Chapter 11
Jude
Twenty-two years old
It’s Friday night, and I’m on a date with Mina—at a fucking strip club, no less.
Fine. Not a strip club. A burlesque show.
But honestly, I don’t see much of a difference since it’s the last place I’d ever consider taking Mina on a first date.
This is not a date, idiot.
It’s a reconnaissance mission.
Stick with the program.
“Relax, or we’ll get made,” Mina says through a perfect, practiced smile as she hooks her arm around mine.
“I am relaxed,” I lie through gritted teeth.
“Sure you are.” She giggles loudly as if I just told her the funniest joke in the world.
When I follow her gaze to the bouncer ahead of us, I realize she’s playing a role.
See? She’s acting like a pro.
Why can’t you?
“Name?” asks the guy standing next to the bouncer, holding an iPad in his hands.
“Mitchell Buchanan,” I announce in a heavy Midwest accent. “But my friends call me Mitch.”
“Not on the list.”
“Check again.” I slide a few hundred pounds onto the iPad’s screen.
“That’s what the Americans call a baller move, lads. Did I say it right, baby? Baller?” Mina twirls a strand of her blonde wig, batting her fake eyelashes while popping her gum, perfectly in character. It’s so unlike her that the performance almost gives me hives.
“You sure did, pumpkin.” I pretend to punch her in the chin playfully.
“Yay for me!” she squeals excitedly. “I can’t wait to get inside and see the show, baby. You sure know how to spoil me.”
“Anything for my girl,” I retort, adding a few more bills onto the pile when our performance starts to get too much for me to stomach.
The bouncer takes a brief look at the bills before stepping aside and pulling the red rope to let us through.
“Thank you, lads. You have a nice night,” Mina coos, waving the pair of goons goodbye as I lead her inside.
As soon as we step through the doors of Paradise Nine, we head straight to the cloakroom to leave our coats with the attendant. Playing the part of a devoted boyfriend, I assist Mina in removing her faux fur coat and regret it instantly.
Fuck.
She’s wearing a backless, cream-colored sequin dress that hugs every curve. It nearly matches her skin tone, creating the illusion that she’s wearing nothing underneath, which leaves very little to the imagination.
“Smile,” she murmurs, looping her arm through mine again. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”
I have half a mind to do just that—starting with whoever sold her this damn dress.
The Crane twins and Felix are waiting outside in their cars, ready to step in if things go sideways. But they have no idea that my real problem isn’t the mission—it’s the woman pressed against my side, wrapped in a dress that begs to be ripped off and left in a heap on my bedroom floor.
I try to block the dress out of my mind—and sight—and head over to the hostess wearing a tight black bodysuit. I hand her a few more bills to get us a booth where we can have a clear view of the clientele.
As the hostess moves us deeper into the club, I’m absorbed by the velvet drapes that spill from the walls, the dim lighting casting seductive shadows over the vintage décor. Gold and crimson dominate the space, a deliberate choice to lure guests into its provocative embrace. At the center stands a stage framed by gilded mirrors and shimmering chandeliers, where a few half-dressed dancers frolic around a jazz singer, also dressed to the nines.
Though I’ve never been to a burlesque show in my life, the atmosphere in this place alone tells me it will straddle between decadent glamour and elegance and raw, powerful seduction.
Now I understand why Mina showed up dressed the way she did.
She fits right into the place.
No one will question our true motives for being here with that get-up.
You didn’t think she wore the dress for you, did you?
My jaw tightens as I settle onto the two-seater, velvet couch, Mina nuzzling closer despite my feeble attempt to maintain a bit of distance between us.
“Relax,” she whispers, her breath teasing my ear, sending a sharp jolt down my spine.
“I’m trying,” I grit out.
“Try harder.” She sing-songs it as if it were a dare, placing her hand on my thigh before giving it a squeeze.
Fuck.
My body betrays me as my cock hardens instantly, like the goddamn traitor whenever Mina is around.
