8. LEIGH

Chapter 8

LEIGH

Radomir shrugs off his suit jacket, and Dolph immediately takes it. I zip up my cozy sweater, the hobo-chic thrift shop look making me acutely aware that it probably costs less than a single button on Radomir’s jacket.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Dolph holds up my purse.

“Lock it in my office,” Radomir tells him, and they have an exchange in Russian. Dolph nods and wanders off down the hallway, and Radomir turns to me.

“I need to use the restroom,” I say abruptly, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.

Radomir raises an eyebrow, his gaze assessing. For a moment, I think he might refuse to let me use it. But he nods toward the passage.

“It’s down the hall. First door on the right,” Radomir tells me. “Oh, and Leigh, don’t waste your time or energy looking for an escape hatch in there.”

We stare at each other for a few more heart-pounding seconds before I glance away and bolt toward the bathroom, doing a great impression of a terrified rabbit.

In a few quick strides, I reach the bathroom, slip inside, and lock the door. The moment it’s secure, I sag against it, feeling breathless from how my pulse and heart are racing.

I reach down, my fingers fumbling with the strap of my ankle holster. I have picked many a person’s wallets or skillfully liberated their phones. I know where to hide my things so I don’t become a victim of it myself.

With shaking hands, I pull out my phone, my fingers flying over the screen as I type out a frantic message to Sabrina.

Rina, I’m in a tight spot. My father fucking bet me on a poker game to none other than Radomir Molchanov. I’m trapped in his penthouse. Need help.

I hit send, watching the message delivery confirmation pop-up on the screen. I look at my aching hand—it’s swollen and a bit blue. Note to self: never punch someone in the jaw again. I flex my fingers, wincing at the stiffness. Stupid blind rage !

Taking a deep breath and steadying myself before tucking the phone back into my ankle holster that I rip off my leg, I quickly find a spot to hide it. No way am I giving up my only means of contacting the outside world.

Glancing at the door, I know I can’t stay hidden in here forever, but I also want to pee. Once I’m done washing my hands, I nearly jump out of my skin when someone bangs on the door.

“Leigh?” Radomir’s voice booms through thick wood. “What’s going on? You’re not trying to escape, are you?”

Was he making a joke? No, he probably means it. I can’t imagine the man has a sense of humor. If he does, it’s probably dark. Like laughing at baby seals being clubbed to death.

After a final glance in the mirror, I smooth my hair, square my shoulders, and brace myself. Taking a steadying breath, I unlock the door and yank it open—only to come face-to-face with the Dark Lord himself.

He’s so close to me that I can feel the heat from his body, and the scent of his expensive cologne teases my senses, doing that strange thing to my stomach and nether region again.

I should step back as emotions churn inside me, but showing weakness isn’t an option. As long as my shaky legs hold, I’ll stand my ground.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I’m even more aware of how this man towers over me. My father stands at six feet one inch, so at a guess, I’d say Radomir was close to six-three and not short on muscle either.

Don’t look, Leigh. Keep your eyes ahead —just not too ahead. That will land your gaze right on his pecs, perfectly framed by the four undone buttons on his shirt.

I clear my throat. “Are we just going to stand here all night?” I glance over my shoulder. “You can check for any loose tiles if you want. But all my tunneling tools are in my purse that you confiscated.”

Then, to my utter disbelief, Radomir’s face becomes even more handsome as his lips curl into a smile, and I nearly gasp as a glint of humor flickers in his blue eyes.

“How about we have dinner together first? I’ll check the tiles later,” Radomir suggests, stepping back so I can exit the bathroom.

The dining room is just as plush and modern as the rest of the penthouse, with a crystal chandelier casting a warm glow over the mahogany table. Two place settings are arranged on the table—one at the head of it and the other directly to the right. I’m guessing the throne seat is for the Dark Lord.

