Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
CADE
This is the part of the job I hate.
The standing about, the canary down the mine, the distraction. Call it what the fuck you will, I’d rather be Enzo in the scenario.
Both parts are high pressure. If we’re caught…
I continue to pretend to play with my phone, sipping the whiskey in my glass.
Tiny sips are the name of the game, spacing it all out because with an open bar and no invite, drunk or tipsy are no-goes.
And as this is a Russian bratva wedding booze is a part of it.
I’m settled in the back corner where I can blend in and keep an eye on the movement of the place. I keep an eye on all five exits, including the one back through the bar to where an industrial kitchen lies.
Enzo needs to hack into the bratva’s Pakhan’s accounts and siphon off funds to our client’s offshore account.
Of course, if we’re caught, we’ll definitely be killed. But I’m not worried.
First sign of trouble, and we’re gone.
I’m hiding in plain sight where people pass through. Hopefully, no one will think twice when I finally move.
On occasion, a girl smiles or comes over to flirt, and I keep it casual, borderline disinterested until they leave me alone.
But the longer Enzo takes, the bigger the chance of something going wrong. And the longer my mind wanders.
And there’s one subject that won’t leave my mind.
Violet.
But I can’t afford any distractions right now.
I push my less than half drunk drink away and ask for another.
The bartender doesn’t even blink.
I check my phone.
Not a word.
I send Enzo a question mark.
Enzo
In. Need 4 minutes.
Me
Cool story bro.
I take my drink and head to the other end of the bar, from where I’m closer to the foyer, and the stairs that lead to the other floors.
This way, I can try and run a bit of interception if anyone tries to head up there.
When I look up from my phone, a leggy blonde, in a tight, revealing black dress is coming my way.
She’s gorgeous and someone who just might catch my attention if I had time to kill.
I don’t.
And the more I look at her, the more I realize that even if I did, I wouldn’t want to spend that time with her.
She looks like she’s on a mission, and unfortunately, the mission is me.
The first thing she does is talk to me in Russian.
My Russian is rusty, and I read it better than I speak it, considering some of the accounts and files we break into, but I do understand it.
And she’s very, very interested in me.
For a moment, I wonder if I should try and pretend I’m Russian, but it’s an idiotic idea. She’s clearly native and would be able to pick it a mile away.
I’m a fucking hacker not an actor.
I give her the blankest look and put on the slightest Southern accent. “I’m sorry, I only speak English.”
If she’s taken aback, she hides it. “Hello. You are tall. A drink water.”
This could be charming in any other arena, but I simply keep the blank look. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“A drink. You buy. We get to know each other.”
Those long, false eyelashes flutter at me. And they’re not bedroom eyes, nope. They’re sit on your face and try and suck your dick off in a sixty-nine eyes.
Enzo would fucking love her.
But right now, I’m the only one in her sights.
She drops her gaze to my dick.
Fuck. Me.
“It’s an open bar. Help yourself.”
The woman frowns, clearly not used to a man who isn’t falling all over her. “But I want you to buy.” She comes in close, and I’m engulfed in a cloud of spiced expensive perfume. “I want you.”
“Who are you with? Bride or groom?”
Because whichever one she chooses, I’m a guest of the other side.
“You.” She almost purrs in my ear.
She picks up my drink and runs her tongue along the edge. Then she offers it to me.
I shake my head. “It’s yours now.”
“We will go and make fun.” She sidles even closer, drinking my drink and almost tossing the glass on the bar before she puts her hand on my chest and slides it down.
I stop her before she goes south of my belt, and I try to keep my irritation in check.
But she laughs, not getting it, and I swear it’s deliberate.
“You play hard to get.”
Normally, I’m good at turning someone down and leaving them feeling okay about it. But my mind’s not on that, it’s on the job, so I’m dismissive.
She’s gorgeous, so she’ll be able to find plenty of willing prey.
“No, I’m not playing.” I vaguely aim for a smile.
I’m half-looking at the stairs as a guard hovers at the foot of them, glancing up. Is he just routine checking or does he think something’s up?
I flick my gaze to my phone.
No message from Enzo, and I can’t text with this chick hanging off me.
“What is name?”
“Max.”
Her eyes light up, and I groan inwardly. I shouldn’t have said a thing.
“I am—”
“Look, I’m sure you’re nice.” I barely remain on the right side of snapping, “But now isn’t a good time.”
She sniffs and turns, stalking off, clearly in a huff.
Fuck.
I send Enzo another question mark, but I don’t hear back. There’s no rush of security upstairs, and the guard that glanced up there has wandered off.
