Page 24 of Going Dark

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Two weeks after the events at Evie's house...

This small town is the perfect place to draw out more of the men they sent for me and my boys. The fact that Merrick got his hands on one of my men’s women was too close a call for me to just let it go. Over the past month that we have been around Evie we have come to love her like a sister. My men love just as hard as they fight; it is what makes them such great warriors. When Ace told me he was done - no more missions, no more fighting, no more needing to find answers - I was alright with that. I can understand wanting to give this life up for something else, something softer.

I watch as the waitress my men love giving a hard time comes walking by swaying her tight little ass in front of everyone in the restaurant. Seeing her sweet little cherub face makes me flex my arm deep inside the cast I have on. They all think she is the most angelic thing walking, making her laugh and giving her smiles but I can see in her eyes she has the potential to be lethal, to be a danger. I’ve already warned the men off of her. Not that they listen to me.

She stops by the table with a jug of sweet tea and offers to refill the glasses sitting on the table in front of everyone. She does mine last. It’s only a small slight but when our eyes meet I know she is doing it on purpose. I’ve killed men for less. So why am I not thinking about killing her? In fact, killing her is the furthest thing from my mind. No, I don’t want to kill the spiteful little redhead with the cool brown eyes who’s standing in front of me. I want to drag her down to the ground and fuck her in front of all the people in the restaurant to teach her a lesson…and probably to maybe show everyone that she belongs to me.

For the first time in twenty years, I am so fucked! And to make matters worse I think the Russians just walked by. SO FUCKED!

Dark

Redemption

By:

JISA DEAN

Dark

Redemption

By:

JISA DEAN

Gunfights, dead bodies, and one pissed off Russian is not Kat St. Claire’s idea of a good time. But that’s exactly what she has on her hands all while trying to stay alive long enough to become an old cat lady. The next time she prays for excitement in her life she’s going to give herself a swift kick in the a$$.

Ivan Dragomir’s entire world is a repeat of nothing but vice, blood, and death. He left Russia to start a new life, one that didn’t include the violence of his past, but violence wasn’t done with him yet. Now he’s on the run in his new country with a woman more used to dealing with paper cuts and printers than knife wounds and getting blood out of denim.

These two are on a collision course with a dark fate if they can’t figure out how to work together to take down a very powerful Senator before he gets away with more than just bad political moves. Hot Russians, violent murder, and sex so hot it could melt Siberia; this full-length romance has it all and then some.

1

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Ivan

I realize how close winter is when the slap of cold hits me in the face like an angry lover. Normally I don't mind D.C. in the winter but I've been thinking of moving somewhere warmer lately. The cold reminds me of things I would rather leave buried in the icy ground of Russia. American winters are never going to be as bad as Russian winters but sometimes when I'm in my apartment and I've been holed up for days working I'm reminded of where I came from. It's usually then I have to leave and head to my favorite café close to my apartment.

Most days I take a break to walk there for a large black coffee and to people watch. It helps remind me that I'm not back in a dank cramped cell. I've made a life for myself here in D.C. One of the best things about D.C. is the influx of so many people and cultures and languages in one area. That and it is really easy to hide in a place that is constantly changing faces from day-to-day.

Today, when I swing the door open and the smell of coffee hits me I make sure to stare down each person in the café. I am just a moody bastard today I guess. Not that I'm not normally moody. I stand at the back of a line and wait my turn. In front of me are the two older women who have been trying to get me to tell them my story for months. Both of them are fighting the battle of the gray and yoga mats and weird green drinks are always in their hands. I've joked with them and called them cougars much to both of their delights. They come up with stories when I don't give them anything on who I really am.

This week I'm a Romanian Duke who had to flee his motherland because of a government upheaval. Last week I was a spy for the USSR that had to go into hiding. I wonder if they would still flirt and find me appealing if they knew how close to the truth they were.

Behind them is another regular, the lawyer. He's a total dick waffle to everyone who doesn't make a certain amount a year or wear a business suit. I've threatened to cut him plenty of times for talking down to the pretty, young barista that always makes my coffee. If he isn't talking down to a woman, he is trying to hit on them.

When cold air from the swinging door hits my back I find the other regular standing behind me. I've had to threaten the lawyer about her more than once. Fucking pervert. If he isn't eyeing her tits with his hand in his pocket playing the one dick shuffle then he's leering at her ass making rude sounds loud enough everyone can hear him. Not that she gives him any attention at all.

The only reason I know this fuckwad is a lawyer is because he tells me every time I threaten to end his life. It's a tired song and dance and eventually one day I'm going to have to come through with some of the stuff I've promised to do to him. But damn do I not want to have to.

I want to be able to sit back and enjoy the simple things in life - like freedom and fresh air. I don't want to have to go back to the violence I left in Russia. I damned sure don't want my hands to be stained with any more blood. I left that life when I left the land of my birth.

But the woman standing behind me reminds me of Moscow in the heart of winter. She always dresses in muted colors; today her suit is all white. Who does that? Her hair is the color of pale moonlight on the snow and she always has it pulled up in some kind of knot at the back of her head. She has an icy beauty that makes men shiver and women not realize how much of a threat she is to them until it's too late.

It's her eyes that make her more than just an ice queen, a frigid beauty held apart from people. Her eyes are huge chocolate orbs that seem to take in everything around her and give nothing away. She would have made very good money in my Russia as an assassin, or a government official. Of course, in Russia sometimes you can be both.

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