NINE
MARISA
The thing about seducing rich assholes is that they are so cocky, they believe they’re infallible.
Ripping off a low-level thief is tricky.
They’re cautious, hiding in shadows and constantly looking over their shoulders.
But, the high-level boss men, they’re much easier to exploit—cocky, loud, and certain that they’re smarter than everyone else… which they rarely are.
I’m sitting at a swanky bar in Midtown. My skirt is short, my top is tight, and eyes have been glued to me all evening.
No less than a dozen men have tried to pick me up.
Each one I’ve turned down as I slowly sip my Penicillin.
Mikhael Zmeev has been watching from his corner booth, becoming more and more intrigued with each failed attempt by other suitors.
Rule One: Rich men are cocky assholes.
Rule Two: They love to win.
Angela taught me the rules. It’s a long list, honestly, and some of the rules are more important than others.
I always list the relevant ones in order of their usefulness during a job, reminding myself why I’m doing this.
It helps me dissociate from the scene I’m in.
I’m not really trying to seduce Mikhael Zmeev, he’s just the mark.
I always need to remember that I’m here to take and get out.
The most important rule of being a thief—no one is ever going to help you more than you’re willing to help yourself.
We don’t wait for handouts, we don’t pray for miracles, we take what we need.
A small twinge of guilt twists in my core when I think about not seeing Phoenix again after this job, though.
You can’t get attached to marks—EVER. That’s how you end up a pill-popping, desperate mistress.
But Phoenix isn’t really the mark, right?
He’s more like… collateral damage. But the thought of never seeing him again after this leaves me feeling unexpectedly hollow.
“Another drink?” a voice asks from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. His accent is thick, gruff, and mildly unnerving.
I steel my nerves. Mikhael Zmeev is just another rich asshole looking for an easy target. I can play the prey if it’ll get me what I want.
Spinning slowly on my stool to face the man himself, I pull the cherry from my drink.
Crunching the fruit slowly between my teeth, I let the fruit sweetened alcohol flush across my tastebuds.
I stare up at Mikhael beneath my long, fake lashes.
The man is undeniably imposing. He’s built like a bull—thick and strong.
His blue suit is expensive looking and pairs well with his tanned skin and salt and pepper hair.
His dark eyes make a slow perusal of my exposed skin.
“I probably should behave myself,” I respond to him as I adjust my legs, letting my thighs fall open slightly. “I wouldn’t want to drink too much.”
I see the glimmer in his eye as he senses the vulnerability of an easy target. The gold band on his left hand is unhidden. Men like Mikhael Zmeev are selfish bastards; he will have no problem taking advantage of a tipsy young woman. Good thing it’s all for show—I know how to handle my liquor.
“A beautiful woman like you should not drink alone.” He dips forward, trailing his fingers along the length of my exposed thigh. Goosebumps rise along my skin beneath his featherlight touch.
“I’m Rose,” I tell him as his fingers skim ever higher.
It’s always the name I give to my marks—feminine, alluring, non-specific, and it goes with my hair, of course.
“Nice to meet you, Rose.” He takes my outstretched hand, laying a soft kiss on the back of my hand. His coarse stubble scrapes against my skin. “I’m Mikh—”
“Mikhael Zmeev,” I finish for him, earning an impressed cock of one of his brows. “The Wolf.”
He smirks before taking a long swig of his drink.
Before I can react, he strikes. His hand darts out, thick fingers digging into the tender flesh of my cheeks.
I try to squirm away but he holds me tight.
My lips peel open as he squeezes my cheeks tighter.
Leaning down, his eyes burn with possessive desire as he slowly begins to drip the alcohol from between his lips and onto my awaiting tongue.
I have no choice but to take what he gives me.
He tilts my head back, indicating I should swallow.
Begrudgingly, I comply. The liquor burns as it slides down my throat.
“Such a good malen’kiy krolik,” Mikhael says, pleased as he watches me swallow with clear heat in his gaze. He leans in even closer, pulling my body against his. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of his thick cologne. “Perhaps rabbit is on the menu tonight for this wolf.”
Wow, dude, what a fucking line.
I barely stop the eye roll which threatens to form at his killer pick up line.
He picks up a lock of my hair, twisting it around his fist, and roughly pulling at it.
My scalp stings where he pulls and I let out a small noise of displeasure.
He brings the lock to his face and inhales, smelling my hair.
He groans and I would be truly cringing if it weren’t for the person sitting across the room who’s stolen my attention.
