8. Killian
8
KILLIAN
M y night with Natasha has filled me with vigor.
And though I haven’t slept a wink, I’m wired like I would be after a full pot of coffee.
I have no doubt that she’ll be back tonight. The way my little Russian minx left things in the early hours of the morning made that perfectly clear. But until then, I fully intend to wind her father up. See if I can’t urge Boris into taking a more drastic action.
I must say, though, my deal with Natasha suddenly has my interest in a far tighter grip. When I offered to spare her life, I was just looking for a way to avoid killing her without appearing weak.
And now?
I would give almost anything to keep our deal going.
Because she’s got me ensnared. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. I could easily get addicted to her glorious body, her untamable spirit. What I wouldn’t give to worship her, if only she’d let me. So it’s not that challenging to put my life on the line as bait. I’ve gambled more for far less in my line of work.
But to spend another night with Natasha Sokolov?
I’d be willing to hand over the moon and stars.
“Killian.” Lance snaps his fingers in front of my face, drawing me back to the present. “ Killian. Did you hear a single word I said?” he demands.
“Hmm? Yeah. Of course. We’re good to go on the backdoor entrance,” I say, repeating the last bit I heard—and hopefully covering for my momentary lapse into dreaming about the sweet taste of Natasha’s pussy.
God, I can’t wait to be buried inside her again.
Which is a second, secret motive for being here to antagonize Boris Sokolov.
Lance crosses his massive arms over his chest, and his intelligent blue eyes study me skeptically. My foster brother might not say much, but I know he has a lot more going on upstairs than he’s willing to say.
And right now, his expression would tell me he’s fully aware of how distracted I am. Without a word, his gaze asks me where my head’s at. Why it’s not in the game.
“I’m fine. I’m focused,” I insist. “Just thinking about the sweet prize this raid is going to give us.”
Plenty of contraband to reap a profit off of, for sure. But more importantly to me, it will solidify the late-night visit of a certain Russian temptress. And I can’t wait to get my hands on her.
Lance just shakes his head, and his chin juts toward the door of Boris’s lesser-known and far seedier strip club Depravity. Through the glass, Daniel flashes us the go-ahead—which means they’ve taken down the guards at the back entrance.
Sticking to the shadows, Lance and I slip down the deserted alley, using the cover of night to avoid detection on the security cameras. We might be in one of the shadier Harlem neighborhoods. But you can bet that Boris paid for the fanciest security system money could buy. Which is why we needed a man on the inside to make this a quick and seamless infiltration.
Lance signals the ten men that follow us from the van, silently instructing them to enter through the heavy metal side door into the club.
And as soon as I follow, hand on my gun that’s tucked subtly beneath my suit jacket, the cloying scent of cigar smoke hits my nose.
The back hall, lined with mirrors that reflect our faces from every angle, is illuminated by an eerie red glow. And though I’m sure it’s meant to set the mood as men head to private rooms for their lap dances, it gives our approach a more sinister feel.
Daniel’s waiting for us in the hall, and he waves us forward, toward the far end—where Boris’s stash is kept. Like a proper SWAT team, my men creep down the carpeted expanse without a sound. And at the door, we pause, listening to see how many might be waiting on the other side.
I catch three voices, and with a subtle tilt of the head, I signal Lance to break the door down.
He does so with a single kick. And while it looked fairly sturdy, the barrier gives with astonishing ease, the wood splintering under his boot.
“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” I say, waltzing casually in as my men flood the room, guns raised. “We’re only here for the product. So if you’ll just keep your hands where I can see them, no one needs to get hurt.”
My eyes find a pair of sharp gray ones, and to my amusement, I’m suddenly struck by the realization that Natasha has her father’s eyes. And while I have never once considered Boris’s beautiful, I can fully appreciate his generosity for sharing them with his daughter.
“Evening, Boris,” I tease nonchalantly, eyeing the game of cards he appears to be playing with several of his men. “I must admit, with a wife like yours, I hadn’t anticipated finding you in a place like Depravity.”
“My relationship with my wife is none of your concern,” he snarls, immediately irate. “And you know damn well I own this club.”
“Now that you mention it, that does vaguely ring a bell,” I say, tapping my chin contemplatively. “In that case, perhaps you’d be so kind as to point us in the right direction. We’re looking for your coke.”
Lance snorts behind me as our men sweep the room, opening cupboards and doors in search of the contraband.
“Like hell I will! How did you even get in here? You’re no longer welcome in any of my establishments. What have you done to my men?” Boris growls between clenched teeth.
“Oh, your guards watching the back door decided to take an extended break. Don’t worry, they’re not dead. Just napping in a coat closet.” I smirk, pulling out one of the empty chairs from their card table and spinning it around so I can straddle it.
Two of Boris’s men make a quick grab for their guns, but before they can draw their weapons, Lance has two barrels pressed against the backs of their heads.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I urge. “My brother Lance here takes gun safety very seriously. It’s probably not worth your lives to try following through on that half-baked plan.”
Several sets of eyes flash toward Boris, and he grudgingly gestures for them to let it go. Silently stewing, the men lower their hands back to the card table. And I smirk at the nearly indistinguishable insults they mutter in Russian.
A loud snap to my far right captures my attention, and from the dark shade of purple Boris’s face turns, I’m guessing my men found the padlock protecting his stash.
“Got it, boss,” Henry confirms a second later.
I keep my eyes fixed on Boris, relishing the way the vein in his forehead starts to pulse. The soft rustle of my men filling duffle bags with packs of white powder is music to my ears. And I can just imagine the tirade the Russian pakhan will go on as soon as we walk back out that door.
Glaring at me with unbridled fury, Boris clenches his hands into fists. “You won’t live much longer if you keep poking the bear,” he warns, the threat ripping from his throat like a snarl.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I joke lightly. “After all, I’ve already faced your secret weapon once. I think I can handle myself.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lance’s sharp look in my direction. And I can hear the hundreds of questions I know he’ll never get around to asking.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I never told him about Natasha—just like I promised I wouldn’t.
To my surprise, Boris’s expression looks more troubled than angry.
And the tension between us grows.
I wonder whether Natasha told her father about our deal. She must have told him something if she came home without having succeeded in her mission.
But if she did, Boris says nothing about it.
And I’m not about to break my vow of silence. True to my word, I’ll keep her identity a secret for as long as our deal stands.
“We’ve got it all,” Daniel says, and my men start filtering from the room.
“Well, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure. Boris, give my regards to the family, won’t you?” I give him a cheeky two-fingered salute as I rise from my chair and back toward the door.
Lance joins me, keeping his eyes and his guns trained on the men at the card table to ensure they don’t get smart and try anything.
“You’re dead, King,” Boris says flatly. And I can just detect the hint of pride that flashes through his eyes as his lips curl into a menacing smile. “You might think you know my secret weapon, but your days are numbered now.”
“Perhaps,” I quip, pausing in the doorway to get in one more jab. “Then again, so are yours, old man. And my offer still stands. I’ll gladly back off if you’ll give me one of your beautiful daughters. Just think, instead of a nuisance, you could consider me an ally—a son-in-law even.”
“I would rather burn this city to the ground,” Boris growls.
Releasing a soft chuckle, I give a shrug. “Suit yourself, pops.”
Then I turn and follow Boris’s product out the door.