After the Kiss

by Violet Williams

  I swiped my backpack from where it sat perched beside the leather couch. Now there was just my bra. It had to be around here somewhere, since I'd shed it last night when we didn't even make it to the bedroom.

  In a mess of his bags of food and bottles of booze that littered the glass coffee table and hardwood floors, my cotton candy pink underwear should have stuck out like a sore thumb, but it was nowhere to be found. I sunk to my knees and began scouring the area. I let out a moan of disgust when my hand hit something sticky.

  "Great," I muttered. "Just-"

  “Ahem.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was someone behind me. Someone that was so quiet I didn't even hear the door open when they entered the apartment.

  I pivoted around and my eyes went wide. Holy crap. It was Nikolai Kournikova--Max's father.

  I scrambled to my feet, doing this awkward curtsy. At 6 feet, built like a tank, yet wearing a two piece suit that fit him like destiny, he looked powerful. From his striking, aristocratic features, and stormy eyes that seemed to lay one bare with a glance, he was like royalty, and I a subject that didn't want to draw his ire. And I'd seen up close and personal what happened to people that disappointed his son. God only knows what happened to those who crossed him.

  "M-Mr. Kournikova," I stammered, trying desperately to explain myself. "I w-was just, uh, getting ready to head back to campus."

  "Mmm," his cold eyes never left mine, but he tilted his head slightly and a man stepped from behind him. Man didn't do it justice--he was regal in his own right. While he wasn't nearly as tal as Nikolai, he had a presence that commanded attention. His skin had a caramel tone; not that of a tanning bed or a life spent outdoors, but that of someone of Greek or some sort of ethnic ancestry. Looking at him, I could hear waves crashing, imagine the feel of the muscles beneath his sleek black shirt. When he ran a hand through his wavy black hair and his sky blue eyes took me in, lingering on the swell of my breasts, I felt moistness pool in my panties. I didn't even know the guy's name, we hadn't even touched and I already wondered what the hand that reached out to shake mine would feel like as it cupped my face. Or the curve of my bottom.

  I shook his hand gingerly. "H-Hi."

  "This is my associate, Demetrius Steverinos," Nikolai said, his words thick like syrup.

  "Demetrius, this is my son's friend, Ebony Rivers."

  I tried to not react to his downgrading my and Max's relationship. After al , five seconds ago, I was lusting after some guy I'd just met. It wasn't like me at al to fawn al over someone. I was obviously stil al jumbled and confused from the night before.

  Demetrius brought his other hand to join the first that held mine, cradling it. It was sil y, but for the briefest moment, I felt protected. Taken care of.

  I stepped backward when I heard Max's bedroom door open and he trudged out into the living room with a yawn.

  “Привет отцу. What's up?" He sized up Demetrius and I couldn't help but feel a modicum of pride when he looped an arm around my shoulder and pul ed me close. "Who is this?"

  "Demetrius and I were in the area." Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. "Cleaning up your mess."

  Max's back stiffened. "So it's taken care of?"

  His father didn't reply, and it took al the self-control I had to not react. I glanced at Demetrius and he was giving me a strange look. Oh god--had he seen something that gave me away? A twitch? A quiver of disgust?

  Nikolai stepped forward. "I need to speak to you alone."

  Max leaned over and pecked my forehead. His breath tickled my ear. "Be right back."

  Only my eyes moved, watching them plod toward the bedroom. The sound of the door closing made me gulp. It was just me and Demetrius.

  Now that Max was up, and had clearly marked his territory, my cheeks burned hot at the dirty thoughts I'd had, the carnal daydream one of Nikolai's henchmen had evoked. Usual y the guys that came around with him were leering, google eyed men who repulsed me with their gawdy gold jewelry bought by doing Nikolai's dirty work. But there was something different about Demetrius.

  He took a step in my direction, gesturing at the backpack that sat a few feet away. It was almost taunting me, reminding me that I didn't belong here.

  "You're a student?"

  I nodded. "Yes. I go to State."

  He licked his lips, mul ing over my words. "What do you study?"

  "E-Elementary education," I replied quietly.

  "Interesting."

