And, most irritating of all, she’s far too fuckable for any of that to matter.
She has this aura of incandescence, which should be hampered by her black hair, but the contrast only sharpens her allure. There’s a fervor in her expression that the photo either didn’t show or wasn’t there during her teen years. She also seems to have gained some weight since she was sixteen, but it adds a gentle softness to her face and, from what I noticed walking in, a fine-as-fuck ass.
God, if she wasn’t the chief’s daughter, I’d rip her to shreds. The high would last long enough for me to take her over and over until she was broken.
I swallow down my drink. It’s quickly replaced.
I shake off my weakness. I knew walking in here that the police would send a beautiful, sensual woman to try to distract any Bratva member from the fact that she’s connected to the department. She must have rejected dozens of men, waiting for one of my men to wander too close.
She’d be worth a fuck, but she’s not worth prison.
A beautiful blonde woman with streaks of turquoise in her hair sits down beside me. She orders a mango margarita before turning toward me.
“I’m Natasha,” she says. I consider telling her to fuck off, but I need to keep up the façade that I’m just another man in a nightclub. I smile, leaning against the bar to be closer to her.
“Hello, Natasha. I’m Ryan.”
I shake her hand before glancing over at Allison. Natasha’s eyes follow me. I won’t be able to keep an eye on Allison without tipping my hand.
“So, Ryan,” Natasha asks. “Have you heard about the thirty-six questions you can ask a person and it will cause the two of you to fall in love?”
“I’m not looking for love,” I tell her.
“I’m not either,” she says. “But I figure it’s a good way to find out if we should fuck tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow, pretending to find her bluntness unique. “Okay. What’s one of the questions?”
“Hmm. Let’s say you have a crystal ball. It can tell you the truth about anything. I mean, anything about you—like who you are, things about your life, your past, your present, your future—what would you want to ask it?”
“If I’m going to be rich someday,” I say. Her eyes flicker over my clothing. She must have pegged me as rich. I’ll give her points for her ability to spot an expensive suit, but I can see her questioning her decision to talk to me already. Jonathan drops off her margarita. She wraps her fingers around the stem and sips from it.
“Are you going to ask me the same question?” she asks.
“No.” I briefly look toward Allison. She’s leaning against the bar, her head propped up on her hand. Tired. I could fix that for her. I focus on Natasha again. “If you could sleep anywhere tonight, where would it be?”
“Maybe in my bed. Maybe with you. It depends,” she teases and takes another sip of her margarita. She licks some salt from the edge of her mouth. Usually, I’d be all over this kind of woman. Unabashedly sexual, and already dripping with a desperate desire for my approval.
But her antics are bordering on annoying right now. She sets her margarita down. “All right, I have another one. If you could change the way that you were raised, what is one thing that you would change?”
“I’d have given myself a dog,” I lie.
We had a dog. His name was Bear. He used to get upset every time my parents kissed. We were never sure why, but my father used to tease him by kissing my mother repeatedly. Bear would bark over and over until my father walked away. As a child, I thought my parents were madly in love and maybe they even were.
If anything, that was the problem.
Marriages should be nothing more than a contract between two people, where it’s beneficial for both sides to remain together without any emotions involved.
“Oh, dogs are great.” Natasha plucks the lime slice off her glass before taking another sip. “I wish my father had been around more.”
I nearly laugh. Daddy issues, a drinking problem, and flaunting enough cleavage for a man to drown in? This girl is a true triple threat.
But nothing she’s doing can capture my interest tonight.
As a man stands up from the bar, I see Allison’s eyes track him. She stands up and follows him out. I look back at Natasha. She’s looking down at her drink, her shoulders slumped.
There is nothing worse than a drunk therapy session.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing up. She grabs my arm, her nails painted the same color as her hair dye.
“Wait,” she says. “Are you going to come back?”
I look straight at her. “No.”
A slow-motion camera might be able to pinpoint the exact moment her heart breaks.
But I pay no attention as I turn and stride away. I move casually across the floor to stay under the radar. I’m not certain what I’m going to do if it turns out that Allison and this man are working together to undermine me.
I just know I can’t let them leave my sight.
* * *
When I step outside, there’s a faint stinging in my eyes and nose. Any unknown substance should be a top priority, but it’s Allison that is demanding my full attention.
She’s kneeling beside the man, who is flat on his back. She’s applying chest compressions, her hair swaying every time she presses down. The man’s limp body jolts from her efforts. As his head bounces, his eyes remain open, but there’s no reaction to anything that’s happening.
I let the exit door slam shut. Allison turns and sees me.
“Do you know how—do you know what stops an allergic reaction?” she asks in a panic, continuing compressions. Her face gleams with her sweat. “I need—can you do mouth-to-mouth? Or I can and you can do chest compressions. Can
