Chapter 2
DAMIEN
Iclimb into the back seat of the car and slam the door harder than necessary, the thunk echoing through the enclosed space.
The driver doesn’t flinch, but takes his cue to check the mirror and pull into traffic, the city lights beginning to blur across the wet pavement.
Alek slides in beside me. The leather creaks under his weight, his usual unhurried grace on full display.
He settles in, then raises one eyebrow at me like he’s waiting for me to speak first.
I scowl. “What the hell is your problem?”
Alek shrugs, folding his arms across his chest.
“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you like that with a broad before.”
The way he says it pisses me off more than it should.
“Don’t call her that,” I snap before I can stop myself.
His smirk widens, his eyes sharpening. He heard it. Of course he did. He never misses anything. I grit my teeth and look out the window, watching the neon signs and headlights streak across the glass.
“Touchy tonight,” Alek says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
I grind my molars together and don’t answer. My hands rest on my knees, fingers tapping once before I force them to still. I’m angry, but not really at Alek. At that asshole in the restaurant. At myself for jumping in like that.
It was supposed to be a quiet dinner. We planned to go over our accounts in person, check the latest transfer schedules, and discuss Rurik and his family’s latest interference. Instead, I found myself halfway across the dining room before I even realized I was moving.
Alek watches me carefully. I can feel the weight of his stare.
“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say flatly, not bothering to hide my irritation.
He sighs, tilts his head back against the seat, and looks at the ceiling.
“I mean the way you reacted. You don’t get involved like that. Even with official business, you let your men handle it. I’ve never seen you get so defensive over some girl you don’t even know.”
I scoff, shifting in my seat. “He put his hands on her.”
“Right,” Alek says, his voice so mild it’s insulting. “So are you gonna start policing the whole city now? ’Cause there’s a lot of assholes out there who put their hands on women.”
I glare at him.
“She was in my line of sight, and she was just doing her job. He was yelling so loudly that half the room was watching. It was bad for business.”
“Right,” Alek repeats.
I ball my hand into a fist against my knee. The memory of that asshole’s face makes my knuckles itch. The fear when I yanked him back, the way he choked on panic. The satisfying silence in the room when everyone saw who was in control.
Then I think about Lyra.
She had her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in that neat bun, curls fighting to get free around her face. Her green eyes wouldn’t back down even when she was scared.
I didn’t do it for her, I tell myself. I did it because it was necessary, because no one should make that much noise in my presence without consequences. But that’s bullshit and I know it.
“She could have at least thanked you properly,” he says obscenely, making a lewd gesture with his hands. “I would have waited.”
I snort. “Fuck off,” I grumble, slapping his hands away. “Her thank-you was fine.”
“‘Ooh, Damien, you have such a hot Russian accent, want to do me in the alley?’” he mocks in a high-pitched, awful imitation of Lyra.
I shrug. “It was appropriate. She was working, for fuck’s sake.”
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’d say you’ve gone soft, but I think we both know you’ll be taking a cold shower tonight.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s probably right.
When I’m home, in the comfort of my own place, I won’t be able to help myself from thinking about her.
And I know it. She was extremely stunning, obviously, but there was also a sweetness and naivete about her that was damn near irresistible.
And something about her struck me as intelligent.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she seemed like the kind of girl who’s too good to be waitressing.
I close my eyes and picture those innocent green eyes in my mind. I imagine putting my hands on those supple curves and hearing her moan out my name as I make her come. And then… what? I’d fuck her and never see her again.
That’s how it goes in my life. Women are great for scratching the itch, but I don’t have the space for anything more.
My business demands too much from me. My family demands even more, though the two usually become indistinguishable from one another.
The point is, Lyra would be great for a night, but I could never let myself have more.
And she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would want that.
I could tell she had respect for herself and didn’t want to impede on that.
Still, I left my card on the table just in case. The ball’s in her court now, and if she wants to pursue this any further, I’ll just have to make sure she knows what’s what.
Alek shifts in his seat, checking his phone before sliding it back into his coat.
The car hums through traffic, muted city lights reflecting in the tinted windows.
I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s waiting, calculating.
That’s what he’s best at. Well, that and reading me, even when I wish he wouldn’t.
Finally, he clears his throat, casual as can be. “Anyway, when do you want to make the move on the Vasilievs?”
I grunt, not looking at him yet.
He keeps going, voice even. “I heard they’re snatching up women at the docks. Broads who look just as good as the waitress. He’s loading them into shipping containers like fucking cattle.”
The words land hard, and for a second, I don’t say anything. I stare at the streaks of rain on the glass. My hand flexes once against my thigh. He says it deliberately. He knows it’ll get a reaction.
Because I see her face again, those bright green eyes. I swallow the tightness in my throat before it can show. When I finally speak, my voice is even. Deadly calm.
“Tonight,” I tell him with finality.
Alek nods without surprise. “I’ll make it happen,” he says, obedient as ever.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive.
