Page 8 of Caught By the Bratva Beast

As Hearst stands, so do I. Walking over to her, I feel like a man possessed. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. There’s something in the back of my mind that says I must go to her.

Maybe she is a siren and slowly luring me in.

If that’s the case, hundreds of dead sailors would tell me to turn and run. To avoid her at all costs before she kills me with her song. Yet, as I stop beside her, she flutters her dark eyelashes and puts on the icy but charming smile she’s been wearing with Hearst.

Pearl’s chest rises and falls like she’s taking a deep breath and preparing herself for something.

What, I don’t know.

“You look like you are growing tired of being swarmed.” My words are loud enough for the men gathering around to hear.

They murmur to each other before scattering, leaving me alone with her.

“Impressive trick.” She sips her pink drink before grimacing. “What must a girl do to get a decent drink around here, something a little stronger?”

Her soft and teasing tone is nothing but a diversion. It’s designed to keep people at the surface level, thinking that she is having a good time and nothing else.

She’s smart, and a woman who knows how to play the game. Making money from wealthy losers, yet no promise of sex or even a second date. Keeping it purely as a business transaction. There will never be a time when she asks you what you’re thinking or any personal questions about yourself. Another woman could speak with you, and she would be entirely unintimidated.

But years of experience have taught me a thing or two about how to read people, and if I couldn’t see the mask on her face, she could have fooled me too. She is challenging me; I’m itching to peel back layer by layer until I discover her truth, her vulnerability.

I lean closer to her, fingers brushing against hers as I lean on the bar. “What would you rather?”

“Reposado tequila.”

The light drains from her face as I order her drink, and if I didn’t know better, I would hazard a guess that she’s bored with me. Women are never tired of me. They don’t think I’m dull, or that their time would be better spent elsewhere. Hell, those women were always eager to cluster around me. If I were buying them a drink, they would become puddles at my feet.

Not Pearl.

She takes the drink, her black-painted nails scraping against the back of my knuckles when we touch in a deliberate move. “Thank you. I’m Pearl. You are?”

My teeth grind together as I analyze her, trying to figure her out. “Maxim.”

“Are you Russian?” As she sips the tequila, I want to replace my lips with the glass, claiming her breath so she can’t use it to insult me by not knowing who I am.

“Yes.”

She tips her glass toward me. “Hint of an accent. I’ve always liked a man with an accent.”

“Then what are you doing with Noah Hearst?”

Pearl studies me, her lips twitching like she’s torn between telling me the truth and feeding me a lie. “Well now, I can’t be expected to tell you all my secrets in one night, can I? After all, we just met.”

“Don’t forget the part where I bought a beautiful woman a drink.” Smirking, I lean closer to her, capturing a strand of her cocoa hair and twisting it around my finger. The deep auburn strands scattered throughout catch the light, making her hair look glossy.

“I couldn’t forget that part.” She raises the tequila between us before downing it in one go, the elegance of her neck drawing my gaze to her pulse.

I want to feel it beneath my fingers, holding her in place as I sink into her.

Pearl pushes off the bar, leading the way to a quieter corner with the swish of her hips. Like a dog on a leash, I follow her, eager to go where she goes just to uncover who she is.

She’s intriguing, but there’s something about the way she doesn’t want me that makes me more determined to have her. Just to bend her to my will. Make her feel what it’s like to be with a real man instead of little boys who have to hire women to get their rocks off.

Pearl may not sleep with the men she dates, but I know they’re going out and finding other escorts who will.

She leans against one of the columns near the poker machines, crossing one long leg over the other. “So, what do you do for a living, Maxim?”

Doesn’t she know who I am?

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