Chapter 16
Quinn
As I head towards the murmur of voices in the kitchen, the rapid-fire tap of a knife hitting the chopping board sets my teeth on edge.
Whatever Ilya’s chef is slicing through offers no resistance to the honed edge of stainless steel.
I make a mental list of all the other kitchen implements that have a dual purpose in case I need to defend myself.
I’m relieved to recognize one voice. Jason.
But he’s the only friend I spot in a sea of faces that all turn in my direction as I enter the kitchen.
I’d let Ilya’s chef into the house earlier, but the main man had arrived while I was upstairs getting changed, and he’s brought along two of the scariest looking men I’ve ever seen.
They’re sitting around the kitchen table.
“Quinn,” Ilya exclaims. “Beautiful as always.”
I give him a forced smile. I’m wearing another pant suit and a high-necked jersey top, carefully chosen to offer full coverage.
It’s the only armor I have right now. I’m going to hate every minute of this, but at least if there are more people joining us for dinner, it’s going to feel less like an interrogation. The knot in my stomach loosens a notch.
“The food smells delicious,” I reply, giving an appreciative nod to the chef. I feel sick.
“It should be ready soon, if you’d care to join us,” Ilya says, gesturing to the seat directly opposite him.
I glance at Jason, who’s leaning against one of the counters, and he arches an eyebrow.
I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels weirded out by the fact that Ilya’s treating me like the guest. As I go to take my seat, one of Ilya’s men, the one with the most scars, stands and pulls out my chair for me.
I sit down, and he leans in. “I hope you enjoy your evening, Miss Jamieson.”
My eyes snap to his colleague, who’s also standing. “You’re not staying?”
The man behind me chuckles. “Ilya has kindly given us the night off. We’re heading to a bar Jason recommended.”
“You’ll have a great time, Mikhail” Jason says jovially. “Tell Conor behind the bar I sent you, and he’ll see you alright.”
“You should come with us,” the scarred man says. “It’s your night off too, yes?”
“It’s tempting, but…” Jason looks to me. I asked him specifically to keep his phone close so I could send him an SOS if I felt uncomfortable with Ilya.
“Nonsense,” says Ilya. “We see how hard you work. You deserve to enjoy yourself. And the entire night is on my tab. Go. I insist.”
Mikhail plants his paw on Jason’s shoulder. “Come on, Jason. Or are you frightened you can’t keep up with us?”
Jason laughs. “If that’s a challenge, you’re on.”
I can feel my soul leaving my body, and blood drains from my face. Jason seems oblivious as he throws me a backward glance. “I have my phone if you need anything,” he says as if that’s any consolation.
There’s an exchange between Ilya and Mikhail in Russian, and then they’re gone. The chef’s obviously been trained to merge into the background and busies himself with the food prep.
Ilya pours me a glass of red wine without asking. He’s drinking from the same bottle, so I presume it’s safe, and I need a drink too much to refuse. I’m just glad I didn’t tell Reid I was having dinner with Ilya tonight. He was already freaking out. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine.
“Thank you,” I say, taking my glass.
“Don’t be nervous,” Ilya says. “I don’t bite.”
My mind stops spinning long enough to realize that everyone leaving had been a perfectly coordinated plan to get me alone. I have to stay calm. I cannot show weakness. “Me neither,” I say, clinking my glass against his.
Ilya nods, those cold eyes assessing me for longer than feels comfortable. When his gaze flicks to the chef, he barks instructions in Russian, and two plates of food are set down in front of us a minute later.
“We do have a dining room if you’d prefer to eat in there,” I suggest. Away from the knives.
“I thought this would be more intimate,” Ilya says, stroking his hand across the polished oak.
Little does he know it’s where I was sitting when Reid fucked me with his tongue, then his cock. I draw strength from that memory. He’d move heaven and earth to get to me if I needed him. Assuming he’d forgive me for not telling him about tonight.
Picking up my fork, I push the seafood salad around my plate. “I was expecting Russian cuisine.”
“If that’s a request, we can give you a taste of Russian hospitality next time.”
Why does everything Ilya says feel like a threat? Ignoring the remark seems the safest option. “Is everything at the guesthouse and stables as you wished?”
“There are one or two things we need to correct, but nothing major.”
“Please send me a list. I’d be happy to organize any additions or alterations.”