Their back is to me but I recognize them anyway, as if my traitorous heart is drawn to the asshole that I can’t seem to shake lately.
Phoenix sits at a table on the far side of the bar, his shoulders bunched up and tension running off him in waves.
I don’t need to see his face to know it’s him.
I swear there’s steam rolling off his tensed back.
Is this dude like stalking me now? What the hell?
I take a deep breath and refocus. I can’t let Phoenix and his exceptional cock distract me. Not when I have the Wolf prowling around the trap I’ve laid for him.
“A smart girl would be wary of a man like you, Mr. Zmeev,” I whisper as I let my fingers trail along the soft fabric of his lapel.
“And a good girl would do as she’s told,” he growls in my ear as his fingers trail below the hem of my skirt, finding my lace underwear and running along the seam of them.
A sudden crash has me jumping in my seat. Mikhael pulls away from me, spinning towards the noise. Instinctively, his hand falls to his waistband and, for the first time, I notice that he’s armed. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it definitely unnerves me.
I can talk my way out of pretty much anything, but every con-woman knows that if you’re staring down the barrel of a gun, you’ve already lost the upper hand.
“Chyo za khuy-nya?” Mikhael growls as he takes in the scene across the bar.
Smoke rises from the seat Phoenix had been sitting in; the wood of it singed in several places. Tiny shards of sparkling glass litter the floor and table, as if his glass exploded. My eyes flit to the door where a single spark of flame flickers outside before the door closes.
Fucking pyromaniac blowing up my scene.
I shake my head in annoyance at his antics before spinning back on my stool and grabbing the bartender’s attention.
“I’ll take another Penicillin, please,” I tell him just before a dark shadow falls over me.
“Net,” Mikhael declares to the bartender.
The poor kid nods quickly and shuffles away.
Mikhael’s hand lands possessively on my hip, his thick fingers digging into my flesh as he leans down.
The stench of his cologne is so strong I almost choke.
“You’ll be coming back home with me for a drink, malen’kiy krolik. ”
Something about the demand sends a shiver of unease running through me.
As a street-smart woman I know to trust my instincts and they’re telling me to get the fuck away from Mikhael Zmeev.
But the bet keeps replaying in my ear. It’s so much money.
I could sit on the beach, drinking pina coladas, and flipping through filthy Omegaverse romances on my Kindle for weeks with this type of pay out.
“We’re leaving,” Mikhael barks in my ear before I can even respond.
I’m still warring with myself when something hard presses against my back. I’m hopeful that Mikhael is just really excited about the prospect of me coming home with him, but the unmistakable sound of the gun cocking tells me that it’s not that type of weapon stuck into my side.
“Now.” His voice is slow and deadly as his free hand comes up to grip my hair.
Sharp pain radiates through my scalp and my eyes prick with tears as he pulls me from my stool.
The bartender has the decency to give me a pitying look as I’m pushed and pulled through the bar towards the back, trying desperately not to trip in my heels.
No one else even so much as bats an eye as I’m manhandled through the posh cocktail lounge with a gun to my back.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glittering gold paneling on the walls. I look terrified.
“You’ve made a very foolish mistake, malen’kiy krolik,” Mikhael tells me as he shoves me towards the back, out of the view of the main seating area.
A back access door swings open, the metal hitting the wall with a loud crash. Immediately, the outside air floods in—the humid stench of the city filling my lungs. Maybe if we just get outside I can run and lose him in the chaos of the city…
Yeah right, I’m not running anywhere in these fucking heels.
“Dobryy vecher, Marisa Senka,” a voice coos from the darkness.
My blood turns to ice in my veins at the mention of my real name—my full name. I haven’t used or heard that name in years. I gave up my mother’s surname ages ago, after she abandoned me. Who are these men and how the fuck do they know who I am?
I’m shoved through the doorway and out into the alley beyond. The warm evening air wraps around me. From within the shadows of the dusk steps a man. He’s nearly as tall as Mikhael but leaner with piercing blue eyes and a hooked nose. He smirks and I notice he has a gold tooth.
“So nice of you to join us,” he continues as more men emerge from the shadows, completely surrounding me. All of them are dressed in dark suits and have an air of danger about them.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask as panic begins to set in. I’m completely and utterly fucked. “And how do you know my name?”
“Oh, Marisa.” Mikhael chuckles from behind me as he approaches. I spin, trying to angle myself to keep my back away from both these dangerous men. “We know all about you.”