7. Anya
CHAPTER 7
ANYA
“A nya, once you get through the metal gate, run. Run like you’ve never run before. Run until you can’t take another breath, and then, keep going. Don’t look back, don’t scream, and whatever happens, don’t stop. Just get to the boat. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
I swallow a gulp of oxygen, the frigid air lancing my lungs like the sharpest icicles as my older brother Maks and I trudge through what look like mountains of snow in our path. His words to me before we started on this horrific journey are seared into my mind.
My legs sink deep into the freezing snow, the drifts so high, they reach the top of my knee-high boots. I shudder, pulling my fur-lined parka tight around me.
A lump the size of a grapefruit lodges itself in my throat.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
The property surrounding our house is gated off by wrought-iron fences and you need the security key to open the locks. There is no escape from the front. Besides the fact that there would be too much snow lining the driveway, whoever just massacred the guests in our family home would most likely have someone waiting for us by the road.
There’s only one other way out for us.
The lake isn’t frozen over yet, so it’s our only chance to survive this ambush.
Tears spring to my eyes, freezing as they slip down my cheeks.
I can’t feel my fingers or my toes, and we’ve barely gotten away from the house. I feel the blood in my veins slow as my body temperature drops more and more with every passing second. I take in air, choking as my lungs work overtime to fuel my body with oxygen as I run. With a thumping heart, I focus on the boat swaying around on the lake.
Just a few more steps…
Almost there…
I can almost feel the wooden planks of the dock rattling beneath my feet.
“Maks,” I rasp, keeping my eyes forward. I squint into the darkness, the moon being our only source of light. “We’re close. So close! Please God…please God, let us make it before ? —”
My throat tightens, panic bubbling in my chest as I reach the gate and stab in the security code. Then I do the things my brother warned me not to do.
I look.
And then I scream.
* * *
“Mama, you look so beautiful,” I say, fingering her long blonde curls. “Your hair glows like a halo.”
“That’s because she’s an angel,” Papa says, surprising us by appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. He grabs Mama by the waist and spins her around as she gasps. A breathless giggle escapes her deep red lips as Papa twirls her around the table. Her light blue dress fans out around her, her cheeks bright pink from the impromptu dance.
Mama gives Papa a playful slap. “If you want this feast to be ready on time, you’d better find yourself another dance partner.”
Papa’s blue eyes twinkle and he holds out a hand to me as Mama fusses over the meal she’s preparing.
“It’s been hours,” I say to her in a teasing voice. “Isn’t it done yet?”
Mama gives me a sharp look, her lips parting to speak the word burned into my memory.
“No!”
A flash of red floods my vision as the tears freeze and crackle on my skin.
It was only supposed to be a friendly business dinner.
“No!”
One swing of the machete took Mama’s life.
The second one killed Papa.
“No!”
I never saw it coming.
“I’ll always make sure you’re safe, Anya…”
“Don’t ever look back, Anya…”
“They will kill you, too, Anya…”
My head swarms with terrifying thoughts and images I will never be able to erase from my memory.
Mama and Papa trusted them, invited them into our home.
And they took everything from us that night.
“What’s happening down there?” I whisper to my older brother Maks in the darkness of his bedroom. Dishes smash against walls, gunshots explode into the air, piercing screams shattering me to my core. “We need to get Mama and Papa!”
“It’s too late,” he says in a tight voice. “For them.”
He knew this would happen.
He was ready for them.
I pull my arm out of his tight grip. “No, it’s not! We have to help them!”
He grabs me by the shirt, his eyes blazing with rage. “Mama and Papa are gone. And if you don’t want to end up like them, you need to do as I say!”
* * *
My feet pound against the snow as I drag myself closer and closer to the boat, my fingertips frozen to the point that I’m not sure I can even press the numbers into the security keypad. My breath freezes as it hits the air, my teeth chattering like I’ve been plunged naked into a pool of ice cubes.
I reach out to hit the buttons, the boat bobbing on the water, and I’m suddenly thrust into the backseat of a blacked-out Ford Expedition.
Maks’s truck.
Pulsating electronica fills my ears through my earbuds, my eyes drooping closed as I sprawl out on the leather. “Did you really need me to come with you? You could have just brought the ice cream home, you know,” I grumble, scrubbing a hand down the front of my face. I’m exhausted from doing a job the night before in a town upstate, and all I really want to do right now is burrow under my covers and sleep.
