Chapter Seven
~ Mishka ~
The coffee was strong enough to strip paint, just the way I needed it this morning. I cradled the oversized mug between my hands as I wandered through Nicolai's penthouse, mentally cataloging all the electronic devices I'd accidentally fried during last night's... activities.
Who knew mind-blowing sex could actually blow circuits? Well, I did. That was the whole problem.
"Nice going, Mishka. One good orgasm and you take down an entire security system." I muttered the words to myself, wincing as I passed the main control panel for the apartment's security system. The little light that should have been blinking green was decidedly not blinking at all.
Nicolai's place was ridiculous, even by crime boss standards. Five thousand square feet of luxury spread across the top floor of The Golden Bear's building.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, while the interior was all masculine elegance—dark woods, leather furniture, and state-of-the-art everything. Everything that was now state-of-the-art paperweights, thanks to me.
I took another sip of coffee and approached the first victim—a sleek tablet lying dead on the coffee table. Setting down my mug, I picked up the device and focused.
The familiar tingle started in my fingertips as I connected with the tablet's circuits. I could feel its pathways, its potential. The internal damage wasn't severe; just a small fried connection that had shut down the whole system.
With a gentle push of energy, I repaired the connection.
Then, because I was feeling a little guilty, and showing off, if I'm honest, I tweaked the processor speed and optimized the battery life.
The screen flickered to life, briefly displaying lines of code before returning to Nicolai's home screen.
"There you go. Better than new."
I moved to the entertainment system next. The massive flat-screen TV and its accompanying components had taken a bigger hit. Probably because we'd been right next to it when Nicolai had pushed me against the wall and—Focus, Mishka.
I set my coffee mug down and ran my hands along the edge of the television, feeling for the right connection points.
The electricity flowed through me and into the device, repairing fried circuits and improving performance specs.
The screen flashed briefly, showing a string of binary before settling into a perfect high-definition picture.
It was strange being here, fixing things I'd broken.
Stranger still that I wasn't running for my life.
Twenty-four hours ago, I'd stumbled into The Golden Bear restaurant desperate and hunted, with Patty O'Rourke's goons on my tail.
Now I was waking up in the owner's bed, drinking his expensive coffee, and upgrading his electronics.
Life takes weird turns.
I wandered into Nicolai's home office, where the damage had been particularly bad. Probably because that's where we'd ended up after the living room, before finally making it to the master bedroom.
The memory sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.
The main computer system was completely dead. I placed both hands on the sleek desktop and closed my eyes, diving deeper into the intricate web of circuits and connections.
This would take more concentration. As I worked, I could feel the cameras in the corners of the room following my movements. Yuri was undoubtedly watching, suspicious as always.
Let him watch. Maybe he'd learn something.
I pushed a little extra energy into the system, not just repairing but enhancing. Faster processing, better security features, and a little surprise—a custom background image of a golden bear that would appear randomly every few days.
Just a small inside joke between Nicolai and me.
The computer hummed to life, screens lighting up one by one. Lines of code raced across them before settling into the normal desktop view. I smiled, satisfied with my work.
"That should keep you running smooth for a while," I murmured to the machine.
Coffee in hand again, I moved to the bedroom. The lamp on Nicolai's nightstand was flickering pathetically—an easy fix. I touched it briefly, the lights steadying instantly.
The electronic blinds that had malfunctioned this morning were next, and I couldn't resist programming them to open gradually with the sunrise rather than just snapping up all at once.
As I worked my way through the apartment, fixing device after device, I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing.
About how comfortable I'd become here in just two weeks.
About how Nicolai's possessive gaze made me feel both terrified and exhilarated.
About the way his massive hands had held me last night with a gentleness that contradicted everything I knew about him.
About how I should be running instead of repairing.
The security system was my last stop, and the most complicated. It wasn't just fried; it had gone into protective lockdown after experiencing what it interpreted as an electromagnetic attack. Which, technically, it had been. Just not the kind the system was designed to recognize.
I placed both hands on the main panel and concentrated harder than I had on any of the other devices. This wasn't just about fixing what I'd broken—this was about safety. Nicolai's safety. And, by extension, mine.
The lights in the apartment dimmed slightly as I channeled more energy into the system. The panel beneath my fingers grew warm, then hot. Code flashed across the small display screen, too fast for normal eyes to read, but I understood every line.
I wasn't just restoring the system; I was rebuilding it from the ground up, building it stronger, better, and more resilient to... well, to me.
When I finished, the panel cooled under my touch. The security display blinked three times before glowing a steady green. All systems operational—and then some.
I'd added a few personal touches: faster response times, intelligent pattern recognition, and a special exception protocol for electronic anomalies matching my particular signature.
I stepped back, surveying my handiwork with a sense of satisfaction I hadn't felt in a long time. Every screen, light, and electronic device in the massive penthouse was not just functioning again, but working better than before.
"Consider it a thank-you gift," I said to the empty room, knowing full well the cameras were picking up every word. "For last night."
I drained the last of my coffee and headed toward the kitchen to refill my mug. It was time to find Nicolai and see what the day had in store. Besides, I was curious to see his reaction to my little electronic improvements.
Maybe, just maybe, I'd get to short-circuit something again tonight.
With a freshly filled coffee mug in hand, I went hunting for my bear. The penthouse was massive, but there were only so many places a six-foot-four Russian crime boss could hide.
As I moved toward his office, the sound of his voice—low, threatening, and inexplicably sexy—guided me the rest of the way.
The office door was cracked open. I peeked inside to see Nicolai standing behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear, his massive frame practically vibrating with barely contained rage. His free hand was clenched in a fist on the polished surface of his desk, knuckles white.
"This is not negotiable," he growled into the phone. "You will remain within the boundaries we established or there will be consequences that neither of us wants."
I hesitated in the doorway. Angry crime boss probably needed privacy for threatening people. But before I could back away, Nicolai's eyes locked onto mine.
His expression shifted—still thunderous, but now with something else mixed in. Without breaking his phone conversation, he beckoned me forward with an imperious curl of his fingers.
Who was I to refuse?
I stepped into the office and Nicolai immediately reached out to pull me to his side. His large hand settled on my hip, grip firm and possessive in a way that sent a completely inappropriate thrill through my body.
Angry bear is surprisingly hot.
"The matter is closed," Nicolai continued, his accent thicker with anger. "Do not test me on this."
From my position tucked against his side, I could feel the rumble of his words vibrating through his chest. It was distracting, to say the least. The man radiated heat like a furnace, and the scent of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive—wrapped around me like a second possessive grip.
"Do we understand each other?" he asked into the phone, his thumb absently stroking small circles against my hip. The casual intimacy of the gesture made my heart flutter traitorously.
Whatever the person on the other end said must have satisfied him because Nicolai ended the call moments later, tossing the phone onto his desk with barely restrained violence.
"Problems with the neighbors?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite the firm hand still gripping my hip.
Nicolai looked down at me, his expression softening just a fraction. "Nothing for you to worry about, malysh."
I was about to ask what that word meant—he had a habit of dropping Russian endearments that I couldn't understand—when the office door slammed open without warning.
Yuri stood in the doorway, looking like someone had personally offended his entire ancestral line. His eyes narrowed first at Nicolai, then positively burned with hostility when they landed on me. The fact that Nicolai's hand was still firmly attached to my hip did not escape his notice.
"Something wrong, Watchdog? Need a biscuit?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Probably not the smartest move to antagonize Nicolai's second-in-command, but impulse control had never been my strong suit.