The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

I steal a glance at Pavel, pleased to find he’s watching me with that intensity that sends jolts of heat to my core. I head out into the crowd, mingling with the men, chatting them up, getting their phone numbers entered into my system for appointments. Everywhere I go, the inexorable pull of Pavel’s gaze follows me, an invisible connection between us that he could use to snap me back to his side with one gentle tug.

But he doesn’t snap my leash. He doesn’t sulk about the turn of events, even though I want to. Now that I’m here I’m angry with my decision to come. This job has been a great way to pay the rent for the last year, but it’s not like it’s a resume-builder or a place to meet influential people. I just felt pressured by Kimberly—maybe because she was judging my relationship with Pavel.

The fact that my roommates think I’m in an unhealthy relationship does concern me, but they also don’t understand kink. Sasha gets it more, but she’s pretty far from normal. She was raised in the bratva. Her father was so medieval he arranged her marriage.

When I consider things like bringing Pavel back to Wisconsin to meet my parents, it’s pretty hard to imagine.

What we have is not normal.

But isn’t normal overrated?

Halfway through the shift, I lose my drive. I usually work these events like I’m being graded and have to get A pluses straight down my report card, but tonight I can’t see the point. These customers are asses, and the client we’re working for is cheesy as hell for using hot girls to sell their stupid insurance product. It’s probably some kind of swindle, anyway.

Or maybe it’s just that when measuring the importance of doing this job well compared to the importance of the man patiently waiting for me at the bar, there’s no comparison. Besides, I have a real job now. I went to Lara’s office and signed the contract. I’m now officially a working actress. I would be quitting this job soon, anyway. I won’t have time with filming the show.

The more I think about it, the more annoyed I get at being here. Not that I’m going to walk out tonight. I have way too strong a work ethic for that. But I know now that I made the wrong choice, and Pavel and I are both paying for it.

“Hey.” I hear Pavel’s sharp voice, and I whirl to see some inebriated asswipe squeezing Kimberly’s ass like it’s dough that needs to be kneaded. Pavel leans against the bar, looking deceptively casual. “Hands off the women.”

My heels click as I walk swiftly over, not that Pavel or Kimberly need back up from me.

“What are you, their pimp?” the dumbass snorts, but he has let go of Kim’s ass.

“I’m the guy who’s going to make you swallow your teeth if you don’t apologize to her.”

Kimberly’s not like me. She doesn’t run from confrontations. She folds her arms over her chest and cocks her head expectantly.

The guy looks from Pavel to Kimberly.

“Sorry,” he says, not really sounding it.

Kimberly hip checks his table, sloshing the guy’s drink into his lap. “Oops. Me too.” She sashays over to where I stand beside Pavel. “Thanks,” she says to Pavel then elbow nudges me. “We should bring him to all the events.”

“Yeah, I think this is my last one,” I tell her. “I’m not feeling it.”

Kimberly blows out a breath. “Yeah, this one sucks. I’m sorry I guilted you into coming.” She points a finger at Pavel. “Don’t you go punishing her for this or whatever it is you do.”

Beside me, Pavel goes very still.

My face flushes. “Kimberly.”

She shrugs. “Whatever. Consenting adults and all that.” She rolls her eyes and leaves us.

“I’m sorry,” I moan.

Pavel’s throat works. I see that torment I saw in his eyes the night on the balcony.

“Oh God. Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t get it, okay? We know what we have is perfect.” I press my body up against his. “It’s amazing.”

He’s characteristically hard to read.

“I got wet when you were defending her,” I murmur in his ear.

Pavel’s arm loops around my back. A muscle moves in his jaw. “This has been hard for you—our relationship.”

“It hasn’t,” I answer immediately. “It’s not.”

“There are consequences for lying, blossom.”

He’s right. It is hard—but not in the way he thinks. What’s hard is the rollercoaster of closeness and cleaving. Peeling myself off the floor every Monday after he goes back home.

A home where he lives with people who know him infinitely better than I do.

What’s hard is knowing it’s all temporary—even what little we have. He’s moving to Russia and leaving me behind.

And for some reason, that ending—which seemed far enough away when he told me, now feels like it’s hurtling closer and closer. Because the more I fall in love, the more terrified I become about our inevitable end.