12. Aleksandras
I slam the door behind me and lean heavily against it, letting my head fall back. My chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My heart is galloping, my palms stinging with restlessness. I can still feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips, her citrusy-vanilla scent is still lingering on me.
The heavy metal door behind me is a blessing at this point because it’s the only thing stopping me from going back into that room and finishing what I started. There has never been anything in my life that I’ve wanted more. I want her with fervent desperation, ravenous need. I want her so badly I put everything on the line for her.
Jail. Victor’s wrath. My life. I’m risking it all for her. And this would be easy if I just wanted her body. I’d be able to use logic and talk myself off the ledge. Simply cut ties and walk away because I may have been deprived, but pussy doesn’t mean that much to me. The problem is, I want so much more than that.
I want her to look at me like I’m a man who’s worthy, a man she can admire and trust. But that’s an impossible dream because she knows all my dirty secrets now, and she looks at me like the criminal I am.
I push off the door and make my way down the dimly lit corridor, the air growing colder the closer I get to the kitchen. The smell of cheap cigarettes and stale coffee hits me before I enter, mingling with the low hum of male voices and the occasional thud of cards hitting the table.
The kitchen is as dingy as the rest of this dump, with yellowing walls, cracked countertops, and a single flickering fluorescent light. Two men I’ve never met are standing just outside the door while Bowman, Smith, and the rookie are seated around the wobbly wooden table.
“John,” Bowman calls out, a deck of cards in his hand and an open beer on the side of him. “You look like you could use a drink. Or maybe a win. Sit down.”
I hesitate. Normally, I’d steer clear of these interactions, but right now, I need to clear my head. And maybe I can even get something useful out of them.
“Sure.” I grab an empty chair and sit down.
Bowman deals me in, his big hands moving with practiced ease. Smith offers me a beer, but I shake my head.
“After the day I’ve had, I need something stronger.”
He gets up, walks to the counter, and topples ice cubes into a glass. After pouring in enough whiskey to cover the ice, he returns to the table and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a sip, enjoying the burn as it trickles down my throat. As I pick up my cards, I glance at Smith. “You went back to the house?”
He nods. “Yeah. Victor wasn’t convinced you got everything the first time.”
“Find anything?”
“Nah,” Smith replies with a shrug. “Just more of the same junk. Nothing worth taking and definitely nothing Victor could use.”
That’s what I expected.
“Found this, though.” Smith pulls out a brass compass from his pocket, the one Katelyn’s grandad gave her. “Doesn’t work, but I think I could get a few bucks for it.”
My jaw tightens, but I force myself to stay calm. I’m pissed off. No, I’m fucking seething because I see myself in him, in his actions. I’ve stolen so many things in my life, not giving a damn what they meant to other people. If I wanted something, I took it without any regard for its true worth.
Smith is doing the same thing. He doesn’t know or care about how much that compass means to Katelyn. All he cares about is making a quick buck. I want to believe that I’m different, that I’ve changed. But making a quick buck is the very reason I’m here, the reason she wants nothing to do with me.
And it’s not that she doesn’t want me. She does. In just a few short minutes, I had her clinging to me like I was her last lifeline, moaning in my ear like she wanted me to rip her panties off and fuck her right there against the bathroom wall. But then she pulled back and said she couldn’t do that...not with me.
So, yeah. She wants me, but she doesn’t want... me .
I shut my eyes, trying for the umpteenth time to rid myself of the restlessness coursing through me. After a quick, steadying breath, I shift my attention to Bowman. “What’s the deal with Kenji? Is he going to hand over the files?”
Bowman’s lips twitch into something resembling a grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Kenji’s currently shitting himself. He was panicked when Victor called him, and it looks like he’s ready to comply. He says the files are at some undisclosed location, and he has to retrieve and decrypt them, so he needs a bit of time.”
“And after he hands them over...then what?” I already know the answer, but I need confirmation, so I know exactly what I’m up against.
Bowman’s sharp gaze settles on me. “You should know better than anyone how Victor handles betrayal.”
I don’t flinch, but that solidifies that it’s going to be impossible to get out of this without any casualties.
“Kenji’s not walking away from this,” Bowman continues. “The girl? Maybe. She’s leverage, nothing more. But Kenji?” He shakes his head. “Victor will make an example out of him. Loyalty is everything, and Kenji crossed the line.”
The words settle like a rock in my stomach. I glance down at my cards, not really seeing them, as my mind races with every possibility I could use to get her out of this situation. I knew this was coming. Hell, I’ve seen Victor do worse.
But now, with Katie in the picture, it feels different. The stakes are so much higher. Keeping her safe means I have to betray Victor, and if I do that, the best possible outcome for me would be going back to jail. I’d take concrete and bars over facing Victor’s wrath any day.
I stand up and walk to the counter to fix myself another whiskey. I’m so on edge that I don’t even know when I finished the last one.
“She’s a looker, though,” Smith says, coming to stand beside me. He gives an exaggerated whistle as he reaches for a bottle of cheap brandy. “I wouldn’t mind keeping her around after this is over. Bet she’s a screamer.”
My lips press into a tight line, and I force my expression to remain neutral, even as white-hot rage surges through me. “Yo, shut up about her.”
The threat in my tone is undeniable, but Smith doesn’t heed the warning. Instead, he leans over and nudges me, his grin widening. “C’mon, Turner, I know you saw the dress she had on. The dress I’d like to take off. Damn, if I got her alone—”
Those words are an instant trigger, and I lose it. I grab the front of his shirt, whip him around, and slam him into the wall with enough force to wind him. “I said shut the fuck up.”
The table goes quiet for a moment, and Smith stares at me wide-eyed. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to tamper down the anger coursing through my veins like molten lava. I’m going to expose myself if I’m not careful.
“You heard what Vic said. Everything’s riding on her. She needs to go home safe and unharmed, so get that shit out your head.”
“Yeah, careful, Smith,” Bowman snorts, shuffling the cards. “You keep running your mouth, and you might end up in worse shape than the rookie.”
The tension eases slightly as the others laugh, but my grip on Smith doesn’t loosen because all I can think about now is her . Alone. In that dress. Tied to a bed.
I eventually release him and step back. “I’m gonna call it a night.”
“I’d be tired, too,” Bowman chuckles. “She made you work today.”
I top up on ice, refill my whiskey, and leave the kitchen, their voices fading behind me. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, but my legs feel heavy as I walk down the corridor. Each step brings me closer to her room, and now that I have that thought in my head, I can’t let it go. It’s like a rottweiler has sunk its teeth into me, and I can’t simply shake it off.
She wants me. I know she does. There’s a big possibility that I’ll be leaving this place in cuffs. After this, I may never see her again, so if I’m going to risk it all for this girl, why not risk it all ?
When I reach the door, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle. Fuck it!
Consequences be damned.