TWO
Two days before the full moon
Court and I walk at an even pace toward Volk. Not quite sure why I agreed to another night of loud music and overpriced liquor, but here I am, clad in some outfit she chose for me yet again because it quote, made my boobs look great .
“Nikolai won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” she says and bumps my arm.
Court’s wrong. She has to be. Why would this successful, attractive man be interested in someone like me? He sees hundreds of Veronicas every weekend in his club. I only stick out the way a knot in a fence might. A blemish on perfect valley-girl skin. He isn’t interested in me. I sigh, and the dress constricts me like a satin snake from my chest down to my hips.
“Yeah, right. He can have anyone he wants in that club. And I’m …” I pause, glancing down at my heels. It was as if every horrible thing I’ve ever heard, every form of snide judgment by those who never struggled to find clothes to wear, beats at my head like a hammer. “I’m …”
“Gorgeous.” She cuts me off and puts a hand on each of my shoulders. “Maybe he’s tired of fragile, porcelain dolls.” Court smirks at first, then her grin becomes wide and devious. Her brows knit together. “Maybe he’s looking for someone he won’t be afraid of breaking.”
My cheeks heat in an instant. The idea of breaking me, or at least trying. “Stop. He was just being friendly.”
“Natalia,” she mocks his accent and grabs my hand to kiss it. “Drink vhatever you vant, Natalia. I hope to see you again, but next time Natalia, you’ll be vriding my huge, Russian—”
I smack her in the arm and silence her. The blood doesn’t drain from my face, but seemingly evaporates. “You are the worst.”
Court giggles and brushes a hand though her silky black hair. “I know. So, what are you going to do if he’s here tonight? What’re you going to say?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, refusing to share how I spent the majority of the afternoon having an imaginary conversation with him. My interpretation of his slight accent might’ve been way off, though. To be honest, I don’t know what to say to him. I could barely get a single word out last night, and I’d be willing to bet tonight won’t be any different. There is something about him. Something more than how every feature blended together to create some abnormally attractive creature. His gruff voice and how the low rumble of it vibrated me down to my bones. His eyes. Those magically piercing eyes, and how he focused on me and not through me the way other men do. No, I don’t know what the hell I’ll say to him if he is here tonight.
The moon is nearly to its full dinner-plate shape, dancing among the light gray clouds in the horizon. It seems the cold has let up just enough to dress lighter than other nights, but the occasional breeze brings with it a chilly reminder the winter season is right around the corner. Steam hisses from each of the sewer grates we pass, and as Court and I approach the front of Volk, the music thuds through the cracked pavement.
“I’ll meet you inside,” I say and start down the long stretch of sidewalk lined with those anxious to get inside. I will soon join them, taking my place at the back which now appears to curve around the block at the next stoplight. I curse under my breath for agreeing to heels. Great. Another hour and a half in line. Just enough time to add some new blisters to my feet. Courtney won’t have an issue. At least, she never has before. The bouncer posted up front will take one look at my bombshell of a friend and urge her in. Believe me, it’s happened more times than I can count. But to her credit, Courtney has never left, not without me that is. She’s always been more than happy to wait it out at my side.
She hooks her arm into mine and walks with me.
“What are you doing?” I ask and shake my head.
Court struts down the street, practically dragging me along. “You’re not making me deal with the creeps in there alone. Nice try.” She leaves little room in her tone for a reply. Not that I would protest if asked to. Small tears fill my eyes, and before they spill, I slam my eyes shut. She doesn’t have to do this. Stand with me for hours while the party carries on inside. A piece of me feels guilty while the other is simply thankful for her being her even after all these years. I really don’t deserve her.
“You,” the bouncer at the front says, his thick voice outdoing the chatter of the crowd.
Here we go. He’s going to tell Courtney to come inside, then, he’ll give me a once-over and point to the back of the line. It doesn’t matter if she’ll tell him no, by the time she does, my self-confidence, already circling the drain as it is, will plummet down the sink in a single mouthful. She is undoubtedly the pretty friend, and me? Well. I’m end of the line material.
