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I stand and cup my hands in front of me while Nikita nods to the office, his lips in a thin line as he limps with his long, black trench coat fluttering behind him like a villainous cape.
I follow him to the office and shut the door behind me.
Nikita falls into the chair behind the desk with a sigh and pulls out a brick of coke from his coat before tossing it on the desk. He pulls out a pocket knife next to tear open the brown paper packaging and plastic.
After lining a trail of white powder on the tip of his knife, he holds it out to me.
Without hesitation, I take the blade and bring it to my nose, pressing a finger to the side of my nose to constrict one nostril while inhaling sharply with the other.
A rush of energy sweeps through me, and I give my head a shake to clear it, sniffing a few times to empty my sinuses of the white powder that seems to trickle down my throat.
It’s strong.
“Good?” Nikita asks, leaning back as he raises a brow.
I pinch my nose and nod.
“Good. It’s from a new supplier. I got a brick of H to try out as well, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate being the guinea pig for that. Unless it gives you and your junkie girlfriend something to bond over.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes widen as my chest puffs. I’ve already got adrenaline pumping through me from the coke, but his words poke at a dangerous part of me.
My defensiveness flares, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m not defensive for myself but for Olive. I don’t like him talking about her that way.
Junkie.
Isn’t that what I called her myself?
That was before last night. Before I understood her. Before Isawher.
Nikita’s lips spread into a smile as his hands splay. “It’s a joke, Alik. Jesus,relax.”
Nikita carefully arranges another line on the blade and snorts it, his head jolting up with a groan as he eyeballs the ceiling.
Flexing his jaw, he brings his head down to face me. “I was hard on you last night.”
I just stare, grinding my molars.
He gestures to the chair I’m standing next to with the wave of his hand, and I reluctantly sit.
“I know letting the princess go to the police was your idea and not Roman’s, and frankly, I’m disappointed in you for not telling me about it.”
He twirls the knife on the desk, digging a small hole with the tip, and if I didn’t know how to read him better, it would make me nervous. His moods give me whiplash, but I can sense when they’re dangerous and when they’re not. Right now, he isn’t angry, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he wants something from me.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not a lieutenant. Roman wanted to be the one to tell you our plan with the girl.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
He smiles knowingly and lifts the blade from the wood, leaning back before twirling it in his palm. “Yes, you do. And if you lie when I ask you questions, how will I ever be able to trust you?”
“Before yesterday, you did trust me. My judgment was impaired, and your faith in me has been broken. That’s why Roman made the call and why Roman was the one in charge. You already know that, sir.”
He clasps the knife, halting it mid twirl to rest it on the desk. “I told you… Last night I was too hard on you. I think you made the right call, keeping the bitch alive.” He puts his hands behind his head and leans back. “Things seem to be working out.”
Why?
Has he heard something?
