Bad, Bad Things (5 page)

We collapse in a sweaty, tangled heap. Much kissing and caressing and nibbling and giggling ensues. It’s always like this between us. We fool around when the mood hits though it’s never anything more. We all love one another but it’s not that all-consuming, passionate love. It’s something simpler, gentler.

I still remember the first night we indulged our curiosity sophomore year at Cranbrook-Canterbury. Sharing that kind of intimacy fortified our bond as friends and soon we were invincible as a unit. If only the dean of resident life had known what a colossal mistake he was making by putting the three of us in a shared suite.

With a sexy little smirk, Fox crawls across my bed so she can reach the bedside table. She delves into the drawer and produces a sparkling blue harness and flesh-toned dildo. Her delicate eyebrows arch. “Who’s first?”

* * * * *

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Hours later I wake up with my cheek against Jolie’s tummy. With every breath she takes, my head rises and falls. My body still hums with satisfaction.

I roll onto my side and rub my eyes. The static buzz of a muted television catches my attention. In the stillness of the night, it’s as if I can hear the electrons charging across the air. I lift my head and spot Fox wrapped in the top sheet and sitting on the floor in front of the television. She’s paused a frame of the DVD with Sergei, naked from the waist up, facing the camera.

Curious but not wanting to wake Jolie, I stealthily slide from bed and join her. Fox opens up the sheet and I slide in beside her, tugging the free side around my shoulders and down toward her waist. “What’s up?”

“These.” She points to the screen. “Tattoos.”

I take a better look. There are stars and religious icons tattooed on his skin. “You thinking of getting a new piece?”

Fox shakes her head. “These tattoos aren’t just tattoos, Ofelia.”

Whenever she uses my full name, it’s serious. “What are they?”

“They’re symbols for really bad things, O. Mafia stuff,” she clarifies. “Bad, bad shit.”

Fox knows her ink so I don’t doubt her assertion for a moment. I focus on Sergei’s fuzzy image on the television. Even though he’s just had dirty, kinky sex and, from the sounds of the tape earlier, one hell of an orgasm, his face is still taut. There is no joy in his face, no warmth in those eyes. He’s so cold and distant and brutal.

Oh Christ. What the fuck was I thinking?

And then I realize I
wasn’t
thinking. I just acted on my first impulse because what other choice do I have? I get this money for the Mexicans or I lose my sister, my mother, Delia and myself to a violent bloodbath.

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Bad, Bad Things

My stomach lurches as a chill runs down my spine. I’m going to face off with that man tomorrow. I’m going to sit across from him and attempt to extort from him with promises of public humiliation if he doesn’t give me what I want.

And I’m going to pray he doesn’t have me hunted down and taken care of the second I leave his presence.

“No.” Fox slashes the air with her hand. “You can’t do this. You have to drop this scheme.”

“I can’t.”

“You
can
.”

“No, Fox. The wheels are in motion. There’s no going back now.” I’m determined, resigned. “I’ve already made an appointment with him. If I don’t show up, he’s going to get curious and start nosing around. He’ll put two and two together and I’ll lose the element of surprise. That’s a must in these kinds of negotiations.”

“Negotiations?” she hisses angrily. “Are you listening to yourself? Ofelia, this is some serious shit.”

“Like I don’t fucking know that?” I can feel my anger bubbling to the surface. I’m not mad at Fox. I’m mad at the situation. I take a deep breath. “Look, it’s happening whether you like it or not.”

Fox clenches her jaw and flicks off the TV. “I wish you would at least think of your mother. What the fuck is she going to do if you get yourself in deep shit?”

“I
am
thinking of her,” I say, my devious mind already creating a backup plan, one even more convoluted than my current one.

“Oh, come on, O!” Fox’s exasperation is evident. “I know that look. You can’t be serious. You’re not actually going to try to double-cross that man!”

“Have a better idea?”

Jolie sits up in bed. Her sleepy, confused gaze falls on us. “Is something wrong?”

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Lolita Lopez

“No,” I say before Fox can open her mouth. She rolls her eyes and stomps into the bathroom. A few moments later, I hear the shower. Jolie gets comfortable again and falls back asleep.

And me?

