Nikolai: The Complete Collection

6. Justine

6

JUSTINE

W hen a bolt of electricity sparks through my puckered lips, I freeze. The charge surges down my throat before clustering in my flipping core.

I yank back, astounded by the sheer power of the zap.

My movements are so abrupt my head rams into the glass door with force.

Wincing in pain, my hand darts up to cradle the throb in my skull. My accident gains the attention of the armed guards moseying in the hall. When Nikolai spots the guards’ distorted shadows charging for us, he seizes my wrist in a vice-like grip and yanks me into his body.

Panic would usually be my first response to being abruptly grabbed, but shockingly, I feel no fear.

Hot air blasts my hair when the thick reinforced door veers past my skull with only an inch to spare. I draw in rattled breaths as my eyes dart between Nikolai’s. If he hadn’t pulled me into his chest, I could have been injured by the wildly flung door.

“Thank you,” I whisper, a better reply beyond me.

The wild beat of my heart doubles when a genuine smile stretches across Nikolai’s face. It’s even more appealing than his ruthless smirk.

When two high-powered assault rifles dot his chest with red, he releases me from his grip and paces backward, only stopping when he reaches the chair I knocked over during my attempt to flee. He lifts the chair from the floor and sits, his movements more agile than a ballerina performing on a Paris stage.

The unidentifiable glint his eyes have carried the past hour fades when he connects them with the two guards. “Your disrespect won’t go unnoticed,” he sneers in a low, pussy-quaking tone.

He continues reprimanding them in Russian, but with my name being shouted from outside the room, I fail to hear the rest of his scold.

Mr. Fletcher’s frame fills the doorway not even two seconds later. He absorbs my inflamed cheeks and wide eyes as I muster a fake smile.

“Everything okay?” he queries as his worried gaze drifts between Nikolai and me.

I forcefully nod. “Uh-huh.”

My eyes swing sideways when Kirk reenters the interrogation room, his arrival as hurried as his words. His excited mumblings are thwarted when Mr. Fletcher raises his finger into the air, silencing him.

“Are you sure everything is okay, Justine?” Mr. Fletcher paces toward me, his worry unconcealed. “You’re very pale. Whiter than usual.”

He brushes his hand over my heated cheek, revealing our contrasting body temps. I’ve only just registered his remark on my fair skin coloring when a furious growl rumbles around the room, causing both my heart and pussy to shudder.

Mr. Fletcher’s hand falls from my face as his eyes sling in the direction the growl resonated from. Nikolai is standing at our right. His fists are balled as tightly as his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are narrowed.

I step away from Mr. Fletcher, mindful that even being surrounded by armed guards won’t stop a man like Nikolai from serving justice.

A ghost of a smile cracks on Nikolai’s face, smitten by the foot of air lodged between Mr. Fletcher and me. As a guard guides him out of the room, he snarls at Mr. Fletcher. “Don’t underestimate me, Carmichael, or this time, your stupidity will cost you your life,” he warns, his voice as violent as his snarl.

My brows scrunch when Mr. Fletcher nods. His gesture was quick, but its swiftness didn’t lessen its impact. I had a feeling Mr. Fletcher and Nikolai had met before. Now I have proof to back up my intuition.

When Nikolai enters the corridor, Mr. Fletcher connects his eyes with mine. “Do you want to work on this case, Justine?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Do you? I’m not the one who had my life threatened by a mafia prince.”

He nods without hesitation. “It’s thirteen years later than I would have liked, but I’m not walking away again.”

A million questions filter through my brain, but I can’t get one of them to fire off my tongue. Luckily, Mr. Fletcher continues speaking, saving me from the embarrassment of flapping gums. “If this case will stir up old memories for you, Justine, I’d rather you sit this one out. We have a backlog of clients dying for someone with your criminal knowledge to peruse their files. You can work on those until?—”

“I’m not giving up this case, Carmichael,” I interrupt, cutting him off mid-sentence.

He glowers at me in shock. I don’t know if his dropped jaw arises from my determination to remain on this case or because I called him by his given name for the first time.

“Nikolai’s interest in you won’t taper. The instant you denied him, you became a challenge,” he warns, his tone more friendly than professional.

“I know,” I reply, nodding. “I can handle it. I can handle him.”

I inwardly sigh, grateful my voice held the confidence I wanted it to exude. Nikolai’s attention does replicate advances I’ve been unappreciative of in the past, but the retainer I will receive working on his case warrants an unrestrained reply. The goals I’ve been aiming for the past four years will now be within reach, so nothing said or done will alter my decision.

After reading the honesty in my eyes for a few moments, Mr. Fletcher says, “Okay, then let’s do this.”

His eyes stray to Michelle, who is lugging a set of sparkling golf clubs down the corridor. “Golf clubs?”

“Check!” Michelle declares loudly, giggling at the obvious, before turning to me and seeing my bug-eyed expression. “I keep a spare set in my trunk in case of emergencies.”

Mr. Fletcher’s bright smile reveals Michelle’s out-of-the-box approach will be immensely rewarded.

“Transportation?” Mr. Fletcher queries, his tone high with hope.

Kirk cups his cell phone with his hand. “Two will ride with Nikolai in the transportation van, while the rest will follow in your town car.” He waits for Mr. Fletcher to nod in acknowledgment before he returns to barking commands into his cell. I swear, I’ve rarely seen him without an electronic device the three months I’ve known him.

“Judge Ryder?” Mr. Fletcher leaves the interrogation room to find Trent in the bustling corridor.

Although Nikolai’s arrest is as regular as me eating waffles on Sunday, his presence has drawn a crowd of onlookers. Even a plain-clothed officer is snapping a picture of him being guided into the back of a transport van, idling at the end of the hallway.

My eyes stray from Nikolai when Trent suddenly bursts into the hallway. He has a shit-eating grin stretched across his face and a set of excessively waggling brows. “Mrs. Ryder requested I thank you for the Hawaiian adventure and to advise that she looks forward to issuing her gratitude in person when she hand delivers Judge Ryder to his chambers in T minus three minutes.”

Mr. Fletcher fist pumps the air. “Yes, now all we need is the paperwork.”

The room shrinks in size when everyone’s eyes snap to mine.

“Yep. I’m on it,” I lie, loathing that I turned up to the celebration minus a gift.

“All right. Let’s do this,” Mr. Fletcher claps his hands together while saying, “It’s time to…”

“Bring home the bacon!” the team shouts in sync.