Page 87 of Blood in the Water

This was the perfect time for me to slip back upstairs.

The dragon laughed while he took my lips in a deep, slow, and patient kiss. By the end, I was a puddle.

“If you wait, I’ll come find you later, and we can finish what we started.”

For a moment, I considered it. But this was only a fun distraction, a reward for a mission well done. I had to get back upstairs before Ciel or Wynn knew I had left.

I stood. “I’ll see you later, dragon.”

Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. But I would count this mission to the nightclub as successful in more ways than one.

I didn’t turn around again, but I felt his eyes on my ass as I slipped from the office and headed back down the stairs.

I hadn’t met Ryuji yet, but when I did, I’d have to tell him his manager deserved a raise.

32

RYUJI

That woman’sass.

A literal work of art.

Not to mention her pussy.

She’d scurried out of my office five minutes ago, but the sight of her hips swaying from side to side, with her come still on my tongue, hadn’t left me. And those weapons underneath her skirt. Fuck me. I was getting hard again.

I’d never eaten a woman out with a handgun right next to my face, but hell, that was exhilarating. I hadn’t come to the club to play tonight, but that woman made the visit well worth my time.

Fucking sucked that Makarov had chosen to interrupt me amid the most fun I’d had in weeks. He better have a damn good reason.

“Send him in.” I straightened my suit jacket and poured a glass of scotch from the wet bar. I wanted to savor the taste of her, but I needed a drink if I was going to deal with the Russians tonight.

The general manager of my club, Alec, opened the door, and Konstantin Makarov sauntered inside, with two of his men following close behind.

The man was young to be a head, only thirty-one, but he was also deviously sharp. At six-five, with a mess of blond curls and a jaw that could cut glass, he was also one of my good friends. We’d met in Russia when we were kids since my old boss in the Yakuza owed his grandfather a life debt. The Makarovs were as close to a family as I’d ever known.

“What can I do for the head of the Bratva?” I took a sip. Oh, how I loved the burn of scotch going down my throat.

“Ryuji,” he said in greeting. “Care to explain how some of the product sold in your club killed one of my men?”

I almost choked on my drink. “Excuse me? I thought you were going to say you’re at fucking war, and you want my help.”

He tossed a packet of white powder onto my desk. I stared at it, trying to contain my scoff. Was he serious?

“Konstantin, I’m afraid I can’t be held liable for one man’s addiction.”

“My patience is thin, Ryuji,” his voice took on an edge. “You need to take care of this. Immediately.”

“Explainyourself, Kostya,” I demanded, now entirely annoyed enough to use his childhood nickname. How dare he come into my club and start throwing around accusations? Especially after interrupting me right in the middle of my dessert?

“I tested it. It’s laced with enough additives to kill a fucking horse.”

I threw back the rest of my drink, sucked in a breath, and exhaled slowly. “So why are you here and not breaking down the doors of the Italians who youknowhave stolen your drugs and cut them with additives?”

“Oh, trust me, I am. But he bought it here, and that’s a problem.”

“You’re sure?” I didn’t sell drugs myself, but I did allow certain groups to, so long as they paid me for the privilege. Ifthose dealers were selling bad drugs in my clubs, there would be hell to pay.