Chapter 12
Aleksandr
What Are My Chances?
I’d always had a keen sense of smell. Like a fingerprint could tell someone’s identity, scents were as distinct for me. I studied her as she stood behind the counter before she arbitrarily picked something from the menu.
This girl, her frame hidden behind the counter and her apron, had a multilayered scent. My senses were flooded, and she instantly reminded me of sunshine.
Her eyes were even more stunning in person, even if she looked at me like a storm was brewing. The tiny golden-brown freckle on the bottom of her right iris added a unique contrast to her bluish-gray eyes.
Committing them to memory, I’d draw her later. I had brilliant photographic recall, and each small detail quickly became etched in my brain.
I paid for my meal and spoke with the manager, letting him know under no circumstances was he to send anyone else over to my table but her. He nodded and swallowed hard. She didn’t look happy but relented in the end.
I couldn’t help the grin on my face as she glared at me from across the room. When she brought the tray over, she countered my smirk with one of her own.
“Please, sit,”
I said to her once she set my food down. The look on her face registered it was more a command than a request.
“I don’t think so,”
she responded, turning.
Quite bold of her. Grabbing her hand, I whirled her around and pulled her close. Inhaling her up close was even more intoxicating.
“What the hell are you doing?”
she demanded as I nuzzled my nose against her neck. With a surprised squeak, she tried to pull away.
“You smell.”
I nuzzled her once more, so lost I didn’t realize she had stopped struggling. Finally, I let her hand go and dragged her closer. I wanted to get as close to her as she would let me.
The distinct sound of a butterfly knife being opened drew my attention but too late. This little hellion had a four-inch blade held to my throat, and damn if it didn’t prick my skin. Ivan would be impressed. Immediately, I grabbed hold of her right wrist and held it firmly in my hand.
“Have you ever drawn blood from any living thing in your life, darling?”
“I won’t hesitate to draw more of yours, and I didn’t give you permission to call me darling. It’s rude to tell someone they smell, you know.”
She moved her left hand to collect the drop of blood, rubbing it between her fingers in fascination.
“Most women love it when I call them darling, darling,”
I teased. My gaze briefly fell to her full breasts.
“Eyes up here,”
she ordered with all the confidence she could muster.
I lifted my gaze back to her eyes. “Now then, you didn’t let me finish. Your scent is an amazing mix of May rose, iris, bergamot, violet, and sandalwood, with a touch of honeysuckle and vanilla. I find it fascinating.”
I cleared my throat.
She stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Now, you’re going to be a good girl and sit your pretty little ass down in that chair. I have a few questions for you.”
When she failed to move, I added, “Sit, or I’ll break your wrist. I wonder how you will do either of your jobs that way.”
Glaring, I added a small amount of pressure.
I twisted hard enough to get my point across and took her blade from her. She sat and put her hand out for her knife.
“I think I’ll keep this a little longer. At least until I’m done with you.”
Her nostrils flared as she glared at me. “Asshole,”
she muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” I smiled.
Her eyes grew wide. “What do you want with me?”
A slight hint of fear shook her voice.
Taking out the picture of Anton, I showed it to her. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
She let out her breath, almost seeming relieved.
Hmm…wonder what that’s about.
Flicking her eyes to the photo, she studied it, her gaze puzzled. “Yes, he’s a regular. Or, well, he was. I haven’t seen him in a few days, come to think of it.”
She swallowed hard. Her eyes shifted to her manager, to the door, anywhere except me or the photo.
I sipped my coffee and let her stew for a minute. “I doubt he’ll be back, and for your sake, it’s a good thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes flashed sharply. God, her fucking eyes were beautiful.
Ignoring her question, I moved to the next one on my list. “Did he ever talk to you? Bother you in any way?”
At this point, I was simply looking for information. I wasn’t about to inform her that her potential old dance partner thought she was related to a Russian mobster. Hell, I wasn’t even 100 percent sure she was related to the man.
“No. He’d just come in and order a Danish and coffee. Is that a crime?”
She couldn’t stop staring at my tattoo.
I tilted my head to the side, meeting her gaze. “No, not at all. A bit boring, though.”
I shrugged my shoulders, somehow relieved yet bothered by the fact he hadn’t tried to strike up a conversation. Maybe he was instructed not to, or she had been ruled out already as a possibility.
Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, a subtle shift in her body that conveyed her growing irritation. “Boring?”
she huffed.
I leaned back, smiling. “Yes, having the same thing every day. Variety is the spice, so to speak.”
Her lips tightened and her eyes sparked with defiance. “I’m not sure where this conversation is going, but you are incredibly judgmental.”
I straightened and tried to give her my most concerned look. “You think so?”
Her voice rose an octave. “Clearly. Just because someone orders a Danish and coffee every day doesn’t make them boring. I’ll have you know, we sell the best Danishes for hundreds of miles.”
