21. Nik

Chapter 21

Nik

Victory has never tasted so bitter.

In my thirty-four years, I’ve learned a thing or two about bittersweet wins. I’ve had more than my share of triumphs that came with hefty price tags. This one is no different.

I might have outmaneuvered Kat in her manipulative little game, but there’s no satisfaction in it. No joy—just an ominous sense of foreboding. Sure, I won this battle, but the war is far from over. She’ll keep trying to control me, using my foolish, reckless attraction to her as a weapon. And God help me, I’m not sure I’ll win the next round.

To make matters worse, I’m stuck with a throbbing reminder of my self-restraint. Kat, on the other hand, is as soft and satisfied as a kitten in my arms. Every muscle in her body is blissfully relaxed, her deep, contented sighs replacing the erratic panting from earlier. She’s the picture of post-orgasmic bliss, and I hate how proud I am for putting that look on her face.

But her satisfaction only makes my own frustration sharper. It’s a reminder of everything I denied myself—and everything she still intends to use against me. In the last twenty-four hours, she has made her intentions painfully clear. She plans to seduce me, to bend me to her will. And if our brief history is any indication, resisting her isn’t exactly my strong suit.

If our circumstances were different, I’d let her try. Hell, I’d probably make it easy for her. But I can’t afford that now. Not with everything on the line.

I need to keep my wits about me if I’m going to see my plans through. That means keeping her out of my head and far away from my heart. Because once I lose it to her, I won’t be getting it back.

“Your turn now,” she purrs, stretching languidly against me, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Her arms slide around my neck as she rubs her ass against my cock. I barely stifle a groan, forcing myself to lift her off me and set her down beside me. She’s still too close, her intoxicating scent lingering, but at least we’re not touching anymore.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, amusement sparkling in her deep blue eyes.

“We should get back to work,” I say, my tone clipped. I glance pointedly at the surveillance footage still playing on the screen.

She blinks, her smile faltering slightly before it morphs into something far more dangerous—calculation. She leans in, hooking a finger over the collar of my sweater and pulling me close. Her nose brushes mine, her breath warm against my lips.

“We can work later,” she whispers, her lips grazing the corner of my mouth. “Let me take care of you now.”

Against all odds, I manage to say no to her. “Thanks for the offer, but I'm good—really.”

Her hand slides boldly over the bulge straining against my jeans, and an erratic breath escapes me before I can stop it.

“Liar,” she teases, chuckling as her tongue flicks along the seam of my lips. “You want me.”

Her gaze locks with mine, daring me to deny it.

I can’t.

I don’t.

I stare back at her, refusing to answer.

“It’s okay, Nik,” she murmurs, her voice soft and coaxing. “You made me feel so good. Let me return the favor. Why fight it?”

Her hand moves slowly, deliberately, pressing exactly where I ache for her touch. The other slides behind my neck, her nails grazing my skin before tangling in my hair. A shiver betrays my fragile hold on self-control, but I force myself to remain steady.

“There are plenty of reasons,” I grit out, my voice strained.

Her lips curve into a sly smirk. “None that matter.”

A short, humorless laugh escapes me, but her eyes narrow, the teasing edge replaced by something far sharper.

“You want me,” she says, her tone low and certain. “Will you deny it?”

Untangling myself from her hold, I sigh. “No. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who you are or what you’ve done. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’ll let you control me through this… attraction.”

She smiles, unbothered. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“No,” I admit, “but I can wish she’d stop.”

“I don’t think you do,” she says, her voice laced with mischief. “I think you like it. I think you love it.”

Before I can react, she lunges forward, kissing me. For a moment, I nearly let her, the temptation overwhelming. But with a groan, I push her away and move to the far end of the couch.

“Back to the footage,” I say firmly.

She laughs, reclining against the cushions. “All work and no play will make you a very dull boy.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world to play—later. After the work’s done,” I reply, my voice hardening. The flicker of Maxim’s face on the screen brings my focus back to where it belongs.

His lifeless eyes. The faint blue tint to his skin. The angry ligature marks around his neck.

It’s a sobering memory.

She opens her infuriating mouth, that playful, flirty glint in her ocean-blue eyes

“Kat,” I say, cutting her off before she can talk me into something reckless.

“I meant what I said. This job comes first—above everything else. I won’t let anyone, including you, keep me from seeing it through.”

