Page 12 of Brutal Promise

Kirill carries the conversation. Izzy seems preoccupied with the earlier event as she drains half her drink in one gulp, places her hands in her lap, and fidgets with the lace of her dress.

I’m feeling relatively warm but can’t take my jacket off as I have a gun clipped under it. After sipping her drink once more, Izzy is restless in her chair and decides to down it.

“You nervous or something?” My voice is low, my lips dangerously close to the ear I want to nibble.

She’s vanilla and spice, a lethal combination of subtle sexuality, and my cock is straining against the zipper of my jeans again. Twice in five minutes, what the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you with Kirill?” Smart girl, she wants to know my connection.

“We’re friends. I’m from Europe. Only here for a week or so. You?”

“I’m Alena’s roommate. We just graduated.”

“What did that Russian want?”

“He asked me my name, and I told him to fuck off. I think he saw my tattoo and grabbed my arm.”

“What tattoo?”

She pulls the sleeve on her right arm up a few inches to expose an intricate tattoo of a bluebird. I want to touch her and decide to take advantage of the opportunity. I use my right hand, with scars over my knuckles and a broken pinkie finger, to hold her slight wrist. I observe the artwork, running my fingers lightly over the blue ink. Touching her makes my balls hard, and my cocks is pushing against the zipper of my pants. I’m sure I’ve got a zipper imprint by now.

A bird is a symbol that isn’t meaningful to an ordinary civilian. She’s the property of someone or someone’s woman.

“Who are you?” I demand, fascinated with her. Who has kept someone under Alena’s nose?

“I told you, Izzy, Izzy Lucci.”

Her last name is Italian. She should be safe in this area of the city. Last I heard, the Russians negotiated to form an alliance with the Italians. I slide my fingers under her chin and tilt her head back, and our eyes lock. “Why that tattoo?”

“It’s for my mother, she had one with a cage, and she told me always to be free. I got it in memory of her. I miss her.”

“She died?” I don’t mean to be blunt, but it’s necessary.

“Yes.” A dark cloud passes over her angelic face. “It was a car accident many years ago.”

“Was she involved with the bratva, the Italians?”

“No, she would never do that. She was sweet and down to earth. We lived in Connecticut.”

Mm.I don’t want to press and make her leery of me. Tonight is supposed to be fun.

I lean forward, refill the flutes and pour another shot for myself and Kirill. I sip my vodka to keep my wits about me. When I return my attention to Izzy, the perplexed look on her face leads me to believe she’s telling me the truth. I’m jaded. Maybe her tattoo is a coincidence.

“Let’s dance.” It’s a command, not an invitation. I need to get away from the table and clear my head. I hate dancing, so this indicates how fuzzy my head is right now.

Izzy scoots off her chair and stands next to the table, waiting for me. She’s not getting any further without me, either. Kirill glances in my direction, pleased we’re hitting it off, before returning his attention to Alena. They seem to be enjoying a deep conversation, considering they have her father in common. I’m not surprised. Men who move up the ranks are a force to be reckoned with, and Kirill looks like he’s on his way. Maybe he’ll end up married to Alena, which would make them an influential couple in the inner circle.

I take Izzy’s hand, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she holds mine as my grip tightens. We snake our way through the crowd to reach the dance floor on the level below. I glance up. Kirill is still sitting with Alena. Techno music is new, but the beat is solid and easy to follow. I look down and take in her face. She gives me a smile, and I move my feet. This makes her happy as she returns the smile, sways her hips, and raises her arms in the air at the same time as the others on the dance floor. Apparently, she knows all the current dance steps in New York City. I have a feeling this morsel will keep me on my toes. I didn’t come here for a romance. An international relationship is the last thing on my mind. It’s a complication I don’t need or want. Besides, as my wife, she’d never be safe without me. That means we would have to be together everywhere, which would require picking a home country.

Given the fact that she graduated with Alena, her education is too pricey for an average person not to make a living with it. Another complication because my woman won’t work. It’s a reflection on me and my power. If I can’t support my wife, I can’t support the soldiers, and it would make me look weak.

Why the fuck am I even thinking about this? I find myself intrigued by this woman with the bird tattoo. I need to seduce her and get her out of my system. It’s that easy. Bars are notorious for hookups, and yet, I’m getting lost in the music and the way her body moves. She knows how to work her hips, and she swivels her hips and moves them in a suggestive circle. The next move puts her directly in front of me. Her firm buttocks rub my cock. And he rises to the occasion.

Fuck me.

I place my hands on her hips, and she wiggles them to the beat of the song.Holy mother of God.I spin her around and lower my head into her neck, burying my face in her hair as my warm lips take that nibble of her ear.

“We need to leave,” I say. “Now.”

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