“Bottle of vodka!” I snap at a passing waitress, causing Mina to frown. Then, that fake smile of hers that I’m starting to despise reappears the minute the waitress returns with my order.
I down a vodka shot in one go, cursing under my breath when her hand refuses to budge from my thigh.
“You’re going to blow our cover if you don’t loosen up,” she warns in a whisper, making sure not to be overheard.
“That’s what the vodka’s for.” I pour another shot and knock it back.
“You can’t be pissed drunk either. I need your wits about you.” She keeps her eyes on the stage, pretending to be entranced by the show. “Don’t ruin this for me. It’s not only your ass on the line. It’s mine, too.”
She’s right. No matter how much this whole situation is fucking with my head, I can’t screw this up for either one of us.
As it stands, I’m the one acting like it’s my first day on the job.
Mina has embodied her role beautifully.
No one would ever suspect she wasn’t eye candy to some American high roller, much less be affiliated with the Firm.
She’s got her shit together. Which means so must I.
I take a slow breath, forcing my tense shoulders to drop.
“There you go,” she coos, fingers tracing my thigh when she sees I’m ready to play my part. “If it’s easier for you,” she whispers in my ear. “For the rest of the night, just pretend we’re someone else.”
“Oh, yeah?” I turn a bit too fast, her face now inches away from mine.
She’s close.
Too close.
“And who exactly am I supposed to be?”
“You’re Mitchell, remember?” She smiles, her grin now genuine. “You’re just another wealthy tourist looking for a good time in the city with his girl.” She then nestles her head on my shoulder before continuing. “We’re just two people who fancy each other. Think you can handle that? Hmm?”
Her hum is pure sin, sliding down my spine, curling low in my gut.
“Well, can you, Mitch? ” she taunts, running her nose up and down my neck and making my pulse spike.
Before she can push further, I grip the nape of her neck and pull her away, my fingers tightening just enough to show her I mean business but not so hard to hurt her.
Mina’s eyes go half-lidded, her lips parting just slightly, enough for her tongue to peek out.
I’m wholly and utterly fucked.
“And who are you supposed to be?” I ask, voice low.
“I’m the girl you’re taking home tonight,” Mina murmurs, her fingers running up my thigh.
“And who am I again?” I retort, my tone gruff.
“You’re the man who’s dying to kiss me.”
My gaze drops to her mouth, admiring her full, luscious lips.
She knows exactly what she’s doing when she flicks out her tongue, just enough to wet her bottom lip and make me go mad with want.
It’s just pretend , I remind myself.
But there’s truth in her words.
I will be the one taking Mina home tonight.
And fuck, I am dying to kiss her.
The change in music shakes me from my thoughts, forcing my grip to loosen around her neck. Mina leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder yet again as she watches a batch of new dancers move across the stage.
Each slow, seductive shift of their bodies only makes me more aware of the woman beside me. The way her chest rises and falls with every breath. How her dress clings to her curves like a second skin. How her long legs are out on full display. It would be so easy to slide my hand in between her thighs and verify if she’s wearing panties underneath.
“Found him,” Mina murmurs, snapping me back to reality.
Fuck.
Here I am, daydreaming of making Mina come with my fingers when she was keeping her eyes on tonight’s real prize.
Never again, I promise myself.
Never again will I go on a job with her.
She muddles my thoughts and makes me stupid.
“Where?” I ask once I’m back in control.
“First row. Center stage.”
I follow her line of vision and find the man we’re looking for. Impeccably dressed, he sits alone, with two men behind him standing watch.
“Are you sure he’s just a dealer?” Mina asks suspiciously. “He seems… important.”
She’s right. He doesn’t look like your run-of-the-mill drug dealer—he looks made.
He must sense our eyes on him because he slowly begins to turn his head, just enough for his gaze to lock onto ours.
Shit.
I react on instinct, cupping Mina’s face and crashing my lips against hers.
It’s supposed to be a decoy—a strategic farce to throw him off our scent.
