Chapter 6
Max
I post up next to the west wall, my position obscured by a cluster of people chatting, laughing, and using animated hand gestures.
None of them notice me. I’ve perfected the art of being present without being seen, occupying space without sticking out.
From here, I have a clear line of sight to Nika.
She stands where I left her, her posture rigid.
I catalogue the micro-expressions flickering across her face. The tightness around her eyes, the way her jaw clenches and releases. The rapid rise and fall of her chest.
From our brief interactions, I’ve learned that Anika Kozlov is disciplined, lethal, and smart.
She’s also cracking under the pressure of whatever’s happening between us.
I can tell from how her pupils dilate and her skin flushes under my scrutiny. She wants me just as much as I—against my better judgment—want her.
Her hand drifts to her collarbone, her fingers brushing the hollow of her bare throat in an unconscious display of vulnerability. She catches herself and drops her hand, regaining control as she smooths down the front of her dress.
Could a trained, cold-blooded psychopath who enjoys tormenting her grieving father still be so wet behind the ears?
Easily.
If she spent the last fifteen years training, that would explain her skills. It’d also make for one seriously twisted chick.
Her gaze sweeps past my position twice before moving on, like I’m a shadow. A ghost in an expensive suit. When she doesn’t locate me, her face flashes with frustrated disappointment.
Poor little Nika. Not having the upper hand in your own backyard must suck.
I plan to stretch this out and force her to wait. She toyed with my family for a year. Set up a psychotic treasure hunt, planted false evidence, destroyed Sasha, used the Falcones to wear us down, and pitted us against each other.
She deserves to suffer.
And if I happen to enjoy the process? Well, bonus points.
I glide through the crowd, angling toward the silent auction tables on the far side of the ballroom, where I find an expensive, high-end Japanese knife set advertising elegant violence.
I stop in front of the display, awareness prickling along the back of my neck as that rose scent taunts my nose.
She emerges beside me, so close that I can feel her body heat.
“Have you ever used a Seido kitchen knife?” I keep my gaze on the blades. “Very sharp. Cuts through bone like butter.”
Tension radiates from her as she goes rigid.
She springs in front of me, blocking my view of the collection. Her dark eyes lock on mine with an intensity that would spur most men to retreat. “Where is my locket?”
I drink in Nika’s flushed cheeks, her parted lips, and the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat.
My breath releases. “Why the rush, sweetheart?”
Her eyebrows draw together as her tongue darts out, wetting her top lip.
I lean over to whisper in her ear. “I’m still deciding whether I’m going to obey my Pakhan and bring you back alive or kill you. After the shit you’ve put us through, you deserve to die.”
Her silence speaks volumes. Nika knows she’s trapped in this dance. She can’t leave because I have the locket. She can’t murder me here because of all the witnesses and cameras.
We reach a table showcasing travel packages. Glossy marketing photos arranged in neat rows feature sunny beaches, mountain retreats, and night-lit European cities.
Nika focuses on a tropical paradise with a jagged coastline and almost artificially blue water. White foam crashes against dark rock at the base and climbs high against rough cliffs.
“Up, up, and up the stony stairs…”
I glance at her. “What?”
Nika studies the photograph, her eyes distant, her mouth soft. When she blinks, the moment shatters. “Nothing.”
Her face goes back to that cold mask. Whatever she was thinking, most likely it’s linked to Chaos Island just like everything else in her psycho game. She’s really stuck on that place.
I wonder what happened to her all those years ago. She was only a child, like Chloe, the kindergarten teacher Kolya Ilyin dragged into the family a few months ago. Vanya’s lady, Paige, was a teenager, and she’s still haunted by that night.
Just like Roman.
If only I had been around. Maybe I could have stopped what happened that night. Kept Lilia and Anika safe, kept the Pakhan whole. But the past is the past, and I don’t fix things.
I break them.
The chandeliers flicker three times. We both tense, eyeing each other with suspicion.
A spotlight hits the stage at the far end of the ballroom while the rest of the illumination remains low. A smiling man in a dark tuxedo steps into the circle wielding a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the live auction portion of our evening.”
The auction. Right.
Conversations taper off, and bodies reorient toward the stage.
Most people meander to the rows of chairs arranged in front of the platform, settling in to watch the show.
Some remain standing in small clusters with glasses in hand, their focus split between the auctioneer and the free food and drinks.
The room’s edges fall into shadow. Taking advantage of the low visibility, I stride away from Nika. I know she won’t leave, because she wants the necklace. Right now, I’m the center of her gravity.