I’m going to have to fucking wait.
A couple of minutes pass, and I’m getting antsy.
I doubt he’s been caught. He’d have texted, and men would be heading up those stairs.
It must be a little more tricky than he thought, and getting out of a system is as important as getting in, especially if you don’t want to leave a trace you were there.
I’m just gonna have to wait.
Movement out of the corner of my eye has me looking.
The blonde stalks back toward me, two big, beefy men flanking her and another girl.
I know her, and it takes me about a second to work it out.
Svetlana. The bride.
Shit.
The blonde pins me down with an angry look, like no man could ever think to turn her down, so clearly, I’m not a guest. And okay, I’m not a guest, but I’d turn her down even if I was.
I’m not a fan of this level of high maintenance or neediness.
“I am Svetlana’s best friend. Svet is not knowing you. Imposter.”
“Because I turned you down?” I force a laugh and shake my head.
“No. Where is invitation?” She glances at her friend. “Where?”
“Are you crazy?” I roll my eyes slightly. “I’m not interested in you, that’s all.”
“Why you here?” The blonde’s like a dog with a yard of juicy bones that she’ll defend to the death.
I keep my generic Southern accent. “I’d be more than happy to tell you, but maybe you should first explain to Svetlana why you slept with her fiancé last week.”
I don’t expect my tactic to work, mainly because I just made it up and it’s complete horseshit, but to my shock, Svetlana’s face turns red and she turns, screaming in Russian at the blonde.
Our bride is not exactly a trusting creature. Her words contain a lot of Russian slurs and insults that might make even Enzo blush.
The leggy blonde’s eyes narrow, her hands fist, and she says something back.
Then the bride hisses at her. “Fucking stupid whore.”
Oh, it’s on.
The blonde woman tosses her hair and shoves the bride, snarling back at her, “You’re an ugly pussy, and if your man is going to get through any kind of marriage with you, he’ll most definitely cheat.”
There’s no actual admission of guilt, just the kind of thing I’ve heard before.
I’m guessing our bride has got trust issues that run deep because she doesn’t pause, and I’m guessing my words are sitting there, rent-free, in her head, as she full-on attacks.
She swings a fist and hits the blonde in the face, knocking her to the ground. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”
Svetlana doesn’t give the blonde a chance to respond, instead just launches further into accusations and abuse as she hurls herself at her so-called best friend.
For a moment, the two big men stand there, staring as the argument flares into an out-of-control fire.
The words are a mix of English and Russian, but I don’t even need to listen to know what’s been said.
The blonde slaps the bride.
Screaming, the bride grabs a handful of the blonde’s hair and pulls it hard.
If I thought things were intense, I was wrong. It’s all on from this moment.
The girls give pro wrestlers a run for their money, and the two men move, jumping into the fray, trying to separate them.
The blonde screams and slaps her friend.
The bride shrieks as she tackles the blonde into a headlock.
Pandemonium deepens as the bride bites the blonde and as they punch, kick, pull hair, bite, scream, and wrestle, I deftly move, making an executive decision.
Time to get the fuck out.
No one’s going up the stairs, not when the spectacle of the century’s being played out in the ballroom for free.
I move through the crowd, texting Enzo to hurry the fuck up.
The door is open to the patio, but it’s empty as everyone is rubbernecking inside.
Still, I slide around the edges, sticking to the shadows.
When I’m sure I’m alone, I make my way to the same part of the fence we used as our entry point, and I scale it, dropping to the other side.
I cross the road and wait for Enzo in the darkness.
Minutes later, he drops down to the ground over the fence, and he crosses to me.
We walk in silence to his Porsche, and it’s only when we’re inside it that I speak.
“Did you get the job done?”
“Do I look like an amateur?”
I strap myself in as he starts the engine. “Sure, but that’s not what I asked.”
“Of course, I got it done. A little trickier than I thought, but in the end? Smooth sailing. Now on to you. I know I didn’t ask you to create a distraction, so what the fuck was world war three about?”
I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”
“The whole fucking ballroom was brawling when I left.”
I look at him with all the innocence I can muster along with a hand on my heart. “Who said it was me?”
“I know you. The blonde was hot. Did you get her number?”
“No, I didn’t get her fucking number, and the last time I saw her, she was in a no-rules wrestling match with the bride.”
He grins. “As I said. Hot.”
“Christ, man.”
“Just saying.” He pulls out from the curb.
I cut my eyes at him. “Can we say it on the road a long way from here? Because I think it’s best we get the fuck as far away from here as we can before someone figures out what happened.”