Chapter Six
Nikolai
It’s been two weeks since Timur’s wedding.
Two weeks since I chained Lauren Watson to my bed.
I grab my coffee-to-go from the counter—black americano—and make my way to the exit. That’s when I spot her in the corner, head buried in her laptop.
I pause.
Coincidence, this time.
Admittedly, these past two weeks, I’ve been hacking into her GPS and following her around.
She doesn’t suspect a thing. Or maybe she does.
I don’t care. I have no other choice but to keep an eye on her.
As Charles Watson’s daughter, she could be a pretty little spy and a threat to my business.
She needs to be watched. And the fact that she started digging into things she should stay away from is only making me more vigilant.
Her best friend marrying Timur must’ve really pissed her off because even now, she’s sniffing around where she shouldn’t be.
She has no idea of the forces she’s playing with.
She needs to stop prancing around in her heels and pencil skirts like a top-secret investigator before she pisses off someone like Aslanov and gets us all killed.
Although, the style does suit her. She keeps her posture straight, even when she thinks nobody is looking.
Even when she’s collecting groceries—she shops at Whole Foods—she does it in style.
Yesterday, she ran errands in a red pencil skirt and black collared shirt.
The day before that, she walked into a pilates class wearing a matching black set that sat low on her cleavage.
People turn and look at her.
She draws attention without even meaning to.
She’s well put together, seems to live in a land of her own, only concerned with her own goals and actions.
I must admit—it’s refreshing to see a woman move through the world with such confidence.
Last week, I got a bit too close and caught a whiff of her perfume.
I was leaning against a wall, sunglasses on, and she walked right past me, heels clacking against the pavement as she made her way to the office.
My balls tensed in an instant.
Today, she sits sipping coffee in a black, mid-length bodycon dress, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. A pair of slender glasses sits across her nose as she inspects the screen closely.
I wonder if Aslanov has eyes on her as well as me.
He probably does.
There’s a part of me that’s also starting to think that she’s innocent.
If she fully understood where her actions could lead, she’d be more careful.
And she’s anything but. Instead, she seems hot-headed and relentless.
Not a good combination if she wants to stay alive in my world.
Unless she has a death wish, but I doubt she’s one of those people.
I loiter at the coffee counter watching her.
Innocent or not, she’s a liability. Reckless.
And with Aslanov laying low, watching from the shadows like a nocturnal predator waiting for its next kill, the last thing I need is a hot-headed woman accidentally exposing Bratva secrets.
If she’s anything like she was the day of the ceremony—persistent, unwilling to give up—it’s only going to be a matter of time before she stumbles into something that gets us into a world of trouble.
You could take the shortcut, mudak.
Get rid of her and be done with it.
Yeah, I could. But it would raise eyebrows.
The infamous Charles Watson’s daughter found dead in a ditch wouldn’t keep the press quiet.
Headlines would be everywhere. Not to mention there’s a part of me that doesn’t want her dead.
Would be a waste of beauty. I’d rather have her beneath me, those long legs wrapped around my waist while I fuck the defiance right out of her.
She lowers the laptop lid, shoots up and heads to the restroom.
I release a breath and check my phone, opening the text I got from Timur earlier.
“Things are going well with Sophia. We actually get along.”
I smirk. It doesn’t surprise me much. Their personalities are well suited.
I pocket the phone, check my surroundings, and then make a move towards Lauren’s computer. I have to know what she’s typing. She chose the table the farthest away from the coffee counter, with a wall behind her. You don’t sit there unless you have something to hide.
Of course, she’s locked the screen.
Blyad.
I turn around. The hallway to the bathroom is still empty, and it’s been a couple of minutes now. I follow signs to the restroom. The place is quiet, and there are no sounds coming from the bathroom either.
Maybe she’s changing tampons.
I don’t know why that makes my cock twitch.
Because you’re a sick fuck, Rogov.
I turn back around and head back into the coffee shop when suddenly, a pair of hands shoot out in front of me, yanking me into a storage closet with surprising force.
A box of flatware clatters to the ground upon entering, my coffee spilling at the edges of my cup, but Lauren seems more bothered with my presence than noise and wasted caffeine.
She pulls a cord to switch on the light.
I immediately grab her wrist and cage her up against the wall before she can open that pretty little mouth of hers.
A surprised gasp leaves her mouth, and I sense a small part of her enjoys this, even if she’s unwilling to admit it. I can see it in her eyes. They flash with a barely noticeable excitement as I set my face inches from hers.
“Not bad. What gave me away?”
“I prefer to keep my secrets to myself.”
“Is that so?” I deepen my stare.
“Ever since my mother died, I learned to keep an eye on my surroundings. There are all kinds of weirdos out there.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that how you think of me?”
“Why else would you have an obsession?”
“With?”
“Me.”
I smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“For a man in your position, I didn’t think there’d be time in your schedule to follow me around all day.”
I should be annoyed, but I’m impressed. She’s smart, I’ll give her that. Strategic. Vigilant. Like father, like daughter.
“You’re sloppy,” she continues. “For somebody who makes sneaking around and hiding his life’s work.”
I chuckle and pin her wrist up over her head against the wall. A soft moan escapes her lips.
“What if I wanted to get caught?” I flash her a smug look that normally frightens people, but not her. Lauren sustains eye contact and tips her chin like she’s unwilling to back down.
“Is this your idea of flirting?”
“You like it?”
“No. It’s terrible,” she says, eyes still on mine.
The green in them catches the light, and they laser into my fucking soul.
There’s clearly something different about her.
I don’t come across many women with her sort of grit and determination.
Too bad she’s Watson’s offspring. Even worse that my cock hardens every fucking time I’m in her company.
“Be smart and stop snooping around,” I warn her. “You’re playing with forces you can’t comprehend.”
I let her yank free from my grasp, and walk out, leaving her alone in the storage closet. I debate heading back to the counter and ordering another americano, but the adrenaline from her closeness has me caffeinated enough.
Blyad.
I head outside, breathing in fresh air to get rid of her floral scent.
It was bad enough the night of the wedding, when I slept with her lingering smell on my bed sheets.
If I thought stroking my cock and picturing her naked, chained to my bed would eradicate this unwanted desire, I was badly mistaken.
Because right now, my dick’s harder than prison time.
I wonder if she knows how much she’s fucking with my head.