The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

There. I said it. It’s the truth, but it was hard for me to admit out loud the first time. Now I’ve owned it, just like I own her.

She whirls in my arms but buries her face against my chest, like it’s too intense to look at me. She bites my pect, and I full-on chuckle.

Me.

Chuckle.

Love is definitely changing me.

“Get dressed.” I tell her, gently nudging her away. I give her ass another hard slap because I meant what I said about wanting my prints on her.

Not that I don’t always want them there.

Soon, if I can make it all come together, she will wear those prints every fucking day and night.

15

Kayla

I get to the nightclub, which has been booked for the private event, right on time. The promotion is to get sign-ups for insurance consultations, which is probably why Chuck couldn’t get anyone to replace me. Personally, I think the concept is lacking. Sure, I can talk a guy into signing up because I’m cute, wear a skin-tight shirt and give him attention, but the chance of him no-showing the appointment he makes seems very high. What incentive would he have to meet them?

But that’s not my problem. We get paid a flat fee plus a bonus for every appointment booked, so these stupid events can be lucrative. I’m just a thousand times grateful that Pavel was willing to come along. I don’t want to be apart from him for even a minute. Not when he only has twenty-four hours in town.

Especially not when he just told me he loves me.

He loves me!

I’m still floating.

Not that it changes our circumstances. But it still makes my soul sing. Knowing he feels the same way I do.

Pavel parks his rental car in the lot, and we get out. Kimberly, Ashley, and Sheri are getting out of Ash’s Cooper Mini at the same time, and Ashley waves and shouts.

I wave back and jog toward them then stop, realizing I’m being rude to Pavel.

“Sorry,” I say, turning back.

“I don’t need babysitting.” There’s an indulgence to his tone, the kind I usually only hear after he’s put me through a long night of torture, and it’s time for aftercare. But he’s been more outwardly affectionate since he got here tonight.

It makes me feel like I could fly.

I flash him a smile and run to my friends—well, as best I can run in my high-heeled boots.

“Here’s your shirt.” Sheri tosses me a hot pink crop top with the insurance company’s name in black letters across the tits. “I brought you a skirt, too, because I didn’t know what you were wearing.”

I’m in the sweater dress, so it’s a good thing she brought the skirt. Except I see Pavel glowering at the short, black faux-leather mini.

He curses in Russian under his breath.

“This is Pavel,” I say brightly, even though they obviously already have guessed as much. “Pavel, this is Kimberly, Ashley, and Sheri.”

He shakes each of their hands, his cool, assessing gaze traveling over each of their faces. I know he heard what Kimberly said on the phone earlier about him, and I’m still cringing over it. Not that Pavel seems like the type to get hurt feelings, but I wish—I want—them to get along. But Pavel isn’t like Sasha’s husband Maxim—the kind who charms women with his powerful but benevolent demeanor. Pavel is Pavel—the bad boy with a dangerous air and a smile you have to work very hard to earn.

My friends may not see what I do at first.

Hopefully, they will eventually.

We go inside, and I tell Chuck I have to change but will be ready in just a few minutes. In the bathroom, I shimmy out of my sweater dress and put on the tight crop-top and miniskirt. I brush my hands down my ass, remembering the sting of Pavel’s slap. The possessive words he growled in my ear about smelling like his cum.

My nipples grow hard and chafe against my bra.

Out on the floor, the room is already starting to fill. Pavel’s at the bar holding a high-ball glass with a clear liquid—vodka, I assume.

It occurs to me that I don’t know his favorite kind. Or even what he likes to eat, beyond room service food. There’s so many things I don’t know about him.

Will I ever get to learn them? Tonight, for some reason, I feel hopeful that I will. Tonight, everything feels open. Different.

I meet with Chuck to get my appointment book and assignment and head out into the crowd. It’s some kind of young businessman convention—who knows what, exactly, but basically the place is packed with entitled white guys in suits, all looking like they’re just out of college. By the way they’re hitting the open bar, they could be still in college.

Give it a couple hours, and these guys will be handsy as hell. I’ve seen this sort of scene before.