The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5)

Last night, a million years ago, when I put it on, I felt so seductive. I'd been thinking about impressing Dima, remembering his erections every time I massaged him. Hoping he might see me as worthy of asking out, especially now that there was competition.

Now I wish to God I’d gone in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. At least they would've made better pajamas. I can’t stand to be in this thing for another second. To say I'm not the cocktail dress type would be an understatement. I live in skinny jeans and Chucks.

I search the drawers in the bedroom I'm in for a t-shirt but find nothing but a spare set of sheets and pillowcases for the bed.

I don’t hear any sounds from downstairs, and part of me just wants to keep hiding up here. I don’t want to face Dima and his wrath and whatever punishment he has planned for me while I’m locked up here with him.

But I need to be a big girl. Still, I slip down the stairs as silently as possible. If Dima’s asleep, I’ll let him stay that way. I peek in the open bedroom door and find him lying on top of the bed beside Nikolai, asleep. I guess I wasn’t the only one who slept in their clothes last night.

I take a look around. Last night it was dark, and my brain wasn’t working. Today, I’m stunned by how beautiful the cabin is. It’s more like a forest mansion, really. A great room with vaulted ceilings has wall-to-wall windows along one side with a spectacular view of the forest. Leather furniture is organized around the view and the fireplace on one end of the great room. On the other, a long farm table anchors the open-concept dining area, which is beside the large, well-appointed kitchen.

As I discovered last night, the curving staircase leads to an upper-level wraparound hallway, with banisters overlooking the great room. There are four bedrooms and two bathrooms up there.

I head into the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee as quietly as possible. The refrigerator is empty except for condiments, but there’s some food in the pantry. Canned goods. A pancake mix that only requires water. A half a bag of chocolate chips.

I definitely need chocolate today. I pop a few chips in my mouth and go about making chocolate chip pancakes. I’m a firm believer in adding chocolate to everything, especially when I’m stressed.

Dima still hasn’t woken by the time I finish, so I eat a couple, lamenting the lack of butter, but finding real maple syrup to drizzle over them instead.

Then I finally stop stalling and go into Nikolai’s room. I need to give him his meds through a new drip although I can’t remember if we even brought the supplies in from the Land Rover last night. I do a cursory check of the room but don’t find them.

Outside, I find the Land Rover open, and I carry the cardboard box of supplies inside, setting them gently on the dresser beside a pistol and Dima’s glasses.

I didn’t know Dima had a gun. I’ve seen them on Ravil and Maxim before but never on Dima.

I stare at it for a moment.

“You touch that pistol, Natasha, and the gloves come off.”

I whirl, anger surging like bile. Dima’s sitting up in the bed, his blond hair rumpled, his face no less beautiful when he’s being cruel. He pats the bedside table without taking his gaze off me and I realize he’s looking for his glasses.

I hand them to him. “Seriously, Dima? What in the hell do you think I’m going to do with it? Shoot you? Make you give me the keys, so I can run away?” I throw my hands in the air with exasperation. “I live in your building. My mother lives in your building. I know this is my fault, but I’m in this with you. I’m not the enemy.”

Dima swings his long legs off the bed and stalks past me and out of the room without answering.

Great. So I’m getting the silent treatment now. Peachy.

Nikolai groans. “Well, good-fucking-morning to you, too.”

“Nikolai!” I gasp, moving to his side. “I’m sorry. You’re probably in pain. You were supposed to get your meds a couple hours ago.”

“That explains it,” he says weakly.

“Just give me a minute. It’s intravenous, so it will work quickly.”

I swiftly attach the IV bag and the painkiller to the tube still in the back of his hand and unlock the port, as the veterinarian showed me. My hands shake nearly as badly as they did last night, just from that little interaction with Dima, and I have to work to steady my breath.

“You’ve got my brother all kinds of grouchy,” Nikolai observes.

“Tell me about it,” I mutter as I work. “And I thought you two were the laid-back ones.”