Page 17 of Beautiful Trauma
Or lack thereof I should say.
With a contemplative expression, Anton said, “Would you feel better if you practiced flirting on me?”
“Fuck no!” I snapped back.
While Anton jerked back like I’d slapped him, Aleks chuckled. “Easy with the claws, Mils.”
I glared back at him. “They’ll stay out and sharp as long as I’m being disrespected by keeping me in the dark until the last minute and being expected to perform like a puppet.”
Dima held his hands up. “‘You’re right. We’re sorry.”
Both Aleks and Anton nodded in agreement. “Whatever,” I grumbled as I smoothed my hands over my scrap of a dress.
One of the flight crew poked her head from behind the curtain. Her face recoiled slightly at the tense atmosphere. “Uhm, please take your seats as we’re about to land.”
After flopping down onto a smooth leather seat, I buckled my seatbelt. Once the others did the same, I pursed my lips at them. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Everything else is staying to plan,” Dima replied.
Leaning forward in his seat, Anton asked with an air of condescension, “Would you like us to go over it again just to be clear?”
My manicured nails curled into the hand rests. Smiling sweetly at Anton, I said, “Let’s see if I’ve got it. I play flirty Mya and hit on Kellan. If he’s as honorable as everyone claims, he’ll nicely turn me down. He might even give me the noble excuse that he can’t because he’s working, so it won’t hurt my precious bimbo feelings–”
“Jesus,” Dima grumbled.
Ignoring him, I continued. “When he does, I’ll try even harder. I’ll bat these ridiculously fake eyelashes that have been forced on me. Maybe I’ll even dance up on him. Rub my scantilydressed ass against his crotch.” Wagging my brows, I said, “See if I can get a rise out of him.”
As Anton shifted uncomfortably, Aleks snickered behind his hand. “While I’m either chatting him up or dry humping him, my ex–” I give Anton a pointed look, “That’s you, right?”
After exchanging a slightly panicked look with Dima, Anton replied, “Uh, yeah.”
“Anyway, my ex comes stomping up. Although he’s not supposed to be Bratva, he sees his women just like they do–possessions to be controlled and demeaned.”
At that moment, I was no longer in the Korolova jet. Instead, I spirited back to my childhood apartment. The metallic smell of blood and acrid gunsmoke.
“Like Bratva men, he gets physical when women don’t do what he wants. I mean, thank God for Saint Kellan Kavanaugh or I might get beaten up. Or even worse, I might get a bullet–”
“Stop it,” Dima growled.
Bringing my hand to my heart, I feigned surprise. “I’m sorry, brother. I was just drawing on my personal experience to help play my part.”
“You’re being a bitch, and you know it.”
Nodding, I replied, “Yes, I am. I once heard that sometimes being a bitch is the only thing a woman has to hold on to.”
I was a teenager when I read that line in Stephen King’sDolores Claiborne.It stayed with me ever since. And more often than not, I’d clung to that ideal. In the end, being a high riding bitch, as King said, saved me.
Jabbing his finger at me, Dima said, “Lose the attitude. It won’t fly with Kellan.”
With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Of course I won’t use it with him. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get into that office.”
“You have the syringe?” Anton asked warily.
I waved the glittering clutch at him. “Sure do. And before you can ask, yes, I have the devices ready for his cell and his computer.” Tilting my head at him, I replied, “This isn’t my first time at the seduction rodeo.”
With a grunt, Dima reached into his suit pocket. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held up my listening device. “This is a two way for you to speak and hear in case anything goes south.”
I reached over and took it from him. After slipping it into my ear canal, I nodded. “Got it.”