But the second our lips touch and her mouth parts ever so invitingly, I’m done for.
All plans vanish from my mind, and all that exists is her.
All that has ever existed is Mina.
I’ve craved her kiss more than I’ve craved oxygen to fill my lungs. The memory of our first kiss pales in comparison to this one. This one is desperate and all-consuming.
As if we knew we’d never get this stolen moment back once we pull away.
Because that’s exactly what this is—stolen time from the path we’re both on.
I deepen the kiss, tasting, taking—owning
My pulse skips a beat when her nails begin to rake down my shirt, her soft moan lost in the bass of the music.
“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby is what reluctantly pulls us apart. We look up and find a waitress standing at the foot of our table with a champagne bottle and two flute glasses in her hands. “Mr. Pavlin wants to welcome you to his club,” she says, placing the glasses on the table.
I exhale, steadying myself as she pours the champagne into the glasses before setting the bottle on the table.
“Much obliged,” I reply, ensuring that my American accent is nice and thick for her to report back to her boss. “Pavlin? What an interesting name. Polish?”
“Slovenian, I think,” the waitress replies.
“Ah, well, tell Mr. Pavlin that we’re both enjoying the show immensely.”
She smiles at us, but Mina says nothing. Her lips are swollen, and her breath is still uneven.
I smirk, lifting my champagne glass toward our host. He raises his own in return without a smile—just a long, unreadable stare—before turning his attention back to the stage.
Mina remains silent as we both pretend to watch the show. A damn near impossible task to accomplish when I can still taste her on my tongue.
When the intermission is called, Pavlin rises from his seat, his two bodyguards trailing behind him as he approaches us.
I wrap a protective arm around Mina’s waist, pulling her close. She snaps out of her stupor and melts into my side, back to playing the perfect, doting girlfriend.
“How are you enjoying your evening?” he asks, his gaze flicking between us.
“We’re having a grand old time, aren’t we, honey?” I tip her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“Tremendous,” she purrs, leaning into my touch.
“Good,” he says. “Though I’ve never seen you before.”
I chuckle. “Just got into town a few days ago. Heard this was the place to be.”
He nods, his eyes lingering on Mina, my grip tightening around her.
“Well then,” he says, smirking slightly. “Enjoy your night. Maybe we’ll run into each other after the show.”
“I sure hope so. I owe you a drink,” I say, lifting the champagne bottle.
He nods, his expression unreadable and void of a smile. Then, just before returning to his seat, he leans in and murmurs something to one of his bodyguards.
Mina shifts beside me. “You think they’re onto us?”
I shake my head. “If they were, we’d already be in a back room somewhere… getting a bullet to the brain.”
“How comforting,” she mutters dryly.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“And I won’t let anything happen to you ,” she assures before her gaze lowers under the table.
That’s when I see it—the gun strapped to her thigh, fastened by a garter belt.
Fuck me.
I grit my teeth as all the blood in my body finds its way to my cock.
Mina, strapped with a gun around her bare thigh, might just be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Shifting in my seat, I try to ease the sudden tightness in my pants.
“Are you okay?” Mina frowns. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I bite out. “I j ust need this night to be over.”
Her lips twitch disappointingly.
“Is my company that unbearable now? You used to love spending time with me. What changed?”
What changed?
Did she honestly just ask me that?
Argh.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
“We’re not exactly at home playing chess, Mina. This game has higher stakes.”
“All games have risks,” she murmurs, sipping her champagne. “You should know that by now, cowboy. ”
I smirk despite myself.
For a moment, I see her again. My Mina. My friend. The one I need to keep safe.
Felix never should’ve brought her into this. He should never have persuaded Crane to allow Mina to accompany me tonight. I could’ve handled it alone.
I sure as fuck would have done a better job without her gorgeous smile distracting me every other second.
“Stop,” she mutters, catching onto my thoughts.
“You can read my mind now?” I arch a brow.
“Oh, honey,” she coos, using the same endearment I had earlier. “ I’ve always been able to read you like a book.”
