Nikolai: The Complete Collection

26. Justine

26

JUSTINE

R oman’s quick departure of the kitchen gave me plenty of time to consider his points. Nikolai is under my skin, but in a crazy, demented way I can’t explain. I guess it’s like drug addicts trying to justify their addictions. There’s no sense or reason why someone is the way they are. Maybe my brain has a profound chemical imbalance, encouraging me to seek a more adventurous lifestyle.

My thoughts drift back to the present when the water heater switching off booms into my ears. Recalling why I’m standing in my kitchen, I push off my feet and continue my original mission before losing the chance.

A string of illicit curses topples from my mouth when my hunt for the electronic device results in my spilling a year’s worth of rice onto the floor in my walk-in pantry. When I fail to locate the black box in its original position, I search every nook and cranny in my pantry.

I’ve only just delved my hand into the second shelf when a deep voice asks, “Are you looking for this?”

I straighten my spine and peer out of the pantry. Nikolai is standing at the opening, his grin as enticing as the food in my oven, begging to be devoured.

Spotting the surveillance device in his hand, I say, “No. I was looking for the maple syrup.” I shift my eyes back to the pantry shelves, praying he won’t see the deceit clouding them.

My breathing shallows to a pant when Nikolai leans over my shoulder to seize the bottle of maple syrup on the third shelf. Although his chuckle is soundless, the shaking of his torso advises of its arrival.

“Thank you.”

I accept the bottle from his grasp and spin around. My change in position awards me with the scent of Nikolai’s freshly showered skin. Not thinking, I snap my eyes shut and inhale deeply, relishing the smell of my soap on his skin. I forgot how intoxicating it is to smell yourself on another.

My eyes pop open when he says, “Imagine how good we will smell when our scents are intermingled the old-fashioned way.”

My pulse quickens when he drags his nose down my neck, his whiff of my skin more undignified than mine.

A low, simpering growl rolls up his chest as he peers at me sideways, spearing me in place with his lusty gaze. “You smell like me.”

My heart rate spikes as I swallow harshly. “Yes.” My short word is incapable of concealing my heightened state. “I should probably shower?”

I don’t know why my declaration came out sounding like a question.

He steps into my path, thwarting my endeavor when I attempt to sidestep him. Pretending I can’t feel need dampening my panties, I narrow my eyes and step to the left. The girth in his jeans brushes me when he moves into my path again.

“Nikolai…” I growl in warning.

“Justine…” he replies, his voice as groggy as mine. It sounds as I imagine it will during ecstasy—all virile and hot. “I just came in my hand recalling the taste of your lips. What I wouldn’t give for another taste.”

Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to reply to that?

Mercifully, he continues talking, saving me from issuing a blubbering response. “A kiss for a pass,” he suggests, his playful tone colored with lust.

My eyes rocket to his. He can’t be serious, can he? I’m not five. This type of childish negotiation doesn’t work for me. I grew up with four older brothers. I’m well-rehearsed on the tricks boys use to get what they want. The instant I kiss him, he’ll devise another ruse to keep me holed up in the pantry.

Ignoring how the carefree glint in Nikolai’s eyes makes me want to forget the world, I fold my arms over my chest and return his hankering stare. For every second that passes, the lusty flare in his eyes doubles.

“A kiss for the device,” I request a short time later, nudging my head to the surveillance instrument.

My eyes bulge, stunned my IQ dropped so low I’m negotiating with him instead of demanding he move out of my way.

He licks his lips as he contemplates my suggestion. “No. A kiss for a pass, or you remain trapped in the pantry. With me. For eternity.”

He takes a step closer to me, filling the microscopic snick of air between us as his tongue delves out to replenish his lips again.

The reasoning behind his obsessive lip licking is exposed when he says, “Your taste is fading from my mouth, and I’ll be fucked if I can wait another two days to replenish it. Just a quick nibble. A little sample. I’ll even keep my tongue in my mouth.”

I glare at him when he doesn’t attempt to hide the deceit in his tone.

“I’m your attorney, Nikolai. Our interactions are crossing a very clear line we’re not supposed to cross,” I mumble, using my only plausible defense.

I inwardly sigh. My voice couldn’t be laced with more ambivalence if I tried.

He steps closer to me, stealing the air from my lungs with his impressive body. “You witnessed me stabbing a man, without calling the authorities. The line has already been crossed.”

“Who said I didn’t call the police? I could have been doing that while you were seeking release in the shower.”

