Page 2 of Pretty Evil

I finish up and the waitress stops by with an invitation in her eyes as she whispers huskily, “Mr. Romanov. May I interest you in anything else?”

“Vodka. Make it a double.” I say with disinterest and lift my phone, that is awash with incoming texts.

As I pretend to scroll through them, I am more interested in the scene at the table across from me as the two strangers carry on ignoring one another.

When my drink arrives, I nod toward a booth near the window that offers a better view of my fellow travelers, and the waitress places my drink on her silver tray and follows me over to it.

Once I settle in, I am happy with a different view because now I can see the woman herself, not her guard. She is wearing dark glasses and appears to be staring at the menu but I have an overwhelming sensation she is staring directly at me.

I raise my glass and her menu is quickly raised to cover her face, causing me to smirk. My senses never fail me, and it has almost become a game pitching my skills against my fellow humans.

I register everything about them. What they are wearing, carrying, and their mannerisms. I am a studier of people and I’m good at what I do. It’s a hobby with me, usually enabling me to bring my enemies down.

Yes, Alexei Romanov didn’t get his billions from sitting back and letting people in front of the line. I take what I want and use my competition’s weaknesses against them. It’s no different in my private life and it’s become more of a game to me of proving I can win than wanting to keep my prize.

I love the chase, the intrigue, and the steal. Women who don’t belong to me are fair game. I want what everyone else has and when they are mine, I don’t want them anymore and there is something about that girl that makes me hope she’s on my flight. It will pass the time, all twenty-three hours of it and when we land, I will leave a ruined soul behind me.

Yes, I really hope she is on my flight.

I keep my eyes on my prize for the next hour and follow them when the flight is called to the gate.

I tuck myself in behind them, several paces back and delight in gazing at her sexy ass as she sways in front of me.

Her guard is doing a bad job of remaining unobtrusive as he walks beside her, holding her bags in both hands, which in my mind is a fatal error. I always have one arm free to reach for my gun, knife, or just a man’s throat if he gets in my way.

I almost pity her for the protection she has because it’s doubtful she would stand any chance of survival if she was in danger. It makes me smile to myself because she is in danger. From me and my interest in her.

As we near the gate, they head to the front, anxious to be among the first to board and as I reach the woman checking our boarding passes, I whisper a word in her ear that causes the alarm to heighten on her face.

She nods at me gratefully as she waves me through and as I head to the window, I lean against the glass and stare at the young woman through the reflection. She is averting her face from the other passengers and staring at her phone, but there is something telling me she is studying me right back.

My phone buzzes and I’m interested to see the text from my assistant Gleb, and I wonder if I can really pull this one off.

The trouble is, I can’t even refuse a challenge from myself and so I text back my reply and turn my attention to getting what I want — as always.

SERENA

That man. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He is something else. There is something so incredibly powerful about a man like him. His rugged good looks complement a body that appears to be made from sin. Jet black hair slicked back, revealing a handsome face that could grace any aftershave campaign. He is wearing a black polo shirt and jeans, a tan suede jacket making a casual statement. His expensive watch is one money can’t, buy purely because there were only ten made in the entire world. I happen to know because my grandfather has one and delights in telling us the story.

A man of means and an attitude of arrogance. My favorite blend of rugged temptation. I have his interest and he has mine and I wonder if he’s sitting anywhere near me.

“Excuse me, sir.” I am so invested in my study of the stranger, I didn’t notice the cops approaching.

“Is there a problem, officer?” I say sharply and Connor moves to stand in front of me, a statement that obviously doesn’t go down well with the cops.

“Sir, please come with us.” He says to Connor, who replies roughly, “Why?”

“We need to search you. Purely routine.”

“Like fuck it is.” I say angrily, and the cop merely nods respectfully. “It won’t take long.”

Connor is angry but realizes there is nothing he can do and turns to me and whispers, “Stay here. Talk to no one, look at no one and I’ll be back before we board.”

He thrusts the documents in my hands and whispers, “Just in case they board and I’m not back. Take your seat and wait for me.”

I say angrily, “I’ll call my grandfather. He will sort this out.”

The cop shrugs. “Call who you like, madam. We won’t take long.”

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