Radomir pulls the chair out for me. “Sit,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I ignore the feel of my hackles rising at being treated like a dog. But if he pats me on the head, I swear I will bite him.

Reluctantly, I sink into the chair, watching him take his throne beside me. A server appears, placing a plate of food in front of me. The aroma is tantalizing, and my mouth starts to water. My stomach gives a soft gurgle, reminding me I left my sloshy Chinese takeout at home uneaten.

I’m about to push the food away, ignoring my screaming system, but my hand freezes near the plate.

“You should eat. It’s been a long day,” Radomir says, a suggestive glint in his eyes. “You need your strength.”

His words send a jolt of heat through me, stirring a restless ache a restless ache in my pussy I can’t ignore. I try to press my thighs together, hoping to quell the sensation, but the friction of my jeans only fans the fire.

“Champagne?” Radomir’s question snaps me from my thoughts, and I nod, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze.

He reaches for the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket beside him, and I can’t help but notice how his shirt strains against his powerful muscles. A persistent heat coils low in my belly, growing stronger with each passing second. I force myself to focus on the food in front of me.

“This looks delicious,” I squeak out.

“My chef does not disappoint,” Radomir says, setting a crystal flute filled with golden liquid bubbling and fizzing in front of me.

As he leans toward me, his knee touches mine beneath the table, making me jump, and another jolt zaps my hungry lady’s part. I can feel I’m starting to get soaking wet, and I have to think of something else, as I would be mortified to stand up and have a damp spot on the front of my jeans. I sense that it will give the fucking bastard great satisfaction to know how my body seems to respond to just a look from him.

I know what will dull my traitorous senses, though— champagne . I’m not a drinker. I’m the person at a party who will walk around with one drink the whole night, sipping at it until Sabrina eventually finishes it for me, and then gags as it’s warm.

I lift the glass, the cool stem slips between my fingers, and take a gulp. I nearly choke when I notice Radomir’s gaze burning into me. A shiver runs down my spine. There’s something about the way he looks at me, like he’s trying to climb into my mind. I find that very unsettling and exciting.

Trying to ignore his stare, I start to eat, and oh my God , it’s as delicious as it smells. I can’t stop the tiny moan of pleasure as the flavors burst across my tongue.

“Good?” Radomir asks, lifting his glass to his lips.

As I have a mouthful, I nod and as soon as I’ve swallowed I answer, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

He starts to eat, and the room descends into an awkward silence. This is why I avoid dating. Small talk and prying into people’s lives aren’t my strengths—unless, of course, it’s intel my father needs me to gather.

I hate awkward silences and because I lack small talk skills I end up babbling on about some random subject I’m interested in or read off the internet—a sure recipe to ensure there is never a second date. Which I know delights my father who thinks I’m going to be an old maid and his side kick for the rest of my life.

The thought of my father sends an instant spurt of hot rage through me. After thinking of him, another memory hits me—the chaos I caused in Radmir’s VIP room. My jaw clenches as I finish another bite. Time to do the right thing, Leigh. I wipe my mouth on a napkin, probably worth more than all the linen in my apartment, and turn to Radomir.

“I’m sorry about the chaos in your VIP room,” I say, watching his brows rise in surprise. “I have a terrible temper, and I regret that my anger at my father cost you.”

Radomir finishes the food he’s chewing. He wipes his mouth and takes a sip of champagne, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat. He gives nothing away, and I brace, waiting for him to tell me what I owe or for the punishment he’s sure to dole out.

“Your apology is accepted.” Radomir leans back in his chair. To my surprise, a small smile plays around his sexy lips. “The chaos you caused led to some good.”

My brows shoot up so high in surprise. Did I hear him right? “How?”

“The first man you accused of cheating?” Radomir leans forward. “Not one of mine. But their capture uncovered some valuable information.” Radomir’s lips twitched into a smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker, more intense. “My cousin suggested that the next time we have a high-stakes game, we get you to watch out for more imposters.”

