Page 16 of Flames

NINE

MARISA

The thing about seducing rich assholes is that they are so cocky, they believe they’re infallible. Ripping off a low-level thief is tricky. They’re cautious, hiding in shadows and constantly looking over their shoulders. But, the high-level boss men, they’re much easier to exploit—cocky, loud, and certain that they’re smarter than everyone else… which they rarely are.

I’m sitting at a swanky bar in Midtown. My skirt is short, my top is tight, and eyes have been glued to me all evening. No less than a dozen men have tried to pick me up. Each one I’ve turned down as I slowly sip my Penicillin. Mikhael Zmeev has been watching from his corner booth, becoming more and more intrigued with each failed attempt by other suitors.

Rule One: Rich men are cocky assholes.

Rule Two: They love to win.

Angela taught me the rules. It’s a long list, honestly, and some of the rules are more important than others. I always list the relevant ones in order of their usefulness during a job, reminding myself why I’m doing this. It helps me dissociate from the scene I’m in. I’m not really trying to seduce Mikhael Zmeev, he’s just the mark. I always need to remember that I’m here to take and get out. The most important rule of being a thief—no one is ever going to help you more than you’re willing to help yourself. We don’t wait for handouts, we don’t pray for miracles, we take what we need.

A small twinge of guilt twists in my core when I think about not seeing Phoenix again after this job, though. You can’t get attached to marks—EVER. That’s how you end up a pill-popping, desperate mistress. But Phoenix isn’t really the mark, right? He’s more like… collateral damage. But the thought of never seeing him again after this leaves me feeling unexpectedly hollow.

“Another drink?” a voice asks from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. His accent is thick, gruff, and mildly unnerving.

I steel my nerves. Mikhael Zmeev is just another rich asshole looking for an easy target. I can play the prey if it’ll get me what I want.

Spinning slowly on my stool to face the man himself, I pull the cherry from my drink. Crunching the fruit slowly between my teeth, I let the fruit sweetened alcohol flush across my tastebuds. I stare up at Mikhael beneath my long, fake lashes. The man is undeniably imposing. He’s built like a bull—thick and strong. His blue suit is expensive looking and pairs well with his tanned skin and salt and pepper hair. His dark eyes make a slow perusal of my exposed skin.

“I probably should behave myself,” I respond to him as I adjust my legs, letting my thighs fall open slightly. “I wouldn’t want to drink too much.”

I see the glimmer in his eye as he senses the vulnerability of an easy target. The gold band on his left hand is unhidden. Men like Mikhael Zmeev are selfish bastards; he will have no problem taking advantage of a tipsy young woman. Good thing it’s all for show—I know how to handle my liquor.

“A beautiful woman like you should not drink alone.” He dips forward, trailing his fingers along the length of my exposed thigh. Goosebumps rise along my skin beneath his featherlight touch.

“I’m Rose,” I tell him as his fingers skim ever higher.

It’s always the name I give to my marks—feminine, alluring, non-specific, and it goes with my hair, of course.

“Nice to meet you, Rose.” He takes my outstretched hand, laying a soft kiss on the back of my hand. His coarse stubble scrapes against my skin. “I’m Mikh—”

“Mikhael Zmeev,” I finish for him, earning an impressed cock of one of his brows. “The Wolf.”

He smirks before taking a long swig of his drink. Before I can react, he strikes. His hand darts out, thick fingers digging into the tender flesh of my cheeks. I try to squirm away but he holds me tight. My lips peel open as he squeezes my cheeks tighter. Leaning down, his eyes burn with possessive desire as he slowly begins to drip the alcohol from between his lips and onto my awaiting tongue. I have no choice but to take what he gives me. He tilts my head back, indicating I should swallow. Begrudgingly, I comply. The liquor burns as it slides down my throat.

“Such a good malen’kiy krolik,” Mikhael says, pleased as he watches me swallow with clear heat in his gaze. He leans in even closer, pulling my body against his. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of his thick cologne. “Perhaps rabbit is on the menu tonight for this wolf.”

Wow, dude, what a fucking line.

I barely stop the eye roll which threatens to form at his killer pick up line. He picks up a lock of my hair, twisting it around his fist, and roughly pulling at it. My scalp stings where he pulls and I let out a small noise of displeasure. He brings the lock to his face and inhales, smelling my hair. He groans and I would be truly cringing if it weren’t for the person sitting across the room who’s stolen my attention.

Their back is to me but I recognize them anyway, as if my traitorous heart is drawn to the asshole that I can’t seem to shake lately. Phoenix sits at a table on the far side of the bar, his shoulders bunched up and tension running off him in waves. I don’t need to see his face to know it’s him. I swear there’s steam rolling off his tensed back.

Is this dude like stalking me now? What the hell?

I take a deep breath and refocus. I can’t let Phoenix and his exceptional cock distract me. Not when I have the Wolf prowling around the trap I’ve laid for him.

“A smart girl would be wary of a man like you, Mr. Zmeev,” I whisper as I let my fingers trail along the soft fabric of his lapel.

“And a good girl would do as she’s told,” he growls in my ear as his fingers trail below the hem of my skirt, finding my lace underwear and running along the seam of them.

A sudden crash has me jumping in my seat. Mikhael pulls away from me, spinning towards the noise. Instinctively, his hand falls to his waistband and, for the first time, I notice that he’s armed. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it definitely unnerves me.

I can talk my way out of pretty much anything, but every con-woman knows that if you’re staring down the barrel of a gun, you’ve already lost the upper hand.

“Chyo za khuy-nya?” Mikhael growls as he takes in the scene across the bar.