“Shit, Chelle, what have you done?” The panic in Zane’s voice freaks me out.
I climb on the El and find a seat, the phone pressed too hard against my ear. “I paid him all the cash I could scrape together last week. It wasn’t that much—fifteen hundred or so.”
“You—you paid him?” Zane is spluttering.
Icy tendrils crawl across my arms at his obvious fear.
“How? How did you find him?”
“He texted the location to your phone. You were passed out, so I went.”
“Are you crazy?” Zane practically shouts into my ear. “Chelle, these guys are dangerous. Or did my swollen face not convince you?”
“He said he’d take your motorcycle.” I cut to what’s important.
“What?” Zane explodes. “You told him about the Ducati? The title is still in Dad’s name, I didn’t think he’d find out about it. Why did you tell him? That’s the only thing I have to get around right now.”
“I was trying to keep you from getting killed.”
“The bratva aren’t going to kill me. I can’t pay them back if I’m dead. Chelle,” —Zane gives a huff of anxiety— “I’m not half as confident they won’t try something with you.”
It takes a moment for that to sink in. “With me?”
“Don’t you see? Nikolai was already hinting you were in danger when we went to your place to get the title, so—”
“Nikolai was in my apartment?” The sense of violation comes as a total shock.
“I had to give him the title to the Mustang. But the thing is, he already knew about you before we went. So you showing up there freaks me the hell out. He could’ve just grabbed you while you were there.”
Cold spills down my throat into my chest. “Grabbed me?”
Nothing about my interaction with the Russian loan shark made me think he’d grab me. In fact, he’d sent me away and told me not to come back.
And threatened to spank me. I try not to think about that part. Or the tingles it brings to my lady parts.
What kind of arrangement? he had purred, like he was willing to let me work off my brother’s debt on my back. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about it non-stop ever since.
Still, I have to believe Zane. He’s right—Nikolai gave him all those bruises. To imagine he’s anything but a monster would be a mistake.
“You need to bring him the motorcycle. Tonight. Don’t mess around with these guys, Zane. I’m scared.”
“Yeah, okay.” I think my admission of fear is what convinces him. It wasn’t his big sister telling him what to do, it was about him protecting me from the danger he’d opened me up to. “I need the title, then. You have that one, too.”
“Yeah. Stop by, I’ll get it out for you. I’m almost home.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
We end the call, and I try to calm my frazzled nerves. When I get to my apartment I drop my purse on the coffee table and pull the title to the motorcycle. I can’t decide between eating or a shower. A shower wins out because if I can squeeze it in before Zane gets here, maybe we can eat together.
I jump under the hot spray and lean against the tile, letting the exhaustion of the day roll off me. Between work and this thing with Zane, the stress is killing me. The image of Nikolai materializes in my mind. Not just how he looked, but his scent comes back to me—some kind of soap with a hint of masculine spice. Earthy yet clean.
Oh, God.
I shouldn’t think about Nikolai when I’m naked. The water pelting my nipples makes them bead into fine aching points. I rub my thumbs over them and moan softly. It’s weird I can be turned on when I’m so stressed out. Maybe it’s my body’s hint at how to alleviate the stress.
I should just go with it, right?
I turn my back to the spray and place my hands on the tile, pretending I’m in the position Nikolai threatened to put me in.
What would you beg for, Chelle?
God, I want that accented voice out of my head! Probably if I just let myself get off once to this fantasy, I’ll be able to banish it. I bring my fingers between my legs and stroke the soft flesh there. Tip my ass back a little more as if the water is my play partner, and I’m presenting it. I mentally undress Nikolai. I saw glimpses of tattoos running up his arms. How far do they go? Just the forearms? All the way across his chest? Are his shoulders as muscled as they appeared under that crisp button-down?
I grind my fingers over my clit, my breath growing short. What would it be like if I would let myself hook up with someone? No strings. Just sex. Someone like the Russian bad boy loan shark who wants to spank me?