In true Sloane form, she looks fantastic. She’s wearing a short, tight white dress that exposes acres of cleavage and a pair of red fuck-me stiletto heels that show off her legs.
The men with her all wear identical black suits with white dress shirts and black ties.
They’re all young and well built. They all have dark, slicked-back hair. I can’t tell whose gold watch is bigger.
If it wasn’t for the matching tattoos on their knuckles and the backs of their hands, I’d think they were stockbrokers.
Or morticians.
“You okay?” I ask Kage, standing stiffly beside me in the entrance to the dining room.
He stares so hard at the three men, I’m surprised they don’t explode.
He says, “You know them?”
“No. I’ve never met any of them before. Why?”
“Because they’re trouble.”
But not too much trouble for him to handle, apparently, because he’s already pulling me toward their table.
When Sloane spots me, she grins and waves. The men surrounding her look over at us.
Then something strange happens.
Upon laying eyes on Kage, every one of them falls perfectly still. Their eyes sharpen. Though none move a single muscle, they gain an edge to their posture, as if poised to fight.
“Um…Kage?”
“No matter what happens, let me handle it. You’ll be fine.”
“Why do I feel like we’re walking into a lion’s den?”
His chuckle is dark and humorless. “We’re not. They are.”
Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me.
Even before we reach the table, all three men are on their feet. Sensing the sudden change in atmosphere, Sloane looks back and forth between them and us, her brows lifted.
“Hey, babe,” she says to me, her voice neutral. Even if she were unnerved—which she isn’t, she never loses her cool—no one listening would know it. “You look amazing. Kage, nice to see you again.”
She smiles at him. He sends her a cursory nod.
She turns to the man on her right. He seems like the leader of the three, though I don’t know how I know that. He just has an air of power about him. Like he’s used to calling the shots.
She says, “Nat and Kage, this is Stavros. Stavros, Nat and Kage.”
I say, “Hi, Stavros. Nice to meet you.”
He doesn’t answer. He and Kage are too busy doing a weird glare-off. So Sloane turns to the men on her other side. “And this is Alex and Nick.”
The shorter one says, “Alexei.”
The other one corrects her, too, with a curt “Nickolai.”
They’re both looking at Kage when they speak.
Sloane gives me a baffled look, as if to say, That’s news to me.
Finally, Stavros tears his gaze from Kage’s. From the corner of my eye, I see Kage smirk.
I know what he’s thinking: he made Stavros blink first.
I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.
Very formal and serious, Stavros says to me, “Natalie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sloane has told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you so well.”
There’s a faint hint of innuendo in his voice when he says the last part. Around his lips plays a slight, provocative smile. He looks me up and down, taking his time, enjoying it.
That crackle on my left is Kage, bristling.
I squeeze his hand and say pleasantly, “Thank you, Stavros. Sloane has told me about you, too.” I turn to the other two. “It’s nice to meet you both as well.”
They dip their chins to me in unison, but don’t take their eyes off Kage.
For fuck’s sake. In an instant, I lose patience with the weirdness.
I direct my question to Stavros. “Is there a problem here? Because I’m happy to go sit at another table if there is.”
Sloane protests, while surprise flashes in Stavros’s eyes. He quickly quashes it, then says smoothly, “Of course not. Please, join us.”
He sits. The other two follow. Then Kage is pulling out my chair, bending over me as I sit and murmuring, “And you say I’m direct.”
I murmur back, “Life’s too short to sit through pissing contests.”
He tries to suppress a smile, but I don’t miss it.
The moment everyone’s seated, the weirdness begins again. I haven’t even gotten a menu when Stavros says to Kage, “Do you have family here?”
What a strange question. That’s what he leads with? And why does it sound like he’s really asking something else?
The situation grows even more odd with Kage’s reply.
“Here. Boston. Chicago. New York.”
“New York?” says Stavros, his voice a shade sharper. “Whereabouts?”
“All five boroughs. But primarily Manhattan.” His smile is bland. “That’s where I came up.”
Came up? Doesn’t he mean grew up?
Alexei and Nickolai glance at one another.
Sloane and I share a look across the table.
Kage and Stavros haven’t glanced at anyone else.
His voice betraying nothing, Stavros says, “I’m originally from Manhattan as well. Perhaps I know your family. What’s your surname?”
