Page 25 of Gilded Kisses

And freedom.

With that I can do what I want with whoever I want. I guess that’s what I am really after. I am tired of being passed over or treated like a pretty wallflower. It’s not really entirely about the higher paycheck, to be honest. I want what should come with the invisible crown on my head. I want people to seeme. Hearme. Respectme. And why not fear me too, right?

That is when I will have true freedom.

As you know I am a woman with a plan and the one I cooked up this time will—fingers crossed—move me up the inner ranks of Club Genesis and it’s just about time to set it into motion. Not my dream life, mind you, but a plan on how to get one step closer is a good start.

I flick on my smart watch and the dark screen lights up.

Three. Two. One.

Tiny white numbers roll over to four in the afternoon. Time to channel my best Black Widow girl power. Now I just need tohone my killer instincts and slay my goals. “Okay, then. Let’s do this,” I tell myself. Time to push some boundaries and test my cousin’s tolerance levels.

I have only a handful of hours left in the day and I need to make every single one of them count.

I throw up the peace sign to an aging doorman who covers my position while I’m on break. I’m only an hour into my shift, so that gives me about ten minutes to plead my case, grovel if I have to, and ultimately sign my new employee contract before I am due back.

I head to the elevators, my boots gliding silently over polished marble.

I feel the eyes on me before I hear the words, “Aster,moya sladost.” My sweetness.

I slam my eyes closed and send up a prayer for some restraint because my hand itches for my blade again.

The sound of a familiar voice has my feet slowing and my hand itching to meet the right side of a pushy Russian’s fuzzy face. But teaching manners to an asshole isn’t on my schedule for the night. I swivel around and tilt my head to the side in recognition of the Russian mobster hitting on me and insulting me all in two words. Treating armed thugs with kindness is the number one rule of staying alive in this place.

The burly man in a too-small leather vest over a crisp white shirt waves me over. I have to give it to the man. Joseph Romanov never gives up. We do this every freaking night. From the number of chicks in tight dresses fawning all over him, I’d say his persistence has paid off, and he thinks it is only a matter of time until I give in.

“Come. Come. We play,da?” He pats the one side of his lap not already holding a handsy escort.

Hard. Pass.

Money can’t buy class.

I admit, his winks are cute and I don’t mind the dad bod, though he’s only five years older than me. It’s his inability to commit to one woman and the complete lack of respect for life that is a huge turnoff. I can just see date night turning into me helping dig a shallow grave somewhere.

And he is nothing compared to them, the infuriating voice in my head adds. Just thinking about my godfathers has me refocusing on the dull ache in my chest. I’ve worked hard at suppressing the cut of pain they left behind. It’s cost me a lot of personal reflection and about fifteen grand in therapy.

“Not tonight, big guy.” Or ever. But I raise my hand and throw him a cute little air kiss and keep my boots moving in the opposite direction. His group of Russian mobsters with thick accents and thicker beltlines try their hand at getting me to fall into their laps. I ignore them and focus more on the loaded revolver in their boss’ hand.

“I have a new game,” he rumbles.

I cock my head to the side. “Do you now?”

“You come with me to The Gilded Key. You will love it. Find out how I make you reach orgasm with loaded gun,da.” Before now, I found his broken English sort of endearing and sexy.

Not anymore. And I never want to hear that club mentioned to me again. There’s one in New Orleans and another being set upin Seattle which means it would take a plane ride to get to either location.

Another hard fucking pass.

“Joseph. You make such noble offers,” I deadpan. Every single day, some stupid crap like this happens. What the fuck is wrong with people?

I hold my fake smile in place and play my part of keeping his attention on me while security moves in behind them.

This is a weapon-free zone and they know it.

I am not exaggerating when I say the Romanov family is flat-out mental cases and will do just about anything for money which makes Junior here unpredictable. The eldest of the five brothers needs someone to teach him a lesson about how to be a decent human being, but I am not that person.

Leaving him and his crew for security to deal with, I step into a discrete elevator and pass my security key over the reader before punching a blue number five. We’ve upped the security game in the last couple of weeks. Why, I don’t know. Harlon and his two partners, Santi and Cassius, have been on edge for a while. I suspect it is something to do with the woman in their shared office.

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