Chapter 8 #3
“Sit down,” she whispers, and before I can react, she collapses dramatically onto the stairs, yanking me down with her.
Stella starts crying, the loud, panicked, broken sobs reverberating on the stairwell’s walls.
For a split second, my gut drops. Fuck. Did I push her too far?
“Shh, milaya,” I whisper, gathering her into my arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll tell them I did it. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I’m so focused on the tremble of her shoulders, the wetness on her cheeks, that I don’t even register the cops until they’re right on us.
“Help, please!” Stella cries out, her face pale, and her voice shaking. “We heard shots upstairs! We didn’t know what to do, so we got out of our room and hid here! Please! They’re going to kill us!” She grips my hand while the other cradles her belly as if protecting our fake unborn child.
“It’s alright, ma’am. We’re here now,” one officer says, lowering his gun as his colleagues continue to scale up the stairs to the penthouse. “You and your husband are safe. Your baby is safe, I promise. McCormick!” he shouts to a passing younger cop. “Help these people get downstairs. Now!”
Officer McCormick rushes over and lifts Stella to her feet from one side while I pretend to support her from the other. We start down the stairs, Stella leaning into me, trembling perfectly on cue.
“I was so scared. So scared. Weren’t we, honey?” Stella continues to wail.
“It’s okay, ma’am. I’ll get you both to safety.” Officer McCormick offers a weak smile.
“Thank… you. God… bless you,” she stammers, clutching her prop belly and crying as if her world were ending.
She’s so convincing, even I’m half-ready to call an ambulance.
A few levels down, the cop pushes open the stairwell door, leading us into a quiet hallway.
“You should be safe from here,” he says. “Just take one of the elevators and head back to the lobby. An ambulance should be arriving soon. Please have them check your wife and baby. You two were very lucky tonight.”
“Thank you, officer,” Stella sniffles, giving him a tear-soaked smile worthy of an Oscar.
Officer McCormick ushers us toward the elevator and waves us off as the doors close. The second the elevator seals shut, Stella drops the pillowcase to the floor and starts chucking my clothes at me.
“Get dressed and be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”
Yob tvoyu mat. This woman is not just beautifully unhinged, but she’s fucking brilliant.
I can’t help laughing as I scramble to pull my clothes back on.
Stella is faster, already tugging her top and jacket into place, running her fingers through her wet hair, and smoothing out the chaos.
By the time the elevator opens into the lobby, it’s a full-blown disaster zone.
Cops are everywhere, guests are panicking, and hotel staff are shouting on phones.
No one notices Stella casually tossing the empty pillowcase and robes into a trash bin.
Hand in hand, we walk straight through the chaos as if we were just another shaken couple escaping a crime scene.
Outside, I walk her to my car across the street, open the door, and she slides in smoothly. I round the front, drop into the driver’s seat, start the engine, then tear off into the night.
A few blocks later, as the adrenaline cools into something bright and electric, we glance at each other with identical shit-eating grins.
“Not bad for a second date, Kill,” she says smugly. “Not bad at all.”
“Date, huh? So is that what we’re doing? Dating?” I ask, raising a brow, savoring the way her eyes widen for half a second.
“Well, you did take me dancing.” She wiggles her brows at me, playing along. “Though I am disappointed that the Chicago PD is probably playing with my toys as we speak.”
“Do you want me to drive us back to the hotel so you can claim them?” I chuckle.
“Nah. It’s just the excuse I need to buy some new toys. Better toys.”
This woman.
“I’ll admit you had me there for a second. I had no idea you could put on such a performance. Never seen someone cry on command as if their life depended on it.”
“What can I say? I’m multifaceted,” she brags, obviously still riding a high.
“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind for the future.” I continue to laugh.
Leaning sideways in her seat, with her cheek pressed to the leather, she asks, “So, are you going to tell me who that guy was?”
“Does it matter?” I counter, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Park the car, Kill,” she says in an authoritarian tone, her boisterous grin nowhere in sight.
“Why?”
“Just park the damn car.”
I mutter a curse and pull into a twenty-four-hour parking garage. I head up to the second level and stop in a secluded, barely lit corner.
“There. We’re parked.”
“Thank you,” she utters, pleased that I obeyed her demand. “Now spill it. Who did we just kill?”
“That’s Bratva business.”
Stella grabs my chin and forces me to face her. “Don’t give me that Bratva-business bullshit. I have a right to know who I just offed.”