Fed up with whatever the hell is going on, I decide to answer for him. “It’s Porter. Right, Kage?”
After a beat of silence, Kage says softly, “Porter is the Anglicized version. When my parents came to this country from Russia, it was Portnov.”
The sudden freeze that comes over Stavros, Alexi, and Nickolai is arctic.
His face draining of blood, Stavros whispers, “Kazimir?”
Kage doesn’t answer. He simply smiles.
After a moment, his face white and his tone subdued, Stavros says, “Ja izvinjajus. Ja ne xotel vas oskorbit.”
Kage answers with a kingly nod of his head. “Apology accepted. Let’s eat.”
I’m too busy putting two and two together to eat.
I was always shit at math, but this equation is too obvious to miss, even for me.
When Kage told me he was a criminal, he didn’t mean the garden-variety kind. Your average criminal doesn’t buy houses with cash or pilot his own plane or scare the living shit out of three dudes who look like they scare the living shit out of everyone else.
Your average criminal doesn’t understand Russian.
The kind of crime Kage is involved with is organized.
And from the looks of things, he’s running the organization.
I moisten my lips, heart hammering. Noticing my sudden anxiety, Kage hands me my water glass and commands, “Drink.”
I finish the whole thing, wishing it was vodka.
Meanwhile, Sloane watches the unfolding events as if she’s sitting front row at a sold-out Broadway play that she’s been holding tickets to for months.
There’s nothing more the girl loves than drama.
Well, dick. But also drama.
She says brightly, “Isn’t this fun! You guys know each other! Such a small world, don’t you think?”
The three Russians don’t make a peep.
Kage chuckles.
I sit still and try not to let my brain leak out all over my dress.
Kage is in the mafia.
The first man I’ve had feelings for in more than five years is a Russian mobster.
If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.
The waiter arrives to take our drink orders. Kage tells him to bring the wine list. Then he orders two glasses of Caymus Chardonnay for me and Sloane. It’s the same wine we were drinking at Downrigger’s the night I first saw him.
I’m getting the impression he doesn’t miss much.
That must come in handy in his line of work.
When the waiter asks Stavros what he’d like to drink, he tells him he and his companions will have whatever Kage is having.
The table falls into silence when the waiter leaves. I’d say uncomfortable silence, but the Russians and I are the only ones who seem unsettled. Kage looks like a king holding court, and Sloane looks like she’s having the time of her life.
She leans an elbow on the table and smiles at him. “I like your rings, Kage. That skull is badass.”
He gazes at her. After a moment, he exhales a short breath through his nostrils. It’s a laugh, but one that seems to say he knows she’s trouble.
“Thank you.”
“What’s the other one? The signet thingie.”
He slides it off his finger and holds it out to her. She takes it, then examines it with quirked lips.
“Memento mori,” she reads. “What does that mean?”
“Remember death.”
Startled, she glances up at him. The Russians on either side of her sit perfectly still, their expressions blank and their postures rigid.
I’m sitting still too, but my heart definitely isn’t. It’s about to break right out of my chest.
Sloane grimaces. “Remember death? That’s morbid.”
“It’s Latin. Literally translated, it’s ‘Remember that you must die.’ Legend goes that ancient Roman emperors used to hire slaves to whisper it in their ears during victory parades so they’d be reminded that earthly pleasures are fleeting. That no matter how powerful or great a man was, death would eventually find him.”
He shifts his gaze to Stavros. His lips lift to a small smile. “Death eventually finds us all.”
“It was supposed to be a motivator to lead a meaningful life. It also created a major art movement that had its heyday in the sixteenth century.”
Everyone looks at me.
I swallow. My throat is as dry as bone. My entire body feels like a memento mori sculpture, knowing as I now do precisely who Kage is.
What he is.
“Skulls, decaying food, wilting flowers, bubbles, hourglasses, guttering candles…memento mori artwork features symbolism about the fleetingness of life.” I look at Kage. My voice only shakes a little bit. “All the same symbols you have tattooed on your body.”
His gaze on me is soft, and so is his voice when he answers. “Among others.”
Yes, I’ve seen the others. When I spied on him hitting his punching bag through his living room window.
“Like those stars on your shoulders. What do those mean?”
“High rank.”