I ignore his attempt at teasing as I get an unwanted spurt of concern for my father. “And my father?” I look at him. “Is he…”

“You no longer have to worry about him, maya kotyonok.” His words make my heart squeeze and my eyes widen.

“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” I know my father is a first-class dick, but that doesn’t mean I really want him dead. “It wasn’t his fault I lost it.”

“On that, I don’t agree,” Radomir shakes his head, twirling the glass on the table. “Your father stole from you, did he not?”

“More like a long-term loan,” I say, sipping the heady golden liquid.

I put the glass on the table, resting my hand near the stem, and before I can pull away, Radomir takes it in his and examines the tender knuckles, running gentle fingers over the bruised skin. “Tomorrow, I’ll get my doctor to look at it.”

No!“ I pull my hand from his. “It’s nothing.”

“Still, it’s best to make sure,” Radomir tells me.

I have a feeling my objections will go unheard, so I just nod.

Three courses and two bottles of champagne later, I feel like I’m about to burst—I’m so full. We’re finishing off the champagne when an idea hits me.

“Let me win my freedom back,” I challenge, meeting his gaze as his eyebrows lift. “Best of five hands of poker.” I gulp down the last of my drink. “If I win, I go free, no strings attached.”

“And if I win?” Radomir leans his elbows on the table. His eyes darken as they scan my person, making me all tingly. “Do you agree to surrender to me— completely? Mine to keep body and soul?”

His voice dips and takes on a husky lilt that draws my eyes to his lips, and for an instant, I can picture them doing crazy things to my body.

“I…” I gulp and desire hums through me, every nerve alight with longing. Suddenly, all I want is his hands on my body. I clear my throat feeling my cheeks heat, and nod. “Ye… yes.”

Radomir’s smile widens, a predatory edge to his expression. I feel like I’ve just sold my soul to the devil—or at least challenged him for it.

“I’ll agree to this only if I get to choose what type of poker we play.” Radomir’s smile grows.

“Okay,” I agree. “I can play most games.”

He nods. “Alright then, let’s take this somewhere more appropriate, shall we?”

I nod, starting to feel like I’ve been duped somehow. Radomir slides his chair back, stands, and moves around behind me to help me out of my chair. He holds out his hand, and I place my unhurt hand in his.

His gaze fixed on me, he says. “This way.”

My stomach clenches as I allow him to lead me past the living room, the bathroom hiding my phone, and a few other doors. My heart starts picking up speed as I wonder if we’re going to his study. At the end of the hall, he stops and pushes open the door to the main bedroom, and I stiffen.

“We’ll sit at the table by the window.” Radomir points to it. “I thought it more private than in the living room, where one of my men could walk in.”

Stepping through the doorway, I feel like I’m following the white rabbit down a rabbit hole into a strange new world filled with forbidden temptations and dark desires.

“Why does it matter if anyone sees us playing poker?” I ask, my eyes flicking around the room. The massive king-size bed looms like a silent witness, its perfectly arranged pillows feel like they judging my shabby attire. A cozy seating area surrounds the flickering gas fire, and the round table near the window frames a stunning view of the glittering city skyline. Despite the luxury, unease prickles at my skin.

“Because, my beautiful Leigh...” His voice dips, smooth and dangerous, as he guides me to the chair. I sink into it, every nerve on edge as he leans in from behind. His warm breath brushes my ear, sending a shiver down my spine that I can’t suppress. “My game of choice is strip poker.”

I freeze, my heart thundering. My lips part to respond, to protest, but the words die in my throat when his hands rest on the back of my chair, trapping me. His tone darkens, his breath a whisper of seduction and command.

“And I never lose.”

The room feels smaller, the air heavier. A battle drums inside me—a collision of defiance and the pull of something deeper, something I don’t want to name. As I meet his eyes in the reflection of the glass, I realize one thing with alarming clarity: I’m playing a game far more dangerous than I imagined.