I sit quietly—and plot.

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Bad, Bad Things

Chapter Four

A few hours later, I’m trying not to barf as my taxi pulls beneath the porte-cochere of the five-star hotel where Sergei has a room. The same hotel where I played maid. The same hotel where Fox and I drugged and robbed an international soccer star. And I’m about to just waltz in there, bold as brass, and pretend none of it ever happened.

Driving didn’t seem like a very smart move since I’m in a perpetually anxious state.

Talk about an accident waiting to happen. Juggling my backup plan—already set in motion, just in case—with my current scheme isn’t easy. I have a nasty case of the shakes as my adrenal gland dumps massive amounts of adrenaline into my bloodstream. My mouth is bone dry. My stomach heaves.

Get a grip, self!

I finish up a text and hit send before settling my fare, then check my makeup one more time. I spent a lot of time covering up my still-black eye and dressed carefully to cover the fading bruises on my neck and other bits. I can’t let him know I’m under any kind of duress. It will totally weaken my position.

The second I step out of the taxi, I suck in a steadying breath and hold it, closing my eyes for a few moments. I will my heart to slow and wiggle my fingers at my sides, shaking out the tension. As the saying goes, this ain’t my first rodeo. It is, however, the first time I’ve attempted to blackmail someone face-to-face. Normally I prefer a few cryptic letters or phone calls and a drop-off spot in a public place, but those tactics require precious time I just don’t have.

I check my watch and adjust my sunglasses before heading toward the entrance. I have an appointment with Sergei in the hotel’s restaurant in eight minutes. Hopefully he reserved a table in a quiet corner or even a private dining room. Then again, being in close range to other patrons might up his level of discomfort and give me an edge.

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Lolita Lopez

Either way, a public setting is a must. It’s the only way I can be relatively assured of my safety.

“Miss Brandt?” A severe-looking man in a black suit and mirrored sunglasses moves toward me, blocking my access to the hotel’s entrance. I can’t quite place his accent. South African maybe.

“Yes?” I clutch the strap of my purse and fight the urge to flee. He has the most intimidating presence. Something tells me I’m about to be in a bad, bad way.

“Mr. Alexandrov had an urgent meeting arise. He’s asked that you join him in his car. He’ll arrange for you to be taken home after your business is resolved.”

His tone brooks no refusal. Suddenly I’m the one off-kilter. As I follow the no-nonsense bodyguard to an idling car, I can see all of my well-laid plans circling the drain. There’s no two ways about it. I’m right and truly fucked.

The bodyguard opens the door and steps aside. I hesitate before sliding into the backseat and carefully arranging my skirt over my crossed knees. It’s cold in the car.

Siberia cold. I suppress a shiver but the goose bumps are impossible to stop. My nipples stand at attention, poking against the cups of my bra. Thank God they’re thick enough to hide the embarrassing side effect of the chilly blast. It would be nearly impossible to play the part of blackmailer with my nips calling attention to themselves.

I don’t even have a chance to buckle my seat belt before the car pulls away from the hotel.

Slowly I become aware of Sergei’s presence.

He sits on the other end of the seat and glares at me. He’s the most imposing figure I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. I can actually feel his gaze sweeping over me, taking in my peacock blue slim-fitting dress and high-heeled strappy slingbacks. His gaze lingers on my chest as if he’s trying to imagine what my tits look like. As rude as his stare is, my skin tingles under his bold appraisal.

His cologne, a bright mix of leather and woodsy scents, permeates the sectioned-off backseat. He smells of money and power and sex. My gaze settles on his strikingly 38

Bad, Bad Things

handsome face, the hard lines of his jaw and the pale green of his irises. He wears his ashy brown hair slicked back in a style that immediately annoys me. My fingers just itch to get in there and mess it all up, give him a more laid-back, mussed look.

“Take off sunglasses.”

His barked order makes me jump. I try to block the erotic images it evokes but it’s impossible. I see Sergei shoving his huge cock in Cruz’s mouth, gripping the other man’s hair as he snaps his hips. Just like last night, my mind betrays me by replacing Cruz with a vision of myself on my knees, mouth open wide, chin shiny with my own saliva.