  I scanned his face for any sign of sarcasm but found none. But his eyes were no longer on me. They were looking just past, his brows furrowed.

  Before I could find out what the deal was, he'd bridged the space between us, squatting down just beside me. When he stood up, he was close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. I drew a shaky breath and breathed him in. Another distinguishing factor--Nikolai's usual cronies reeked of cologne, like they bathed in the pungent liquid. But Demetrius had only a faint scent, that of soap and a lingering hue of cigarettes.

  I opened my mouth just slightly as I felt my nipples swel to rock hard knobs beneath the jersey fabric. Who was this man? What was this need he awoke in me? I'd never felt so visceral y attracted to someone, so close to doing something undeniably stupid like kiss another's lips with my boyfriend in the next room…

  He took a step back, and I didn't miss the cherry flush of his cheeks. He had something bal ed in his fist. When I saw the sugarplum color peeking out between his thick fingers, I just about died. Stick a fork in me. I'm through.

  He held out my bra.

  He didn't need to say anything.

  I snatched it from him and moving with a speed that surprised myself, I gathered my backpack and swiped my keys from the counter in one fel motion. I moved to the door, only stopping because I felt like I should say something.

  "I, uh, have class." And with that, I pushed out of the apartment, closing the door quickly behind me. As I skated down the stairs, headed toward the parking lot, I decided to look at this as a blessing in disguise. Now, if I ever saw him again, I'd remember the awkward moment of him holding my bra instead of the idea of him scooping me up and having his way with me.

  ****

  TONY/DEMETRIUS

  She's gonna be the death of me. She--Ebony Rivers. The girlfriend of Nikolai’s spoiled son. She could do so much better. She deserved so much better. What the hel was I even saying? I’d barely said two words to her. Yet already—already…

  My first day undercover, and I had a new name. Demetrius--but the others decided

  'Pretty Boy D' is more fitting. The overweight one that got winded walking up a flight of stairs and smel s like curdled milk, Boris, took it upon himself to be my mentor. He gave me the rundown of how things worked under Nikolai Kournikova. It al boiled down to not being too curious and doing what you're told.

  When I told him that I was driving Nikolai in town to meet with his son, Boris jabbed me with one of his sausage fingers and told me I was in for a treat. Apparently his son was dating a black girl from his school, to his father's chagrin. But he let me know that once I got a look at her, I'd understand why she was worth pissing off a man who wasn't known for his patience.

  From what I'd spied of the kid in the folders, he seemed like a run of the mil frat boy, spending his days skating by academically while excel ing at partying. I expected a video girl type, with attitude who walked around, exuding sex.

  But Ebony took my breath away--and it wasn't because my first sight of her was the apple bottom curve of her rear. The first thing that came to mind when I saw her supple skin was dark chocolate. I wondered if she felt, tasted as delicious as she looked. She’d turned around and I saw the embarrassment flood her cheeks when she saw she wasn’t alone in the living room. Her eyes, big, acorn brown ovals, made me want to say to hel with it al and seduce her. One night with her, staring into those eyes with her lush body beneath me, would be worth the bul et. And that bra. Jesus fucking Christ.

  I was as
saulted by feelings I hadn't felt since before. Since Katie. Jealousy at the thought of anyone else having her. A consuming need to possess her, brand her as my own.

  We'd almost kissed before I snapped out of it. Stay on task, man, I ordered myself. Now isn't the time to think with your dick. Even if the way her cheeks blushed sends heat rocketing to your crotch. Even if the curve of her lip makes you want to make love to her.

  Her embarrassment ran her from the apartment and gave me time to remember that I was there to do a job. And as far as that was concerned, there was no learning curve. It was sink or swim.

  My first assignment was a kid, Bil y something or another. He was a waiter at La Chateau, some stuffy French restaurant. Apparently he ran off at the mouth at Maxhew and found himself in the hospital. Nikolai and I paid him a visit to do a little damage control.

