Chapter 9 – Blair #2
His gray eyes—cold as ice—were pinned on me as I walked over to him. He stood tall with his hand in his pocket, his posture exuding confidence and power.
He didn’t say anything, not a single word.
But his eyes did all the talking, and he wouldn’t stop staring at me.
His gaze was uncomfortable at first, but I couldn’t stop reveling in the lust flickering in his eyes.
He looked at me like a hungry beast that would jump on me at any time and devour my flesh.
“Katerina said you were taking me somewhere,” I said, my low voice filling the awkward silence.
He cleared his throat, then glanced at his Rolex. “That’s correct.”
“Can I ask where?”
“I’d ask you to trust me, but you wouldn’t,” he said, looking into my eyes.
I shrugged my shoulders casually. “Well, I’m all dressed up for you, aren’t I?”
He was quiet, with a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess you are,” he murmured softly.
***
He took me to a sleek nightclub downtown—one of the many he owned across the city. The place was alive with loud music, flashing lights, and frenzied bodies dancing to the DJ’s hypnotic beat.
The air was thick with the scents of perfumes and colognes, blending with sweat and expensive liquor.
He held my hand tightly as we moved through the crowd, our path directed by his bodyguards. We were led up to the VIP section above the dance floor—above the chaos below that almost looked elegant.
It was more peaceful up here—less crowded, quieter, and more private. This section exuded luxury and comfort—adorned with velvet couches, gold-rimmed glasses, and two bottles of vodka chilling in a bucket of ice.
I sat beside him and crossed my legs, the rhythmic thrum of the music vibrating through my body. He swung his arm over the back of the couch, his eyes locked on me.
“What will you have, Dikaya?” he asked, his voice smooth and nearly charming.
I paused for a moment, eyes scanning the environment.
The few other people around us were all holding glasses of vodka and expensive liquor—including the women.
I wasn’t in the mood to drink, nor did I have any intentions of getting wasted tonight.
So, I didn’t mind being the odd one out—I was never the type to be pressured into doing anything I didn’t want to do anyway.
“Food,” I answered, looking right into those cold eyes of his. “The kind that doesn’t come with an aftertaste of regret.”
His lips curled into a faint grin as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers to summon a hostess. A moment later, one approached smoothly, setting down a tray of crystal glasses and a variety of small bites.
I eyed the spread—olives, slivers of smoked salmon, and caviar toasts.
“Help yourself,” he said, reaching for the half-filled glass of vodka on the low table before us.
I picked up a piece of olive and leaned back on the couch, watching him sip from his glass. “Can I ask what we’re doing here?”
He raised his brows. “It’s a nightclub.”
“I can see that,” came my said. “But what I don’t get is why you brought me here?”
“Would you rather have stayed back at the estate, watching the outside world through your window?”
I paused, my gaze never leaving his face. “Why?”
His eyes squinted a little, a hint of confusion flickering in their depths.
“You clearly don’t need me for anything,” I added, “so why’d you buy me?”
Silence.
“I mean, all I do is stay locked up day in, day out with no goal, no purpose at all. I don’t serve you in any way—meaning I am of no use to you.
” The words came out slow and deliberate, my expression softening by the second.
“So, help me understand why you would spend a million dollars to buy what you don’t need. ”
His eyes shifted from my face and roamed the surroundings behind me. The small smirk on his lips gradually vanished, replaced with something more sinister. At this point, it was safe to say that he was no longer listening to me; his attention was fixed on something else.
“Nik?” I called, wondering why the sudden change in attitude. “Are you still here?” I looked back, hoping to find what had captured his attention.
I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—just a bunch of writhing bodies on the dance floor.
“Get down,” he said to me, his voice low but urgent.
“What?”
“Get down, now!” he bellowed, reaching out to grab me.
That’s when the first shot rang out.
Bang!
Chaos erupted—people screaming, gunshots filling the room like a storm. The music died down in an instant, bullets shredding the air, flashing like silver sparks under the neon lights.
