The Payback (Team Zulu 2)

Instead of following his boss, Maxim entered the storeroom. What the hell did he want?

He approached, stopping only inches away, forcing me to crane my neck to look him in the eye. He seemed even larger at this range.

“On the first day you dance, I will be there. Front row.” Maxim rarely spoke, so when he did, his Russian accent was jarring. “And after, you will do a different dance in a back room just for me.”

Like hell I would.

“Yeah, that sounds real special and all”—I scrunched up my nose—“but the gag factor might make me puke all over you.”

His stoic gaze didn’t shift. “You would not be the first. Many women have gagged with my cock down their throat. This does not bother me.”

Going against all instinct to back away from this monstrous creep, I leaned toward him and hit him with a hard stare. “If you think your dick is safe anywhere near my teeth, you’re seriously fucking mistaken.”

“Max,” Dante called from the door. “I told you. You don’t touch her. She’s mine.”

I waswhat?

Dante continued. “We have somewhere to be. Let’s move.”

The Russian eyed me from head to toe with a sneer fixed on his face but didn’t back away.

Emboldened by the fact that I apparently had some level of protection from Dante, at least where this monster was concerned, I tilted my head to meet his icy stare. “How’s your face, by the way? Looks like the print from my boot has almost faded.”

Maxim’s eyes flared.

“Your master calls. Better run along like a good dog.” Although that felt like an insult to good dogs around the world. I shooed him away with a flick of my wrist, then turned to resume counting bottles of liquor.

Thankfully, he left without another word.

I exhaled a ragged breath and braced a trembling hand on the shelf before my knees buckled.

“Two Jacks and Coke, a double shot of Jameson—no ice—and a whiskey sour. Thanks, Angelo.” I placed the empty drink tray on the long bar.

The bar manager nodded and set about making the drinks. Behind him was an impressive array of liquor against a mirrored backdrop. Blue LED lights illuminated the many fridges below.

Angelo was the only guy I liked here. He was far from innocent, though, being the brother of a mobster and turning a blind eye to a lot of illegal activity. But at least he wasn’t an asshole, and he didn’t treat me or the other women like pieces of meat.

The clientele thought every female here was fair game. I was quick to slap away grabby hands, but I had to resist the urge to ram my elbow in their faces. Although bloodying a mafioso’s nose would be satisfying, it would also draw attention, and I was all about flying under the radar.

I adjusted my uniform, wiggling the tiny black shorts down so they covered my ass cheeks, and pulling the neck of the cami up since my boobs were about to spill out.

A flurry of movement at the back door drew my eye. I did a double take because that looked like—oh my God.

Brandon.

Hell no.

What was he thinking turning up here? How had he even gotten inside? If he was on some noble mission to rescue me from Dante’s deal, he was going to get himself killed.

I’d told him I didn’t want his help.Why hadn’t he listened?

Pigheaded, infuriating man.

Damn him, though, because he looked as delicious as ever. My eyes narrowed on his tall form as he moved through the club, taking long, powerful strides. His usually clean-shaven face sported a few days’ growth, and the black cargo pants and gray T-shirt fit his muscular frame to perfection. The scruffy guy he escorted by the upper arm struggled to keep up. Who was he, and why did Brandon have him handcuffed?

My neighbor’s eyes scanned the club floor and stopped searching when his gaze landed on me. I froze while he held my stare. Even in the dimly lit club, those crystal-clear blue eyes still had the power to mesmerize me. With his chin angled low, he gave a subtle shake of his head and nudged the scrawny, disheveled guy toward the stairs and the offices above. Except every cell in my body demanded I go to Brandon and scream that he needed to get the heck out of here.

Patience, Sage.

I willed myself to show no sign I was aware of Brandon or that his being here was of interest to me.

“You’re good to go,” said Angelo. I turned in time to see him drop a slice of orange in the whiskey sour.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”