My mind is already there. At the docks. Planning. Measuring. Every time I see Rurik’s smug, scarred face in my head, my jaw tightens until it aches. I tap my fingers once on the leather seat, forcing the tension out.
Alek makes the calls. Even as he gets out of the car, I hear clipped Russian instructions, careful deployment. My men know how to move quietly until it’s time to be loud.
I nod at him. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Alek gives me a wry half-smile. “You know me.”
“That’s why I’m reminding you.”
He chuckles, then slams the door shut behind him.
The driver doesn’t need further direction. He glances at me once in the mirror, gets nothing back from me, and starts the slow turn uptown toward my place.
I lean back again, staring at the ceiling, letting my eyes close for a minute.
Lyra’s face drifts back into my mind without my permission. In my imagination, her strawberry-blonde hair comes loose from that careful bun, her eyes burning brightly as she kneels before me, opening her mouth to take me in.
I sigh once, sharp, and push the thought away. No time for that, especially not tonight.
The car crunches on the long drive on my property. Security lights flick on, illuminating stone facades, dark windows, and silent statues.
My driver stops. I don’t say goodnight. I just get out and slam the door shut, my shoes feeling heavy on wet stone.
I click the lock shut behind me and pause in the entryway for a second. The place is way too big for me. My father built it to be opulent and intimidating, to show the world the Morozov power.
He’s gone now, and I’ve inherited the gigantic mansion along with the ghosts.
My footsteps echo on the marble as I move to the study. The doors open smoothly and silently on heavy hinges.
Everything here is designed to be intimidating, from the dark oak panels to the fireplace so large it could roast a cow. Shelves of books in Russian and English are lined up in strict, perfect rows.
My desk is enormous, carved in Russia decades ago, and shipped here at a stupid cost. Unlike my father, I try not to be so flashy with my wealth.
I drop into the chair, the leather groaning. For a moment, I just sit there, fingers drumming lightly on the polished surface before I reach into the bottom drawer for a bottle of Scotch.
I pour two fingers into the glass, swirl it once, and take a long drink. It burns beautifully, clearing the fog.
I set the glass down and lean forward to power up the communications system. Screens blink to life, bright in the dim room. Audio crackles, then resolves into the encrypted feed from Alek’s team. They’re already moving.
I listen to Russian curses and clipped orders, to boots on wet pavement. I hear the distant noise of water slapping against dock pilings.
Alek’s voice comes through, calm but alert.
“Two at the east gate. Another three by the shipping office. Movement in the containers. Could be civilians.”
I close my eyes for a second. Civilians. Women.
I see Lyra’s face again in my mind. Fuck. My jaw tightens.
“Clear them,” I say quietly to no one.
The men don’t hear me. They don’t need to.
Because I know Alek is on the same page. It’s why I trust him to take care of this shit.
I sip the Scotch again, listening as they move in.
Gunfire erupts. It’s muffled at first, then much louder. There’s the unmistakable sound of screaming. The men shout at each other in Russian and English. One of the men breathes hard into the mic, cursing as he reloads.
Alek’s voice cuts through, sharp and efficient. “Hold position. Sweep right.”
There’s more gunfire, then more screaming. Eventually, the shooting stops and there’s nothing but static for a few heartbeats.
Alek’s voice comes back, panting. “It’s clear. The warehouse is empty. Civilians are secured, but Rurik’s not here.”
The words sit heavy in the air. Of course he fucking isn’t. I pick up my glass, draining it in one long pull.
“Boss?” someone says, the feed crackling.
My voice is calm as I press a button to speak to them.
“Clean it up. Leave nothing for the cops. And make sure the girls are sent home with cash and a warning to keep their mouths shut.”
Alek doesn’t ask for confirmation. “Got it.”
The feed goes quiet except for the shuffle of boots and the sound of the sea.
I pour another drink.
Of course Rurik’s not there. He’s too smart for that. He’s probably somewhere in his own mansion, getting a call from one of his men about our ambush.
But that’s fine. I’m patient.
My mind goes back to the girl at the restaurant once more.
I suppressed the image of her pretty mouth at my waiting, eager cock earlier, but now it flashes back into my mind.
I go a step further and picture those glossy lips attaching themselves to the tip, and her soft hand wrapping around the shaft.
I close my eyes and groan, feeling my member strain even harder against my already tight trousers.
I resist the urge to grant myself some relief right at my desk, but it’s tempting. Part of me feels ashamed at the thought of even getting off to someone I knew for barely five minutes.
But her visuals encapsulated me and pulled me in with no chance of getting out. The way her uniform fitted nicely along her curves is no mistake either. It was going to be a difficult night, the way my mind is running right now.
In an attempt to distract myself, I watch the way the light fractures through the glass in my hand. My reflection swims on the surface, split and distorted. My hand tightens around the glass until it creaks. I exhale slowly and set it down.
Tonight was messy, but it will send a message. I’ll make damn sure that when I finally get my hands on Rurik, he’ll regret every breath he ever stole.