“We’re going to wait in the back,” Courtney says in an instant, not wanting to hear his invitation. It is another thing I am silently thankful for. Saving me from embarrassment not once, but twice now.
The bouncer, the same one from last night, appears confused, and his broad eyebrows furrow. “Not you. Her.” With this, he points a large finger at me.
My mouth hangs open like a trapdoor, and although I can’t see Court’s expression, I assume it’s no different. Me? What the hell does he want with me? Did Veronica tell Nikolai she doesn’t want me in here anymore? That I would be bad for business coming to such an exclusive club? I rub the sweat from my palms on my hips, stepping forward cautiously. “Yes?”
He unhooks the rope and waves an arm to the door. “Mr. Vostik has requested you.”
I swallow the vomit trying to claw its way out. No. There’s no way this is possible. Mr. Vostik. Nikolai Vostik? Requested … me? Saliva lathers my tongue, and I know if I can’t manage to shut my low-hanging jaw, this bouncer’s black shoes will be painted with my insides.
“I—I …”
“It would be unwise to keep him waiting.” His accent is as thick as it is convincing. Keep him waiting. The man I met last night for a brief moment has personally requested me in his club. Nikolai. The owner of Volk. Christ, this has to be some sort of prank.
“Nat,” Courtney says and nudges me forward, and given how all of my limbs seize, I’m fearful I might fall face-first into the cement. She breaks me out of the spell, urging me toward the unclipped rope. “Go. Get in there!”
After a few seconds battling the thoughts running rampant in my head, I find my composure, stand tall, and hook my arm into hers how she did mine. “This is my guest. We will be going in together.”
He rolls his eyes and shrugs his considerable shoulders. “Very well.”
“Natalie?” she asks and elbows my side. “What the hell is happening?”
I’m not sure. Never would I have imagined myself of all people being chosen to skip waiting outside, and by the club owner himself, no less. This unbelievably hot club owner with piercing gold eyes. It seems like a dream; one I will wake from before the doors even open. This isn’t a dream, though. This is real. And Nikolai, Nikolai fucking Vostik, personally requested … me.
Finally, I smirk at her. “You’re not making me deal with the creeps in there alone. Nice try.”
She giggles as we maneuver our way to the front and pull apart the double doors. Fog clouds our feet, and when the hinges meet their breaking point, the music hits a different and almost perfect octave for our entrance. Erratic lights shine down to the floor in different colors, highlighting the paired dancers in the crowd.
“Come on,” I say and tug her to the bar, leaving no room for rebuttal. When we approach, the bartender glances up from whatever drink he’s crafting, and his eyes grow wide.
“Vhat vill it be, Ms. Natalia?” he asks and ignores the people lining the bar, some even waving bills for his attention.
I look at Courtney and shrug. The last thing we need is me ruining the start of what could be an amazing night with another White Russian. She steps forward, confidence in her features. “Two shots of Calico Jack and a couple whiskey sours.”
“Right away.” He turns to get started but before leaving takes notice of the credit card in my hand. “No, Ms. Natalia. I insist.” The bartender places two napkins in front of us first, followed by shot glasses at the center of each.
I grab one and raise it until the clear liquor is eye level. “To Nikolai?”
Court nods and we clink them together. “To Nikolai.”
A coconut-flavored burn coats my throat and warms me all the way down to my stomach. I try to keep my composure but lose it when the strong aftertaste makes an unwelcome appearance. Courtney does nothing of the sort. No, she rubs her lips together and appears to want seconds. She motions two fingers at the bartender, and he nods.
“Carevul, ladies. You’re of no use to me if you cannot stand,” someone says behind Courtney, his accent in line with the rest of the staff here. He isn’t looking at us, but merely staring forward at the bottles in a neat and polished row behind the bar. Dark black hair reaches his brow, while the sides and back are bare enough to see the tattoos on his head and neck. He shifts toward us, leaving one arm on the counter. There’s something different in his gaze when he glances to Courtney and me. Taking us in as if we are nothing more than inventory. Those eyes. I see it but I’m not sure if Courtney is able to look past his physique long enough to notice. They’re gray. Silver almost. Creating their own light among the dimness of the club.
Courtney grins at me first then at him. “Is that so?”
