Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“Of course,” I say. “She lives upstairs.”
I haven’t brought Chelle up to the penthouse yet. She’s not one of us, and she’s not my girlfriend, either. She’s just someone I’m screwing for the month. Someone who will be gone in thirteen days. A fact that makes me want to wrench the steering wheel off and throw it out my window.
I shouldn’t bring her upstairs. I can’t let her see anything about the bratva, including the way we live or the layout of things. We learned the hard way with Dima’s girlfriend Natasha, that the FBI could use anyone to get information on us. I also don’t want the guys knowing about the deal I made with her. Dima already figured it out when we talked this week, but if I can keep the rest from knowing, I will.
“I’ll get her number,” I tell Chelle. I don’t even have it because it’s not like we text each other’s girlfriends, especially when we live in the same suite. I can text Oleg for it though.
We get to her place, and I walk upstairs with her. The moment we get in front of her door, I know something’s wrong. The door frame appears cracked.
I grab her wrist as she stretches her hand out to unlock the door, and I yank her behind my body. Pushing the door with my toe, I watch it swing wide—locks broken. I motion for Chelle to stay in the hallway and creep forward, reaching for the Glock at the back of my waist.
Her place is trashed. Her television is gone. The kitchen drawers all stand open like they’ve been searched. I creep forward, listening closely for any sounds. The bedroom has also been trashed—her dresser drawers pulled out and upended, things scattered everywhere.
I search the place thoroughly before I go back out to the hallway where I find Chelle standing pale and trembling. She looks at the gun in my hand with bug eyes.
Dammit.
“Looks like a burglary. They took your TV and searched all your stuff. Probably looking for jewelry or cash. They’ve gone now.”
“Oh God. What should we do?”
“Call your brother first.”
She blinks at me. “Wh-why?”
I take her phone from her cold fingers, pull up Zane’s number, and press the call button. I hold it out to her. “Find out if he knows anything about this.”
Her golden eyes grow even wider, and she lets out her breath on a small sob.
Zane answers, which I didn’t expect. “Chelle?” he sounds alarmed.
I don’t like it.
“Zane? My place has been trashed. They stole my TV, and I don’t know what else.”
“Fuck! Where are you now? Are you there? Is Nikolai with you?”
I grab the phone from Chelle’s hand, a white-hot rage burning through me. “What did you do, Zane?” I snap.
“Nikolai.” Zane sounds breathless. “Get my sister out of there, would you? Keep her safe.”
“What in the fuck is going on?” I snarl. I am seriously going to kill that kid for doing this to Chelle.
“I, ah, I had a drug deal going on, but the shit got stolen. Now I’m into the dealer for the cost of goods.”
“A drug deal with who?”
I watch Chelle mouth the word, whom, while her eyes stare straight forward, like she’s shell-shocked and scared.
“Not your problem.”
“You just made it my fucking problem when they came after Chelle,” I snarl.
“You’re the one who came after Chelle!” Zane thunders back. “You took my sister. I’m trying to buy her back, you insane fucking Russian. So just get her out of there, and I’ll get you your damn money!” He ends the call before I can rip him a new one, and I hold the phone against my chest like that will somehow shield Chelle from what she just heard.
Blyad.’
Zane is right. I took his sister. I triggered all of this by bringing her into the equation. And even though this is completely consensual on her part, I made veiled threats about harming her from the beginning, so Zane’s assumption of the worst is on me.
Fuckity fuck fuck.
Chelle’s chin starts to shiver, and I pull her slender body against mine. “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of your apartment. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”
“No. I’ll replace your stuff, okay? Don’t worry about any of it.” I close the door as best I can, turn her around and maneuver her down the hall, still tucked tightly against my side.
“Are you going to explain to me what’s happening?” Her voice quavers, and it kills me.
“Zane is trying to rescue you from me and whatever he did backfired.”
“Is he in danger?” Alarm peals through her words.
“Ah… yes, probably.” It’s not fair to lie to her. “But you’re in more danger.” I know how this shit works. I’m usually the guy shaking people down for money. They’ll leave Zane free and hold his sister hostage for payment.