Chapter 5
Nika
Too many bodies press into a space designed to make excess feel casually elegant. Lines of chandeliers hang overhead like crystallized stars. Christmas decorations crowd every surface in an aggressive, chaotic form of holiday cheer.
With my chin up and shoulders back, I try to ooze confidence as I march past the registration desk and through the double doors that lead to the ballroom.
Though my black dress stands out in the sea of reds and deep greens, no one questions me.
I chose this outfit for function, not fashion.
Black to hide stains, and a hidden pocket at the waist. High slit because I might need to run or kick.
A smooth fit so nothing can snag or grab the fabric.
The gown also serves as camouflage.
Despite the austere shade, I look like I belong, like I blend in with these people with their champagne flutes and auction paddles.
The crowd ebbs and flows like a tide. Clusters of conversation and bursts of practiced laughter float over their heads. In the corner, a string quartet plays a classical, forgettable tune. Waitstaff in crisp white vests circulate with trays.
As I glide through the crowd, I catalogue escape routes.
Two main doors stand behind me, and I spy emergency exits on the east and west walls. A row of windows sits along the north wall, facing the street. Plenty of options for egress.
Finally, I spot Max again.
He’s across the room, maybe forty feet away, “browsing” one of the auction tables.
The suit flatters his build, stretching taut across his shoulders without restricting his mobility. Tapering at the waist, the fabric ends halfway down his tight ass. His combed, dark hair still glistens from the rain.
His shirt collar and clip-on tie hide the cut on his neck, but my mark swells along the edge of his cheek.
His gaze locks with mine.
Electricity zips between us. The awareness sparks in my chest and slithers to my stomach before traveling lower. It’s as if we share the same frequency, which allows his signal to cut through all the noise.
Around us, people chatter, imbibe, and feast. Musicians play. Santa and his elves enter the ballroom, laughing and waving. Caterers wade through the masses. No one knows that two predators lurk in their midst.
Thus, the waltz begins.
I prowl through the crowd, weaving between discussions and bodies. Taking a circumspect route, I stop twice and pretend to admire an auction item. The whole time, my focus stays fixed on him.
He hasn’t budged from play-reading one of the description cards on another table.
When the distance between us narrows to ten feet, he catches my eye and winks.
The bastard knew I was stalking him all along.
Then his gaze dips lower.
Same as before, he tracks the line of my throat, my breasts, and then ventures farther down, following the slit in my skirt all the way to the red heels. It comes back up, just as slowly, settling on my face again.
That kind of blatant appraisal, that male gaze stripping me bare in a public space, should piss me off. How dare he undress me with his eyes?
Though I’m angry, another part of me responds differently.
Warmth floods my skin as I admire the tailored suit coat, narrow waist, tight ass, and the muscles accentuated by those dark pants. My pulse kicks up, tightening my belly.
I have to ignore this bizarre attraction. I wouldn’t act on it even if I wanted to.
Find the locket. Kill Max. Get back.
His knowing eyes, brimming with amusement and heat, meet mine. “Where’d you hide that dress? Your backpack?”
I slink up beside him, close enough to whisper. “I could ask you the same.” I gesture toward his suit jacket.
“I like to be ready for anything.” He smiles like he’s joking, but his words hold weight.
“Cute.” I brush past him, wandering toward the auction tables. “Did you learn that in the Boy Scouts?”
Max’s glare practically burns through me as I drift through the crowd, faux-inspecting the items. Diamond necklaces, sapphire earrings, and emerald rings all glitter under the lights.
Art pieces. A weekend getaway package to an all-inclusive resort.
A signed guitar from some musician I’ve never heard of.
Nothing that actually interests me.
I peek as Max does a methodical circuit along the far side of the room.
He completes the path with that same economical grace I observed in the parking garage. Every step conveys purpose.
When he reaches me, he performs another slow appraisal that prickles my skin. “If this were a date, I’d say you look stunning.”
The way he states the simple words in his low, deep voice turns them into something else. I can’t decide if he means that as a compliment or an insult, though my stomach flutters just the same.
“If this were a date, I’d pretend to care about your cheek.” I raise my hand, hovering it just over the mark darkening his cheekbone.
“That bruise is getting bigger.” False sympathy colors my voice. “That’s gonna be sore.”
He leans in until the heat from his cheek warms my fingers. “It’s not the only thing getting bigger.” He tilts his head and skates his lips over my palm. “Keep acting so concerned, and it’ll only grow larger.”
My mouth falls open. Is he…flirting? I’ve spent plenty of time among men while training with Dimitri, but this is entirely new territory.
Desire ignites in his eyes, and I hate the answering flicker of pleasure at the base of my spine.
Yep, the bastard’s definitely flirting. The urge to hurt him dials up to an eleven.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “How’d you find me?”
I press my lips together. He won’t live long enough to share the information, so telling him the truth won’t do any harm. “You have a license plate, don’t you?”
His nod knocks hair into his eyes. “So you’re techy.”
“That’s Dimitri.” The moment the name leaves my mouth, I know I’ve screwed up. My stomach churns with instant regret.
“I see.” His expression doesn’t change. “Who the fuck is Dimitri?”
“No one important.”
As the silence stretches, his eyes never stray from mine.
