Page 33 of Any Means Necessary

“I’ve never eaten here before. What’s your favorite dish on the menu…” Lexie looks up at his name tag. “Blake.” The smile she offers him is far too warm and inviting. And I don’t miss the way Blake eyes her chest. More than once.

“I would recommend the center cut filet. It’s so tender, it melts in your mouth.” My grip on my fork tightens. Could he be any more brazen with his come-on?

“Oh, that sounds delicious.” There’s no reason to smile so much while ordering food. “I’ll do that in the six-ounce, with the loaded mashed potatoes and mixed greens salad.”

“Excellent choice, you have good taste.”

I swear, if this fucker looks down her dress one more time. Of course, Lexie doesn’t care enough to notice.

“And to drink, perhaps the house red?”

My arm stretches across the back of her chair, fed up. I’m done listening to frivolous conversation—done letting him stare at her like she’s the real meal. He doesn’t get to taste her, no one does. Leaning across her, I force the server’s attention to me while I stare down the pathetic man trying to toy with something that doesn’t belong to him.

She’s not his, and she never will be.

“We’ll take a bottle of the Brunello di Montalcino Riserva.” My expression speaks the threats that my words don’t. His face pales at the murder in my eyes. Looking from Lexie to me, the waiter seems to finally register that he's made an error. Luckily for Blake, he’s smart enough to take a step back. His posture shifts with a polite nod.

“Right away, sir. My apologies.” With that, he excuses himself and scurries away like the roach that he is. Lexie watches him go, flashing me a look of irritation that tells me she knows exactly what just happened. Her annoyance grates against my nerves.

She wants to keep talking to him.

Keeping my arm across the back of her chair, I bring my lips to her ear. “Try to be a little less shameless,” I growl.

Her gaze flickers to me before her eyes roll briefly to the ceiling.

“I was just having a conversation. Waiters are people too, they deserve to be treated like it,” she says as if she blatantly flirts with every waiter she comes across. The mental image only works to darken my mood.

“Why do you insist on talking to everyone who gives you the time of day? Are you really that desperate for attention?” I snap. A breath in only fills my lungs with her delicious scent.

“Probably because I’m starved of good conversation at home.” Her barb hits me dead center. “I’ve got to take every opportunity I can when I’m out.”

“It’s childish. You’re just begging for people to take advantage of you.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I want someone to take full advantage, Callum.”

Arousal floods through me with her innuendo, seeping into my anger and fueling my agitation. She’s looking for someone to fuck, and she’s making sure I know it’ll be anyone but me.

“No one respects ridiculous women who try so hard to be the center of attention.” She blinks at me, taking a sip of her water as she holds onto her unaffected facade for dear life. I can see her shiny confidence slipping. I’m conflicted as to whether or not that’s my goal; break her down, take away any ability to replace me, so I’m her only refuge.

Sick bastard.

“What people think about me is none of my business. I’m not gonna try to take up less space just because other people feel small.” Something flashes in her eyes, something deeper and more fierce than I’ve ever seen in her. I’ve struck a nerve, one I wasn’t looking for. One I’m starting to regret poking at. “How you’re feeling right now is your problem, it has nothing to do with me.”

My eyes hold hers, pinning her where she sits. The conversations coming from the other side of the table barely register, my attention laser-focused on the woman next to me.

Each breath I take is filled with the addicting scent of her perfume. She’s everywhere; in my head, under my skin, in the air I breathe. Everywhere but where she belongs—in my bed.

She couldn’t be more wrong. What I’m feeling right now has everything to do with her.

***

As good as the food was, I was relieved when dinner ended. Now I can get to the real reason for this meeting tonight. And a few minutes without Lexie clouding my every thought means I have a much better chance of focusing.

Viktor and I stare at each other across his desk, drinks in hand. Our casual posture belies the tension radiating between us, a tension that always exists between a Vor and a Made Man—even if it’s been a lifetime since I’ve been in the Outfit. Family ties run deep, something I’ve learned to work in my favor, but tends to complicate matters. People tend to let their emotions run hot and things get messy. From our past encounters, Viktor is more level-headed than that, something I’m banking on being the rule instead of the exception.

“So what’s this about you wanting into my territory?” he rasps. Aged leather and wood groans under me when I lean back in the traditional winged chair.

“Anton shit the bed, I’ve been called in for housekeeping.” That’s as much information as I plan on giving. With jobs like this, the less you reveal the better.

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