The man smirks at her wide enough for a fang to rest on his lower lip. Though leaning over, he somehow remains taller than us both. His black button up flows loosely around his stomach, but the areas covered by his shoulders and arms are taut and practically bursting from the seams. He stands upright and quirks his brow. There’s one word blaring through my head to the thrum of the music, and I have a sneaky suspicion Courtney is thinking the same thing. Fuck.
He extends his palm toward Courtney, and when she accepts, he brings her hand to his mouth. “I am Viktor.”
She turns toward me, biting her lips, and bright red blushes her tight cheeks. “Courtney.”
“Courtney. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His accent is thick. Thick enough to turn girl into gail. I don’t think she minds. She might feel like a beautiful gail after this gorgeous man not only bows but kisses her hand. If I know Court the way I think I do, she is melting right now, and in more places than one. Me, however, I take notice of the crescent moon tattoo on the side of his half-shaved head. The same tattoo I’ve seen repeatedly since I first walked through the double doors of Volk. Does he work here too? He surely isn’t dressed the same as the rest of the staff. No, they all have a uniform of sorts. Him? Well, Viktor seems to wear whatever will fit his incredibly large build.
“And you?” he turns toward me, releasing Courtney’s hand and insisting on mine. “Who might you be?”
“Natalie,” I say, and despite the urge to grab his hand too, I wave. It’s awkward. Fucking embarrassingly awkward. Part of me wants to turn around and walk right out the front doors of the club. Did I wiggle my fingers? Fuck, I think I did. I need to fix this. Salvage this somehow.
“My friends call me Natty.” Christ. Strike number two. No one has called me Natty in close to a decade. And before that? Well. The chanting voices in the cafeteria are probably something I’ll never unhear.
“Natalia?” His piercing eyes grow wide. “You are the one that has my brother so conflicted, eh?”
Brother. Did he just say what I think he did? It’s hard to hear him over the music thumping through the floors of the club. His accent doesn’t help either. But brother? Surely I didn’t mishear it. Nikolai’s brother?
I stare at him incredulously and try to regain my composure. “Viktor. As in Viktor Vostik?”
Another toothy grin, and he waves his large arms to the side like an announcer addressing a crowd. His Adam’s apple bumps as he says, “In the flesh.”
Courtney turns to me, keeping herself hidden from him. She mouths, oh my god , and turns back to the large and impossibly handsome man staring at us. Like her, I am thinking the same thing. First: who knew god saw it fit to create not one, but two of these stunning creatures. Two: there’s one for each of us. Three: what exactly was he saying to his brother Viktor, and why is he conflicted? Okay, the third is probably swimming in my head alone, but that’s just something Courtney and I will have to discuss later.
I summon whatever courage I can, and to be honest, the Calico Jack is helping right now. There’s a certain determination in my stance that average, everyday Natalie would never have. No, for once I am confident. I was invited here after all. Told to avoid the crowd wrapping around the block because the club owner, this gorgeous fucking club owner, wants me here. I push aside the nerves begging me to stay quiet and lift my brow. “Is that so?”
Viktor doesn’t speak, but nods, his large, gray eyes illuminating in the room of shifting lights and deafening music.
Play it cool, Natalie. Keep your composure. “And where is Nikolai? He asked for me specifically.” I stand taller in the dress hugging the parts of me I still shy away from in the mirror. When I suck in my stomach for a better appearance, my legs begin to buckle. The fucking price of beauty. Balance on strong legs or hold your breath to have less ridges on a dress you wouldn’t be caught dead in any other night. I really need new clothes.
Viktor smirks again. Then, he tilts his head. Not at me. But behind me.
I turn to see what the hell he could be looking at and my cheek crashes against something firm. A wall is my first thought, but walls don’t smell like cedar. At least none I’ve ever fallen into before. And walls surely don’t have a soft, cotton-like exterior. When I peer upwards, I see a shirt collar, a thick neck, and finally, the eyes of Nikolai Vostik. I gulp down the spit lathering my alcohol-soaked tongue.
His mouth crooks to one side in a smirk. “I’ve been here the whole time, Natalia.”