Her smile dims just a little, and a frustrating pang twists in my chest as the teasing spark leaves her eyes.

“I understand,” she says softly. “I’ll help. I promise. But it doesn’t have to be all work, Nik. You’re under so much pressure. Let me help with that, too.”

Against my better judgment, I glance her way. The maddening woman is smiling at me again—coy, calculating, irritatingly beautiful. I sigh heavily and say, sternly, “We’re not going down this path. And that’s my final word.”

“We’re not going down this path, Kat. And that’s my final word.”

“We’ll see about that,” she murmurs, her tone full of challenge.

I let her comment slide, hoping it’s the end of the discussion. But deep down, I know better.

I force my attention back to the screen. Past Kat flickers across the footage, slipping out of the room where she gave me the most unforgettable fuck of my life. Even then, she’d been playing her games. While I’d been consumed with the thought of getting her back into my arms, she’d only cared about depriving me of my most valuable possession.

My jaw tightens at the memory.

“I’ve been curious,” I say, breaking the silence. “What made you choose this… line of work?”

She raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m surprised you even have to ask,” she says. “Surely, a big, bad bratva boss like yourself would have learned everything there is to know about me by now.”

I scoff. “I’d never be stupid enough to think that.”

Her smirk widens. “Be that as it may, I’m sure you’ve done your homework. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a file on me stashed somewhere in this room.”

“Maybe. I know you grew up an orphan, were adopted as a teenager, and that you’ve earned quite the reputation as one of the best in your field.”

“The best,” she corrects sharply, her pride unmistakable.

I smirk, pleased she took the bait. “Perhaps. But that doesn't explain why you chose this path. Not every orphan turns to crime. Why did you?”

Her playful expression falters. She looks away, silent for a long moment, before finally answering.

“I knew I’d be good at it,” she says quietly. “And I was tired of hoping, wishing, and praying for things I’d never have. If no one was going to give me anything, I’d take it myself.” She shrugs, but her voice softens. “More than that, I was tired of being powerless. Tired of being at the mercy of people who didn’t care about me. If I couldn’t protect myself, how could I protect the people I care about?”

Stunned, I keep looking at her, long after she’s done talking. Her words hit me harder than I expect. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this unfiltered sincerity.

I stare at her, trying to reconcile the confident, calculating woman I’ve come to know with this vulnerable, determined girl who had to fight her way just to survive.

If anyone understands what it’s like to grow up alone, fending for yourself in a brutal world, it’s me.

For the first time, I see her differently. Her striking face and flawless figure are the same, but now I notice how delicate her hands are, her athletic yet petite frame. At fifteen, I must have outweighed her by at least fifty pounds.

Growing up in a similar situation, being alone was terrifying for me. I can’t even imagine what it was like for someone as small and fragile as her. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. And somehow, she still found the strength to protect others when she could barely protect herself.

As I watch her—this frustrating, fascinating woman who’s turned my life upside down—I can’t help but wonder: who’s looking out for her while she’s so busy looking out for everyone else?

And why do I wish it could be me?

“That’s the guy from the kitchen,” she says, breaking the moment and pulling my focus back to the screen.

I glance at the footage. Vladmir is approaching me through the crowd at the gala.

“That’s Vladmir Smirnov,” I say. “He works for me.”

“I figured,” she replies. “He came from inside the museum.”

“Yes,” I say, my throat tightening. “He’s taking me to Maxim. That’s where they found the body.”

Her gaze sharpens. “Where exactly?”

“In the area where they hold the Italian Masters exhibition. The room was closed to the public that night.”

Her expression remains alert, but she doesn’t speak. We watch as Vladmir and I disappear from the frame, leaving Patrick McGuire clearly visible.

The Irish bastard—always careful, always deliberate.

The video ends, and Kat turns to me. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

I nod, unable to speak.

After a moment, she asks, “And you think Patrick McGuire is behind the murder?”

“I know he is,” I reply, my voice steely.

Her brows furrow. “I hate to ask this, but… how did Maxim die?”

I hesitate. The memory alone makes my stomach churn.

“He was most likely strangled,” I say at last. “A garrote, I’d guess.”

She nods, her expression solemn. But then, she frowns. “What do you mean, ‘most likely’?”

I sigh. Of course she’d catch that.

“Maxim’s body… it’s missing.”