like I was the one that needed to calm down.
“I’m sorry, Ebony,” he said softly.
Three words sent the world spinning back to life. His touch lingered and sent warmth to dul the terror of what almost happened. The air was heavy with the odor of garbage. Bil y was trembling so hard that I felt his shakes rippling over my body.
I gulped as I pul ed myself up slowly. Max was grumbling on about something, his hand hurting or something another. Something wholly irrelevant considering he’d just beat the shit out of someone.
I took a few steps away, swiping my purse from a pile of slush. I rummaged through the soggy contents, hands stil shaking, looking for my cel .
"Fuck!" Max cursed, behind me. I turned and saw him shaking out his hand. “I think I broke something.
"That's what happens when you punch a god damn dumpster," I seethed. And Hulk out on someone. I put the cel to my ear.
"Who are you cal ing?" he asked quickly.
"91-." He wrenched it from me in a blink and ended the cal . "What the hel do you think you're doing? We have to cal 911!" But I knew exactly what he was doing. Just like deep down, I knew the waiter was in trouble the second he didn't fal in lock step like the rest of La Chateau Fleur wait staff. Nikolai Kournikova would clean up his son’s mess.
Max flexed his fingers, gazing at his ripped knuckles. It was one thing to know it in my heart and to hear him say the words out loud. His nonchalant manner about it deflated me like air from a bal oon.
"Nah. My dad wil take care of it."
Bil y tried to scramble to his feet, but his battered body couldn't withstand his weight and he sunk back to the ground. Through his choked sobs of anguish, I could make out his frustration.
But Max was more concerned about his bruised hand and the blood on his jeans. When he turned to go, completely oblivious to the gravity of what he'd done, I stood torn.
After the Kiss Page 1
