Page 18 of Root

Unfortunately, that nasty little fantasy sort of fades when she keeps on. Fitting in words becomes a losing battle, so I give up.

My mind begins to wander, backpedaling into what it knows best: family business. To Nikolai and his desire to leave it.

Thing is, I don’t think Nikolai will retire for all the talk. It’s too in his blood, and where we’re at, he can afford to relax a little. He’s got Rose, who can be bloodthirsty.

I mean, he wouldn’t. Not for real.

Would he?

Shit. Fuck. Shit. What would that mean for the old heir apparent, a.k.a. me? Would I be expected to step in, take over, become Nikolai Wilder the second?

Nikolai kills people. A lot of people. He’s practically a one-man killing machine with a hard on for revenge, Old Testament style.

He does have Rose, the woman who changed him, who makes him happy. The woman he’d do anything for. What…what if he means it?

I don’t think Dante can take over.

What the fuck am I thinking? Dante is a cat. He’d plot to take over the world given that kind of power.

I’m being fucking stupid, I’m aware, but shit. Would I be expected to take over? Really?

I don’t think I could handle it.

I’m tough. I’ll kill, but I’m not Nikolai. I’m not as ruthless as him. I—

“Well, I’d love to say this has been fun,” Eloise says, standing, “but I don’t like being ignored.”

“I’m not…” Oh, shit, I was.

“You did for twenty minutes. My cut off is fifteen.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not; she bored me senseless. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“I’ll see you around, Rush.” Eloise stomps off.

The bartender is back. “Another seltzer?” She punches my arm. “It would never have worked. Did you see that outfit?” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, right, you weren’t paying attention. Just thinking about her outside of it.”

I snicker. “Hey, I’m a guy. Of course I was.”

She leans her hip against the bar and puts down two shot glasses, pouring tequila in both. “Bottoms up.” The redhead downs hers. “Only the best paint stripper at Bunny’s.” Her eye twitches.

“Light weight.” I do the same, and it burns all the way down, taking flesh with it. “Jesus fucking Christ. It’s more like fast-acting acid.”

“Shit. Got me the wrong bottle.” She puts it away. “Hang on.” She stalks to the other end to serve someone. When she comes back, she bends to pull some beers from a cold box.

Fuck, does she have long legs. Her jeans are black, tight, and covered in ripped holes. There are two, silver-studded belts slung around her waist, and Docs on her feet that are there to serve, not to be seen. On her back, neck, and arms are more tatts, intricate dragonflies and tiny creatures that look as beautiful as they are vicious.

Whoever she is, she’s already caught my interest.

“So…” She pops the top of a beer and takes a swig. “What’s one Rush Rhodes doing in this dive? Your favorite slumming-it joint?”

“I like this bar.”

She slides the beer to me, before taking the seltzers and dumping them. It’s my favorite IPA, and as she leans on the bar, she nods at it. “I don’t have cooties. They make you take a test.”

“Can I see the results?”

She laughs, but it’s laced in sarcasm and annoyance. “That preppy number gave you twenty? I’d have given you five and a black eye. Five because you’re pretty, the eye because pretty pisses me off.”

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