Page 12 of The Pakhan

“Here you go. I’m going to get you something to sleep in. I’ll be right back.”

I could still feel her heated look as I walked away, heading to my room at the other end of the hall. As soon as I walked in, I turned my head. She had the same pouting look on her face I remembered. But her voluptuous body reflected something else entirely. Oh, I was nothing but a dirty old man, for fuck’s sake.

Hissing, I threw open one of my dresser drawers, finding a tee shirt that might work. I was huge in comparison to her small frame but right now, this would need to do. Inside the bag was another pair of jeans, two shirts and some underwear, along with makeup and a laptop. Not enough to keep her here for long unless I sent her shopping.

Right now, she had a target on her back a mile wide.

As I returned, I could tell she wasn’t very comfortable but at this point, it was the best I could do. “Here you go. You’ll find some toiletries including a new toothbrush in the attached bathroom. One of the women who works for me ensures that there’s everything a guest could need. The refrigerator over there has bottled water as well.”

She sat down on the side of the bed, her entire body stiff. As she lowered her head, I leaned against the doorjamb.

“They’re going to hunt me down, aren’t they?” she asked in a pitiful voice. When she lifted her head, her eyes were larger than before. The girl should be scared.

“They will try but I assure you that nothing will happen to you under my protection. You have my word.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, which was far too adorable. “I’m sorry.”

“At this point, you don’t need to apologize to me. However, you do to yourself. This is a mess, but I’ll help you work through it.”

“Thank you.” The little voice remained but I sensed she was stronger than before. Hell, she’d be just fine as long as she followed my rules. My house was a freaking fortress, security cameras and guards positioned everywhere on the sprawling estate.

Fuck. This wasn’t a good scenario all the way around no matter how I played it.

“Goodnight, zavetnyy.”

“What does that mean?” she asked before I could close the door.

“It means cherished one. Incidentally, where do you live?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to have one of my men check it out to see what’s salvageable and if there is any solid evidence as to the men responsible.”

“Oh,” she said as if fading away. Finally, she rattled off the address.

I was angry all over again. What the fuck was she doing living in that part of Brooklyn? The girl did have a death wish. “Okay. Get some sleep.”

When I closed the door, I tried not to issue a roar of rage. There was no sense in scaring her any more than she already had been.

As I jogged down the stairs, I retrieved my phone, dialing Sergei.

“Yeah, boss? The package has been delivered.”

“Excellent. I need you to do one more thing. Check an address for me. I think it was tossed. See if you can find anything useful. Take Francois in case you have any issues.”

“The girl?”

“The girl.” Although in my eyes, she was no longer a girl but a stunning woman. So much so that my cock was twitching. Fuck me.

“I’ll see what I can find, boss.”

“Call me.” I returned to my office, tugging the jump drive into my hand. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night. I might as well get settled in for the long haul. And tomorrow, my beautiful guest and I would spend some quality time together. I had a feeling she hadn’t told me everything.

Another drink was in order, another moment to reflect on what had occurred weeks before. My men were right in that since the incident, my interest in being just another target had gone down the sewer. When I was younger, I would have gotten up off the floor after being shot and chased down the perpetrators. Not any longer.

The field I’d been born into was dangerous. That much I’d known since around seven years old, but Jesus Christ, the times I’d been forced to deal with some asshole enemy or been threatened had started grating my nerves even before the shooting had occurred.

As I poured my glass full of whiskey, I first thought about my father, which was rare. Vladimir Chernoff was definitely old school. He’d refused to speak English for years after immigrating to America, which is why I spoke it fluently. However, his more Americanized wife, my amazing mother, had eventually refused to acknowledge anything he’d said in their native language.

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