I intend to use that.
While most people cluster around the stage, I head for the less-crowded bar and request two fresh glasses of champagne.
With drinks in hand, I pivot and scan the space.
Anika hovers near a pillar, partially obscured by shadow, her attention on the stage. Her white hair glows almost silver, contrasting with her pale skin and black dress.
The auctioneer’s rapid-fire delivery provides cover as I draw near.
“Here’s a magnificent piece, ladies and gentlemen.
Oil on canvas, authenticated provenance.
Starting the bid at fifteen thousand. Do I hear fifteen?
Fifteen from the gentleman in the back. Thank you, sir. Now twenty. Who’ll give me twenty?”
I slide in directly behind her.
She doesn’t turn, but I catch the subtle stiffening of her spine. She knows I’m here.
I lift one of the champagne flutes over her shoulder, into her peripheral vision.
She shakes her head.
I bend down so that my chest nearly grazes her back and my breath ruffles the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. “Come on, Nika. You know you want a taste. Open up. I promise you’ll like it.”
The double meaning hangs in the air between us. Heavy. Undeniable.
She tenses and sways closer to me. A shiver rolls through her, starting at her shoulders and rippling down her spine. Her back skims against me, a gentle Morse code exposing her body’s betrayal.
My blood heats at the minute contact.
I set one drink on a cocktail table and press my chest against her back, holding the other flute just above the swell of her breasts. Even with her heels, I’m taller, so I have to tip my head down a little. The angle puts my mouth near her ear.
“You only have one thing I want, you asshole,” she grits out.
The auctioneer’s voice rises, building to a crescendo. “Twenty-five…do I hear twenty-five? Twenty-five from the lady in red. Excellent. Now thirty. Thirty, anyone? Thirty for this magnificent…”
“Tsk, tsk, Nika. After all we’ve been through, we’re not going to start lying to each other now, are we?” A low laugh rumbles through my chest, causing her to shiver. “Unless you forgot about that necklace you’ve been killing for.”
She tilts her head just enough to peer at me from over her shoulder. Our faces loom mere inches apart, and I register the pink blush dusting her cheeks.
She swallows. “I’m telling the truth.”
Lifting my hand, I drag my thumb along her bottom lip. “Oh, but you are.”
She exhales a heavy breath.
I rock my hips, brushing my stiffening length against her ass. “But the body never lies.” Dropping my arm from her shoulder, I lightly stroke her breast, grazing her hard nipple with my forearm. “Neither does this.”
A ragged gasp bursts from her lips. Under my touch, her muscles coil, every instinct no doubt screaming at her to move, fight, or distance herself.
The raw, desperate reaction shoots straight to my cock.
Overwhelming heat floods me. I shift closer, grinding the solid line of my erection against her lower back. Letting her know exactly what she does to me, exactly how much I crave her.
She plucks the glass from me. Her small, calloused fingers slide underneath mine. Tiny scars stand out on the soft skin of the back of her hand.
From training or from fights?
Somehow, those marks only heighten her allure.
I’m losing the tactical advantage, distracted by her body, her scent, and those soft, desperate pants.
I want to shove her against the pillar and strip that dress off her. Fuck her right here in the shadows while—
Thunderous applause erupts, and Nika jerks. She stumbles forward, breaking contact and putting three feet of space between us. She weaves slightly on her heels before regaining her balance.
I lean against the pillar to conceal my reaction as she spins to face me fully.
A flush colors her cheeks, and her chest rises and falls too fast. Her breathing’s ragged and uncontrolled. She looks…
Wrecked.
She may insist she only wants the necklace, but I know better. And damn if I don’t want her too.
With blown pupils, she appraises me, her gaze traveling down my chest, my stomach, and stopping at the bulge straining against my pants.
Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “You lie, too, Max.”
“Oh, I never said I didn’t want you. I may be an asshole, but at least I’m an honest one.”
She raises her untouched beverage. “My turn.”
Then she whirls around and drifts toward the bar.
I watch her go, admiring her swaying hips and stunning ass. Those blood-red heels click against the marble in perfect rhythm, betraying none of the wobble from moments ago.
She winks at me from over her shoulder, and I salute her with my glass.
Checkmate.
With a little wave, she heads toward the exit.
Dammit.
I’m trailing behind her before I even consciously decide to do so.
She can’t leave. Not now, with the tension between us ready to snap.
Her glossy white hair disappears through the ballroom doors, and of course I follow.
She’s the center of my gravity now too.