“All right.” Removing my sunglasses, I press my thighs together and try to concentrate. I clench the glasses in my left hand.

“You have something that belongs to me?” His tongue rolls over the syllables in an odd way. I can tell he’s not all that comfortable with his English skills. A good thing for me?

Summoning my courage, I swivel my ass on the seat so we’re looking eye to eye.

His gaze is unwavering and hard and my first instinct is to glance away but I can’t.

Even as my stomach does somersaults, I keep my gaze fixed on his. “Yes.”

“You want money.”

It’s not a question and I don’t try to deny it. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

Another barked order. My iPhone is still clamped in my right hand. I tap the screen and queue up the fifteen-second clip I copied. I press play and hold it up for his inspection.

Recognition flashes across his face as he appears onscreen and bends down to playfully slap Cruz across the face. A split-second later, the recognition is replaced by the briefest display of shock. Just as quickly as it appears, it vanishes. He steels his expression as the clip plays and ends.

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Lolita Lopez

“There’s another ninety minutes of that.”

“Where did you get this?”

“That’s not important.” I place my phone in my lap. “I’d rather talk about what I’m going to do with it.”

His cheek twitches and his fists curl. He’s barely containing his rage. Whether he’s enraged with me or himself for being so careless, I can’t say. A quiver of fear pierces my belly. “How much?”

Clearly he’s played this game before. In a way, I’m relieved. No beating around the bush. I start to reach into my purse for the card with the price and account number but Sergei snatches my wrist. His fingers brand my skin. I try to jerk free but he’s too strong. “Let me go!”

“So you can shoot me?”

My jaw drops. “Are you fucking insane? Do I look like a card-carrying member of the NRA?”

“You look like conniving little bitch.”

His sharply spoken words sting with the harshness of unwanted truth.

Unfortunately I’m not smart enough to let it go. “I may be a conniving little bitch but at least I’m not stupid enough to let someone tape me fucking an employee.”

Sergei’s nostrils flare. His fingers tighten around my wrist. With a quick tug, he effortlessly pulls me close, my ass sliding swiftly on the leather seat until our bodies are touching. Our gazes clash. I’m unsettled by what I see reflected in those green eyes. It’s no longer anger but something else, something even more frightening.

Lust.

“You play with fire.” The fingers of his other hand move to my necklace. He winds the coral beads around a digit and yanks me closer. The beads bite into the sensitive flesh of my neck. They make it a little more difficult to breathe. With one good twist he could cut off my air supply.

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Bad, Bad Things

I should be scared but I’m not. I’m so fucking turned-on by his brutish, asshole alpha behavior that I’m getting wet. I don’t know what the hell that says about my mental state but it sure as hell can’t be good.

His exhaled breath buffets my cheek. I’m keenly aware of the heat radiating from his body and penetrating mine. I should break free and end this now, but I can’t. I find myself leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I like the burn.”

He shudders as my words tickle his skin. He moves so quickly it’s stunning. I barely register his lips pressed against mine before I feel his tongue probing and seeking entrance.

My will crumbles and I surrender to kisses that knock the breath from my lungs.

He’s forceful and tender at the same time, his lips caressing with the softest of movements even as his tongue stabs insistently against mine. The suggestive motion provokes a needful pulse just behind my clit. I can imagine the feel of his tongue there, lapping and licking until I come hard against his lips.

There’s something about the illicit nature of our impromptu make-out session that drives me wild. An adrenaline surge fuels my arousal. Just moments ago we verbally sparred as enemies. Now Sergei coaxes my knees apart, the hand previously clasping my wrist now sliding between my thighs to seek the wet heat hidden behind my black lace hipsters. When his fingers encounter the soaking lace, he whispers something in Russian. By his tone, I know it’s something utterly filthy—and fucking hot.

His thumb brushes over my swollen clit, the cream coating my skin easing the rub of the lace against the highly sensitized nub. It won’t take much for me to climax. A few quick flicks of that thumb and I’m going to come.

So I stop him.

I grab his forearm and squeeze. Even though I’m so aroused I’m in pain, I have to stop this. If I let him bring me to orgasm, the power paradigm shifts. He’ll be in control—and I can’t let that happen.