Page 62 of Ruthless Creatures

Oh god. How is this my life?

Looking interested and not at all surprised by this bizarre development, Sloane rolls Kage’s ring between her fingers. “What would the mafia be doing in Lake Tahoe? Snowmobiling?”

Kage says, “Gambling. Skimming from casinos here and in Reno. Running illegal gaming operations.” With a small, lethal smile, he glances at Stavros. “Isn’t that right?”

Stavros sits stiffly in his chair, looking like he’s wishing he were anywhere else on earth. “Exclusively online.”

When Kage lifts his brows, Stavros clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “I own a software company.”

“Ah.”

When he doesn’t add more and only continues to give Stavros a challenging stare, Stavros drops his gaze to the table.

He murmurs, “We’d be pleased to pay tribute to Maxim any amount he feels fair to continue operations.”

“In arrears, as well.”

A muscle in Stavros’s jaw works. “Of course.”

I say, “Wonderful. Glad we’ve got that all worked out. Please excuse me for a moment.”

I push back my chair and walk toward the restaurant’s entrance, my cheeks burning hot and my pulse flying. I don’t know exactly where I’m headed, only that I needed to get away from that table.

I knew it.

Iknewhe was dangerous from the moment I set eyes on him.

The question is, why didn’t I run away?

At the hostess’s stand, I make an abrupt right turn toward the bathrooms. The corridor keeps going past the two doors, ending in another door that I push through.

I find myself in an employee break room. A square table surrounded by chairs sits in the middle of the room. There’s a stack of metal lockers on one wall. A TV hangs from another. Aside from me, it’s deserted.

Before I can collapse into the nearest chair, Kage bursts through the door.

“Stop,” I say firmly, wagging my finger at him as he approaches. “Stay right there. Don’t take another step.”

He ignores that and stalks closer.

“I’m serious, Kage! Or is itKazimir? I don’t want to talk to you right now!”

He growls, “I don’t want to talk to you, either,” and grabs me.

My yelp of surprise is cut off by a hard, demanding kiss.

He drags my head back with a hand fisted in my hair and ravages my mouth until I’m breathless. He’s got one of my arms pinned behind my back, holding me firmly by the wrist, but my other hand pushes against his chest.

It’s useless. He’s too strong.

He kisses me until I make a small, pleading sound in my throat. Then he pulls away, breathing just as hard as I am.

He says roughly, “You knew I wasn’t a choir boy.”

“If you think that’s getting you off the hook, think again.”

“I told you I wasn’t a good man.”

“You didn’t tell me you were the head of the Russian mafia.”