Page 8 of Brutal Secrets

She catches my eye and smiles. I wave and rise from the sofa, but my best friend grabs my arm and yanks me backward.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sasha looks over at the bar and sees the bottle of champagne our boss is pouring into his own glass. He goes to top up my golden-haired angel’s glass, but she puts a hand over the top and smiles sweetly at him. Everything about her is sweet, from her hair that smells of flowers to her lilting southern accent.

“Leave her to the Night Governor. He’ll take care of her,” Sasha says, tilting his head to the side as he looks between me and the scene at the bar.

“Guelman has never taken care of anyone in his life. He’ll use her and discard her.” With a sense of foreboding, I look between the woman I’ve become fascinated by and the looming figure of Yevgeny Guelman.

Sasha’s eyes rove around the room, taking in the drunk American music executive and the last remaining strippers before landing back on our boss, who flashes his gold tooth at us with a malevolent grin. “She’s a star. She’ll be okay. Anyway, what do you care?” He shrugs.

“I don’t,” I say, cupping the back of my neck and shifting from foot to foot until Sasha slaps me on the back and starts laughing.

“Fuck me. Little Vadim’s got a crush.”

“Piss off. She’s not interested.” I turn back toward the bar and watch the way the light plays across her gold curls and olive skin. She’s so fucking beautiful.

“The way she keeps looking over at you says otherwise, but I think the Night Governor’s got his eyes on her, so you better move fast if you want any action.” Sasha grins at me, his teeth flashing blue under the strobe lights.

Guelman slides his arm around the singer’s shoulders, and she stiffens. Strange that she can sense enough to be afraid of him, but she needed rescuing from a man who must be much less dangerous.

As if on cue, her puffed-up manager starts making his way toward her at the bar, and I can’t stand it another second. She’s mine. I elbow my way through the thinning crowd until I’m right behind her, and her whole face lights up in a smile when she sees me.

“Zolotaya,” I say, damning myself for not asking her name, but she steps into my side for the second time this evening. I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her into the shelter of my body.

Guelman looks at the pair of us, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating how he might use the connection to his advantage.

“Kesera was the star attraction tonight. Are you escorting her to Antonov’s after-party?” Guelman says. The Night Governor gives me a pointed look, making clear this suggestion is only a little short of an order. It’s an order the little songbird doesn’t want me to obey.

She laughs and plasters herself against me, her fingers digging sharply into my waist. “I’m a bit jetlagged.”

Sasha sidles up to the boss, leans near his ear, and says something under his breath. Guelman nods, glancing briefly at both of us before stepping away to talk with Sasha at the end of the bar. I continue watching as Sasha holds up his phone and points to a text. The boss shakes his head, then starts back toward us.

“Business calls me away. I will leave you with Vadim.” He leans down to press a kiss to her cheek and looks at me from beneath hooded eyelids. She shrinks from his touch, and he smiles like her fear gives him a personal thrill. “I trust you won’t make a mess of this. Do your best to show the talent some of Moscow’s culture. I’m sure a lady like this would like to see more than your usual shabby haunts.”

He stands to his full height and turns toward the door. Sasha follows him, stopping to talk to one of the girls before winking at me.

The singer at my side stiffens. I step around her, gently turn her to face me, and cup her shoulders, kneading her tight muscles and running my hands back and forth along the narrow line of her back, trying to transmit that I mean her no harm.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I didn’t even ask your name.” I smile and let my hand drift into the curls at the nape of her neck.

“Kesera,” she says. Her head sinks into my palm, and she looks up at me with dilated pupils.

“Do you want me to drop you back at your hotel, or do you want to stay with me for a while? I can show you a bit of the city if you’d like?” I can’t think why she’d choose to come with me, but for some reason, I hope she will.

She glances around the bar before her eyes drift shut, then turns her face into the heel of my hand, as if seeking comfort. I massage the back of her head with fingers that feel overly large and clumsy before she opens sleepy eyes and whispers, “I’ll take my chances with you. If that’s okay.”

I pull her against my body and wrap my arms around her. “More than okay,” I say softly into her hair before taking her hand and leading her to the corner where Sasha is pouring himself another shot of vodka. I watch him down the drink. He’s on the road to oblivion.

“You off?” Sasha lapses into Russian, pulling car keys from his pocket and throwing them to me. “Where are you heading?”

I catch the keys, which he throws a little too wide so I have to drop my arm from Kesera’s shoulders. “Out for a bit, but she’s tired. Maybe I’ll take her to the dacha.”

“The dacha? We don’t take anyone there.” Sasha’s brows draw together in a dark line when I bring up our house in the woods.

Is it wrong to want to steal a moment away from the dark energy of Moscow? I think about the snow and silence and the small wooden house in a clearing in the trees. The way the light filters through the branches and glints on the snow. The dacha is our sanctuary, and I don’t take anyone there, because I don’t want the place contaminated with anything that can follow me home. I haven’t taken a girl there for years. Not since Sasha’s sister.

But this is different. It will be over before it begins.

“We don’t take anyone we might see again,” I say. “This is temporary. It’s clean. She’s not part of our world, and when do I have time to meet someone like that?”

---