“I killed him. Not you.”
“Really? So his bodyguards don’t count?”
“Not to me they don’t.”
“Fine.” She shoves me away. “Keep your secrets. See how far that’ll get you, you big hypocrite.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I bark back.
“Well, you said you wanted to get to know me. That road goes both ways, buddy! How am I supposed to get to know you if you don’t talk to me?”
“I talk to you plenty. In fact, that’s all we do. Talk.”
“Hey, you’re the one with all the rules,” she scolds.
“I’m aware.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m very fucking aware.”
“Good. Glad to hear it,” she says evenly, letting the silence push us further apart.
Though that’s not what I want. Being apart from her after what we just did is the last thing I want.
“Stella,” I open my mouth only to have her talk over me.
“I do enjoy dancing with you, though,” she says, her voice dipping a little.
I turn sideways in my seat just as she turns in hers. “Yeah? You enjoyed that?”
“It had its good moments.”
I run my fingers through her hair, my gaze fixed on hers. “You were phenomenal back there.”
“Oh, I know.” She flashes me a smile.
“Such a dangerous little thing,” I rasp, taking in every inch of her.
“You weren’t too bad yourself,” she muses, her voice going soft and low.
“I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“I saw that. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Every last fucking second of it,” I confess wholeheartedly.
She swallows hard, her eyes dropping to my throat as my Adam’s apple starts to bob away under the weight of her stare.
“What other types of dance moves do you have, I wonder?”
“Come here,” I say, patting my lap. “And I’ll show you.”
It’s another dare—one I’m not entirely sure she’ll rise to, and one I shouldn’t be making.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m positive it’s not.” I lick my lips as I slide my seat back to give her room.
Stella’s eyes grow hooded as she slowly rises from her seat and moves over to mine, straddling me.
Our chests heave in unison as I grip her by the waist with both hands, helping her find the perfect spot to sit on.
I try to keep my composure when she plants her hands on my chest, then slowly slips them under my shirt just long enough to push it up, exposing most of my ink.
She traces a single line of the intricate web with the pad of her finger, careful and deliberate.
“That was some quick thinking with the cops,” I rasp, trying to engage her in conversation just so I can ease my mind away from how tender her touch feels.
“Thanks.”
“Your father is an idiot for not inducting you. You’re a natural.”
Stella’s gaze softens, the praise hitting her harder than she wants me to see.
“You really think so?”
“Is that insecurity I hear in your voice?”
“No,” she answers far too quickly. “Just curiosity.”
I run my finger over her plump bottom lip and hiss when she bites at the sensitive skin.
“If you were Bratva, I wouldn’t think twice in inducting you myself.”
“So I can work under you?” she taunts, with a flirtatious smile.
“Under. Over. Any way you want.”
“You almost sound sincere.”
“Almost?” I arch a brow.
“With you, I never know what to believe.”
“I can say the same thing about you.”
“Oh, you can, can you?” she pushes.
“Yes,” I nod, my finger trailing down Stella’s throat. She tilts her head back just enough for me to appreciate the silky feel of her skin. “My gut tells me that you’ve been working me since the day you met me. And my gut is never wrong.”
“And you’re not working me?” She pushes herself forward, leaning in closer to me.
“Not right now, no,” I admit.
“So what are you doing?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“It’d be a nice change from all the lies we feed each other.”
I can’t help but smile at that.
“Right now… I’m trying really hard not to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me anyway,” she provokes, running her fingers through my stubble, the pad of her thumb tracing the seam of my lips.
“I don’t think I’d be able to stop at a kiss.”
“Are you that weak, Kill?”
“No. I’m that tempted.”
“Then I guess it’s for the best that you don’t kiss me tonight.” She pretends to pout just as she begins to slowly roll her body up and down my already hardened mast.
“I guess it is,” I croak, grabbing her by the waist again to help her maintain her slow, torturous rhythm.
“Hmm, I like this dance too,” she sings softly, rolling her hips just right, making sure I feel every inch of her.
“Blyad,” I curse, when she snakes her hand between us and begins to slowly pull my zipper down.
“What does that mean?” she questions, running her fingers up and down the seam of my boxers.
“What does what mean?” I mutter on autopilot since it’s hard to pay attention to anything she says when the only thing that separates my cock from the warmth of her hand is a flimsy piece of fabric.
“Blyad,” she repeats. “What does it mean?”
“In this instance, it means fuck.”