Page 2 of Emperor of Wrath

“Yeah, well, we made a promise, Frey,” I sigh, my brow furrowing as I glance back at the garden party taking place on the lawn of the Kildare estate. “A promise we’re breaking right now.”

“Ugh,” Freya groans into my ear. “What is this horrible emotion I’m feeling?”

“I think the word you’re looking for is guilt.”

“Hmm…” she ponders. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not even sure what that word means.”

I grin, but then my smile sours.We really aren’t supposed to be doing this anymore. And I don’t mean the sneaking into private parties bit.

Freya and I were on our own for years. We stole to survive, and then ramped up our skills to do a little better than “survive”. And then one day, our band of two became a band of three when I crossed paths with Damian.

Damian, whose uncle Kir Nikolayev runs the Nikolayev Bratva organization, was my and Freya’s ticket from the minors into the big leagues. Damian had connections. He had clout in the world of the criminal elite. And he was as much a thrill-seeker as Freya and I were.

That said, our motives for larceny are a bit different. Freya and I steal for money, and because we like the challenge.

Damian likes hurting people when he feels they deserve it.

For a while, the three of us were almost certainly on our way to crossing the wrong person or biting off way more than we could chew. That’s when Kir stepped in and steered us away from certain prison time or grisly death and gave us all a fresh start.

Handsome, charismatic, and powerful, Kir Nikolayev became essentially our adoptive father, or at the least our cool young uncle. He’s the first person who saw me as more than just a cocky thief with something to prove, and the first to view Freya as more than a walking middle finger.

Though the Nikolayev Bratva is obviously a criminal organization, it also operates heavily in the legitimate business world. And that’s where Freya and I operate too these days. Kir saw my ability to charm, lie, and social engineer my way into places I shouldn’t be in order to take things that aren’t mine and nudged me in a new direction: corporate takeovers.

That’s what I do for him now. I’m the bitch who walks into the negotiating boardroom cocked and loaded and finds whatever weak spot I can to push a deal through. Do I still get my hands dirty? Duh. But I’m not out there breaking into safes or boosting cars like I used to.

Well, mostly not.

And these days, when I do get up to my old tricks, there’s a certain guilt attached to it. Not for the stealing itself. But for going back on my word to a man who’s given me a second chance on life.

So, for those keeping score, I’m, A, crashing a party I’m not invited to. B, fully intending to burglarize said party. And C, breaking my promise to the man who’s basically my adopted uncle.

Oh, and if we want to nitpick, I’m wearing white after Labor Day.

“I’m going quiet now,” I murmur, tucking away the compact and turning back to the party. I shimmy my hips, pulling at the ultra-tight white cocktail party dress hugging my body.

This is so not my style. I barely wear dresses at all, let alone tight little “sexy” numbers like this. I’m more a jeans girl. Or, when I’m dressing to kill at one of Kir’s negotiating tables, a classy pencil skirt with a matching jacket. Even then, it’s more often a pant suit.

I start to make my way to the huge, sprawling home, gritting my teeth and resisting the urge to reach back and pick my undies out of my ass.

The dress is a necessity for blending in. Unfortunately, it’s also tight enough to restrict blood flow to my legs, which means the usual comfy underwear I prefer to wear wasn’t an option tonight. Instead, I’m dealing with a thong, which I never fucking wear.

“How’s the butt floss?” Freya snickers into my ear, as if reading my thoughts.

I’m moving through the crowd of guests by now, so I can’t retort with something snappy and vulgar, but I make a point to brush my hair back with one finger raised in front of my glasses.

The middle one.

Freya laughs. “Fine, fine. No more distractions from my end. Could you just glance one more time at Ares Drakos’ magnificent ass before I—goddammit.”

I swiftly remove the glasses, neatly folding them and tucking them into my clutch. I don’t need to be wearing these until we get to the safe and Freya needs visual guidance to get past the electronic lock.

“Dick,” she mutters. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“I dunno,” I mumble under my breath. “Go order another pair of spiked Doc Martens. Or surely you’re running low on black eyeliner.”

“If you’re ever curious why I’m your only friend…” She coughs significantly.

“Okay, ouch?” I grunt as I step around a corner of the garden and out of sight and earshot of the guests. “I have friends.”

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