Page 15 of Room Seven

I have only a handful of hours left of my special day and I need to make every single one of them count.

I throw up the peace sign to an aging doorman who covers my potion while I’m on break. I’m only an hour into my shift, so that gives me about ten minutes to plead my case, grovel if I have to, and ultimately sign my new employee contract before I am due back.

I head to the elevators, my boots gliding silently over polished marble.

I feel the eyes on me before I hear the words, “Aster,moya sladost.” My sweetness.

I slam my eyes closed and send up a prayer for some restraint because my hand itches for my blade again.

The sound of a familiar voice has my feet slowing and my hand itching to meet the right side of a pushy Russian’s fuzzy face. But teaching manners to an asshole isn’t on my schedule for the night. I swivel around and tilt my head to the side in recognition of the Russian mobster hitting on me and insulting me all in two words. Treating armed thugs with kindness is the number one rule of staying alive in this place.

The burly man in a too-small leather vest over a crisp white shirt waves me over. I have to give it to the man. Joseph Romanov never gives up. We do this every freaking night. From the number of chicks in tight dresses fawning all over him, I’d say his persistence has paid off and he thinks it is only a matter of time until I give in.

“Come. Come. We play,da?” He pats the one side of his lap not already holding a handsy escort.

Yuck. Money can’t buy class.

I admit, his winks are cute and I don’t mind the dad bod, though he’s only five years older than me. It’s his inability to commit to one woman and the complete lack of respect for life that is a huge turnoff. I can just see date night turning into me helping dig a shallow grave somewhere.

And he is nothing compared to them, the infuriating voice in my head adds. Just thinking about my godfathers has me refocusing on the dull ache in my chest. I’ve worked hard and at suppressing the cut of pain they left behind. It’s cost me a lot of personal reflection and about fifteen grand in therapy.

Hard. Pass.

“Not tonight, big guy.” Or ever. But I raise my hand and throw him a cute little air kiss and keep my boots moving in the opposite direction. His group of Russian mobsters with thick accents and thicker beltlines try their hand at getting me to fall into their laps. I ignore them and focus more on the loaded revolver in their boss’ hand.

“I have a new game,” he rumbles. I cock my head to the side so one with people and ready for a private island in the middle of nowhere.

“You come with me to Club Sin. You will love it. Find out how I make you reach orgasm with loaded gun,da.” Before now, I found his broken English sort of endearing and sexy.

Not anymore. And I never want to hear that club mentioned to me again. There’s one in every major city and Chicago is no different. Sex, lust and fantasies are the three main attractions.

I’m resisting temptation and putting myself on hiatus. Probably forever.

“Joseph. You make such noble offers,” I deadpan. Every single day, some stupid crap like this happens. What the fuck is wrong with people?

I hold my fake smile in place and play my part of keeping his attention on me while security moves in behind them.

Damn it. I don’t have time for this. This is a weapon free zone and they know it.

I am not exaggerating when I say the Romanov family is flat out mental cases and will do just about anything for money which makes Junior here unpredictable. The eldest of the five brothers needs someone to teach him a lesson about how to be a decent human being, but I am not that person.

Leaving him and his crew for security to deal with, I step into a discrete elevator and pass my security key over the reader before punching a blue number five. We’ve upped the security game in the last couple of weeks. Why, I don’t know, but Harlon and his two partners, Santi and Cassius, have been on edge for a while. I suspect it is something to do with the woman in their shared office.

Three seconds later, I step out onto the third floor. Cool air, the scent of recently polished leather and silence greets me.

Left of the receptionist area is a small lounge. It is made up of a collection of sofas and low knee-level tables where Genesis’ runners gather, looking for a contract to fulfill. Or collect payment on one. It seems they are all out on jobs tonight with how the place is as quiet as a graveyard. And I love it. Or, I will learn to love it. Like I said, I have goals. If all goes well, this will be where I come to work tomorrow.

To get to my cousin’s office on the fifth floor, I have to stop here and take another elevator up. Just another level of security to keep people where they belong. One thing your five million price tag doesn’t get you in this joint is direct access to Harlon’s floor and after tonight I might lose mine.

I head to the back wall and punch the button for the top level. A few seconds and I’m whooshed up a couple of floors.

Polaris, the suspected lover of my cousin, and his best friend, is looking over inventory. She is also their relatively new executive assistant. Juicy stuff. She is in her usual spot in front of his office door, looking pensive and makes my spidey senses want to dig for gossip.

But I hold back. Polaris is a broken soul and what has her brows pulled in deep thought might be bad memories and not lustful desires. Everyone here instantly bonded with her the second she came to live at Club Genesis, so I want to ask, but think better of it for now. She was kidnapped, tortured, and then nearly sold off into an underground sex slave trade. Only her sister, a mean-ass Russian biker gang, and the men of Genesis saved her from a far worse fate than working for my family. Everyone is a tad bit overly protective of her. Including myself.

There is a bigger story behind her hookup with the men of Genesis, but I don’t have time to stop and ask her how the rumored three-way romance is going. I do that and I will lose my nerve for the next part of my plan.

I keep my greeting casual. “Hey, sweet thing. Is he in?” I gesture to the closed door behind her.

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