I fucking hope not.
Once the dancers return to the stage, we fall back into our respective roles. I keep my arm draped over Mina’s shoulders, pretending we’re just another couple out on the town enjoying a show. However, I will keep my sights on the club’s owner this time.
I take notice of another goon entering the club and walking straight over to Pavlin. He leans into his ear and whispers something. Pavlin barely reacts and just gives a slow nod. Minutes later, I watch him pull something out of his pocket—a sleek gold cardholder by the looks of it. My suspicions are confirmed when he pulls a card out and scribbles something on it before handing it over to the bodyguard to his left.
A moment later, that same bodyguard approaches our table, placing the card in front of us.
“Mr. Pavlin has invited you to his home for a private party after the show,” he informs in a thick Russian accent.
Mina picks up the note, skimming the address on the back with the pad of her finger. She then flashes the bodyguard a charming smile. “Well, how could we possibly say no?”
I don’t react to her playful tone, my gaze focused on Pavlin’s goon.
That fucking Russian accent.
Mina was right.
We’re not just dealing with some street-level dealer.
We’ve just walked straight into a Bratva’s den.
And I dragged Mina in with me.
A few hours later, we step into Anton Pavlin’s lavish Soho penthouse. The place is packed with his most distinguished guests, all gathered for his exclusive after-show soirée. Music pulses through the space, glasses clink in celebration, and a low hum of conversation fills the air.
Mina and I slip inside without drawing too much attention to ourselves, pretending to be just two more guests in a sea of well-dressed strangers.
“So, what’s the play?” Mina murmurs, scanning the crowd with sharp, assessing eyes.
“The play is not to get us killed. Think you can handle that?”
The brat has the audacity to roll her eyes.
“Don’t freeze me out of this. This stakeout is just as important to me as it is to you.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “Just remember that we’re here for intel, nothing more.”
“Intel. Got it.”
With that, she unhooks her arm from mine and effortlessly melts into the crowd. Years of navigating high society have made her a natural, and she plays the part to perfection, laughing at the right jokes and sharing just enough anecdotes to keep everyone intrigued. No one would dare think she’s still a teenager when she carries herself with the sophistication of a woman twice her age.
I keep my eyes on her while subtly searching for Pavlin.
Mina is the center of attention, drawing every man in the room to her with ease. They hang on her every word, captivated by her beauty and sharp wit.
Everyone wants a piece of her light.
Get in fucking line.
“Your woman is quite remarkable,” a voice says behind me.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“That she is,” I reply evenly when Pavlin steps beside me.
“Tell me, will you be taking her back to the States once you’re done visiting London?”
I wish.
But that could never happen.
Mina’s life is here. Not mine.
“Why do you ask?” I question, taking a sip of my whiskey.
“Just curious,” he retorts, his eyes fixed on her. “A prize like that shouldn’t be left unclaimed for long.”
My jaw tightens at how his gaze lingers on her for longer than I’m comfortable with.
“And who says I haven’t claimed her?” I counter, stepping into his line of vision.
He chuckles a hollow, humorless sound and replies, “Come now. Men like us know when a flower has been plucked or not.”
It takes everything in me not to shove my fist into his face.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Not from my experience.”
I meet his stare head on, my patience running thin. “And what experience is that?”
Instead of answering me, Pavlin only smirks. A slow, knowing curve of his lips.
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Buchanan,” he says and then walks away.
I exhale, forcing myself to unclench my fists. It’s only then that I realize that Mina is gone.
Shit.
I resist the urge to shout out her name, but my pulse kicks up as I scan the crowded living room and still find no trace of her.
She was right there a minute ago.
And now she isn’t.
With a forced grin on my lips, I move through the penthouse, slipping past groups of partygoers, searching for Mina without being too obvious about it.
A knot forms in my chest, wondering if Pavlin caught onto us and somehow managed to get his goons to steal her away from me.
No.
Too many witnesses.
