Chapter 3 Kon
KON
Taylor steps backwards.
I want to reassure her I’m on her side. That I’m here to free her and take her home. She’s nervous and defiant and scared and she has no need to be afraid of me.
But there are guards at the door who could be listening, at very least. I can’t fuck this up by just telling Taylor the escape plan like it’s small talk.
Her eyes flash at my threat. “You’d have to catch me.”
She regards my muscled torso in a designer suit. Probably she can’t see the specks of blood on the fine dark fabric.
I nod slowly, then ease my jacket off. It does double duty in that if any listening devices have been slipped in, they’re no longer next to my body.
She takes in my actions warily, observing as I tug off my tie and discard my cufflinks.
I begin to unbutton my shirt, and her cheeks flush.
I grab the back and lift it over my head in one seamless motion.
She stares, her little pink mouth falling open.
I suppose I’m not surprised. My chest is covered with tattoos, and so are my arms. There aren’t any on my hands and neck, because I learned long ago that there were more effective techniques than intimidating the sorts of people who feared visible tattoos.
She takes in the jagged wolf tattoo on my forearm, her gaze lingering there. The symbol of the Volk Brotherhood. It’s where I started. A part of me I’m not particularly proud or fond of, but a time that made me hungry and cunning when I struck out on my own and took over Harlesden.
As my hands drop to my waist, her eyes go wide. Terrified.
This is a good thing. Genuine fear from Taylor will help this seem like a normal encounter, and not a rescue.
And because lust is the most relatable male emotion, I let myself look at Taylor as I undo my belt with a snap that’s loud in the quiet room. And my body reacts further.
The sound of my zipper is a guillotine.
She’s trembling as I toe off my shoes and socks and step out of the trousers. I’m left in a pair of black boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.
I’m hard, jutting up into the waistband and tenting the fabric.
I’m not sure I could disguise that I want Taylor, but for what I have to do, I know it’s in my interest for this to seem authentic.
“Come here.” I spread my hands as though in reasonable appeal. “Or you will not like having made this more difficult than it needs to be when I catch you.”
I enjoy the double meaning of that. She thinks it’s a threat. Later she’ll realise it’s the simple truth. That she ought to trust me.
She’s still wearing the same leggings and fluffy top that wraps around her, a pair of sneakers on her feet, and she takes me in, her gaze dragging over my body from head to toe.
Then she sees that I’ve noticed, and flushes, looking down.
Monitoring where I am through her lashes, but no longer eating me up with those pretty eyes of hers.
“You can look,” I croon, stalking towards her. “It’s only fair given the delightful view I had.”
“I don’t want to look at you.” She backs away, but her expression says she’s lying.
She doesn’t just take in my face, or check where I’m going to move to next.
No, her hot gaze lights up my tattooed chest, covered with the zig-zag patterns and tiles of the Jamaican and Portuguese communities of Harlesden as she follows the lines with her eyes.
“Don’t make this hard, Taylor,” I say, and my throat is sandpapery.
I’m not as evil as that Volk wolf tattoo suggests, though I’m far from tame. But I can’t tell Taylor that until she’s close enough, and naked enough, that no one can hear.
“You,” she spits the word, “are not touching me.”
She keeps the distance even as I advance. She’s so intent on watching me she backs into a large glossy table, upending a glass of water that splashes over her. Without stopping, she staggers around the table, putting it between us.
I tut lightly. “This will only be foreplay. I think a pursuit will make you wet, krasotka.”
“Don’t call me that.” She’s shrill now.
“It just means ‘gorgeous’,” I point out. Interesting that’s the part she objects to.
Her jaw sets.
“The men… They… It sounds gross,” she finishes with a scowl.
“Who?” I ask mildly, not allowing the fury that flares in my veins into my voice.
“Yevgeny’s men.”
They’re dead. I will fucking destroy them.
But my anger must show on my face, as she shrinks back. I dart to the side, as though to chase her one way around the table, but immediately spin, and she gasps as she’s surprised by the move, thinking I was continuing in the first direction.
