Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

Boris said nothing and stepped aside so the man behind the desk could get a good look at Laura and me. She seemed relaxed enough, but I felt this uncomfortable pressure surrounding me all of a sudden. The man didn’t hide how he blatantly checked us out.

His eyes seemed very dark—and not in the aspect of color. They just appeared closed off from the world, maybe even his humanity. He leaned back slowly, his leather chair making a soft sound from the shift of weight. For a long second no one spoke as he looked between Laura and me. And then he started speaking in Russian, his voice a smooth, deep timbre.

When the man behind the desk stood, I took an involuntary step back at his size. I immediately regretted showing this weakness and fear, because it didn't go unseen by him, not in the way this glint of amusement filled his eyes.

I heard a little chuckle from one of the men sitting on the couch, but I didn’t look over. A survival instinct told me I needed to keep my gaze locked on the man currently advancing on Laura and me.

He stopped in front of Laura first, but I didn't miss how his focus kept flicking toward me. He didn’t touch her, but then again, he didn’t need to by how strong his gaze was as it moved up and down her body. Laura faced forward, her eyes locked on something straight ahead. It was very clear she had gone through this process before. Was this just something he did for every woman who worked here? It seemed so… wrong.

“Svetlana,” he said as he stopped in front of Laura. He nodded to Boris, and Laura stepped back, her face a mask of indifference. Or maybe it was fear.

She put on a completely different persona at this place compared to Sal’s. Then again, Sal’s was like the juices at the bottom of a dumpster in comparison to this place.

He stepped close to me, and my body tensed involuntarily. The corner of his lips tipped up as if he found it funny… or it pleased him.

“What’s your name, dorogoy?”

I felt light-headed, my heart racing so hard and fast I worried there was a possibility I’d pass out. I licked my lips and whispered, “Lina.” He didn’t show any facial expressions, just watched me with cold indifference.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice was thickly accented, yet the words were smooth and clear, his English flawless. I slowly shook my head, and that had a smile spreading across his mouth, but it wasn’t the type of smile that put someone at ease. If a predator in the wild could grin, I knew this was what it would look like.

“It’s always so thrilling when someone doesn't know who I am.” The arrogance laced in his words terrified me. “It’s Leonid, darling.”

He didn’t circle me like he had Laura, not at first. He stood just a foot away from me and stared, not speaking anymore, as if he’d made his quota for the day. The weight of his gaze was unsettling. I didn’t know what he was looking for, or if he saw the answer to his own question, but after a second he started walking around me in the same process he had for Laura.

I could feel his gaze rake over each part of my body, as if his eyes were fingers and he was touching my calves, the backs of my thighs, my ass, and moving up the length of my spine. He was in front of me again, his focus on my chest, then lower. I stopped myself from covering my breasts and the junction between my legs, because even though I was fully dressed, I felt like this man could see right through the material.

“Svetlana?” one of the men on the couch asked.

He slowly shook his head. “Net.”

A string of Russian was spoken, the man before me holding my focus as if he knew who I truly was, as if he could see my deepest secrets.

He was like Arlo in that regard.

Dangerous.

“Nevinovnyy.” Leonid’s voice was low and deep. But sharp… so sharp. “Da,” he said as if answering his own question. “Anastasia.”

I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but Laura took my hand and led me out of the room and back to where the other women and racks of clothing were.

“What’s going on?” I finally asked when we stopped, and she faced me. “That was the weirdest damn interview, or whatever the hell that was, I’ve ever experienced. Who was that man?”

“Leonid Petrov,” she said, but I didn’t miss the slight tension in her voice. “He owns the bar.” Her shoulders relaxed. “And I’m sure a shitload of other places, and big connections, no doubt.” She didn’t emphasize what she meant, but I got the gist. Connections in the crime world. I glanced around, and I felt like the pressure that had surrounded us when we were in front of Leonid slowly dissipated the longer we were away from him. “Damn, I wish we had gotten the same room together, but we snagged the top two tiers, so good money regardless.”