“Relax,” Maks says. “This won’t take long. Don’t be such a bitch.”
I feel the car turn right and the cool, salty air billowing through my hair tells me we’re at the pier.
“Fine,” I huff. My stomach growls and I rub a hand over it. It’s officially rebelling against me. I guess some ice cream would be good after all. “You need me to come with?” I ask with a loud yawn once the truck comes to a stop. “I’m fresh off a killing spree, so I’m still a little jacked up.”
He snickers. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I don’t need my baby sister backing me up.”
I sigh, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I never offered.” I’d do anything for my brother and he knows it. He and my uncle are all I have left.
He opens the door and hops out of the truck, leaving me with my thoughts.
Most of the time, I can deal with our shitty circumstances. I mean, we’re still alive, so that’s a big bonus. A few years ago, I didn’t think we’d survive for this long. But thankfully, our Uncle Boris had taken us in after we fled from our home. He brought us here to the States and gave Maks a job working on his crew.
I was too young and inexperienced, though, so he trained me. Turned me into his own personal weapon. Years later, I’m more lethal than my brother.
Uncle Boris never misses an opportunity to warn us that word travels fast, and the same people who killed Mama and Papa are still hunting for us. So most of the time, I keep my head down, flying under the radar and doing my work for that asshole bratva boss Volkov, hoping that one day, I can finally look up and see the light at the end of this dismal and dark tunnel.
Maks has promised me that we’ll be able to write our own ticket wherever we want to go after a few more ‘jobs’.
I’ve heard that before.
Papa used to make that same promise to Mama.
Unfortunately for both of them, he never got a chance to make good on it.
Crack! Pop! Bang!
I sit straight up with a gasp, the exploding sounds blasting through the music.
Holy shit! Did he seriously just shoot someone?
Did he kill someone?
A scream bubbles up from my lungs, but I bite down hard on my lower lip to prevent it from piercing the still air.
Oh my God, Maks!
Two more shots are fired and I strain my ears to hear voices.
They’re yelling something in a different language…
And it isn’t Russian.
My throat tightens, blood rushing between my ears.
Maks…
Police sirens sound in the distance and a car door slams, tires squealing on the pavement outside. The engine fades and my world is plunged back into an eerie stillness, save for the approaching cops.
I try to swallow, but the gaggle of tears in the back of my throat chokes me to the point that I can barely squeeze out a breath.
Maks never calls out to me.
He never opens the back door.
Minutes later…or maybe it’s hours…I reach up, my clammy, shaking hand gripping the door handle and pushing it open. I am greeted by a black sky and a desolate parking lot in the middle of an overgrown tree field near the water. I shakily get to my feet, gingerly stepping onto the pavement as if my legs might give out at any second.
My mouth falls open, but I can’t say the words that hover on the tip of my tongue.
My pulse throbs against my neck, heart galloping like a thoroughbred as I creep around to the back of the truck.
I fall to my knees, crashing hard against the concrete, bits of gravel digging into my hands as I collapse onto my brother’s bullet-torn and lifeless chest.
“Don’t look, Anya.”
“Don’t scream, Anya.”
But I can’t help myself.
I do both…
Again.
* * *
“Maks!” I gasp, sitting straight up in my airplane seat, my heart throbbing so hard, I press a hand to it to make sure it stays in my chest.
Yeah, I’m still alive.
I made it out that night.
I survived and my brother…didn’t.
After all we’d been through together…losing Mama and Papa, being forced from the only home we ever knew, on the run and living in hell with our uncle in a shithole apartment in Brooklyn…he was gone.
Forever.
Those splintered memories come back to haunt me pretty frequently, even though it’s been almost a year since he was murdered.
The book I’d been reading right before I fell asleep…when my mind was filled with steamy rock stars, hot surfers, and swoon-worthy FBI agents…falls to the floor. I let my eyes flutter closed for a second, trying to calm my breathing before I bend over to pick it up. Beads of perspiration pebble on the back of my neck as I force the images out of my mind.
Hence, the reason for the book.
It’s one of the reasons why I became such an avid reader over the past few years. It’s my only real escape…when I’m awake.
But once my eyes droop closed, the demons take over and my sexy romance fantasies morph into gruesome horror story plots with me as the main character.
“Oh dear, I think you dropped this.” A kind old lady next to me nudges my arm with the fallen book.
