Page 5 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“Think about it anyway.” He stepped back, leaving me cold and aching against the wall. “Because once we cross thisline, there’s no pretending it didn’t happen. No going back to the way things were.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that I’d already crossed that line the moment I asked him to dance. But something in his expression told me he needed this, needed to believe he was giving me a choice even though we both knew I’d already made it.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll think about it.”
He smiled then, the first genuine smile I’d ever seen from him, and it was devastating.
“Good girl.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the promise buried in his voice.
He led me back through the hallway, back to the noise and lights and safety of the main club. But everything felt different now, charged with electricity and possibility. Every time his fingers brushed mine, every time he looked at me, I could feel that kiss like a brand on my skin.
When we reached the VIP section, Irene looked up from her phone with knowing eyes and a smirk that said she could read exactly what had happened in the flush of my cheeks and the slight swelling of my lips.
“Have a good dance?” she asked innocently.
“It was fine,” I said, sliding into the booth beside her and trying to pretend my hands weren’t shaking.
But as the night wore on and I watched Lev move through the club like liquid shadow, always aware of where I was but never coming close enough to touch, I knew it had been anything but fine.
Chapter 1 – Lev
The office door slammed behind me with enough force to rattle the glass panels, but it didn’t drown out the noise bleeding through the walls. Raised voices. The crash of something hitting the floor. A string of curses in what sounded like three different languages.
Fucking circus.
I’d been gone for exactly eighteen hours—long enough to chase down a lead on some missing shipment that turned out to be nothing but paperwork filed in the wrong fucking drawer—and somehow the entire operation had devolved into chaos.
“—told you not to touch my things!” Casandra’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make my temples throb.
“It’s a bottle of coffee, not the crown jewels.” Drew’s response was pure sarcasm wrapped in that clipped Russian accent that marked him as fresh off the boat. “Perhaps if you labeled your precious belongings—”
“Don’t you dare—”
I pushed through the main office doors and found them squared off like prizefighters, a shattered glass coffee pot between them and dark liquid spreading across the marble floor. Casandra had her hands on her hips, her usually perfect blonde hair escaping its pins. Drew stood with his arms crossed, that irritatingly calm expression he wore like armor firmly in place.
Two fucking months. Maxim had been gone for two months, andthiswas what I had to show for it.
“Enough.” The word came out harsher than I’d intended, but it cut through their argument like a gunshot. Both of them turned to look at me, and I saw Drew’s jaw tighten at whatever he read in my expression.
Good. Maybe the new boy was smarter than he looked.
“Clean this up,” I said, gesturing at the mess without taking my eyes off either of them. “Both of you. Then figure out how to work in the same space without destroying the office, or I’ll find replacements who can.”
Casandra opened her mouth—probably to launch into some explanation about why none of this was her fault—but something in my face made her think better of it. She nodded once, sharp and professional, then crouched to start picking up the larger pieces of glass.
Drew watched her for a moment, and I caught something that might have been regret flicker across his features before he moved to help her. Progress, maybe. Or maybe he was just better at reading a room than I’d given him credit for.
Either way, I didn’t have the patience to supervise their cleanup. The headache that had been building behind my eyes all morning was threatening to split my skull, and the last thing I needed was to babysit two adults who couldn’t manage to coexist long enough to make a pot of coffee.
I retreated to my office and closed the door, but it didn’t shut out the memory of their voices or the way the sound had grated against something raw in my chest. Everything felt wrong lately. Off-balance in a way that had nothing to do with Maxim’s absence and everything to do with the phone call I’d gotten three days ago.
She’s coming back to Chicago. Tomorrow.
Three words that had turned my carefully constructed world upside down.
Anya.
