Page 14

Time didn’t matter here. For all I knew, it could’ve been hours. When the crowd thickened, hinting it was already early morning, I stepped aside to grab a drink, needing a moment to breathe.

Alisa poured her heart into the dance, spinning and laughing under the spotlight. So free. It tugged at my lips, forcing a small smile.

It was too easy to forget what was waiting beyond the entrance. For a second, as I watched the bride, I felt light. I’d forgotten the past and didn’t care about the future.

Her green eyes locked on me from the edge of the crowd. I pointed to the VIP section upstairs, silently asking. She shook her head.

“Enjoy,” I mouthed before turning toward the staircase.

The couches upstairs were empty; the guests partied throughout the building, most of them beyond drunk.

Open bottles of expensive vodka cluttered the tables.

Ilya had told the staff not to clean up.

The mess, apparently, was a sign of a good time.

I rolled my eyes. Vodka and tea were the two things Russians could consume by the gallon.

I sought out a dark corner of the room, needing to cool down and be alone for a moment. Bow after bow, I untied my heels and kicked them off.

The soft carpet beneath my feet made me curse Ilya for not choosing a stone floor, which I would’ve welcomed more.

Leaning my head back against the wall, I let out a long breath, trying to release the tension and focus on the music.

The familiar rhythm brought back memories of all the times I’d used this space as therapy.

Still, the cooling effect I hoped for didn’t come.

Sighing, I made myself comfortable on the nearest couch.

Laid out flat, glaring at the ceiling, I watched the party lights swirl above me in an explosion of colors. They blurred together, spinning just enough to make my head feel light, maybe even high. But I stared, letting them hypnotize me.

Red. Green. Blue. Purple. Black.

“Do you plan on staring all night?” I asked, my voice cutting through the music like a blade.

Seconds passed before I addressed the man looming above me. I had felt his presence for a while but didn’t move, content to let him reveal his intentions first.

His shadow stretched over me as he leaned closer, his frame teetering dangerously at the edge of the couch. For a moment, I braced for his body to collapse onto mine. Somehow, he held steady, his weight suspended, trapping me beneath the heavy darkness he cast.

I turned my head, finally facing the intruder who looked even less put together than before .

His light brown hair, once neatly styled, was now a ruffled mess, like someone had dragged their hands through the slightly curly strands one too many times. His shirt hung open, more buttons undone than seemed necessary. The scent of strong cologne tangled with cigarettes carried on the air.

Colored ink teased through the damp fabric of his white dress shirt, tempting my thoughts to spiral. My fingers twitched with the urge to rip the fabric away, to shred it apart and see what lay beneath.

“Depends,” he rasped, his voice thick with something dangerous I couldn’t quite place.

“On what?”

The anticipation hung between us, but my pulse remained steady.

“On how long it’ll take to get my fill of you.”

I eyed him, intrigued. It surprised me how quickly he’d sought me out. I was painfully aware this was our first conversation, drunk, high on adrenaline, and surrounded by the lust that poisoned the room. The smoke the DJ pumped out wasn’t laced with anything, but it sure felt like it was.

The game tugged at me, so I played along. “What if it’s years?”

“Then I pray I have many to come.”

The weight of his words settled in, the darkness he cast over me a familiar feeling.

“You don’t strike me as a believer.”

Bent over the couch, he neared me. “Even sinners can pray if it’s worth asking for.”

Instinctively, my head lifted, drawing close to his.

“And am I?” I rasped. “Worth asking for?” A stupid question. I knew my worth wasn’t something to be measured. It shouldn’t be.

His eyes studied me, seeing too much and revealing just enough.

“It’s me who’s unworthy.”

With a swift motion, he kicked the shoes aside, letting them fall to the floor. The seat beside me cleared before he claimed it .

“It won’t stop me from selfishly taking what I want.”

When my toes brushed the fabric of his dress pants, he effortlessly lifted both feet with one hand. With a slight pull, he placed them in his lap, keeping a firm grip on my ankle.

I let it happen.

Instead, I focused on the tattooed hand that held me. Letters in Cyrillic sprawled across his knuckles, spelling out words I long lost the meaning of.

There wasn’t a free spot to be seen on his skin. His entire chest, peeking from the hem of his shirt, was covered in ink. Some even stretched beyond, forming a permanent turtleneck of art.