“Thank you so much,” I say, forcing a smile as I clutch the book tight in my hand.
“It certainly looks like an …interesting read,” she says with a little chuckle. “I love romance novels, too. I read at least three a week! Although, not this week. Oh, no. This week, I’m going to be parked in front of my favorite slot machines at the Excelsior!” She clasps her hands together. “It’s just going to be such a fabulous trip! My girlfriends and I are all meeting at the luggage carousel since we’re flying in from different places. And we’re so excited…”
The woman continues to talk and I just smile and nod, my mind tripping back to the handsome stranger who managed to get caught in my crosshairs last night.
I’d much rather think about him than about my sordid past, not that there’s any shot I’ll ever see him again.
When I ran away from Velvet Lounge last night, it was partly because I was afraid he could see right through me. He called me out on so much and came damn close to connecting the dots that were never meant to be linked.
I stayed with him at the bar last night and let him in further than I have any guy in what feels like forever.
And I knew if I stayed for a single second more, he’d have peeled away enough of my layers to find what lay tangled and twisted inside of me. And I’m not just talking about my clothes either.
I couldn’t allow that to happen, especially after our hot little tryst outside of the restroom.
He had…has…the power to undo me.
And I can’t afford to unravel like a cheap fucking rug.
Not now, not ever!
I’ve played that role and it almost got me killed.
I suddenly feel like one of the toxic heroines in the romance novels I devour, the ones who can’t let a guy get close because they don’t trust anyone, the ones who are so emotionally damaged that they want to rely entirely on themselves and not get into any romantic entanglements with hot as fuck strangers.
That’s where the similarity ends for me.
The difference for those other girls is that they eventually bend…then bend over…and let the guy in — literally and figuratively.
And that’s just not me.
My past is too littered with death and devastation for anyone to possibly break through. Right now, I feel like an empty shell, void of everything except hatred. And that shit is debilitating. The only way I think I can actually move on is to make sure that the people who hurt my family feel the same pain.
Because I feel it all the time.
A sharp pain assaults my chest.
I can’t even look at mint chocolate chip ice cream anymore without dissolving into tears because it’s the guilty pleasure Maks and I had always shared. It was our tradition to go out for it once a week and to talk and laugh and act like somewhat normal people for a little while.
On those occasions, we’d remember our parents and our lives back home.
Even though things came to a tragic end, there was still so much good and I always vowed I’d remember it all. Maks knew how much I needed to talk about them, that if we didn’t, I was petrified I would forget.
He knew me better than anyone and he always promised to find us a way out.
And then he died.
My best friend in the whole world left me, and I never even got to say goodbye.
Through all of my splintered thoughts, the woman keeps chatting. I don’t want to seem rude, although I hope she doesn’t ask me a question because I haven’t heard a single word she’s said in the past couple of minutes. I keep smiling and nodding, realizing that she only wants someone to talk to, and I silently thank God when the stewardess’s voice comes over the speaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to begin our descent into McCarran International Airport in our destination city of Las Vegas. The local time is two o’clock in the afternoon and the temperature is one-hundred-and-two degrees. Please fasten your seatbelts and put away all electronic devices. We will be on the ground shortly.”
My fingertips turn white as I clutch the arms of my seat.
“Oh, are you afraid of landings?” the woman asks, noting my death-grip on the armrests. She reaches out an pats my hand. “No worries, dear. It’s all computer-based, anyway. These planes don’t even need humans to fly them! The computers are even smarter than the pilots, if you ask me,” she says in a conspiratorial voice. “We’ll be on the ground, safe and sound, soon enough!”
I sit back against my seat and let out a deep breath. It is actually nice to listen to someone drone on about innocuous things like a weekend out with the girls, winning slot jackpots, and which hotel has the best buffet for the money. The conversation pales in comparison to the fantasies I’ve had looping through my mind about mystery man Gio from last night, but then again, maybe it’s time to shove those into the dark recesses of my mind where I lock up all of the other shit I can’t control.
I need to clear my mind of everything other than the job I was sent here to do.
Forget the fact that I have no clue how to do said job, but I’ll just worry about that when the time comes. The most important thing is making sure I get the damn job in the first place.
The plane finally hits the runway, bouncing a few times before gaining traction on the pavement, and I let out a huge sigh of relief, gathering my stuff together so I can make a run for it as soon as the doors open.
