If Stella thinks she can cast that same spell on me, she’s sorely mistaken. I could never share my woman. Least of all Stella. But she’s not mine, I try to remind myself. She’s just a means to an end. A doorway into finding Kira. That’s what I tell myself, even though the words ring hollow.
One kiss. One fucking kiss and she’s all I can think about. Because we both know that first kiss at the lake changed things. Hence her reluctance to kiss me again the night I killed Sergei, and why I fought so hard to respect her wishes, only to fail in the end.
One thing is clear, though. Neither of us is brave enough to confront what that one kiss awakened between us.
“Kill! Come on! Come play with my new friends!” Kostya calls out, slapping one blonde on the ass, then grabbing the other two by the throat so he can suck on each of their tongues as they dance around him.
Kostya’s young. He’s at an age where he’s entitled to make such stupid mistakes. We’re only three years apart, but somehow, I feel decades older. Responsibility and obligation have a way of hardening you from the inside out.
It’s been different for Kostya. The minute Misha becamePakhan, he sent Kostya away from Moscow, afraid our enemies would kidnap him and use him against us. Kostya has been bouncing in and out of fancy boarding schools all over Europe since he was fourteen. It wasn’t until he got accepted to Stanford that he was finally able to stay in one place for more than a few months at a time. Misha only brought him into theBratvafold a couple of years ago, after he earned his degree. And even then, he shielded Kostya from the true weight of the job, never giving him the full reins that the underboss title demands.
Which makes him still too green. Too trusting. Too damn American. Give him a few more years in the field, and whatever naivety he clings to will be stripped clean.
Unlike my brother Sasha, I’m more than happy to let Kostya live out his life the way he wants for now. Soon enough, he won’t get that choice. TheBratvawill own him. Just like it owns the rest of us.
Having had enough of the loud music and watching my brother get to second base with his dance partners, I rise from my seat and walk over to him. Kostya cheers when he sees me, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
“That’s more like it! I thought you were going to act like an old man all night.”
“Actually, I’m heading out.” I clap his shoulder. “You still have the keys to my place?”
“What? No! The night is still young!”
“It’s three in the morning,” I point out. “And unlike you, I have work tomorrow. Enjoy yourself. I’ll have the driver swing back for you after he drops me off.”
“You sure? I don’t mind staying at a hotel tonight,” Kostya says, eyeing the girls practically undressing him with their stares.
“It’s fine. Just don’t wake me up while you’re having… fun.”
“No promises.” He lifts his vodka bottle to his lips and takes a long pull. He then grabs one of his dates and pours the liquid into her mouth, licking the spill off her neck and cleavage.
I shake my head with a chuckle and leave him to his foursome on the dance floor. I begin to weave through the crowd, ready to head home and call it a night, when a flash of red catches my eye. My chest tightens, then drops when it disappears again. I push deeper into the crowd, eyes scanning every face, every shadow, desperate to find her. Relief hits me hard when I finally spot Stella cutting through bodies toward the ladies’ room.
I don’t think. I just react. I shoulder my way across the club, but the hallway leading to the bathrooms is thick with men and women, either talking, giggling, or stumbling, drunk on booze and bass. But still no sight of her. Where the hell did she go?
Where are you, milaya?
Never one to give up easily, I keep searching until I catch sight of a pair of long legs and those familiar fuck-me heels heading up the narrow staircase to the second-floor balcony. A moment later, a door with anEmployees Onlysign on it slams shut behind her.
I take the stairs, two at a time, and push through, stepping into another dimly lit hallway, blue and purple light bleeding in through the glass windows from the club below. Still, it’s not that sight that steals my breath—it’s Stella, standing by the glass, looking down over the crowd like a queen surveying her kingdom.
“Milaya,” I breathe out softly, before reaching out a hand to touch her.
However, I never get a chance to reach her, since my arm is yanked behind my back, and my cheek is slammed against the wall before I can even blink.
“Kill?” she blurts in confusion, once the low light catches my face, revealing my identity.
“Were you expecting someone else?” I chuckle, only for Stella to raise my arm higher around my back in an attempt to inflict some pain on me. “Are you going to let me go,” I ask calmly, “or do I need to extract myself from your grip?”
“Hmm… Not sure yet. I think I like you this way,” she taunts, tightening her hold. “Obedient.”
Before she has a chance to say anything else, I shift sideways, twist out of her grip, and pin her to the wall instead. Her wrists end up above her head, my hands locking her in place.
“Actually,” I murmur, “I like this version better.”
She doesn’t struggle. She doesn’t even try to. She just stares straight into my eyes as if she were the one still in control.
“What are you doing here, Kill?”