I nearly flinch when Max reaches out and grabs two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. Arching an eyebrow, he offers me one.
I stare at the champagne before lifting my eyes to his face.
As he watches my internal debate, the mockery in his expression irks me, so I accept the beverage.
Max raises his flute. “Shall we toast to parking garages?”
I lift the glass to my mouth. The bubbles touch my lips, and I swallow without drinking. He could’ve easily palmed in a quick-dissolving drug.
He smiles at me before gulping the liquid down.
I lower my own glass and walk away.
The throng engulfs me as I slink through with sidesteps and angled glides. I weave between bodies, treating them as shields.
I need to catch Max off guard. I’ll use the people to my advantage, maybe slip into his blind spot.
No one’s paying any attention. I could shove my blade between his ribs in a matter of seconds and push his body under one of these big tables.
I’d be out of town before anyone found him.
Even as the scenario plays out in my mind, I’m well aware it’s a fantasy. Too many witnesses surround us, not to mention security cameras.
Several minutes pass while I drift through conversations, past auction tables, and toward the bar where more people cluster. Max isn’t where I left him.
Of course not. He’s playing the same game.
Casually, I peruse the crowd until I find him near the stage, his back partially to me.
A golden opportunity.
Slowly, I close the distance. I’m maybe five feet away when Max whirls and blows me a kiss.
He’s stealthy, I’ll give him that.
“Tell me,” he picks up our ongoing discussion like I didn’t just dedicate ten minutes to trying to get the drop on him, “did you fuck the family over just for the thrill, or was there a business reason? You did give up millions in diamonds. Seems like a poor deal.”
The family.
My family.
Except they’re not mine anymore. Not since Roman ripped the necklace off my mother’s body.
I ignore his question. “How’s your neck?”
He smiles, all teeth and intimidation. “Anika.” He rolls each syllable off his tongue as if tasting them. “That’s not Russian. What is it? Scandinavian?”
“Didn’t Roman tell you?” Even though my pulse hammers wildly in my head, I manage to keep my voice flat. My breath lodges in my throat.
He shakes his head. “Your dad didn’t tell me anything.”
“Don’t call him that.” The command snaps out sharper than I intended.
A few nearby guests glance over, their chatter faltering.
I force a congenial look and lower my voice. “I’m sure he told you something.”
Max regards me with those cold blue eyes. “He told me to bring you back alive.”
I laugh. “Oh, that’s never going to happen.”
“We both agree on that. Because I’m loyal to the Pakhan, not to his too-soft feelings. To keep him safe, I’m going to kill you. After tonight, you’ll never fuck with my family again.”
He claims them with such conviction. Like he views the Kozlovs as his blood, his people to protect.
I guess they are now.
I haven’t been a Kozlov since my father murdered my mother. I gave up his name the day he betrayed her, and I’ve never regretted that decision. I don’t want to be part of a family full of liars and killers. People who would slaughter their loved ones for a single piece of jewelry.
I inhale a steady breath, forcing the anger aside. Dimitri taught me better. Emotions serve a purpose, but not when they distract from my goal.
I won’t let Max best me.
My gaze drifts around the ballroom, drinking in the excessive decorations and oblivious crowd. “It’s Sanskrit, actually. My name.”
He shifts in his combat boots, the one piece of his ensemble that still reveals him as an outsider. “Never thought Roman would come up with that.”
Wrath spirals in my chest like barbed wire.
“He didn’t. My mother did.” Memories surface, and I blurt what’s on my mind before I can stop myself.
“Roman only cares about his work and the one city where he matters. Mom had broader interests. She took me to a museum the first Thursday of every month.” I don’t want to keep revealing things, but the truths just keep spilling out.
“And the theater. I saw The Nutcracker every year until I was nine. Until she died.”
“Mine died when I was eight.” Max exudes practiced nonchalance, as if he’s commenting on the weather.
Is he trying to one-up me? Spinning tales to…what? Bond? “Did you murder her?”
He shrugs. “Not on purpose.”
Disgust wrenches my stomach.
No surprise that another Kozlov man slaughtered a relative. That’s what they do. That’s who they are.
I’ll make him suffer for that callousness, for the cold disregard of his mother’s life. I’ll kill him slowly.
“What does Anika mean?”
I blink away the mental image of slicing his tendons until he’s a useless sack of muscles to find him staring at me. “It means soldier, army, and fearless. Graceful, even.”
“That fits.” An almost playful smile sharpens his features. “So, tell me, Nika—”
I flinch. “Don’t address me like we’re friends.”
Before tonight, I haven’t heard that name in years. No one’s called me that since the island, since Dimitri picked me up and christened me “Kai.”
Max’s gaze doesn’t waver.
I decide to take this discussion in a different direction. “Are you going to be a gentleman and ask me to dance?” Get close to me, you bastard, so I can rip your dick off.
A cold laugh shakes his shoulders. “I’ve never been mistaken for a gentleman.” He brushes his hair back from his face and leans in. “Maybe you’re not as intelligent as I thought.”
A server passes between us, holding her tray up high. By the time she clears my line of sight, Max has already vanished into the sea of bodies.
I grit my teeth. Before the night ends, I vow to kill this man.
If only to stop him from annoying me to death.