She obviously took the comment personally, and I had to find out why.
“Hundreds of miles, huh? Is that a proven fact, or do you get paid extra to say that?” I teased.
“I get paid to do my job, which, somehow, includes talking to you today when I’d rather not. And, for your information, I handmake the Danishes we sell.”
Stretching my back, I smirked when her eyes followed my every move. “Well, if I’d known that, I would have asked for one. Can I have one of your Danishes?”
I inquired low and seductively, leaning toward her.
She flushed a light shade of pink at the tone of my voice, catching my drift. She bakes. We could add that to her list of activities. I already knew from Nik’s files that she attended dance classes at a local studio, worked a second server job, and went to church on Sundays.
“We’re sold out, sorry. Are we done here?”
she sneered.
“Not yet. I have a few more questions for you.”
She blinked and worked her lower lip between her teeth. As good as she was at trying to appear nonchalant, she was getting nervous. Interesting. Before I could ask her my next question, she blurted out one of her own.
“Tell me something. Are you a cop?”
She crossed her arms again, which only amplified her breasts.
Raising an eyebrow at her, I said, “No. What does that have to do with me asking you a few questions?”
It was fascinating watching her mind work to steer the conversation. She was proving to be more and more entertaining the longer I talked with her.
“Well, considering this is America, I don’t have to answer any of your questions unless you’re a cop and have a warrant. Out of courtesy to my manager, I indulged you. Now, if you don’t mind.”
The chair scraped across the floor as she stood to leave. I leaned back in my chair as she eyed her blade on the table next to my hand. I knew she wouldn’t walk off without it. Somehow, it had significance to her. I’d seen that look on Ivan’s face in regard to his blades.
I smiled up at her. “You have something against cops?”
I ran my finger down the handle of her blade.
“On the contrary, I have nothing but respect for the men and women in law enforcement. I come from a law enforcement family.”
Teasing her further and testing the limits of her patience, I asked, “Do you, now? Tell me, have you ever dated a cop?”
“Excuse me, how is that any of your business?”
she sputtered, her blush deepening.
I licked my bottom lip, holding back a grin as her eyes were drawn to the movement. “Wondering what my chances are, is all.”
It took her a second before she pulled her gaze away and responded.
“Chances…chances of what?”
“You going out with me.”
She was making this so fun, I hardly recognized my own actions with her.
She held out her hand. “This conversation is over. My blade, please.”
I put my hand over it completely, earning myself a death glare.
“Who are you?”
I took a shot, knowing full well she wasn’t going to answer, but her reaction would tell me everything.
She moved her hand under the tag, emphasizing her name. “Pardon me? Can you not read? I assumed you could when you called me by my name earlier.”
After calmly taking another sip of coffee, I barked, “I asked you a question, young lady. I expect an answer.”
She was trying to figure out how to get her blade with the least amount of effort. I wondered what Ivan would think of her. Her eyes rolled skyward, and a heightened level of exasperation crossed her face. The exchange of verbal jabs continued.
“Wow, you insist I spend my break with you, and you expect answers to questions that are none of your business. You’re very presumptuous and arrogant. You can use words like insist and expect, and I will tell you I owe you nothing. Fancy yourself my father?”
“Darling, I’m not old enough to be your father. Regardless, you will answer.”
I could do this with her all day.
She was quite sassy, and for some inexplicable reason, it was turning me on. Probably because most women I came across did anything they could to get my attention. It almost always came down to the tattoo or the accent. Either way, the girl across from me wasn’t the slightest bit fazed.
She looked at her watch. “You seem to be struggling with my name, so let me sound it out for you: Kins-lee. Not darling. I need to be going,”
she stated, shifting tactics.
“I’m aware of how to pronounce your name, Kinsley Anya Marie Taylor, born April 23rd, 2004. I know where you live and where you work. Who is Pavel Lenkov to you?”
I asked, watching her eyes flash in surprise.
Her eyes moved up and to the left, letting me know she was accessing the part of her brain that stored memories.
“I believe Pavel Lenkov is a famous dancer I’ve previously seen on TV and YouTube. If you know me, then you know I also dance. He was recently a guest choreographer for Mr. Dulaine’s class. Mr. Dulaine is my dance instructor, but you should already know that, too, right?”
The words flew out of her mouth. She didn’t miss a beat. Impressive. She was quick on her feet, and my intrigue for her grew. A sense of excitement pulsing through my blood. But how much of what she said was true?
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve humored you long enough. I’ve got things to do, orders to take, and I have no interest in speaking to you. So if you’re here on Mr. Lenkov’s behalf, please tell him I’m not who he thinks I am.”
She moved to pick up her blade. I grabbed her, dragged her over to me, and braced her between my legs, my feet planted behind hers.
“What body wash, shampoo, and conditioner do you use?”
