Page 62 of The Payback

He pulls the lighter away and takes an inhale of the cigarette. He tips his head back and lets the smoke out, directing it at the ceiling as it streams from his lips. “Well, you don’t want to talk to me, and I can think of other uses for my mouth, but I doubt you’d be open to that right now.”

“Oral fixation much?” I tease, and for a second, it feels like we’re partners again, back on a stakeout and teasing each other to pass the time.

He must feel it, too, because he stands and crosses the space between us, making my hair stand on end. “What do you need right now, Ellie?”

“Nothing. I don’t need anything,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and only minutely wincing at the pain.

“Bullshit. You know what you need,” he argues. “You’re frustrated, angry, pissed, and confused. In a life you’re not ready for. You feel helpless and out of place. And you’re on edge.” With every descriptor, he ticks a finger on his hand. He leans down, searching my eyes for the truth.

I wince when he hits the nail on the head, and I hate that he knows things about me before I put proper names to the emotions. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I know that if there were a coffee shop in the building, you’d be ordering a quad and then drowning it in sugar and milk because you hate the taste of coffee. Or you’d be in the gym, working your body out until you worked it out in your head.”

He gestures around the space, indicating I’m doing exactly what I used to do when we were partners.

“Shut up, Nik. You can’t use our past to make me feel better now. That’s not how this works.”

“Why the fuck not?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low cadence. “Who could possibly know you better?”

“Dimitri.” The name slips from my lips, even knowing I’m wrong. But despite everything, all the surrounding chaos, I am here for a job. I have a role to play.

He scoffs and takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke and pinning me with his gaze.

“He doesn’t even know how you take your coffee. You choke it down because you’re afraid to say something. He doesn’t know that you’re terrified of heights. You tense up whenever you flee onto the terrace. He doesn’t know you always go sock-shoe-sock-shoe like a heathen. He doesn’t know you bottle things up until you snap, and it drives me fucking insane.” Nik continues. “There are many things he doesn’t know about you, Ellie. But I do. I know what you need.”

He drops his cigarette on the floor and stomps it out with his boot before it can singe the mats.

Sure, that’s fine, but a little blood is a no-no.

I put my hands on my hips, squaring off but keeping my stance loose. My heart is beating erratically in my chest, and my body is on high alert. He looks like a predator stalking his prey, and I repress the shiver of want and need flowing through me.

“Oh yeah, and what is it I need? You think you know me so well, Nik? You know nothing.”

He raises a brow as he inches closer and runs his fingers through the longer hair on top of his head, shoving it out of the way as his eyes pin me in place.

“You need to fight or fuck. Or both.”

I try to scoff, but it gets caught in my throat with nerves.

“That’s right, baby. You’re keyed up, and beating on the heavy bag isn’t cutting it.” He’s a few feet away now and pivots, taking a fight stance and putting his hands up like he’s readying to box. “Hit me.”

The idea is tempting as hell, but it feels ridiculous.

“Hit me, Ellie.”

“No.”

“Fucking hit me,” he growls.

“No!”

“What? You think you’re going to hurt me?” He laughs, raising my hackles. His doubt in me flames my blood, and I want to smack that smirk off his face. He notices, because of course he does, and grips the back of his black T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head in a one-handed move.

His torso mesmerises me, inch by glorious inch. The ink across his stomach and up his chest draws my eye, and the geometric pattern between the more prominent pieces fills the gaps.

“Eyes up, baby,” he teases. My gaze snaps to his, and even though I’m staring at his face, I can’t help but notice as his muscles bunch and flex across his chest and shoulders.

“The ink suits you,” I admit begrudgingly.

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