Page 17 of Room Nine: For Their Eyes Only

“Jax? The buff guy next door? Did you leave Mack, or are you cheating on him?” I place my elbows on the table and lean closer, hungry to hear more. She’s right. This is an excellent cup of tea.

She waves her hand and dismisses my concerns with a shrug. “We had a huge fight, and I finally worked up the nerve to dump him. God knows he’s had it coming for months. That dumbass begged me to give him another chance, and when I declined, he threatened to slash my tires. Jax saw the whole thing and came to the rescue. Can you believe Mack? That jerk!”

My jaw drops. I’m stunned Elsa managed to shake that loser off. “Slash your tires? Holy crap, things got rough. I hope he didn’t lay his hands on you. My father taught me Systema, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Elsa steals a piece of my cookie and pops it into her mouth, spilling crumbs on her chin as she speaks, “Your dad taught you what?”

“It’s Russian martial arts. My father is paranoid and wanted me to be prepared in case bad shit goes down.” I end the discussion with a long sip, my eyes shifting side to side as I instantly regret bringing up my father. I don’t talk about my family because I don’t want to answer any follow-up questions.

The less Elsa knows about Boris Volkov, the better. Lately, I’ve had a peculiar feeling I’m being watched, and I’d hate to drag her into my messy world. I turn my head and peek behind me, suddenly feeling eyes on me. There’s no one there, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t go away. Perhaps I’m willing my fears to life.

“Why don’t you talk about your family? Your dad can’t be so bad if he taught you to protect yourself,” she says, thumbing through her wallet as her eyes dart back and forth from her purse to me.

“I’m angry with him. It’s no big deal, and I’d rather not talk about it.” I lean into the table, peering into her giant purse as she ducks her head into the leather bag. “What are you looking for? You’ve got your entire arm in that purse, like you’re Mary Poppins getting ready to pull out a lamp.”

I’m too distracted to be curious but eager to change the subject.

“Aha! I found it! Look at this!” She pulls out a shiny black card embossed with gold letters. “Jax and I applied for membership, and they expedited our application. I think it’s because he’s helped them out of a sticky jam and kept it out of the papers. Places like that thrive on discretion.”

“What’s that?” Amid her long-winded brag, she’s failed to tell me what so great about that card. Or maybe she did. I swear, I’ve hardly heard a word she’s said.

“You’re looking at an official member of Club Sin. Jax and I are returning tonight and booking one of the rooms upstairs. That’s where all the action takes place,” she sings excitedly. “I want you to come with us. As a member, I can bring a guest, and I think it would do you good to get off the computer and live a little. Besides, this is excellent research to improve your content.”

She makes a valid point, but I can’t envision myself strutting my stuff at a sex club. That isn’t a judgment thing. I sell sex, or at least the illusion of it. But flirting online is different than face-to-face. Pinky belongs on the internet, detached from reality, with enough distance to embolden her kittenish way.

No one wants to meet Genevieve.

I swipe the card out of her hand and examine it closely. “Club Sin? What would I do at a place like this? While you’re playing with Jax doing God knows what upstairs, I’ll wind up alone at the bar wishing I was home making money.” I roll my eyes and slide her card across the table, pretending I’m not bummed I can’t tag along.

I’m not going to lie. The thought of walking into a sex club titillates me to no end. But I don’t want to go alone. It’s a shame I’ve got no one to play with.

Besides, the only men I’m interested in meeting are currently walking the streets of New York, hot as fuck and searching endlessly for a willing partner who isn’t shy about taking three dicks at once. As tempting as that might sound, they’re there, and I’m here. I’m a virgin who isn’t sure she can handle one man, let alone three.

That’s way too much pressure for my first time. I need guidance, experience, and a few tricks to slip into my back pocket and pull out when someone loses interest in my tired game. I can’t jump into the seedy world of polyamory without experiencing solo dick first.

After that, maybe I’ll find I’ll be ready for two. Then perhaps, three.

Why am I even thinking about this? I’m living in a fantasy world.

“So, are you going?” Elsa beckons the closest server by shaking her hand, scribbling into the air to tell him we need the check.

I blow the bangs out of my face and huff, too tired to argue and too horny to walk away from an opportunity to get laid. “Let’s go shopping. I need a new dress.”

Chapter12

I’m a stalker.

Believe me, there’s no better description of what I do. It’s my job to creep in the dark, break into homes, plant listening devices, and lurk in the shadows to watch someone in their most vulnerable state. I won’t make excuses or offer insincere apologies for my psychopathic behavior.

It’s what I do and who I am.

My business is surveillance, and if I’m being perfectly frank, I enjoy it. Watching people who don’t know they’re being followed thrills me. It gets me so fucking hard to know I’m in control. I feel invigorated every time I see someone look over their shoulder, tension coursing through their bodies and eyes wide with fear as they sense my presence idling nearby like a predator on the prowl.

I’m good at what I do and take pride in my work. Over the years, anti-spyware and bug detectors have made my professional life difficult, but I’ve never failed. I’ve never blown my cover. There is no room for mistakes. I abide by the rules and never compromise my anonymity. Nothing good can come of that. If the person I’m stalking learns who I am, they might connect the dots and figure out who hired me.

These thoughts float through my lust-addled mind while I watch Vivienne Volkov sip coffee with a woman I identified as Elsa Mueller. She’s Vivi’s only offline friend, and according to my sources, she’s a harmless girl who befriended Vivi shortly after she arrived in the city.

Due to my suspicious nature, I performed a background check the moment I learned of her existence, fearing she may be connected to the Grinkov family. Fortunately, her record returned clean, and it was long enough to assume she wasn’t operating under an assumed name.

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