Aside from his bodyguards, most people here are just clientele he brought from Paradise Nine. This party is all for show, a decoy to demonstrate that he’s just another generous businessman who likes to show his patrons a good time.
This is his cover. He wouldn’t risk blowing it by kidnapping a woman he just met. Not when he’s got a full house filled to the brim with guests. At least that’s what I tell myself as I scour room after room, looking for her.
Of course, it’s just my luck that I end up finding her snooping in Pavlin’s office at the back of the house.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss, stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind me.
Mina doesn’t even look up at me, too busy in her task to get some dirt on Pavlin.
“What does it look like? I’m doing our job,” she says in annoyance while rifling through papers scattered across the desk.
“This is not how we do things.”
“Well, if we played by your rules, we’d never leave with anything useful,” she mutters. “Now help me find something on this arsehole. ”
Grumbling under my breath, I start scanning Pavlin’s desk while Mina searches the drawers. She comes across a locked one, so she pulls one of the bobby pins holding her wig and starts picking the lock.
“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”
“Remus,” she replies without missing a beat.
Of course. I should’ve known.
The second the drawer clicks open, she digs through it. With nothing of value inside it, she slides her hand along the bottom panel of the drawer, pressing against it.
“As you Americans say—bingo.” She grins, victorious, her gray eyes lighting up when she retrieves a small black book.
Flipping through it, we verify loads of addresses and what looks a lot like inventory orders.
“How much do you want to bet these are their stash houses?” she murmurs, eyes gleaming.
I take out my phone and quickly take pictures of each page.
“Put it back, and let’s get out of here before we get caught,” I order after taking the last photo.
Mina doesn’t put up a fight and swiftly places the book back into its hiding spot.
But just as we’re about to head out of the room, we hear steps coming our way.
Shit.
Before I have time to think about escaping this mess alive, Mina shoves me into a nearby wall and goes to her knees, unfastening my belt buckle. My cock swells at seeing Mina on her knees, all bright-eyed and eager to put my dick in her mouth. Just as she pulls my zipper down, the door swings open, and Pavlin enters the room.
“Apologies, Mr. Pavlin. As you can see, we needed some alone time,” I say, helping Mina to her feet before buckling my belt and zipping up my pants.
Like hell, I want the fucker to have the image of Mina on her knees branded into his memory.
It’s bad enough that I will.
“Looks like I’m the one that should be apologizing to you,” he says, eyeing his office to ensure everything is exactly how he left it. “Seems like your flower has been plucked after all. It’s as you said, looks can be deceiving.”
My eyes throw daggers at him as I put my hand on on the small of Mina’s back to usher her forward and out of this godforsaken room.
“Though this party was lovely, I think it’s time we go home. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
“Of course. Maybe I’ll see you again at the club before you leave,” he says with an over the top posh British accent.
“Oh, I’m sure our paths will cross again,” I retort, unable to hide the warning in my tone. “Come, love. The night isn’t over yet,” I say with a crooked smile, slapping Mina’s ass.
Mina’s cheeks turn pink at the slap, but if I had it my way, it would have been harder.
When we reach the elevator, I hold onto her hand and don’t let go.
“Not a word, honey,” I warn when I see her starting to open her mouth. “We don’t know who may be watching or listening,” I say, glancing at the elevator camera.
Mina squeezes my hand in response.
We step out of the building, the sharp click of Mina’s heels the only sound in the quiet night.
I hail a cab and quickly help her inside, just in case we’re being watched.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“To the Dorchester, please,” I reply.
To make our cover story believable, just in case someone followed us from the club, Felix thought it best to book a suite at a five-star hotel in the center of London where Mina and I will be spending the night.
“You’re angry,” she says under her breath once we’re a few blocks away from Pavlin’s penthouse.
“Not now. Later,” I scold, unwilling to have this conversation in a fucking cab where the driver can hear us.
But truth be told, I’m more than mad—I’m livid.
And before the night’s end, Mina is going to receive the full weight of my wrath.