AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Except, it wasn’t an agent. It was a pair of oversized, tattooed Russians.
“Come with us,” the darker of the two said, gesturing to the Escalade behind his partner. On cue, the second man opened the door.
“You don’t look like my Uber driver,” I said, taking a cautious step backward.
“Get in,” the other one barked.
“Umm, no... Mommy said I’m not supposed to get in the car with strangers. If you need help looking for your puppy, you should ask another adult.”
“Bennett. Get in.” It was a third male, only this time the voice was coming from inside the car.
Taking a cautious step forward, I ducked my head and looked at the occupant in the backseat. It was Mikhail — aka: Misha — the beautiful, blue-eyed killing machine Sergei sent on special missions. That either meant I was precious cargo or in for a really shitty night.
“Is this a good meeting, or a bad meeting?” I asked, stupidly hopeful Misha would have the answer.
Misha didn’t say anything, he just glanced pointedly at the seat.
“Good talk.” I slid in next to him and slipped my phone out again. So much for making it home on time for dinner.
I’d no more than pulled up the text message to Leander when Misha leaned over, snatching the phone out of my hand.
“Hey! What the fuck?” I swiped for it, but he was faster, tucking it in his inner jacket pocket. His large hand caught my wrist before I could yank it away. In the process, I inadvertently came way too close to his face. I held my breath as we stared at each other. Whatever thoughts were going through his head were carefully concealed behind a stony expression.
Finally, he pushed my hand toward me, releasing it with a surprising gentleness. “You’ll get it back.” He held my gaze while he spoke, giving a nearly imperceptible nod. As he pulled his hand away, he stroked the length of my fingers.
I masked my shiver with a fleeting smile and leaned back into my seat as far as I could go. Facing the window, I closed my eyes, swearing silently in my head. Instead of being flattered Misha obviously recalled our night together or worrying about how furious Leander would be if he found out (even if itwastwo years ago), I kicked my lawyer-brain into gear and tried to prepare for the absolute worst-case scenario.
The SUV hurtled through the city in relative silence until it rolled to a stop in front of Delirium, a place I was intimately familiar with. Aside from being Sergei Sidorov’s main club, it was one of the best spots to score whatever you were in the mood for, be it drugs, alcohol, or kinks.
Misha hopped out first and circled around the car while one of his henchmen opened my door and gestured me out impatiently.
“Jesus. The Feds move like molasses and you move like your ass is on fire. Something I should know about, fellas?” I glanced at the trio of Russians as we made our way inside.
“Nyet,” was the only grunted reply I got and I wasn’t even sure who said it.
Not surprisingly, Delirium was empty, except for the staff getting ready to open. It was too early for someone to have OD’ed. Maybe it was another alderman looking for a handout. Or something to do with the Italians and Marchese’s upcoming case.
Marching up the curved staircase, we made our way past all of the private rooms to Sergei’s personal VIP area —notthe kitchen where people were tortured and dismembered. So, things were looking up.
Sergei was already there, deep in conversation with a pair of tight blonde beauties. The one in red was stroking the tuft of gray chest hair poking out of his shirt, while the one in blue rubbed his thigh... and then some. Neither of them stopped when we walked in.
“Bennett,” Sergei acknowledged with a smile. Smiling didn’t guarantee jack shit, so I tempered my enthusiasm.
“Sergei,” I replied with a nod. “It’s been a while.”
“Sit.”
I knew better than to argue, so like a good little doggie, I took a seat on the couch across from him. “I’ve been meaning to call, but we just got back and I’ve been swamped playing catch up.”
“Are you thirsty?”
Before I could answer, he snapped his fingers. Red-dress popped up and sashayed to the bar.
I held up an apologetic hand, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve got dinner plans” — I flicked open my pocket watch and cringed — “well,now. But what’s up?”
The girl returned with a chilled bottle of vodka and a glass. Instead of depositing them on the table next to me and leaving, she draped herself across my lap, grinding against me in the process.
“Ok then. One drink it is.” I took the glass from her and planted my other hand firmly on the arm of the couch. She proceeded to use that arm as a pillow, stroking my jaw and throat with a featherlight touch.