The woman next to me, who introduced herself as Dottie, busies herself with putting her own bags together while she prattles on about the jerkoff husband of one of her friends who wouldn’t let her join in the weekend fun. I swear, she hasn’t taken a single breath since she started this one-sided conversation. She also hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself, which is fine by me. The last thing I need is for some lonely old woman to interrogate me about my own life choices.
I get enough of that at home from Olga, the seamstress I’ve been working with over the past few years. She taught me to sew when I first came to Brooklyn at thirteen and it helped calm the demons battling inside of my head and heart. It became therapeutic for me to work beside her, and I learned to use the needles in all sorts of creative ways. I even took up crocheting to get comfortable using the larger, longer variety.
Olga is now my only friend aside from Uncle Boris.
It’s a self-imposed occupational hazard.
I try to keep my circle small. Makes it easier to slip in and out of my everyday life to handle a hit when there aren’t many people interested in my whereabouts.
I never get caught in a lie because Olga is the only person who ever asks about things I can’t actually divulge. My stories are simple and straightforward, and I never mix up details because there is only one narrative.
But it’s damn lonely.
I’m suddenly a little jealous of Dottie and all of the girlfriends she’ll be spending the week with here in Vegas.
I guess it’s just not a life I was ever meant to have.
Building big circles of friends means willingly putting trust in people, and I just don’t have that luxury.
When the door opens and people begin filing out of the plane, I expel a grateful sigh. I need to get my head screwed on straight, and getting out of this airport is step one. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn to Dottie and give her a cheerful wave. “So great talking to you,” I gush. “Have a great time with your?—”
Then she grabs my arm and links it with hers, tugging at me as I try to walk up the aisle. “It was so rude of me to not even ask your name, dear!”
My lips stretch into a tight line. “It’s Anya,” I say.
“Anya! What a beautiful name! Just like you,” she says, patting my arm. “Now, Anya, I would be so appreciative if you could help me carry my things to the baggage claim area. I’m afraid if I have to lug them myself, my friends will leave me here!” She chuckles. “I move so slowly these days, you know, because I had a hip replacement not too long ago…”
Fuuuuck.
How can I leave her now?
I grit my teeth and hoist her bags over my free shoulder as she yammers on about her bionic hip.
Eh. This won’t set me back too much and hey, I need all the good karma I can get, especially with this new job hanging in the balance.
Speaking of which…I really need to binge watch some YouTube videos before I head over to the interview.
I’ve given good performances before, but this one will have to be the best one of my career if I can pull it off.
Dottie clings to me like Saran Wrap as I guide her through the throngs of people in the terminal. We sidestep men, women, wheelchairs, wayward kids, and rows of slot machines. That’s when I almost lose Dottie…and my mind.
I can tune out her nasally voice, but I refuse to chase her around the slots like a kid let loose in a goddamn candy store.
So I firmly place a hand over hers, keeping it stuck to my arm as we wind our way around the airport toward the luggage carousels.
I search the origin points for JFK International Airport. “There it is!” I exclaim. Carousel 3. And as luck would have it, the bags are already circling. Dottie really is a pretty slow walker.
Now is my chance to make a break for it.
“Dottie!” Another woman calls out from a neighboring carousel. I turn around to see another Estelle Getty lookalike waving her hands over head.
“Bette!” Dottie says in an excited voice. “Anya, look, it’s my dear friend, Bette!”
I smile and walk Dottie over to her friend. “It was such a pleasure to meet you. Best of luck for a fun weekend!” I say with a bright smile, backing away.
Thankfully, Dottie and Bette are already talking and laughing like I’ve disappeared into thin air, which is exactly what I’m about to do.
I swivel around and dash out of the first door I can find, a blast of dry heat pummeling me like a huge hair dryer that opened fire on humanity.
Holy shit.
My skin almost instantly pebbles with perspiration, making my clothes stick to me like I’ve just been dunked in a vat of water. I fan myself as I drag my carry-on behind me in search of a taxi stand.
I didn’t have a chance to schedule an Uber because I had Dottie to contend with, and if I need to wait out here for a second longer than necessary, I’m afraid I might just evaporate. I pick up the pace, ready to cross over to the other side of the street outside of the Arrivals gate when a cherry red Ferrari Testarosa squeals to a stop in front of me as I start to cross the street and I yelp, jumping backward.
“What the fuck, you lunatic?” I yell, flipping off the driver whom I can’t really see through the shaded windshield. “You almost hit me!”
