Page 2 of The Payback

The priest shifts behind the podium at the front of the church, but it’s not him I focus on.

Dimitri stands to the right at the end of the aisle, facing me.

His features come to me in pieces.

His hair is slicked back, a gentleman’s cut making the part seem more dramatic. The dirty-blond locks look darker in the dim church lighting than in photos I’d studied in his file.

Piercing ice-blue eyes ensnare mine, fringed by long sooty lashes. They look almost inviting until you see the hard edge lurking within. I suck in a small gasp as his gaze takes me in, trailing down my body, and then snaps back to my face.

At the centre of his face is a proud nose, slightly crooked at the bridge, denoting a break at some point that was never set correctly. His lips press together, making it hard to discern the shape. But his photos show the bottom is fuller than the top.

Dimitri’s jaw tightens ever so slightly—something I would have missed if I hadn’t been trained to read body language.

Agent Kim and I make our way towards this man, and I can feel the tension in the air, noticeable only in the subtle stillness around us.

He’s impossible to take in all at once. He’s too well-crafted, too dangerous, too... much.

This is the type of man I’ve avoided all my life. The type with custom-tailored suits that cost more than my car payment, illegal activity that would leave even John Gotti impressed, and that massive ego that saysI can have anything I want, any time I want it.Unfortunately, none of these negative traits takes away from his raw magnetism.

I swallow roughly, pushing down the lust that takes up residence in my bones as our eyes lock. That slight rise of heat doesn’t matter right now, even if I haven’t felt a spark like that in way too long.

I’ve read every file Interpol has access to on this man. They included everything from the deals he’s brokered to the women he’s fucked.

But he’s arresting when looking at him in person rather than through the safety of a file.

He blinks slowly, just once, as if he has all the time in the world. A cold sweat breaks out down my back, which I’ve never experienced outside of a life-or-death situation—specifically when looking down the barrel of a gun.

I let a flash of unease show on my face, playing into the role I’ve been assigned and letting some of my true feelings shine through.

Every step feels like an eternity as I keep my pace measured and the slip of the material sways across my skin. This wedding might be fake, but my love for this gown is genuine. The gorgeous back is the focal point—all lace with a trail of buttons that runs from the top of my spine to the top of my ass. The skirt is thin and flowing, just two silky pieces of material that are easy to move in if needed. To show off the lace detail of the back, my long dark hair is curled and twisted into a loose chignon at the nape of my neck.

When we finally reach the front, Agent Kim leans in and kisses my cheek through the veil, as any father giving away their daughter would. Then takes both my hands and, with a nod to Dimitri, gently places them in his.

An unexpected zing passes through me as his rough, callused hands envelop mine. He doesn’t say a word, smile, or even blink as we prepare to twine our lives together legally. And why would he?

This is an arrangement just as much for him as it is for me—a means to an end.

Dimitri guides me to my place opposite him with a firm hand, and the priest behind the podium welcomes the guests before opening his tome. As he reads from scripture, he highlights the values of marriage and what God says we are expected to achieve together. He’s sure to include the part about being fruitful.

My IUD and I beg to differ.

I keep my gaze on our linked hands, portraying the timid and submissive bride the spectators expect, letting my confidence bleed away. It’s hard enough being a woman in this world. Add to that a field that is still primarily male, and I’ve had to exude confidence I haven’t always felt during a job.

Reverting to a timid woman feels like a betrayal of who I’ve fought mercilessly to become. But it is the ideal character for my role.

The ceremony, being Russian Orthodox, is a traditional mass with a wedding thrown in. As the priest drones on and on, the congregation stands and sings periodically, then sits and listens some more. I’m impatient to get this part over with, but I keep the mask of patience affixed to my face.

Throughout it all, I feel myself being weighed, measured, and found wanting by Dimitri’s guests. The weight of their stares and judgement is so heavy, it’s like an additional layer of material on my body.

I don’t fake the small gasp that leaves my parted lips as Dimitri holds me captive with his penetrating gaze. Enthralling in hue, I lose myself momentarily as I stare into his eyes, unable to break contact first.

The priest doesn’t ask if there are any objections to our union. When you’re Dimitri Aslanov, people know not to question you, clergy or otherwise.

We sail past that little tradition and move on to the rings—simple gold bands—and just as the priest says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” a door at the back of the church opens and snicks shut again. I turn my head in that direction, on high alert. I’m infiltrating enemy territory, and my reactive instincts kick in at the sound.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest continues after the sound fades.

Dimitri turns my face towards his and lifts my veil with sure fingers. Without the barrier between us, it’s like looking at him in 4K HD. My vision is clear, and everything stands out in sharp relief.

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