  There was something in Bil y’s eyes. Before al this, he was a cocky motherfucker. Hel , under different circumstances, he and Max might've been chums. But he'd copped attitude and paid dearly for it. One of his eyes was swol en shut. His jaw was broken. Handful of ribs. Those eyes fol owed me as I went to his bedside. Staring at me. Ful of animosity and fight, even though his face had been beaten to raw hamburger. I'd pushed on his ribs as Nikolai watched, puffing on a cigar. His jaw was wired shut, so he only made these gurgles of pain. It wasn't until Nikolai stepped forward and said unless he forgot about this whole unfortunate incident he'd cut his mother's throat that the spark turned to fear. And why shouldn't he be afraid? He'd said it so effortlessly. So cool. And we both knew he'd do it.

  "What do you think about Fal ’s Lake?"

  The sound of Nikolai's voice snapped me back to attention, taking me out of my thoughts. "Sorry, sir?"

  "Fal s Lake," he repeated. I heard him rearrange himself in the backseat. "Good town, yes?"

  "Of course, sir. Yes." It was a good town, once upon a time. Smal town charm outside the city. Low crime rate. Manufacturing employed most of its inhabitants in one form or another.

  People didn't lock their doors or worry if their kids walked home from school. But that was before the Kournikova family moved in after outsourcing devastated the area. He was a Messiah, buying up old factories and getting the cogs and wheels working again, stemming the tide of unemployment. A savior--until they learned that nothing in this world came without strings.

  "Truly the land of opportunity,” Nikolai said after a moment as I continued to motor us down the road. “Back in my country, my father was genius, but he had enemies. He would not bow and we have nothing."

  He knew Kournikova's rags to riches story well. His father was the personal physician of a unpopular czar, one he held loyalty to, even when revolution came and he was ousted. The family was stripped of their money and prestige. Completely disgraced. Beggars. His father committed suicide as a result of the shame. Some took pity on his wife and children and bought them passage to the states.

  There, his mother worked as a maid. They had little, but they stretched it as far as possible. Nikolai became a hustler and a tenacious businessman, obsessed with becoming affluent. Obsessed with never going without again, no matter the cost.

  "Your people, immigrants as well?" he probed.

  "Yes," I answered, stopping at the light. "From Corfu." In actuality, my parents did emigrate, but from Spain, not Greece. When I glanced in the mirror, I saw Nikolai was giving me a pensive look. Measuring my worth. We had something in common. Kindred spirits. Just as I was gonna take the in, mine him for information I could later use, he went back to business.

  "Make a left at the next light. We have business, at Bel a Ristorante."

  I kept my eyes forward. Through my research, I knew that business at Bel a Ristorante meant only one thing--Vincent Bursceloni, the head of the Bursceloni crime family. Think Mafia, with a dash of Nazi-ism. They didn't just kil you if you dared to cross them; they burned down your family tree, kids and al .

  We pul ed up to Fal s Lake’s little corner of Italy. There was a bakery that cater-cornered a sandwich shop. Outside the shop, a huddle of old men sat scrunched over a card table. The air just smel ed differently here and my stomach rumbled in appreciation.

  I pul ed into the compact parking space behind Bel a and kil ed the engine. Dutiful y quiet, I slid from behind the wheel and went to the back, opening Nikolai's door.

  He sniffed as he stepped out of the car, buttoning his jacket. Did he smel the lure of chicken parmesan or something more sinister? I was familiar with the bad blood between the Kournikovas and the Bursceloni's. It was an unhappy marriage, but divorce meant red in the streets. And prying, possibly federal eyes.

  I held the door open to Bel a Ristorante and Kournikova stomped in, me trailing him. Our hostess hustled to guide us to the VIP room in the back. Bursceloni was seated at the head of the table, a handful of wise guy types gathered around him. Their eyes were narrowed, their hands never far from their waist. The room was quiet except for the obnoxious chomping of Bursceloni's mouth as he devoured the plate of pasta before him.

  Bursceloni was a walking stereotype. Long gone was his youth, stripped and replaced by an overweight man, balding, with fingers covered with gold rings. Each caught the light as he tore into his food.

  "Sit," he growled, looking at Nikolai with contempt. "Have something to eat."

  I was ready to take him up on it, but Nikolai didn't move. "Let us just conclude our business and I'l be on my way." Nikolai inclined his head at me and I stepped forward, pul ing an envelope from my breast pocket. I moved to the table and held it out to the man.

