Page 41 of Bound By Revenge

“Doubtful.”

“Come on. Give it a chance.”

The idea of giving him an inch grates on me, but really, what choice do I have? Do I want to tell him exactly where he can shove it? Absolutely. Is that the smartest move? Probably not. Antagonizing him won’t get me anywhere.

Besides, the memory of his... moment of vulnerability outside my door lingers, softening me in ways I don’t want to admit—even against my better judgment.

So I stand and take his hand, as reluctantly as possible. He doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles, his fingers wrappingaround mine with a gentle squeeze. Then his thumb brushes over my skin, sending a ripple of something warm and unsettling through me. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Follow me.”

Chapter 18

Kat

Nik leadsme down a dim hallway, his hand gripping mine firmly. Closed doors line the walls, and I hear faint voices behind some—likely his men. At the corridor’s end, he pulls me through a door slightly ajar, nudging it open.

We step into a large corner office, empty except for us. He lets go of my hand and quietly closes the door. I take in the room, surprised by its coziness. For an office that could swallow half my apartment, it feels… homey.

A massive mahogany desk anchors the space, surrounded by rich bookshelves packed with leather-bound books and framed photos. A plush antique rug softens the floor, and a leather couch, two armchairs, and a large coffee table create a welcoming seating area beneath the muted glow from the wall sconces. The heavy velvet blinds block most of the daylight, lending the room a private, almost secretive feel.

I’m not sure what I expected his office would look like, but this comfortable, lived-in room wasn’t it. This space reflects Nik in small, unexpected ways. Papers are strewn across every flat surface available; half-empty coffee mugs and whiskey glasses sit scattered around the room. A worn, green sweatshirtslouches on an armchair, while a framed sports jersey hangs on the wall. His face appears in the photos around the room.

As a professional burglar, I’m used to making myself at home in strange places, but something about this room feels too personal, almost like I’m stepping into his mind. It makes me feel like I’m intruding—almost as if I’m stepping into his mind and getting a sense who hereallyis. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it, or about the fact that he invited me here himself.

It’s the perfect spot to advance my plans for his seduction, but something about this place gives me pause. Just like last night at dinner, here, he looks almost human. I almost forget he’s one and the same with thebratva’spakhan—and the tall, dark, and handsome god who ravished me at the gala. Almost. I have no qualms about deceiving the larger-than-life man of my dirty dreams, but this mortal man in front of me is a different story altogether.

“Here,” Nik says, holding out a manila envelope.

“What is it?” I ask, opening it.

“Stuff you’ll need. Let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll take care of it.”

The first thing I pull out is a black American Express. I gasp, nearly dropping it.

“This is a credit card,” I state for mysterious reasons.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, preoccupied with the TV remote.

“It’s a black AmEx. With my name on it.” I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that this man has willingly given me a no-limit credit card.

He nods, not looking up. “It’s for any expenses you may have when I’m not with you. There should be more in there. I gave Dmitri a list.”

More? What else could I possibly need? I pull out a car key next, a shiny “B” emblem gleaming on it. I gasp. “You’re giving me a Bentley?”

“Lending it,” he corrects, almost as an afterthought. As if he’s in the business of lending practical strangers luxury vehicles every day. For all I know, he might very well be. “It’s in the garage. I’ll show you how to access it later.”

I’m already fantasizing about driving my new wheels around town with this card in hand, when Nik’s voice breaks in again.

“You probably won’t need it much. I’d prefer you let me or one of my men drive you.”

I’m tempted to protest, but I decide to let this one slide so he doesn’t get any ideas about taking my new credit card away. Instead, I just smile sweetly. “I’ll take that under advisement, boss.”

He shoots me a look before returning his attention to the TV.

Reaching into the envelope, I pull out a stack of papers. I skim over them, curious about what else he’s given me.

“It’s your account information,” he says, suddenly close. I hadn’t noticed he’d closed the distance between us.

“My account?” I ask, taken aback.

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