“Right. Okay.” I step back. “Thanks anyway.”
I walk out with my fists clenched and a curse on the tip of my tongue.
Of course they’re not hiring. Of course this whole thing was a waste of time and pride. Now I have to go back and explain that to Gabriel. Like it’smyfault they’ve got a full damn staff.
I slide into my car, hands trembling just a little from the crash of nerves and humiliation. I stare at the wheel for a second too long.
Then I pull out my phone.
Text Gabriel:
No openings. Not hiring. Walked in, asked, manager said no.
I hesitate. My fingers hover.
Then I add:
I tried.
Send.
And then I just sit there, in the silence, staring through the windshield at a world that keeps spinning no matter how much it tries to bury me.
Chapter 7
Maksim
32 Years Old
The office reeks of perfume and power. Velvet couch, mirrored ceiling, and a painting on the wall I’d burn if it didn’t belong to the Amatos.
My favorite strip club, Opulent, belongs to the Amatos, but this couch I’m sitting on might as well be mine.
Candy’s kneeling between my legs, fingers working my belt with practiced ease. Blonde, big tits, fake in all the ways men like and I don’t mind. She smells like cheap perfume and desperation.
“You all healed now, Maksim?” she asks, lips brushing the edge of my jeans.
I smirk, fingers threading through her hair. “More than healed, detka.”
She giggles, throaty and rehearsed, and works the zipper down. Her nails scrape against denim, teasing.
I lean back, let my head fall against the velvet. Four months.Four fucking monthssince I got the piercing. Worth every second of pain to see the look on women’s faces when they realize what’s waiting for them.
“Bet you missed me,” she purrs.
“Sure,” I lie.
Truth is, I don’t think about her when she’s not around. Don’t think about any of them. They’re warm bodies, fuck fun. Nothing more.
Candy tugs at my jeans, sliding them down my hips. Her breath hitches when she sees the bulge in my boxers.
“Someone’s eager,” she whispers.
I grunt. My mind’s already drifting—to the shipment coming in next week, to the Turks sniffing around our territory.
Candy’s fingers hook into my waistband. That’s when the door slams open.
“Maks—” Vaska’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
