Page 133 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

He gives me puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t you have any faith in me?”

“Faith that you could keep her happy? That’s a definitive no. But if I want her to quit and run screaming for the hills, I’ll cut your ‘roguish charms’ loose on her.”

“You boys arguing about me?” Jen pushes the door open and walks in, all confidence and easy charm. “Well, well, if it isn’t Demyan Nikitin. What have you been up to, sugar?”

“Suffering a deep depression until I laid eyes on you, gorgeous.”

She laughs pleasantly. “If I were ten years younger and twice as stupid, that line might even work on me.” She bats her eyelids in his direction and blows him a kiss.

“Jennifer,” I greet. “Take a seat.”

“Preferably on my lap,” Demyan suggests.

Her blonde hair is darker than I remember. She’s let it grow out. It sits past her shoulders now.

She’s wearing dark trousers that flare at the knees and a skintight black blouse underneath her pristine white jacket. The woman has always had taste, but she very rarely gets to indulge in it. Work demands she blend into her roles.

“On second thought, let’s move to the sofa,” I say. “We can talk properly there.”

Demyan makes sure to stand up right when she’s walking past just so that she gets a full face of him.

“Have you been working out, handsome?” she purrs, tapping his chest delicately with her long, red nails. In her heels, she’s slightly taller than he is, not that Demyan seems to mind.

“For you and you alone,” he replies with a wink.

“Demyan,” I bark. “Move your ass.”

“All work and no play,” Jen tuts, shaking her head. “Makes Aleks a… well, you know how the saying goes.”

“No, finish it,” Demyan encourages her. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

She snorts. “Aleks doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Are the two of you done?” I cock my head to the side. “You have news, don’t you?”

She eyes the drinks that Demyan and I have brought over to the seating area with us. “You’ll get your news—but first, I need a drink. You don’t want to be accused of being a boy’s club, do you?”

I give Demyan a nod and he goes to get her a drink. While he’s pouring, Jennifer looks me up and down, making her ogling blindingly obvious.

“You look good, boss.”

She’s always had a habit of making my title sound seriously dirty. I’d have fucked her a long time ago if I didn’t value her contribution to my Bratva so much. She’s too good of a spy to lose to heartbreak.

“You look different,” I remark. “Why’d you go darker?”

“The man I was trying to seduce prefers brunettes,” she says. “I couldn’t bear going all the way, though.”

“You could do whatever you want with me, baby,” Demyan suggests salaciously. “Blond, brunette, shave it all off, I don’t care.”

“You and every other man on the planet,” she laughs. Then she eyes me. “Well, every man but one.”

She takes the drink that he offers her, then raises it in a toast. “To the Bratva.”

We all raise our glasses to that. But while Demyan and I only take a sip, Jennifer drains all of her whiskey in one go.

A tiny little red flag goes off in my head. The woman’s never been much of a drinker. The only time she really throws it back is when she’s anxious or nervous about something.

And I have a feeling this time that I know what.

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