Page 30 of Mikhail Petrov

Leah notes my hesitation and looks at the screen.

“Forget him,” she says, shaking her head. “This is about us. None of them matter.” “You’re right. I don’t give a single fuck about what he thinks about me. But—” “Mikhail...” There’s a tremor in her voice. “You better choose your next words wisely.”

I frame her face and sigh. “Pretty girl—”

“Oh, fuck you!” Shoving me back, she bolts toward her snowmobile and turns the engine. “Leah, wait,” I call, but she takes off before I can get another word in. “Goddamnit.”

CHAPTER 14

LEAH

Red lights in the distance draw my attention as I break the forest line and reach the end of an embankment. I don’t give myself time to sit and sulk because the tears searing the backs of my eyes are threatening to spill over, and I’m done crying.

The moon is high in the sky, illuminating the thin layer of fresh snow on a concrete walkway leading toward what looks to be a small tavern.

Exactly what I need. A fucking drink, or ten.

I make the short trek across the way, but pause and glance at the tree line, half-expecting to see Mikhail emerging in a rage. But it’s eerily quiet, and I hate that a part of me is worried if he’s lost or cold...or...

Stop it.

Pushing that man out of my thoughts, I tug at the heavy metal door and step through the threshold. A little bell signaling my arrival chimes above my head. In an instant, the entire establishment goes silent. All heads turn in my direction, a flurry of whispers reaching my ears.

Fuck. Where in the wrong turn am I?

Taking in the faces of the patrons, all men, it’s obvious they’re not used to seeing someone like me, especially stumbling in on such a cold night.

I sigh and decide right then I have exactly zero fucks left to give.

And this girl needs a drink. But it doesn’t take long for disappointment to rear its ugly head when I realize I don’t have my wallet.

Seconds tick by, and I know I have to make a decision or risk looking like a fucking loose cannon just standing here, doing and saying nothing. A low whistle echoes from somewhere to my left, and it dawns on me then—when have I ever paid for my own drink?

“It’s warm in here,” I say in my most sultry voice as I fan myself for extra theatrics. It’s not a lie. Hot air blazes from a vent on the ceiling directly above me.

The need for a moment of relief from life is greater than my pride, so I slide my zipper down to my hips and pull my arms free from the sleeves. Another wave of complete silence falls over the tavern, and the heat of every single pair of eyes sears into me.

Zero fucks.

I pull out a stool at the bar, and the bartender approaches with a sly smile. “Ma’am, can I start you anything.”

“A water,” I say, pretending to look over a menu. He nods and pours me a glass.

“You lost or something, sweetheart?” a man with short blond hair and a clean shave asks as he slides onto the stool beside mine.

Here we go.

“Well, seeing as I’m exactly where I intended to be, the answer is no, I’m not.”

He chuckles and rubs his hairless chin.

“Well, I like that answer. Can I buy you a drink?” Leaning in a little too closely, he places a hand on the back of my chair and glances at my glass of water before returning his gaze to my tits. “Do you drink, Miss...?”

“Lena,” I reply, trying not to roll my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

Just one drink.

“How about I have Anderson here make you one of his specials.” I raise an eyebrow, alarms going off as I catch the bartender wink in what he thinks is a subtle gesture.

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