His gaze never left my face. Like a sunbeam, the intensity of it burned a hole right through my skin.

I couldn’t quite place whether it was pure attraction reflected in his eyes, or if he was trying to decode me like a ticking bomb. Enzo mentioned Maxim had asked around, but I didn’t think he was interested. Not after he’d witnessed the exchange with Malek earlier.

Any sane man would stay away from me. Even across the street would be too close. If not for my reputation alone, then for my connections.

Locked in this endless battle of wills, we sized each other up. This close, his eyes were magnetic. I’d never seen a shade of green like that before.

Rare was the only word that came close to describing them. Even if you mixed the greenest grass with the deepest blues of the ocean, you still wouldn’t come close to the original. No mix of paints could do the shade justice.

He had that going for him. And so much more.

Like all these gangsters, he exuded the same level of confidence and self-assurance, but somehow, he made strength, raw power, look effortless.

I could tell he was tall, probably about 6’4”, with broad shoulders packed with muscle.

He was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt. The number of hits he’d carried out for the Bratva was up there with mine .

Maybe that’s what I was after. Someone on my level to keep up with. Even to compete against.

Sure, the shape of his body helped. And that unfiltered mouth.

Fuck.

We were so similar it was almost questionable. If we clashed, the world might never recover. Everybody knows the same side of the coin can’t coexist in one.

By this point, though, I was far too gone.

Blame the decision on the mood. The darkness of the night that would hide this sin, swallowing it among the others.

In a sea full of sinners, what’s one more drop?

There was something he awakened in me. I allowed myself this moment, another selfish decision. I followed the attraction, accepting what was happening.

His gaze lit a fire in my belly, his stare feral, probably matching my own.

Reading the room’s mood or my mind in one swift move, Maxim pulled me toward him.

His hands settled on my hips, thumbs digging into my skin. With a firm grip, he lifted me like a rag doll, placing me in his lap.

The action was infuriating, but as his hard-on pressed against where we touched, I couldn’t deny the satisfaction I felt from the effect I had on him.

A buildup of pent-up emotions, sexual frustration, and teasing tension swirled inside me.

I was seconds from losing control. But losing the upper hand wasn’t an option, so I pulled myself together, asserting control in this fucked-up power play by grabbing hold of his neck.

He upped the stakes when his giant hand tangled in my hair, yanking the waves harshly. The stretch forced me to face him head-on. There was nowhere to hide. Not that I wanted to.

Eyes darting, he studied me, our faces dangerously close. I didn’t cave under pressure, meeting his gaze with my own .

“No tongue this time?” he mocked, referencing our previous encounter.

I moistened my bottom lip, provocatively flashing my tongue, swiping it in slow motions. “Saving it for later.”

The man didn’t hesitate, grabbing hold of it and gently pulling before letting go.

Just to fuck with me. Because he can. Because I let him.

I gritted my teeth at the audacity. “I don’t like being played with.”

A sardonic breath escaped him. “I don’t like being lied to.”

The moment stretched, and I resisted the urge to slap him across that charming face. His grip tightened, the strands of my hair wrapped around his fingers, making me groan.

A puff of air escaped me, bouncing off his face. I didn’t get to take another breath before he had me facing backward.

Turned around, I leaned against his chest, my hands secured in his grip. A position I was vulnerable in, one I would never allow myself to be in on any other day. Today, I seemed to let go of everything I’d once deemed important.

Confidence in my abilities made it easier to let things happen, to give up control.

Despite the danger, despite being vulnerable, I still believed I was safe.

I still felt in charge of the situation.

With him, it felt almost natural. I credited the power, the record he held, that placed him above any other.

Maybe it was this damn club casting its spell on me, making me ignore reason every time I entered.

The hardness of his body pressed against mine, and the exposed back of my dress allowed our skin to meet. It wasn’t just the heat between us that had me worked up. I wanted him. Wanted him so fucking bad. Right here, right now. I couldn’t care about anything but the desire building inside me.

Is someone going to walk in on us? Are there workers behind the bar? Let them watch .

He shoved my thighs apart, moving in sync with me, his knee pressing between them. One hand wrapped around my neck, the other sliding down my chest. His thumb circled my nipple, the lack of a bra? Good choice.

One more circle, then he pinched. Hard.