Page 13 of Bratva Sacrifice

“I like spicy, Katya. I like dirty, too.” Another grin, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Darren fanning himself with his hand, like the temperature in the coffee shop has just gone up thirty degrees.

“Dirty chai latte, then,” I say, and I duck my head to hide my flush as I punch it into the point-of-sale system, my fingers clumsy. “That’s six fifty-eight.”

Alexei slides another crisp hundred dollar bill over the counter. “I don’t have change,” he says.

Of course not. But the coffee shop has been packed for the last hour, and this time I’m certain I do. “That’s okay,” I say, and the register pops open as I total out the order. There’s a stack of twenties inside and plenty of smaller bills besides. Darren hasn’t had a chance to empty it yet.

I count out the change and lay it into Alexei’s hand. “Ninety-three forty-two,” I say.

Holding my gaze, Alexei dumps the money in his hand into the tip jar.

My mouth pops open. “You can’t keep doing that!”

“Why not, Katya? Is my money.” He doesn’t even glance at Becky as she leans over to snatch up a coffee cup to go prepare his drink.

“Yeah,” Becky says over her shoulder, at the back counter where she’s steeping the chai. “Why not?”

Oops. I forgot she’s saving up for a car, and tips will be split between the three of us working this evening. But it’s because I know he’s only doing it to flirt. And I’m so damn bad at it, myself. “Because it’s a ridiculous amount to tip, when you didn’t even like the first coffee,” I mumble.

“Maybe this is better,” Alexei says as he accepts the cup Becky slides across the counter. He lifts the cup to his lips, takes a sip.

I can’t help myself. “And?”

“Better,” he says with a shrug. “Black coffee still is best.”

Ugh.

I must have made a face, because Alexei chuckles. He’s lingering at the counter, since there’s no one in line behind him. “Somehow, Katya,” he says, “I have feeling that you like things sweet.”

I do. Of course I do. Sugar one of life’s simple pleasures. But I know that there’s an insinuation threaded through those words, and I’ve never felt so nervous and tongue-tied in my life. My heart is racing in my chest. My palms are clammy.

“If you didn’t like the coffee,” I ask, “why did you come back?”

“For you. I want to take you out.” His hand stretches across the counter toward me, his fingertips only an inch away from mine. Beneath the cuff of his sleeve, I can see the inked lines of a tattoo. An old one, I think. The ink was probably black once, but it’s faded over time into a kind of deep grayish blue.

“Ooooh.” Becky nudges my shoulder with her own playfully. “Like a date?” She draws out the syllables into a teasing coo, meant more for me than for Alexei.

“Da,” Alexei says. “Like date.”

Darren gives a dramatic gasp and muffles a squeal behind his palm.

My heart flutters. His fingers are so close that I can feel the heat of them. There’s a strange heat in my belly, a stranger burst of nerves. “I can’t,” I blurt out. “I don’t—” Don’t date. Didn’t date?

Papa’s men aren’t following me around, chasing off potential dates. Men who once expressed interest won’t flee when they see me coming. No one knows who I am, or who I’m connected to by blood. I can do whatever I want now.

I can go out on a date with a handsome stranger who has an accent that makes my knees weak and a jawline like a Greek god.

“I can’t tonight,” I say in a rush. And I really can’t. I’m sweaty and gross and exhausted. I desperately need a shower and a good night’s sleep. Fifty-fifty whether I actually get it. My motel bed is hard as a rock in some places and lumpy and sagging in others.

“Tomorrow, then,” Alexei says easily, as if it makes no difference to him. As if he really does have all the time in the world. His fingers lift from the counter, curl over my wrist. The heat of his hand is searing, soaking into my skin. No one’s really touched me since my mom died. Even Papa is not affectionate.

I hadn’t even realized how much I missed something so simple as this. Just a touch, and my senses go wild, starved for something I haven’t experienced in too long. Maybe starved for something I’ve never had. Something illicit, something forbidden. But the jitters that skate across my nerves feel like freedom. Like a sort of alive I’ve never been allowed to be. Like my life is finally starting. “Okay,” I breathe. “Okay, tomorrow.”

This time Darren squeals aloud. “She gets off at three!” he enthuses to Alexei.

“What?” My head swivels toward him. “No, I don’t. I get off at six.”

Darren lays one hand on my shoulder. “Cat,” he says sternly. “Tomorrow—for a date—you get off at three. It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.”