The door opens and my spine stiffens as one long leg climbs out of the driver’s seat, followed by another.
My breath hitches when I see one of the most gorgeous men in my entire life smirk at me. Oh, sweet Jesus.
It’s Gio.
How the fuck ?
And why? Here, now?!
“You saw the ‘no crossing’ light flash, didn’t you? I had the right of way,” he says in his low, gravelly voice. Good God, I remember that voice…it caressed my ears the way his mouth and hands caressed so many other parts of my body.
“Oh, so if I was lying on the ground in a bloody puddle, would that have been your defense?” I snap, so flummoxed that the memory of him has such a strong hold on me.
And maybe a little bit angry because he doesn’t seem to recognize me at all, which tells me he’s a total scumbag who didn’t see anything besides a hot piece of ass.
Of course, I am yelling at him sans accent, and I look completely different than I did last night.
Here I was, thinking he might have actually seen right through me if I gave him the chance.
What a fucking joke!
I slam my hand on the hood of the car, letting some of my pent-up aggression seep out and he snickers. How can he not recognize me? Are slutty clothes and makeup all he took away from last night?
I mean, not that I actually want him to recognize me.
It would just be nice to know that I left an impact on him.
The way he did on me.
“Rage,” he says with a wink. “I can sense you’ve got a lot of it.”
“You might feel the same way if you’d almost been bulldozed by an arrogant asshole who doesn’t even have the decency to ask if I’m okay!” I tug at my ponytail. God, something about this guy gets me so fired up…must be because he’s the devil with that mouth and body.
“Sorry, that was wrong of me.” He flashes his movie star smile and I swear my heart jumps in my chest. “Are you okay?”
“Yes!” I scream, stalking across the street because if I stand there for a second longer, I will launch myself at him like a wolverine, and that just would not be the persona I’m trying to adopt right now.
Besides, if given the opportunity, I might get arrested for assault, and Uncle Boris would not be happy about that. I’m also thinking that a rap sheet might prevent me from getting the job I’ve been sent here to do.
I take a few deep breaths, letting my eyes flutter closed as I get in line to wait for a cab.
“Can I give you a lift somewhere? It’s the least I can do since I almost killed you.”
My eyes fly open and I gasp at the delicious interruption. “What?”
“I asked if you needed a ride,” he says again, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “You’re a stranger!”
Not that that stopped me from letting you finger me at the club last night, but now, I guess I have limits.
“I am a stranger,” he says, acknowledging my words with a nod. “But I’m not the kind who’s gonna drive you to the middle of the desert and chop you up into a million pieces, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I look at him like he’s grown multiple heads over the past few seconds, one more gorgeous than the last. “No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll be just fine, Your conscience is clear. Be gone!” I wave him away and turn my back toward him.
But I can still feel his gaze on me.
As if my body can stand to be flooded with any more heat right now.
“Anya!” I jump, startled to hear my name being called.
“Shit,” I mutter. It’s Dottie and her crew. I flash a panicked look at Gio and he folds his arms over his chest with a knowing smirk as they walk across the street.
“Friends of yours?” he asks.
“Not exactly,” I say under my breath, craning my neck to see if there is any salvation in the form of a cab for me on the horizon.
“Anya! I’m so glad we found you! We can share a cab together! Let’s get one of those fancy SUVs!” Dottie exclaims, clapping her hands together as her friends squeal with excitement.
I feel bad. They obviously don’t get out much, but I don’t really have time to be a tour guide right now.
I sneak a glance back at Gio and bite down hard on my lower lip.
He doesn’t know who I am and let’s face it, if he tried anything, I could end him in a hot second, even without a gun.
It’s what I do.
But before I can respond to Dottie, Gio appears next to me and snakes an arm around my waist. “Babe, I’m sorry I was late. Come on, your chariot awaits.” He grins at the older women. “Sorry, ladies. My car’s a two-seater, or I’d take you all with us.”
Lust beats out my better judgment and I let him lead me away from the cab stand and out of the sweltering heat.
His familiar scent wafts under my nostrils, and for a split second, it weakens my knees.
Until I remember why I’m here and what I have to do.
“Wait,” I say as we walk away. “If you only have a two-seater, how are you going to pick up whoever you’re here to pick up?”
