Chapter 9 #3
She makes a quick stop in her bedroom to reapply her lipstick. In the mirror of her vanity, she practices to get her expression just right. She needs to ooze sex and power, not look desperate or needy. She tips her head down a degree, arches a brow, and parts her lips just slightly. Perfect.
With confident strides, she heads toward the bunkhouse. She knows she can’t just walk in there and approach the first man she sees. She needs to be more subtle. Ideally, they’d come to her. Hmm…
Thinking quickly, she walks around to the side of the building until she finds a second-story room with a large, climbable tree next to it.
She tosses a pebble at the window and waits a few seconds.
When nothing happens, she does it again.
After the third throw and no one comes to look, she decides it’s safe to assume no one is in the room.
She quickly climbs the tree and steps out onto the branch near the window.
It’s wobbly and barely holds her weight.
If she were any heavier, this wouldn’t work.
That’s probably the only reason this branch hasn’t been deemed a security risk and cut down.
None of the men could use it because it would snap under their weight.
She smirks. Talk about using her body to her advantage.
Balancing carefully, she pulls her knife from her ankle holster and jimmies the window lock like Shade taught her.
When she hears the soft click, she pushes up and opens the window.
Keeping her knife in her hand for easy access, she presses her palms to the window ledge and pulls herself across from the tree branch to the windowsill.
She hooks a leg over the bottom of the window, then freezes. She listens carefully for a minute, sure she heard a noise.
She peers into the darkened room until her eyes have adjusted. She grimaces when she realizes the room isn’t empty like she thought. There’s definitely a person here. Thankfully, that person is currently passed out in the bed. But if she were to get caught now, it would be very hard to explain.
She’s half in the window. She can either back out and try a different room or adjust her plans and be extra careful.
She glances left and right along the building. It’s the only room with a tree close enough for this to work.
Decided, she takes a deep breath and ducks inside. Moving extra slowly to remain silent, she steps down from the window and closes it behind her.
She takes a second to survey the room before sheathing her knife and pulling her gun. The man in the bed is passed out face down with the sheet pulled up over his hips. Every few seconds, he snores gently.
Just in case, she pulls her knife and holds it in one hand and her gun in the other. She has other, less obvious weapons on her, too, as backup. She’s thankful for that, because what she’s about to do is risky.
She carefully places a hand on the mattress next to his head to balance her weight. Then she leans over him and reaches beneath his pillow. Slowly—so, so slowly—she snakes her arm beneath his pillow and feels around. She smiles to herself when she feels the cold metal of a gun.
Careful not to disturb him, she pulls it out and tucks it into the waist of her pants.
Silently, she prowls around the room, checking for other hidden weapons. She finds two other guns and a knife and quickly stashes them out of his reach.
She moves to the corner of the room and sits in the chair facing the bed. To the man’s credit, the room is tidy, and she’s grateful she doesn’t have to move a heap of dirty, smelly clothes from the chair.
Soft afternoon light filters in through the window, casting her in partial shadow as she reclines back in the chair like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
She crosses her legs and props herself up on an elbow, jutting her chest out a little.
Smiling wickedly as she remembers Phoenix’s words, she unzips her jacket just enough to show a hint of cleavage.
Satisfied, she turns her attention to the man still asleep on the bed.
“Wakey, wakey,” she croons softly.
When he still doesn’t move, she tries again louder. “Come on, sunshine. Time to wake up.”
Quick as a striking snake, the man shoves his hand under the pillow while spinning to face her.
The look on his face when he comes up empty is priceless. “What the—”
“Good morning, sunshine,” Ulayna purrs at him. “Looking for something?” she asks in a falsely sweet voice and holds up his gun.
“What do you want?” he asks. His voice is heavy with a Russian accent, and the W’s sound more like V’s.
Locking eyes with him, she lifts the knife in her hand and glides the tip slowly along her jawline, the delicate curve of her neck, and her plump lower lip.
He sneers at her.
She lets her tongue flick out to lick the point of the short blade. She feels a little foolish, but keeps up the femme fatale act anyway.
“There are many things that I want,” she says in a low, sultry voice. “The real question is, what are you prepared to give me?”