I reach for her, but she’s quick and small, just keeping out of my grasp.
Seconds later we’re at the same impasse on either side of the table.
“You going to do this all night?” I edge towards her, forcing her around the table, so her back is to the smaller set of rooms.
“If necessary,” she says, but I see the flare of panic.
I switch directions and lunge and nearly—so nearly—grab the sleeve of her cardigan enough to halt her. Her eyes are bright when we face each other again, and the challenge of this woman sparks something hot and dangerous in me.
She’s not just going to give in. She’s interested, I think, but she’ll make me work for every concession.
“I only need to be lucky once. When I touch you, I’m not letting go.” I continue to track her around the table. “But you have to evade me successfully one hundred per cent of the time.”
I stop, placing my hands on the shiny wood and regard her.
“All night.”
She swallows, and her defiance changes to genuine worry.
And that’s when I move. I take the direct route to her, vaulting over the table, the water making the surface slick and the glass spinning away and crashing onto the carpet.
She shrieks and runs. I land with a thump, already running after her.
She sprints with surprising speed through the rooms of the suite, upending furniture as she goes. A chair smashes into my leg, and a lamp bounces off my arm.
But I’m faster.
Taylor looks one way and the other, avoiding the bedroom, but I herd her towards it all the same.
My heart races, and my mind is sharp, despite the few sips of vodka earlier.
This is the most engaged I’ve been with anyone for years. She’s smart. She’s fucking sexy. And the way she’s challenging me is honestly the best part of all.
I needed this. The world is in colour with her here, and my life has been dull for so long.
Clever creature, she uses my larger size and weight to her advantage, bounding over a sofa before she swerves, quicker in changes of direction than I am, and doubles back to the sitting area I was waiting for her in.
And the door.
“Taylor,” I growl, and it’s my turn to have terror claw at my heart. If she runs into the rest of the hotel, I can’t protect her. I can’t explain, and I don’t want to find out what the reprisal there might be from Aleksandr or Yevgeny if they find her escaped.
Worse, I don’t know what I’d have to do to get her back. I’m not above dragging her by the hair if that’s what’s required to show this is nothing more than a brutal bratva pakhan taking what he wants.
I smash into the door reaching for her, and grab her cardigan.
“Got you.” Satisfaction explodes in my chest, but it’s premature.
“No.” Her eyes blaze. I see her intention a split second before it’s too late. She spins out of the wrap, releasing herself with a tear of fabric, and bolts away, heading for the bathroom.
A room she could lock, and attempt to keep me out of, all night.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
There’s new speed in my limbs as she runs. I cannot let her win. She mustn’t, for her sake, but she had the benefit of surprise, and she’s nimble.
But I’m ruthless.
As she reaches the bathroom door and tugs it open, I take a flying leap, uncaring for finesse or dignity.
I slam her against the door, my chest to her back, and the door bangs shut.
She flails, trying to get her nails into me, and kicking my shins. Holding her with one hand to her neck and my hips pressing into her lower back, my knees trapping her thighs, so she stops striking me, I grapple with her top.
It has to come off, in case there’s a listening device in it.
“Let me go!” she yells and squirms, and the unfortunate consequence of her lithe little body rubbing against mine as she tries to escape is that my cock is caught between us, and I shift from partly aroused to rock-solid.
“Shut up!” I snarl, knowing that it will have the opposite effect.
Her top is trapped, and my patience is finished. I grab the cotton and rip it right off, then shove at her tight-fitting yoga pants, careful to leave her knickers in place. I don’t think that’ll be visible with her between me and the wall.
She sobs, screaming.
The clothes fall to the floor, and I lean my head down, narrowly avoiding her attempted headbutt. She’s making this a fight every moment, and my crazed brain loves it. I tighten my hand on her neck, hard enough to restrict her air supply.
I press my mouth to her ear, and whisper, “There’s something you need to know…”
Her yell splutters to a whine. My lips brush her soft skin and her hair, falling out of that tight style, touches my cheek.
“Your sisters sent me.”