“I’m not picking anyone up. I flew in and my car was waiting in short-term parking. I made a wrong turn and ended up in front of you.” He winks at me. “Lucky for me. And you since I was able to rescue you.” Gio puts my bags into the tiny trunk and pulls open my door, slipping a bill into the hands of the cop who is currently writing him a ticket for double-parking outside of Arrivals. The ticket disappears as I slide into the cool luxe leather bucket seat, and the cop tips his hat at Gio before walking back to his car.
“That still remains to be seen,” I mutter under my breath.
Gio jumps into the car next to me and presses his foot on the gas. The car lurches forward as he shifts, swerving around cars.
“I guess I should have been more worried that I’d end up a mangled wreck in a tragic car accident than being chopped up into a million pieces,” I say.
“So tell me why you were so desperate to keep away from The Golden Girls back there,” he says, zooming onto I-215 toward Las Vegas.
I twist my ponytail around my finger, trying not to stare at his profile and the chiseled jaw I long to graze with my fingertips. “I wasn’t desperate. I just have someplace to be.”
“Like the rest of us,” he quips, signaling and swerving into the left lane.
“She was kind of a talker, too,” I say, stretching my legs out as far as they’ll go in front of me.
“And what’s the problem with that? You don’t talk back?”
“Well, I wasn’t really given the chance.” I smirk, shielding my eyes with my hand as the sunshine beats down on me through the window. Even though it’s tinted, it isn’t enough to prevent the light assault on my eyes. “She was hard to stop once she got going. I got a little tired of listening. Whatever. Call me a bitch for it. Still…” I sigh. “She was so happy to spend some time with her friends. Except for the one whose asshole husband wouldn’t let her come out here.”
“I bet she’s the hot one,” he muses, a sexy smirk lifting his lips. “Husband is jealous, doesn’t want her picking anyone up at one of the early-bird specials or slot tournaments.”
I giggle. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just cool that she has a group of friends to hang with. Sounds like they’d been friends for a really long time.”
“So you’re a busy lady, you don’t like to talk, and you have no friends.” He lifts an eyebrow as he turns to check me out again. “And you were suspicious of me ?”
I roll my eyes. “I have friends, thank you very much. Just not, you know, super close ones I grew up with. I keep a very small circle.” Like so tight, nobody other than Olga and Uncle Boris can push through. Let’s face it. Nobody else could handle me, and I’m not so sure I’d want them to anyway. “How about you? How tight is your circle?”
He flashes me a sidelong glance. “Damn tight. I don’t really have friends either. I have business associates. And brothers.”
I nod. “That must be nice,” I say. “How many?”
“Three. It gets loud when we’re together.”
“Well, you’re Italian, so…” I snicker, kind of startled that I made a joke. I’m not really the jokey type.
“Aha, so you picked up on my accent.”
“The accent, the clothes, the car, the…” I twist around, pretending to get a closer look. “Wait, are you wearing the Italian horn around your neck? Or a cross?”
“Oh, shit. You’ve really got me pegged, don’t you?” He chuckles and the sound reverberates through my insides, just like it did last night. I take a deep breath, inhaling his spicy scent. I bite back the moan that threatens to slip from my lips.
I don’t have him pegged, actually, but my God, I wish I did…
And then anger clutches me, forcing the thought out of my lust-filled mind, and I want to punch him in the arm and ask him why the fuck he can’t see who I really am?
This little back and forth banter…how can he not remember?
Argh!
I feel less than invisible right now, and while it is exactly what I’m going for, work-wise, it makes me feel small and insignificant to Gio. I ran away from Velvet Lounge last night…ran from him…and he doesn’t seem affected at all, even after what we did.
That makes me feel nothing short of pathetic.
Like I wasted the hours tossing and turning and replaying our salacious encounter.
“I guess everyone needs a good party now and again.”
“What?” I ask, his voice yanking me out of my frenzied thoughts.
He turns to give me a quick look. “I was just saying that everyone needs a little bit of Vegas every once in a while, even The Golden Girls. Must make them feel younger, zippier, peppier.” He flashes a sidelong glance at me. “You don’t like to talk, but you’re not so great with the listening thing, either. Just saying.”
“Sorry, I’m just a little preoccupied.” I tap my fingers on the screen of my phone, anxious to find out more details about this job. Uncle Boris told me to call him once I was settled at the hotel and he’d give me the details.
“Hey, I didn’t ask you where you’re going,” Gio says as he pulls off of the interstate heading toward the Vegas Strip.
