The longer we tour around for, the bolder she becomes, even if she wouldn’t dare admit it.
One of her hands moves against my opposite side like she’s testing the waters before sliding it over my abdomen. The touch sends a jolt of interest through me, followed by another wave of warmth, before she reaches a bit higher and approaches my chest.
It takes all the self-restraint I possess to focus on the traffic in front of us, regardless of how it makes my pulse throb and my whole body erupt in goosebumps.
I want nothing more than to pull over and hold her close like I’ve been craving lately, or to take things a step further and quell that familiar need I can never get rid of when it comes to her. But of course, I have to keep my eyes on the road.
Kat makes no move to correct her exploratory touch on me, and no part of me wants her to stop.
I savor the contact while I can until we pull up to the casino. The valet doesn’t even raise a brow. Instead, he waits for us to get off and offers a subtle greeting before taking over.
Everyone here knows who I am, and tonight, I want them to see Kat.
She smoothes her hair back while scanning the building ahead of us. “A casino? That’s your pick?”
“Why not?” I return with a grin while I guide her inside, daring to rest a hand against the small of her back, silently thanking Kat for not pulling away. “You’ve spent long enough despising me. Let me buy you a drink and try not to make things worse.”
“Is that last part a promise?”
I hum. “That depends on how the night goes.”
Chapter 20 - Katya
The casino is almost overwhelmingly loud, accompanied by the occasional chime of a jackpot through the music pumping through the overhead speakers. Laughter, cheers, and the occasional curse punctuate the chaos, easily reminding me that this isn’t my usual scene.
I’ve been in a casino or two before, but I’d rather invest than gamble. But given the way Sergey moves through the place, he feels more at home than I do.
Given his relaxed and vaguely smug stride, it’s clear he belongs here in a way, and he knows it. He carries himself through the place with all the confidence of someone who owns it, and knowing him, he likely does.
I trail a step behind him because I need the distance after we’ve been crossing into more comfortable territory tonight, even if I’ve been somewhat of an instigator. Whether it’s a fluke or a sign that things are getting better, we’ve been civil with each other. Friendly, almost like we’re seeing eye to eye. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how we ended up here in the first place.
The opulence of the place is clear. Between the gold trim along the walls, the velvet chairs, new-looking tables, and suited men who take one glance at Sergey and seem to know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of, it all screams decadence. And a kind that Sergey isn’t a stranger to.
Me, however…I’m the outlier. The reluctant bride still trying to piece herself together and understand where she belongs in all of this.
Regardless, I can’t deny it’s been a good night so far. Annoyingly so.
Finally getting back on the road and feeling the familiar power of a Ducati beneath me was more refreshing than I thought possible, and the shooting range reminded me of what I was capable of. Of the skills I had tucked away and tried so hard to forget about.
For a moment, I even felt like myself again, as hard as it was to believe. But here, in Sergey’s world, that makes it harder to hide the more dangerous aspects while surrounded by everything he represents, the distance between us becomes evident all over again.
To accompany his relaxed yet powerful demeanor, Sergey pauses long enough to let me catch up to his stride, and he keeps me close. The possessive edge to that gesture isn’t quite as loud as usual, but it doesn’t escape me. Surprisingly, it sends a small shiver down my spine.
I pretend to study the roulette table, but in truth, the steady, reliable warmth of him next to me holds most of my attention while he speaks to the dealer, who looks at him with unwavering respect.
Then, something catches my eye.
More so, someone.
Near the bar, a man stands alone while he nurses a drink and keeps his gaze low. But his face is exposed enough for me to take in those features.
They don’t fully register at first, but a sense of familiarity moves through me while I try to rack my brain for how I know him.
Something about the man reminds me of New York. It’s an odd thought, but it’s true.
Then, as he glances to the side, I catch a glimpse of a snake tattoo peeking from beneath his jacket.
And it hits me even harder. I know that face.
