Page 68 of Volatile Obsessions

The satisfied gesture seemed to deepen Vic’s scowl, and on the inside I was damn satisfied about that, too.

“I realize that, but we’re falling behind. She’s a stubborn broad with tactics of her own. Not to mention Roman’s last travesty set her off like a bomb,” Vic explained.

Ryzhkov seemed very intrigued, his blue eyed gaze bouncing between us both. “I see. Well, there’s always a way, and if she becomes too difficult, then simply eliminate her completely. Problem solved,” he countered, offering a shrug when Vic’s expression paled.

“I don’t want to kill her. I just want what’s mine.”

“Then you don’t want it bad enough. If she’s such threat, you’d be willing to do anything to rid yourself of her presence. And since that’s obviously not the case, I suggest you start taking rather than asking.”

“How?” Vic asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.

Ryzhkov laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Women are easy to subdue, Victor, far easier than you think. You just have to figure out how they like it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone here I must introduce myself to.”

And just like that, the man was gone without a glance back, leaving Vic and I alone amongst the masses.

“That’s not part of your plan, correct?” he questioned after a beat, staring out at the sea of elegantly dressed people.

I mulled it over for a moment.

If Ryzhkov’s suggestion took him aback so blatantly, I was curious to see what his reaction would be if I agreed.

“If it comes down to that, yes,” I lied, sipping my champagne.

He tensed beside me, but continued watching the crowd as if I hadn’t struck a nerve. “We’re not going that route, so go ahead and cross that off the list.”

Interesting.

“I thought you agreed to stop bitching and let me—”

“The answer is no, Rome,” he growled. “End of discussion.”

“So touchy,” I chuckled, mentally shaking my head at his stupidity. “My bad, mate.”

“I just don’t see it being necessary, that’s all.” His tone was clipped, like he was just realizing he’d given himself away, yet again. “Oh, I forgot to mention earlier. Your house is finally ready.”

I almost laughed and pointed out the abrupt subject change to further my point, but considering the news he’d just thrown my way, I decided to humor him. After all, I’d been at the Colony for weeks while the house was being remodeled, and it was bloody-fucking-torture at this point.

“Fucks sake, about time,” I replied.

“Just in time, actually. You heard about the hurricane right?”

What?

“No, what hurricane?”

“Hurricane Glenn. He’s a Cat 5, supposed to hit us as a Cat 4 on Wednesday.”

Again, what? I was genuinely confused.

“Okay, you lost me,” I admitted. “What does that have to do with my house?”

Vic plucked the drained glass from my hand and set it on a tray of empties as another waitress strolled by. “Hurricane party, brother, that’s what.”

“Still lost. What the hell is a hurricane party?”

“A party during a hurricane?” he said, though it sounded more like a question.

“Seriously? That’s a thing?”

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