Page 6 of Beautiful Trauma (The Irish Rogues #5)

A s I stood in front of the lighted mirror on the Korolova private jet, a haunting stranger from the past stared back at me. Although physically I’d slipped seemingly easy enough back into the seduction disguise my father’s handlers had prepared for me, emotionally I was a wreck.

The woman before me was poured into a scrap of a blood red dress that clung provocatively to her breasts and hips before hitting mid thigh.

She teetered uncertainly on come-fuck-me-heels much higher than her usual ones.

Her usually blonde hair was carefully concealed under a brunette wig while her ice blue eyes were covered by brown contacts.

I was no longer Mila Korolova.

Instead, Mya Kimsey’s sex bomb exterior reflected back at me.

She was a Harvard coed out for a good time instead of a gangster’s daughter playing at being a private investigator.

A knock came at the door. “Hurry up, Mila. We’re landing in ten,” my brother Aleksander called. Father had sent him along with Dima to oversee my mission with Kellan Kavanaugh.

“I’ll be right out.”

After one final glance at the new me, I grabbed the sparkly designer clutch on the counter before heading to the door. When I stepped out of the jet’s bedroom, Dima and Aleskander’s attention shot to me.

Aleks gave a low whistle.“Is that really you, Mils?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” I grumbled.

He slowly shook his head before grimacing at Dima. “This is so fucked up.”

Dima sighed. “I agree. But it’s a necessary evil to get the goods on Kavanaugh.”

“But how can we honestly send our sister out looking like that?” Aleks protested. At twenty, he was too young to remember the other times I’d been forced to seduce men at father’s request.

While Dima opened his mouth to argue, I furiously nodded my head. “If Kellan is truly as honorable as you say he is, then why the hell am I dressed as a hooker?”

“You have to dress the part,” Dima reasoned.

“The last time I checked I was supposed to be a coed , not a hooker .”

With a teasing wink, Aleks said, “Don’t run yourself down, Mils. You’re totally more of a high class escort than your average hooker.”

“Ass,” I muttered to which he chuckled.

Dima sighed. “Although I’m sure you did your research, Bandia is one of the most sought after night clubs in Boston and boasts a VIP clientele. Since we can’t use our names or status, we have to rely on you standing out to get you in the door.”

“And standing out equals being practically naked?”

Cocking his brows at me, he added, “Just how long has it been since you’ve gone clubbing?”

I scowled at him. “Don’t bring my lack of a personal life into this.”

“While your attire is what every other young coed will be wearing, it will be your beauty that gets you past the bouncer.”

With a resigned huff, I replied, “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dima bobbed his head. “Ready to meet your assailant?”

“Words that have passed from brother to sister through the ages,” I sarcastically replied.

He gave a frustrated grunt while Aleks chuckled. “Anton?” Dima called.

Anton Lensky was the son of one of my father’s most trusted soldiers. We’d played together as kids. When he stepped from behind the curtain, I cocked my brows in surprise. Like me, his appearance had been altered, but his was less extreme than mine.

He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m very sorry about this, Mila.”

“So am I. Or I suppose I should say that I’m sorry you got roped into this.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad to be of service.”

Cocking my head at him, I countered, “By playing my obsessive ex who gets his ass kicked by Kellan Kavanaugh?”

Narrowing his eyes, Anton replied, “It’s my duty to follow my pahkhan’s orders.”

I fought to keep my lip from curling in disgust at Anton’s overt allegiance to my father. Instead, I forced myself to smile at him. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

A pleased expression came over his face. “You have my word that no harm will come to you on this mission.”

“Aren’t you supposed to manhandle me?” I countered.

Dima grunted. “Give it a rest, Mila.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I argued, “Is it not part of the plan that he grabs me to get Kellan’s attention?”

Dima exchanged a glance with Anton. “We’ve tweaked that part of the plan.”

My jaw unhinged. “Excuse me?”

“To truly solidify his protectiveness, we think it’s better if Kellan has your attention before Anton enters the picture.”

I swept my hands to my hips. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Mila–”

“Despite not being a part of Bratva, I know enough that you don’t make a last minute change to a well rehearsed plan.”

“It’s only a tweak,” Anton argued.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And what exactly is this alleged tweak?”

Clearing his throat, Dima replied, “We want you to approach Kellan and ask him to dance. That way it lends a little more credence to Anton’s possessive reaction.”

