Obsessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 4)

TEN

Anton

That was the last call I was expecting, Detective Rylan Scott informing me that the girl whose picture I sent over to him is a federal agent.

She's been playing me.

Worse, I thought she had feelings for me, that they were honest and not the least bit wrapped up in her job. Now I understand why she was happy to oblige me, wanting to keep our relationship a secret.

It could have ruined her little game.

"What are you after?" I ask, the gun cocked at her temple. My right hand is on the trigger, and my left is gripped around the back of her neck. She's not going anywhere.

My instincts were right, no matter how much I wanted them to be wrong. When I saw her in my office, examining the ledger, everything seemed to fall apart. I thought I would vomit, but I pushed aside my concerns and swallowed my pride as best I could.

Now it seemed to be biting me in the ass.

"It's not what you think," Savannah whispers, staring at me. Her ruby lips are parted, and each breath comes out breathier.

Is she trying to arouse me to dull my senses? It won't work.

"Try me, Agent Savannah Blakely," I say with disgust. She kept her first name the same, but she'd pretended to be Savannah Parker. Her name isn't the only lie. "This isn't your real home, is it?"

I glance around the barren walls. The fresh coat of paint suddenly makes sense. She moved into this place to go undercover. This isn't her home.

"I'm your mark." The realization dawns on me that I'm nothing more than a means to an end. "Are you trying to take me down or the entire organization I work for?" I jab the gun farther against her temple.

"I never meant to hurt you," Savannah says.

"And you think that I could believe you? After all the lies you've spat," I laugh darkly and pull back like she's burned me. I push her down onto the sofa, forcing her to sit. "Hands on your lap, facing up." I frisk her, and while there's no obvious sign of a weapon, if she's a federal agent, then she's had plenty of hand-to-hand combat training.

She obliges, sitting on the sofa and staring up at me. "Are you going to kill me?" she asks, "because cameras are all over this apartment."

"You're a terrible liar." There's no surveillance or bugs in her apartment. I had one of our guys check the place after she came clean about the FBI agent at the club. Had that all been a lie?

Was he one of her colleagues?

I turn the safety off and lower the gun, but I remain towering above, pacing in front of the sofa. "What information have you given to the feds?" I need to know what she's done.

How much of a mess have I made? Have I implicated Mikhail, Nikita, and the other members of the bratva, or only myself?

"Nothing," she says, staring up at me with those crystal blue eyes.

I ought to pull the trigger, call the clean-up crew, and be done with her. But for some reason, I've lowered the barrel and can't bring it back to her forehead.

"You're lying," I say, stepping closer to the sofa, my knees bumping hers.

"I'm not," Savannah says. "I glimpsed at your ledger but didn't make any copies of what I saw. I couldn't do that to you."

"Because you were caught." Her justification doesn't sit well with me. She doesn't care about me. It's never been about me, other than to use me. Killing her would be easy, and I'm not a forgiving man, but I can't hurt her.

I hate that I care about her.

Her tongue darts out to the corner of her lip before retreating. "Nevertheless, the FBI doesn't have anything on you."

"What about Mikhail and Nikita?" Does she have anything on them?

She shakes her head. "Just my knowledge of the ledger, but it isn't anything that would hold up in court without proof."

I should never have trusted Savannah. Handing over the key to my office had been foolish. I'd made the biggest mistake, trusting her.

"The man tonight, the VIP client, he's a federal agent, isn't he?"

Wordlessly, she nods.

"And you told him about me." I can only assume she divulged everything that happened between us to her colleague or boss.

"Not everything." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean, not everything?" She's avoiding the question. Why?

She presses her lips together, staring up at me. "I didn't divulge that we've been sleeping together."

"And why not?" I press further. "You slept with me, hoping to gain my trust and gather information. Why wouldn't the bureau be proud of that fact?"

"It wasn't like that," Savannah says and stands, skirting away from me, keeping a distance between us.

"Sit back down!" I belt, unsure where she's heading, and I'm not about to let her grab a gun or another weapon she might have hidden away.

"You can't order me around, Anton," she says, folding her arms across her chest.

At least by her stance, she's not going for a weapon. She's defensive. Angry. Like, somehow, I'm the one to blame for her behavior.

"The hell I can't. You work for me, kitten. I own you."