People dropped to the floor—dead, injured, seeking shelter from the sudden violence. Glass shattered, drinks spilled, and ear-piercing screams filled the air.
Nik had pulled me to himself and flipped me over so his body shielded me from the turmoil. I lay low under his protective arms, my survival instincts already kicking in. My eyes searched the surroundings for anything to use as a makeshift weapon—anything to defend myself with.
“Are you okay—are you hit?” he asked me, his voice laced with hints of concern.
I nodded.
“Stay down.” He rose from on top of me.
By the time I looked in his direction, he was already in action, firing calculated shots at the armed men who raided the building. While he was busy taking down those across the dance floor, two more snuck up behind him.
He wasn’t looking, and his attention was on the enemies below. I watched them climb the stairs, guns raised in front of them. They were aiming at him, ready to squeeze the trigger at any moment.
I could let them take the shot and end his life in an instant.
That would be one monster off the streets of Chicago.
His death would mean I could go back to my normal life.
No one would ever remember the wild girl he once bought at an auction.
No one would come looking for me—they’d all be too focused on his death.
In that moment, within a split second, I had to make a choice. Let him die and earn my freedom. Or save him and continue the mission to bring him to justice.
Honestly, I’d solve seventy-five percent of my current problems by just letting these men kill him. But wouldn’t that make me as terrible as him?
I was supposed to be better than him—more reasonable, more compassionate, and less violent. Did he deserve death for all his crimes? Yes. Still, it wasn’t my place to decide that. The best way to bring him down was to follow the rules.
I closed my eyes, heaved a sigh, and made my choice. “Nik, behind you!”
With lightning-fast reflexes, he spun around and fired twice, one bullet each at two attackers. Three more surged up the stairs while his men handled the others below. This small group wasn’t armed with guns but with knives and machetes.
He squeezed his trigger, but the gun clicked empty. Nik hurled it at the first attacker; it slammed into his nose and knocked him to the ground. With his bare hands, he fought the other two, pummeling them despite their machetes and knives.
The sound of bones cracking echoed through the space as Nik snapped them like dry twigs. His victims groaned in pain and screamed loudly.
He hurled one of them off the balcony, then kicked the other in the nuts.
Nik lifted him into the air and slammed him downward.
The man landed head-first with a sickening thud, his neck cracking under the impact.
His lifeless body sprawled at Nik’s feet as he towered over him, his chest heaving quietly.
The third guy grabbed a knife from the floor and lunged at me, ready to attack. The idiot probably thought I was helpless. But he had no clue that from the moment he got to his feet, I had already figured out three different ways to take him down without breaking a sweat.
However, before I could act, Nik grabbed the fool by the shirt. He yanked him backward with one powerful pull and sent the man flying over the railing. Seconds later, we heard him crash into a table below the balcony.
The chaos ended just as suddenly as it started. In its aftermath, only Nik and his men remained standing. The attackers were either dead or retreating.
I rose to my feet, eyes sweeping over the mess—corpses, blood on the walls and the dance floor below.
Broken glasses crunched beneath boots as Nik’s men moved around, assessing the scene.
The crowd of frenzied dancers had dispersed, and the music was as dead as the assailants lying in pools of their own blood.
I stared at Nik in silence, struggling to reconcile the protector I just witnessed with the monster I knew him to be.
Two of his men went up the stairs, their heavy footsteps breaking our quiet staring contest. They didn’t ask questions; they just checked to make sure no one was hurt.
“Clean up this mess,” he ordered them, his voice deep and steady as though this was just another Tuesday in the club.
They nodded, and one of them signaled the others below, barking instructions in Russian.
Nik’s gaze returned to me—and although he didn’t say anything, the look in his eyes reminded me that I was still under his watch. No matter the situation.
I wasn’t sure how that made me feel; relieved or terrified? But whatever the case, one thing was clear: Nikolai Tarasov was more dangerous than I thought.