  He kept eating, not even acknowledging my existence. He was showing just how much he thought I was worth, and it made my blood boil. The steak knife glistening on the table beside him was looking real appealing. I could grab it; jam the blade into his carotid with enough force to end him. I'd be doing the world a favor.

  Bursceloni snapped his fingers and one of his men stepped forward with a napkin and a white envelope of his own. Bursceloni wiped his mouth and took me in.

  "You're a new one, eh?"

  "Yes."

  "Definitely better looking than the others," he said in an accusatory tone. "Same bad manners." He glanced over at Nikolai. "Where did you get this one? An Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue?"

  His cronies let out an obedient laugh. I didn't even crack a grin.

  "No sense of humor." Bursceloni beckoned and I handed him the envelope. He tucked it into his jacket and continued his evaluation. "What's your name, kid?"

  "Demetrius Steverinos."

  "Demetrius," Bursceloni repeated. "You don't look like any Demetrius I know." He addressed the man at his right, but his eyes never left me. "Looks more like a Julio, huh Vince?"

  The squirrely man nodded. "Yes sir."

  "Mmhm," Bursceloni mused. "There's something real familiar about you." He scratched his chin. “Maybe your people work the taco stand I frequent when I need a good working out?”

  I stood my ground. "I don't know you and you don't know me."

  He whistled. "You got a real firecracker here, Nikolai."

  Nikolai's lips were a thin line. "If that's al , we have other appointments."

  Bursceloni grunted and turned back to his food. "Always a pleasure."

  I filed behind Nikolai, exiting the restaurant out the back door as quickly as we entered. I opened his door and moved back behind the wheel of the escalade. "Where to, Boss?"

  "Home," Nikolai said clippedly. "I need a shower." He paused. "Demetrius?"

  "Yes sir?"

  "You did good."

  I gave him a smal nod in the mirror and fist pumped in my head. I'd cleared the first hurdle. I had Kournikova's respect.

  3

  EBONY

  The weather outside was grey and bitter, the wind gusts sinking ice into my bones. I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I stepped off the bus and strode toward the entrance of State's education building.

  My boots were fil ed with lead because I knew the fri
gid temperature wouldn't compare with the cold snap my advisor, Dr. Lena Howell, had in store.

  One of the requirements of my young adult lit class was that we go to a local elementary school and read and tutor students with literacy problems. Most of my classmates had begun their field experience, and under regular circumstances, I would have jumped at the chance to work with kids. But ever since I saw Max tear into that guy, it took al I had to even get out of bed in the morning. When I closed my eyes, I could stil see his battered face and feel the unbridled rage coming off Max in waves.

  I knocked on the door of Dr. Howel ’s office, a series of timid taps that barely sounded over the hustle and bustle in the hal . I felt relief flooding me as I turned to go. She wasn't in her office. I could put off the chewing out for a little longer.

  "Miss Rivers." The voice dripped with ice and locked me in place.

  I swal owed hard and pivoted slowly before forcing a smile, weaving in and out of the flurry in the hal way. "Dr. Howel !"

  "I know you seem to have forgotten your obligations to your student at PS 016, but certainly you didn't plan on skipping our appointment today."

  "Of course not," I said quickly, ducking into her office. When she shut the door behind her, I pul ed off my cap and loosened my scarf. The heat barely petered from the ancient central unit above head, and the Robert's building was notorious for being drafty, but it suddenly seemed real y hot in the room. The fact that Dr. Howel seemed to have the entire campus library packed in 50 square feet didn't help. Nor her dark beady eyes locked on me, her face sour as she sunk into her chair.

  "So what's going on, Ebony?"

  "B-Beg your pardon?"

  "At the beginning of the semester you had such promise. Solid A in the class, constantly looking for ways to supplement the coursework and go deeper. What happened?"

  It was kind of sobering to remember how different things had been four months ago. I'd settled in my classes, determined to wow my professors academical y so I could have stel ar recommendation letters to bolster my resume. I'd been focused. It was the home stretch, my senior year, and I'd been determined to finish strong.