After shooting Dima a death glare, I argued, “That’s more than a little tweak. That involves a hell of a lot more than just me pretending to be assaulted.”

Quirking his brows, Dima challenged, “How hard can it possibly be to ask the bastard to dance?”

“It’s a whole different persona than being a damsel in distress. I have to be flirty and…”

I swallowed the word confident . The last thing I needed was for my brothers and Anton to have a view into my self-esteem issues. Any therapist would have a Freudian field day with how my “daddy issues” bled into my relationships with men.

Or lack thereof I should say.

With a contemplative expression, Anton said, “Would you feel better if you practiced flirting on me?”

“Fuck no!” I snapped back.

While Anton jerked back like I’d slapped him, Aleks chuckled. “Easy with the claws, Mils.”

I glared back at him. “They’ll stay out and sharp as long as I’m being disrespected by keeping me in the dark until the last minute and being expected to perform like a puppet.”

Dima held his hands up. “‘You’re right. We’re sorry.”

Both Aleks and Anton nodded in agreement. “Whatever,” I grumbled as I smoothed my hands over my scrap of a dress.

One of the flight crew poked her head from behind the curtain. Her face recoiled slightly at the tense atmosphere. “Uhm, please take your seats as we’re about to land.”

After flopping down onto a smooth leather seat, I buckled my seatbelt. Once the others did the same, I pursed my lips at them. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Everything else is staying to plan,” Dima replied.

Leaning forward in his seat, Anton asked with an air of condescension, “Would you like us to go over it again just to be clear?”

My manicured nails curled into the hand rests.

Smiling sweetly at Anton, I said, “Let’s see if I’ve got it.

I play flirty Mya and hit on Kellan. If he’s as honorable as everyone claims, he’ll nicely turn me down.

He might even give me the noble excuse that he can’t because he’s working, so it won’t hurt my precious bimbo feelings–”

“Jesus,” Dima grumbled.

Ignoring him, I continued. “When he does, I’ll try even harder. I’ll bat these ridiculously fake eyelashes that have been forced on me. Maybe I’ll even dance up on him. Rub my scantily dressed ass against his crotch.” Wagging my brows, I said, “See if I can get a rise out of him.”

As Anton shifted uncomfortably, Aleks snickered behind his hand. “While I’m either chatting him up or dry humping him, my ex–” I give Anton a pointed look, “That’s you, right?”

After exchanging a slightly panicked look with Dima, Anton replied, “Uh, yeah.”

“Anyway, my ex comes stomping up. Although he’s not supposed to be Bratva, he sees his women just like they do–possessions to be controlled and demeaned.”

At that moment, I was no longer in the Korolova jet. Instead, I spirited back to my childhood apartment. The metallic smell of blood and acrid gunsmoke.

“Like Bratva men, he gets physical when women don’t do what he wants. I mean, thank God for Saint Kellan Kavanaugh or I might get beaten up. Or even worse, I might get a bullet–”

“Stop it,” Dima growled.

Bringing my hand to my heart, I feigned surprise. “I’m sorry, brother. I was just drawing on my personal experience to help play my part.”

“You’re being a bitch, and you know it.”

Nodding, I replied, “Yes, I am. I once heard that sometimes being a bitch is the only thing a woman has to hold on to.”

I was a teenager when I read that line in Stephen King’s Dolores Claiborne. It stayed with me ever since. And more often than not, I’d clung to that ideal. In the end, being a high riding bitch, as King said, saved me.

Jabbing his finger at me, Dima said, “Lose the attitude. It won’t fly with Kellan.”

With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Of course I won’t use it with him. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get into that office.”

“You have the syringe?” Anton asked warily.

I waved the glittering clutch at him. “Sure do. And before you can ask, yes, I have the devices ready for his cell and his computer.” Tilting my head at him, I replied, “This isn’t my first time at the seduction rodeo.”

With a grunt, Dima reached into his suit pocket. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held up my listening device. “This is a two way for you to speak and hear in case anything goes south.”

I reached over and took it from him. After slipping it into my ear canal, I nodded. “Got it.”

He gave me a pointed look. “And I mean it, Mila. If anything goes wrong, we’ll be right outside in an unmarked van. You have my word that you won’t get hurt.”

Although his compassion touched me, I merely bobbed my head. “Got it.”

As the jet skidded along the runway, I closed my eyes and prepared to get into the zone.