I whisper, “In the mafia.”
He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Yes.”
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.
I knew he 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 it Kazimir? 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 choirboy.”
“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.”
“I’m not the head.” He pauses. “He’s in prison. I’m second-in-command.”
“Jesus!”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
My laugh is caustic. “Seriously? That’s your argument for why I should keep seeing you?”
His eyes flare. There’s something dangerous in his gaze. Something animal.
I’ve never seen him look more handsome.
He growls, “No. This is my argument for why you should keep seeing me.”
He kisses me again, so ravenously, I’m bent back at the waist.
Part of me wants to break away. Wants to bite his tongue and tell him to go back to whatever hellhole he came from and leave me alone forever.
The bigger part of me—the stupider part, apparently—wants everything he’s got to give me and doesn’t give two flying fucks about anything else.
It’s really too bad I haven’t had sex for so long. I think my sad and lonely vagina has now hijacked my entire body.
He pushes me against the wall. His mouth is hot and demanding. His big hands rove all over me, squeezing and fondling, staking a claim.
My arms find their way around his broad shoulders. I kiss him back, just as hungrily as he’s kissing me, my ambivalence pushed aside for the moment. The sheer pleasure of tasting him and feeling him against me suddenly takes priority over everything else.
I can hate him later. Right now, I’m out of my head.
This—this is why people make bad decisions in love.
This feeling of euphoria. This pulse-pounding, skin-burning, soul-baring feeling of being so completely alive. This pleasure that starts as an ache and explodes into fireworks with something as simple as a touch.
This raw, bone-deep sense that no matter how wrong it is, it’s still overwhelmingly right.
Kage thrusts his hand underneath my dress and between my legs.
Into my ear, he says gruffly, “Go ahead. Tell me you don’t want me. Say you don’t want to see me again. Tell me any lie you want, but this sweet pussy will tell me the truth. You’re soaked right through your fucking panties.”
I want to scream in frustration.
But only because he’s right.
When he takes my lips again, I moan into his mouth. It makes him growl. He kisses me deeply, rubbing his hand against my panties, until my body takes over and my hips start to move.
Cheeks burning, body shaking, I part my thighs and rock against his hand.
He says hotly into my ear, “You want my mouth, don’t you, beautiful girl? You want me to eat this wet little pussy until you come on my face.”
I mumble a denial. It only makes him laugh.
“Yes, you do.” When he pinches my swollen clit through the cotton of my panties, I jerk, moaning. It makes him even hotter.
He whispers, “Yes, you fucking do. You want my tongue and my fingers and my cock all at the same time. You want me exactly as much as I want you. You want to give me all of you, and that makes me fucking crazy because I know you don’t give that to anyone else.”
He slides his fingers under my panties, stroking my wet folds, teasing the bud of my clit with his thumb.
“Say the word and I’ll get on my knees and make you come. I’ll make you come with my mouth, then I’ll fuck you up against this wall and make you come on my cock while I suck on those perfect tits of yours.”
I’m panting. Delirious. “Someone will see us. Someone will walk in—”
“I locked the door.”
He slides his finger deep inside me.
I arch my back, gasping and clutching his shoulders. “Kage—”
“Yes, baby. Say my name when I make you come.”
His voice is a husky rumble at my ear. His scent is in my nose. He’s big and hot and all around me, overpowering me, making my vision blur and my blood turn to fire.
When he kisses me again, I give in.
With a little moan, I bend my knee and slide my leg up to his hip. It opens me wider. He responds with a grunt of approval from deep inside his chest and kisses me so hard I grow dizzy.
Then he starts to work his big finger in and out while rubbing small circles over my clit with the rough pad of his thumb.
It doesn’t take long. I’m too hungry. Too needy. Too desperate for him.
When my orgasm hits, I lose myself.
My head falls back. I cry out. I convulse against him, my shoulders pressed against the wall and my pelvis jerking against his hand. Hard, rhythmic contractions in my core rock me over and over.
Kage whispers roughly, “Fuck, yes, baby. I can feel that. You’re coming so fucking hard. Next, you’re gonna let me feel that all over my cock.”
A sob escapes my throat. Long and rock-hard, his erection digs into my thigh. I might be losing my mind from pleasure.
Then a gunshot rings out, ruining the mood altogether.
