Page 24 of Owned By The Bratva King

I’m beginning to wonder what Quinn would think of my life and how I choose to live it. I’ve resisted looking at the security camera tonight, but I’m willing to bet she’s sleeping peacefully, a million miles away from this seedy joint and these girls who deserve better.

“We’re gonna close this shithole down,” I say suddenly. “Right now. Get them all out.”

Viktor and Leon stare at me. “The fuck?” Viktor asks. “We employ thirty strippers and loads of bar staff here. The place makes fifty grand a night at minimum.”

“I don’t fucking care.” I wave my hand at the room. “Clear it out. Lights on, customers gone, staff paid off.”

My men shrug and stand, ready to do my bidding. As they move away, I realize Katrina is still there, frozen to the spot, her tray of ice-cold vodka shots shaking in her hands.

“What do you want, Katrina?” I ask.

“N-nothing, Mr. Kazanov,” she says. “I’ll go away.”

“It’s alright.” I tap the couch beside me, and she slowly sits, placing the tray on the table. “I meant, what do you want? You know, in life?”

She gives a shy smile. “I’d like a day job, sir. A normal one where I don’t have to wear nipple tassels, and getting groped isn’t an occupational hazard.”

I nod. “There’s a bakery that needs a new employee. You’d have some early starts, but nothing like the shitty hours you work here. Interested?”

She claps her hand over her mouth. “Really? Oh, yes, sir. That’d be wonderful.”

“Great. It’s called Sugar Rush, and a woman called Quinn Sullivan runs it. I’m sure you’ll get along fine. You’ll need to talk to Viktor; he’ll get you all set up.”

The house lights come on, and confused-looking women in varying states of undress make their way backstage at Leon’s insistence. The doormen empty the bar, and disgruntled patrons file out onto the cold street outside. The place is empty within minutes, and Viktor is at my side.

“Give all the staff a hefty severance package,” I say. “Twenty-five thousand each ought to do it. Find new jobs for as many as possible, starting with Katrina here. Quinn is gonna need someone to work alongside her.”

Viktor quickly affects a neutral expression. He’s in my bad books already this evening and knows better than to needle me further.

“You got it.” He nods at the stage door. “Go get dressed, kid,” he says to Katrina. “Then we’ll discuss buns, and for once, I won’t be talking about your ass.”

I’m barely through the door before I’m loading the security camera monitor, desperate to see Quinn.

Dark thoughts consume me. Is she alone? Has she been on a date? Is she safe?”

I’m delighted to see her exactly where I expected her to be. Her body rises and falls as she sleeps soundly. I have never rested so easily.

As I watch, she turns over to face the camera. I’m reminded of when I sneaked into her room and jerked off to her sleeping presence. Was it only yesterday? Already, I feel I’ve known her for a lifetime.

Idiot. You don’t know her at all.

Well, maybe not, and if I had any sense, it’d stay that way. But I’m not famed for my self-restraint.

The bedsheet slips down, and I draw a sharp breath. What the fuck is she wearing?

It’s lingerie. Quinn is alone, so why is she dressed to seduce?

She looks fucking incredible. I’d love to break a couple of those flimsy straps.

I spin back through the evening’s recorded footage, aware of a heavy weight in my chest. If I see a man in that apartment, I will find him and take my sweet time killing the fucker.

No. Pizza delivery doesn’t count. But she was acting strangely earlier—there was something about how she carried herself as she slipped into her new underwear. And she seemed to notice that her bedroom wasn’t entirely as she left it. She spent a while at her computer, too.

I spool the recording back again and zoom in, trying to make out what was on her laptop. I can see the front page of one of my business websites.

She was looking me up. Then she poured her juicy curves into that fuck-me lingerie, got a little toasted on white wine, and dicked around with her door locks before going to bed.

I lean back in my chair and grin. Is there a chance my sweet, innocent, naive Quinn has figured me out? I specifically warned her not to mess with me. The woman has no idea what she’s bringing on herself with her games. If she thought I’d been in her apartment, why would she wear a sexy outfit and take the chain off the door?

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