Page 66 of Cruel Demands

“For a dentist, maybe. For a landlord. Not for a man.”

I laugh despite myself, watching Mikhail take a sip of his drink with his eyes still on me before fixing a pleasant, false smile on his face.

“A man can be nice,” I murmur mostly to myself.

14

MIKHAIL

I do not follow Taylor when she leaves the dance floor.

That is important. It’s the sort of distinction a man makes when he’s already guilty and looking for technical innocence.

I do not follow her. I do not cross the room. I do not take the phone from her hand, erase the boy’s number, and ask whether she truly believes a man like that can protect her from anything, including himself.

Nikolai laughs as he walks toward two friends, phone in hand, blond hair falling carelessly across his forehead in the way young men allow when they’re convinced their faces make carelessness charming. One of his friends claps him on the shoulder and says something that makes all three of them laugh.

I don’t hear the words. I don’t need to.

I see his thumb move over the phone screen. I imagine Taylor’s name there. I sit at the table with a drink in my hand and watch her pretend not to look for me. She’s very bad at pretending.

She laughs with Viktoriya. She checks her phone once. Then again. She saves the number. That’s the part that almost does it. Not the dancing. Not his hand on her waist. Not the way he leaned too close to hear her over the music. The number. The neat little proof that she means to continue this.

Good, I think. This is what I wanted. A man her age. A normal man. An ordinary flirtation in a loud bar after work. This is exactly what a better man would hope for. Unfortunately, I am not a better man.

When Taylor returns to the table, her face is bright even with uncertainty rippling beneath it. Viktoriya has one arm linked through hers, and Katya has attached herself to the other side, saying something that makes them both laugh. Viktoriya has taken Taylor under her wing already. She knows more than she should somehow—a clever girl. I seem to be surrounded by those lately.

The table greets Taylor with exaggerated applause and a few low whistles. She blushes deeply, trying not to look my way and failing, her eyes slipping toward me as if they’re magnetized.

“You kids have fun,” I say, standing and pulling my loosened tie back into place before shrugging on my jacket.

They all turn toward me. “You are leaving already, Governor Korolev?” Viktoriya asks.

“Yes. It’s too late for me. I am an old man, after all.” I lift one hand when Dima opens his mouth to protest. “Stay. Have another round on me.” I turn to Taylor. “Miss Hayes, I hope your evening continues to be productive.”

She stiffens, unsure how to take the comment. Viktoriya’s fingers tighten around her arm, something no one else would notice if they weren’t looking for it.

I leave before I say anything worse.

The air outside hits me like a wall. It pinches my nostrils and cuts into my eyes, finding every last opening in my clothing. Pavel is waiting at the curb with the car. He opens the rear door without asking why I’m leaving alone.

“Drive two streets over,” I tell him.

He looks at me once through the mirror after I get inside. “Home?”

“No,” I say. He waits. “Park where you can see the entrance.”

Pavel’s expression doesn’t change. He pulls away from the curb and takes us around the block, stopping beneath a dead streetlamp with a clear view of the bar.

I sit in the back seat and watch the entrance. I made the decision before I left the table. My body knows it even while my mind continues pretending there are other possibilities. I could tell Pavel to drive. I could go home. I could check on my mother. I could go to the warehouse and speak to the six men who allowed Orlov to use my roads.

Instead, I watch a door. My phone rings after half an hour.

Arkady. I answer without looking away from the bar. “What?”

“We have all six.”

“And?”