“Good,” Ilya says. “I was hoping I could make use of you.”
I manage to swallow a piece of salmon that’s been marinated to perfection. Under other circumstances, I’d be savoring the careful mix of spices, but it’s a struggle not to gag. My eyes water and I take a long sip of wine.
Unable to risk another mouthful, I play with my food while Ilya clears his plate.
He doesn’t make small talk, and I suspect he enjoys the awkwardness of our silence.
He’s deliberately putting me on edge. I can’t imagine this act would have impressed Blake, but his behavior doesn’t match the man my sister had been swooning over. Is this test just for me?
Ilya doesn’t comment on my untouched food, and the chef clears the table.
There’s another discussion between the two that I can’t follow, and soon after, a plate of steak and French fries is set down in front of me.
The meat is rare and bloodied. I may not be a chef, but I know the steak hasn’t been rested for long enough.
I glance at the chef’s expression as he sets Ilya’s plate down.
Another bloodied steak that he clearly doesn’t want to serve. So, it is a game.
I reach for the bottle of wine and refill both our glasses.
I don’t intend to drink much more, but what I’ve had so far is starting to relax my muscles.
I pick up a fry with my fingers. I would love to have the stomach to dip it into the steak juices as a fuck you to Ilya, but that’s beyond me right now.
I nibble on the fry. And I wait for Ilya to make conversation.
He cuts into his steak and chews on a piece as he scrutinizes me. His brow furrows. “You know, you remind me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
It’s not Blake, I tell myself. My sister and I don’t look alike.
There’s a good chance we have different fathers, although it wasn’t something we dwelled upon.
It made no difference to us if it was one father or two that were absent from our lives.
The only feature we share is our chocolate brown hair, but Blake dyed hers a deep auburn.
Maybe we did share similarities around our eyes.
The more Ilya stares, the more uncertain I become.
“Sorry, I can’t help you there,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear and picking up another fry.
“You like piercings,” Ilya says, spotting the studs in my ears.
I shrug. “A girl can’t have too many earrings.”
“Do you have them anywhere else?”
My smile is more genuine this time. His latest attempt to unnerve me misses. “You have no idea how many times men, and some women, ask me that,” I say. I poke out my tongue to show it’s not pierced. “My piercings are all for my pleasure, no one else’s.”
Ilya isn’t fazed. He swallows another slice of steak and slides his hand over the edge of the table again. “But you do like to please your boyfriend, don’t you, Quinn?”
My blood pressure soars and for a moment, the whoosh of blood is all I can hear. He knows about Reid. He fucking knows.
“Take a sip of wine,” Ilya says gently. “It might help.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Ilya’s only half listening as he makes a hand signal to the chef. It’s a dismissal, and I hear the back door open and close. We’re alone.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Quinn?”
I push my plate away. At least I don’t have to pretend to be enjoying my food anymore. “Nothing that’s any of your business.”
“No?” he asks. “You should know that my men are highly trained, and highly observant. You didn’t sneak your boyfriend through the gates undetected. We let you bring him in. Sometimes, it’s better to observe individual players in action before making a move.”
My mind whirs. He knows there was someone hidden in the back of my car, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’s Reid. And even if he does know, it doesn’t mean he has any idea who I am. I press a hand to my leg to stop it jiggling.
“What exactly do you want me to say?” I ask.
Ilya stabs at his steak. He takes his time with his food before answering.
“You set out to impress me yesterday, and I am impressed. You bite back. I like that,” he admits.
“I think we can work together for our mutual benefit. But there’s a painful discussion ahead of us before we can get to the good bit. ”
He balances his steak knife delicately on a finger. The sight brings me out in a cold sweat. I’ve spent a year training for this, but I was never going to be a match for Ilya Barkov.
“So,” Ilya announces when he’s done with his food and I’ve had enough time to turn into a trembling wreck. “First things first. Tell me how long you’ve been involved with Reid Griffin.” He leans in. “It is just the one brother you’re fucking, yes?”
“You’re disgusting!”
“And you think the Griffins are any better?” He sweeps away invisible crumbs from the table. “Tell me. Were you there the night they gunned down two of my men?”
I blink one too many times. “I’m not answering any more of your questions.”
“Because you’re guilty?”
“No,” I say evenly. “Because I don’t have to.”