SEVEN
MARISA
Today is so not my day. I run my fingers along the stained cloth seat of the cab, and attempt to expel some of my anxious energy. Around me horns blare, people shove down the sidewalk, and the heat of the city continues to rise. Luckily, the cab has air conditioning.
In the light of day, it was pretty clear that whatever was on my window was gross.
It was dried and crusty this morning, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was cum.
But, again, how the hell would that get there…
and more importantly—why? I called my landlord and he said he’d send someone right over to clean the windows.
Ten bucks says it’s still there when I get back.
“Right here is great, thanks,” I tell the cab driver.
He grunts in acknowledgment but puts on his blinker.
After several minutes of maneuvering the traffic, he pulls up to the curb.
I slide my card from my back pocket to hit against the card reader, scoffing slightly at the rates which have gone up…
again. I’d take the subway but I’m more likely to get murdered down there than on one of my jobs. Plus, it smells like piss, like always.
Seriously, why are people always pissing in the subway? Find a nice tree or something outside.
Sliding off the seat, I kick the door open and immediately am hit with the heat.
Dark clothes and warm spring sunshine are not a good mix, but a thief’s gotta do what a thief’s gotta do.
I’m not really one of those types of girls who wears cute sundresses.
I slip my shades from my head and onto the brim of my nose as I step onto the sidewalk.
Damn, it’s hot today. If I had balls, I’d be sweating them off.
I begin to make my way down the block, walking casually and carefully.
A large part of being a con-woman is confidence.
The more confident and composed you are, the more people are likely to believe you’re meant to be there and doing what you’re doing.
It’s when you start to look nervous that people begin suspecting you.
I got caught a lot at first when I started stealing, but luckily, a fellow thief took me under her wing and showed me the ropes.
Angela and I started small—I’d play her daughter who had lost a toy and was crying.
The way men will fall over themselves to help a pretty woman with a sad kid…
It’s some type of savior complex or some shit.
Eventually, we grew into date-the-daughter heists—I’d reel them in by flirting and then she’d swoop in as my mother.
The amount of skeevy dudes who she ‘dated’ while they clearly ogled me would have been truly disturbing, if we hadn’t been playing them for all they had.
She always protected me, though. Never once did she let any of these guys get too close or too handsy.
She taught me the power and autonomy of being a woman in this wild-ass world.
Strong women stand up, not just for themselves, but for other women who need them. I am forever grateful for her.
A few years ago she retired from the game, left me her apartment—a small two-bedroom I’d lived in for years and still live in—a nest egg to fall back on, and all the skills I needed to survive in this city. I call her every other day to check on her. She’s loving life down at the beach.
I throw my shoulders back and tilt my chin high as I approach the building.
My target isn’t in here, but in the next building.
I’m going to use this building as a vantage point to observe for the day.
The cab I was in was trailing his town car for several blocks.
I made sure to get out further down the street to avoid suspicion, though. A con-woman is smart and cautious.
I step through the large, glass, rotating doors and enter another world.
Inside, the entire building seems to be made of marble and mahogany.
Banks of desks line the right and the left—check in for visitors attending meetings, I’m sure.
But today, I’m not a visitor. I walk with purpose, my black heels clicking on the white floor loudly.
Confident—like I belong here. I wore a nice skirt and blouse, hoping to blend in.
It’s uncomfortable as fuck, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
The security guard eyes me wearily, his gaze sliding directly to me as I approach.
Confidence. This building is rumored to be the legal front of The Solentsevskaya Brotherhood.
I hear they don’t fuck around, and I have no interest in finding out.
I need to get in and out with the information I need… hopefully in one piece.
With a bat of my eyes, I flick my hair over my shoulder, exposing my low neckline.
His eyes drift down to my exposed cleavage which is bouncing nicely in my push up bra.
I watch as his expression goes from suspicious to hungry.
Perfect. Suddenly, though, his hand goes to his ear, clearly getting a message through his earpiece.
He instantly pales, and my steps almost falter.
Quickly, he diverts his eyes, his hands combing together complacently in front of him, his head tilted down.
He doesn’t even look up as I pass him and head towards the bank of glimmering golden elevators.
That was odd.
I push the up button swiftly, eager to place distance between myself and that unusual interaction.
The elevator dings almost immediately and two shimmering doors slide open.
I slide inside, hit the twenty-seventh floor button, then hit the door closed button.
I hate elevators—the enclosed space, the opportunity to plummet to my doom in a metal tomb, the claustrophobic feeling of being smashed in with other people.
Yeah, no thanks. But, it’s even worse when it’s full of people with their—
A hand stops the doors just as they’re about to close.
Damn it. The metal gears work in reverse, pulling the doors back open to reveal a man in a suit.
He steps inside and swiftly pushes the door closed button.
I definitely do not miss the fact that he doesn’t pick a floor.
The elevator lurches to a start and the feeling of ascending inside the tight confines causes my stomach to twist into knots.
I can feel the eyes of the man next to me, not staring, but carefully observing as we ride higher and higher.