I demanded as I took another deep breath and drank in her unique scent. I pulled a lock of her hair free, rubbing it between my forefinger and thumb. “So soft,”
I murmured, lost in my thoughts.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
she exclaimed, trying to pull away from me.
“I can’t help it. Your scent calls to me.”
I had no idea why I was even telling her these things. Closing my eyes, I inhaled her once more. Having her this close was putting me in a trance.
She surprised me by leaning her neck closer. “Better get it out of your system, then,”
she offered, resting her hands on my abs before trailing them up to my shoulders.
Her light touch, soft voice, and neck near enough I could kiss it, was too tempting to resist. Customers were staring, but I didn’t give a fuck. Her pulse hammered under my lips while I explored her neck. The weight of her hands left my shoulders. Finally, she pulled away, putting distance between us.
Through gritted teeth, she asked, “You done?”
“No, but I guess you are.”
Disappointment dripped from my tone.
Her lips tightened into a thin line, and her expression turned guarded. “Today was your freebie, old man. Touch me again without my permission, and I guarantee you it won’t end this way.”
She had distracted me long enough that I didn’t even see her grab her blade. She held it once again, this time closed and not at my throat, but her message was clear. Pocketing the blade, she flashed me a big smile.
“Good day, old man,”
she threw over her shoulder as she moved back toward the counter.
How cute. She was dismissing me. And old man? I’d show her “old man.”
Thirty-one was hardly old. She’d bought herself a round of truth or consequence. I smiled, thinking of all the things I’d like to do to her.
“Till we meet again,”
I said, leaving the café. I walked outside, and, for once, the sun was shining, making me smile. Marcus was waiting and opened the car door.
“I want to know who she associates with. Follow her.”
“I’m already on it. I should have something for you later this afternoon. And, um…you have something on your neck.”
He gestured to the side where Kinsley had held the blade.
“It’s nothing.”
I reached up with a handkerchief and blotted at my neck.
Marcus chuckled like he already knew what happened. “Sure thing, Boss.”
He closed the door and moved around to the driver’s seat.
“You’re a good man, Marcus.”
Ispent the rest of the day putting Kinsley’s next steps into motion. She might not know it, but she was about to become much more acquainted with me, whether she liked it or not. Marcus sent me a report on her friends, and I laughed.
Dialing Ivan, I filled him in on my first encounter with Kinsley and the information Marcus found. “Send the friend two invites. She’s exactly your type.”
Her best friend was a girl named Sarah Williams. She was blond, liked to frequent nightclubs, and they attended dance classes together. Sarah was a little older than Kinsley and the definition of a party girl. She’d be easy to entice. With a club invite, it was almost guaranteed she’d be there Friday night…hopefully with Kinsley in tow.
I couldn’t get Kinsley off my mind all day, and I somehow found myself outside her house. It was late, and her bedroom window was open. Taking out my phone, I quickly typed a text before I could change my mind.
REAPER:
You never answered my questions. Do you know what that means for you?
Three dots danced as she typed. They danced for several minutes. Don’t know what to say, huh? I grinned.
REAPER:
Ignoring me will only complicate things for you. What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?
Dots danced once more, and then her message came through.
KINSLEY:
Who is this?
She knew damned good and well who it was. She wanted to play games? I’d play along.
REAPER:
Your friendly Reaper.
KINSLEY:
Fuck off.
REAPER:
Childish much?
KINSLEY:
Creepy old man much? Are you going to ask me what I’m wearing next?
REAPER:
I like to play games. Ever play truth or dare?
KINSLEY:
Not into games, but I’m not surprised you are. Truth or dare? Not showing your age there at all, old man.
REAPER:
You’ve got forty seconds to answer. Fail, and there will be consequences.
KINSLEY:
Please don’t waste your time or mine. I want nothing to do with you or your games. Leave me alone.
Leave you alone? That won’t be happening anytime soon. Her reaction when I asked her who Pavel Lenkov was, along with the relief on her face when I showed her the picture of Anton, spoke volumes.
She may not realize it, but we’d only started our investigation. And I was having so much fun.
REAPER:
Ready, set, here we go. Where were you really born?
After a full minute of no answer and no dots dancing, I sent her a final text.
REAPER:
Time’s up. Your dare will feel more like a consequence. You should know I always get what I want. Good night, darling. Close your curtains.
She was quite a distraction. I smiled—something I rarely do—then chuckled when she flipped me off from the window. There was something exciting about her. Reason tried pushing its way to the forefront of my mind.
She could be related to a fucking Russian mobster. I sighed as I flipped through the images we had collected. She was mesmerizing. Somehow, even in picture form, her piercing gaze and enigmatic smile produced a gamut of emotions within me.
I wanted her.
The thought surprised me; she was clearly an innocent girl who probably wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do with a man. The realization that I’d love to train her to be my submissive was both shocking and fascinating given my preference for play partners only. But god, how I would love to teach her.