“You didn’t.”
“I also didn’t ask your name.”
“Right again,” I say. “You look a lot smoother than you actually are, just in case you were wondering.”
“I don’t get out much.”
“I find that highly unlikely,” I say with an eye roll. “But fine, I’ll play. My name is Anya and I’m headed to the Bellagio.”
“The Bellagio?” he snips. “Why the hell would you go to that shithole?”
“Because that’s where my reservation is,” I say. “Why do you think it’s a shithole? It’s gorgeous!”
“It’s so fucking twenty years ago!”
I snicker. “You sound like a hotel snob.”
“I just know what I like,” he says, slowing to a stop at a light. He winks at me, a wicked twinkle in the depths of his bright blue eyes. “Now, Anya, what are your plans while you’re here in town?” He pulls the Ferrari into the long driveway leading up to the Bellagio and slows next to the curb, the red and gold overhang packed with people and cars and rolling luggage carts.
“Well, the plan is to nail an upcoming job interview.” I stare at him, hard, my eyes searching for any sign of recognition in his expression.
Nada.
What the hell?
My ass, he doesn’t get out much.
Guys who don’t get out much would definitely remember something about the face and body of a girl they hooked up with the night before!
“Then what?”
My breath hitches as his blue eyes darken and he leans toward me the slightest bit. “Then I guess I’d start work.”
“You gonna be shacking up here for long?” he asks, nodding at the hotel.
“I guess I’ll find out in a few hours,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to where his fingers sit on the floor shift. Such long, thick fingers. I remember them so very well…
“I guess I will, too,” he says with a smile that makes my heart hammer against my chest. What does that even mean? And why do I even care? I have one objective while I’m out here… and it doesn’t include this guy.
Or any guy, for that matter!
I have to keep my head focused.
Uncle Boris needs me. I have to do this for him…and for Maks.
I need to remember who I am and what is expected of me.
I don’t have the luxury of getting tangled up in some hot guy’s web.
I’m the black widow, for fuck’s sake!
Then Gio backs against his door, shoves it open and hops out, stopping to grab my bags from the trunk. Then he jogs around to my side and pulls open the passenger door. When he holds out his hand to help me out of the car, despite myself, I take it. The immediate electrical current that shoots up my arm almost makes me gasp as I step onto the cobblestones.
Holy crap, he had to have felt that!
I place my hands on his arms, stepping toward him, completely consumed by his fiery irises. I can feel his biceps tense under my fingertips and his hands move to my hips, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle around us.
We’re standing in our own little blissful bubble, caught in each other’s gazes, his still searching…still questioning.
But I don’t have to question.
I already know.
“Excuse me, you’re going to have to move that car,” an intruding valet voice shatters the carnal haze that has since settled in, but I’m not ready to let it dissipate quite yet.
“Yeah, in a min—” Gio starts to say, but I swallow his next words when I grab his head by the back of his neck and crush my lips against his.
A rush of heat blasts through my insides, just as it did last night, when he moves his hands to the sides of my face and plunges his devious tongue into my greedy mouth. He drinks me in like we’re in the middle of the desert and I’m a tall glass of ice cold water.
Funny.
We are in the middle of the desert.
And we both clearly have an insatiable thirst…for one another.
I run my hands down his back, the tight, muscled one that once again ripples beneath my palms as his explore the sides of my torso until the annoying-as-fuck valet pipes in with his own commentary.
“Good thing we’re at a hotel so you can get a room,” he snaps. “Now, move it!”
Gio breaks away from me, his eyes heavy with pent-up desire, and I am so tempted to forget about my interview so I can take him inside and ride him like the fucking stallion he is.
“Hey, you never told me your name,” I say breathlessly, sweeping a few stray hairs out of my eyes.
His lips curl upward. “It’s Dante,” he murmurs.
I grin back. “Like the inferno.”
“You’d better fucking believe it,” he growls with a wink, backing away as the valet impatiently taps his wingtips on the cobblestone driveway, waiting for us to say goodbye.
Goodbye…
Dante.
He opens his door and flashes one last wicked grin at me before climbing inside. “Your own hellfire blazes pretty damn hot, too, Anya .”
A shiver…ironically…rushes through me at his words and I stand here with my bags at my feet, staring at the Ferrari as it peels out of the driveway and disappears onto the Strip.
Holy crap, I’m in Hades.
And that’s a gross understatement.