Sweat begins to build at the base of my spine.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.
Higher and higher we go towards the top. A lump begins to form in my throat and I make a small noise to clear it.
“Boodz-zdaróva,” he says. His accent is thick and definitely Eastern European. I am most definitely fucked.
“Thank you,” I mumble politely as I shuffle on my feet.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.
He moves and I flinch before realizing that he is simply raising his hand to look at his watch.
The time piece is large and looks expensive.
This man must not be an enforcer, so at least I’m not in for immediate torture.
Through the corner of my eye, I try to size him up.
Lean, tall, put together. He looks more businessman than mafia.
If I were to guess, he works for the business side of The Brotherhood.
So why was he sent to follow me?
The elevator makes a sudden jerk and I swiftly grab the handle to steady myself. I swear I see the man smirk out of the corner of my eye.
Asshat.
There is a small ding and the doors slide open.
The man holds his hand out, motioning for me to exit first. I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and push off of the wall.
I throw my shoulders back and hold my chin high.
Stepping through the doors and onto the wood floor outside, I expect to hear footsteps behind me.
Honestly, I’m half expecting to be grabbed the moment I step out.
But, nothing happens. I spin to see the doors sliding closed, the suited man standing behind them, his gray eyes watching me and a small smirk pulling at his lips.
And then, the doors close and I’m alone.
Well, that was weird as fuck.
I spin back around, taking a deep breath and examining my surroundings.
This floor seems relatively empty, just a long hallway of closed doors and pale, blank walls.
The sensation of being watched creeps up my spine and I swiftly gaze around.
A red blinking light tells me that there’s a camera monitoring the floor.
If they didn’t already know a random woman was wandering their halls, they do now.
I’ll have to move quickly—up to the roof, find my target, and get out of here. In and out.
Turning back the other direction, I locate a glowing red exit sign above a nondescript door.
Perfect. Pushing open the door, I find myself in a cold concrete stairwell with a single sign reading ‘Roof Access.’ A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
This is going better than expected. I take the steps as swiftly as possible in my heels, my breath puffing as I climb towards the metal door at the top.
Pushing the bar open, I am hit by the warm air streaming inside. It’s sweltering outside.
“Fuck this heat,” I mumble as I move towards the edge of the wide open expanse of the rooftop. “At least there’s a breeze.”
The building across from this one is a similar build—a stone facade skyscraper with rows of windows.
Inside are people going about their day, minding their business, completely unaware that, through the lens of the scope I just pulled from my purse, I am watching them.
I quickly scan each row of windows, searching for one in particular.
Mikhael Zmeev is a bear of a man—tall, burly, with dark hair, thick brows, and an imposing presence.
He looms over the others in the room as he speaks with wild gesticulations of his hands.
I looked up the term Phoenix used to describe him—Volk.
It means ‘The Wolf.’ A fitting name for the predatory man who looks as though he might rip out someone’s throat at any moment.
I get the vibe that he will want someone submissive, someone who is willing to let him be the brute he wants to be.
He will want some pliancy. I can be pliant… enough.
“And what exactly are you learning, moya p?těn?c??” a smooth and sultry voice whispers across the shell of my ear. Immediately, my body reacts to Phoenix.
He could give me a stiff lady boner just with his voice alone.
“That Mikhael Zmeev seems to be a real pussycat,” I respond without turning. I’m certain he snuck up on me to throw me off my game. This is, after all, a competition. But I have no intention of letting him see just how thoroughly he has gotten under my skin. “Just a kind and gentle man.”
He scoffs behind me, his hand landing on my hip as he pulls me against him.
He smells like smoke and sulfur. I should hate it, and yet, I can’t seem to help leaning in for more.
His body is firm and warm. It’s hot as hell itself under the blazing sun, and yet Phoenix’s warmth feels different.
It’s not heat against my skin, it’s warmth down to my very marrow.
He makes my body feel whole, not like some weakened anemic little girl, for the first time in forever.
I adjust myself slightly in his hold, rubbing my ass against him.
I can feel his cock twitch on contact, and a smirk pulls at my lips.
“You’re a dangerous temptation, Little Spark,” he whispers in my ear as he drags me tightly back against him. His cock is thick and hard against my backside. Despite the very satisfying self-release I had last night, my pussy clenches and throbs with need.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask as his hand grips my hip, moving my body so I lightly grind up and down against the hardening length of him.
A small chuckle leaves his lips as he leans in over my shoulder.
The scruff of his dark stubble tickles the delicate skin behind my ear.
A moan nearly slips from my lips but I stop it at the last moment.
“You think I’m not keeping an eye on my competition?
” His teeth graze the lobe of my ear, biting lightly at the skin. “I play to win, Princess.”
“How about a side bet?” I ask, unable to contain my body’s reaction to the maddening man behind me. My nipples tighten beneath the padding of my bra, aching for his touch. Something about this man is so cocky, so confident, so infuriating… and entirely addictive.
“For you, moya p?těn?c?, I could be convinced to do just about anything,” he snarks.
I am possibly in over my head with this man.