I feel a foreign kind of pull to her, and while I know it’s dangerous to let that kind of thing consume me, it’s winning.
After keeping an eye on her at the shop for a few hours this morning, I had had enough of sitting around and decided to kick my surveillance efforts into high gear. I needed a more hands-on approach, after all.
The lock on her condo door gives way under my pick with a faint, almost satisfying click. It’s scarily easy, and something about that sends a wave of irritation through me.
As someone with her family ties, knowing what their business entails and the dangers that come with it, she should have much better security than this. Hell, she should have a guard stationed outside her door during all hours at this rate.
Not only is she the daughter of a pakhan, but she’s also the sister of his heir. She’s the perfect piece of blackmail, and yet, Kat is no better protected than the average pencil-pusher.
It’s infuriating somehow, but at the very least, it makes my little side task easier to accomplish.
She likely assumes the building’s security cameras are enough to keep her safe from anyone with ill intent outside of her main lock, but that’s simple enough of a fix for someone with my resources. After a quick text to Ivan, the feed will be looped at the right time, and nobody will even know I was here. Easy peasy.
Kat should really do something about that trust of hers.
Although if she’s been banking on the cameras and the main lock at her door, then I can only imagine someone as feisty as her would have something else to protect herself with. Surely, she has a gun tucked away somewhere, or maybe even a baseball bat for when things get sticky.
Slipping inside quietly, I shut the door behind me and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim space.
The place smells subtly like citrus and vanilla, but more so than that, there’s something unmistakably her. Something that makes heat pool in my gut.
This isn’t professional in the slightest, and I know that. I shouldn’t be here. Yes, the assignment involves essentially stalking her, but surely this is crossing a line.
As long as we have eyes on her…
That’s what Roman said, after all.
If he doesn’t care, then neither do I.
The condo isn’t half bad, and Kat is clearly doing well for herself, even if she treats her job as a modest little gig. Initially, I would’ve expected this place to be bought and paid for with daddy’s money, but given the hours she works and the dedication she puts into it, she has obviously provided herself with all of this.
The living room is neat but not painfully so. A few pairs of shoes and boots are lined up by the door, her jackets are tidy, yet she keeps the closet door open, and a few loose envelopes lie across the kitchen island like she dropped them there without a second thought.
She has a bookshelf next to her flat screen, seemingly for balance with quite a few paperbacks crammed together, along with some motorcycle-related manuals and magazines. I absently run a leather-clad finger along the spine of a worn book, finding myself imagining her curses up with it, face fixed in that concentrated expression I’ve come to appreciate.
For the most part, the place is standard issue. A few minimalist art prints hung along the walls here and there for depth, a collection of sentimental coffee mugs in the cupboard, and just enough random decor pieces to prove that someone lives here. At the very least, there’s a personal touch to it all, but given how much time she spends elsewhere, the condo is just a place for her to sleep and feel comfortable.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a home without a few framed photos.
To my surprise, I don’t find any recent pictures of Kat with her family. Instead, there’s one photograph resting on the dresser in her bedroom of two kids and a much younger Igor. It’s her and Yuri, both in their swimsuits, while the ocean serves as their backdrop. Igor has a big smile and a cigar between hisfingers, and while he looks every bit the part of a pakhan in this captured moment, he’s fulfilling the most important role.
Being a dad. Their dad.
Something about that makes my stomach twist for a moment, and I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s dead, and my family is to blame. How I’d never have the chance to meet the man who was supposed to have an important part in Kat’s life.
No…scratch that thought. There’s no way I’m even remotely thinking about that.
This is not some cute little daydream. I’m not dating a pakhan’s daughter and wondering wistfully about how things might go if I were to be a good boyfriend and have a good rapport with her father. I’m not here to ponder her potential wounds, either.
I’m keeping an eye on her and learning about her involvement in her brother’s business. Nothing more.
But Christ, I can’t deny how that title makes something in me squirm.
Boyfriend.
This sure as hell isn’t something a boyfriend would do. Snooping around her room like an addict needing another fix. At least, not agoodboyfriend.