I inwardly curse. Why did I bring that up again? Oh, that’s right. Because the thought of Nikolai stroking his cock sparks wild recklessness.

It’s the fight of my life not to lean into his embrace when his finger follows the heat creeping up my neck. “Do you know your neck flushes every time you lie? Coincidently, it always happens when you deny my advances.”

“Who said it’s a lie? Maybe I’m embarrassed by your pathetic attempts of schmoozing.” I snap my mouth shut, mortified at my snarky response. I’m so sexually frustrated I’m letting it drag down my mood.

Thankfully, he isn’t the least bit deterred by my snarky comment. “Is that what you want, Ангел ? Do you want to be wined and dined? You want me to treat you like a princess?”

I lock my eyes with his, wanting to ensure he doesn’t miss the honesty in my eyes when I shake my head.

My first two dates with Dimitri were out of this world. He wined and dined me in the most elegant restaurants and showered me with expensive gifts. That should have been my first warning sign. Having a suit laundered and getting a fresh haircut are adequate ways to express an interest in your date, whereas booking out an entire restaurant and lavishing your date with custom jewelry is borderline possessive.

Don’t get me wrong, away from his family, Dimitri is a pleasant man, but just like Nikolai, he was raised by a monster. It’s lucky my introduction to his family happened early in our courtship. One meeting with his father was all it took to recognize I didn’t belong in his world. I ended things amicably. Well, so I thought at the time.

Dimitri’s father didn’t take my rejection as well as Dimitri. He classed my refusal to date his son as a direct insult to him. He swore to make me so unattractive no man would ever want me. In some ways, he did. Although the bite marks on my skin will fade, the damage to my confidence will never be repaired.

Dimitri and Nikolai share a lot of qualities. Both are mafia princes. Both are handsome and unique in their own right. The only difference is Nikolai defended me when I was being attacked. Dimitri let it happen.

“Then what do you need?” Nikolai asks, drawing my attention back to him. “Tell me what it will take to get another taste of you, and I’ll do it.”

I stare at him, void of a response. He wants me so badly he’s willing to do anything to have me?

“Don’t play stupid. I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel it in my bones. Smell it in the air. Taste it on my lips.” His minty breath wafts into my flaring nostrils. “I won’t stop until I have you beneath me, so tell me what you need so that I can achieve that.”

“A less dangerous job title.” I smack my lips shut, stunned I said my inner monologue out loud.

When he throws his head back and laughs, I use his imbalance to my advantage. I slip under his arm and hightail it into the kitchen. Groaning, he adjusts the thickness in his jeans before shadowing me in the fragrant-smelling space.

Although my brain begs me to place distance between us, I keep my feet planted on the ground. Ignoring the insane connection bursting between us has gotten me nowhere fast, so it’s time to face the music by confronting the issues head-on.

“During breakfast, I’d like to ask you some questions,” I advise Nikolai while bobbing down to gather the food warming in the oven.

The hairs on my nape prickle when he asks, “What type of questions?” He once again snuck up on me so agilely that I didn’t hear his approach.

He scoops the stainless-steel dish out of my hand, his movements so sleek he somehow manages to brush my inner thigh on the way past. With a cocky wink announcing he heard my quick breath from his touch, he heads to the table we ate at yesterday.

“Some are pertaining to your case… Others are more personal.” I rush my last sentence.

After grabbing two plates and a set of forks from my kitchen cabinets, I mosey to the dining nook. My steps freeze halfway across the tiled floor when I realize how pointy my forks are. They’re sharper and more pronged than the butter knives confiscated Friday afternoon, so why didn’t I consider using them to protect myself yesterday?

I shrug off my query. If forks were classed as a dangerous instrument, the sheriff’s department would have confiscated them along with the rest of my utensils.

“Twenty-six seconds,” Nikolai advises, talking through the crispy bacon he is nibbling on.

“Hmm?” I ask, setting our plates on the tabletop before sitting across from him.

He drops his eyes to the forks sitting between us. “Twenty-six seconds. That’s how quickly I can kill a man with a fork.” He snags a fork off the table, points it at his jugular, then twists. “If the strike doesn’t kill him, he’ll soon choke on his own blood.”

I push my empty plate out of my sight, no longer hungry.

Nikolai chuckles at my sickened expression.

“No remorse at all?” I ask, traumatized at his nonchalant response to a potential loss of life.

He shakes his head. “No. The men I punish are villainous, vile men who deserve to die.”

“Kill, Nikolai,” I correct. “It’s not punishment when they’re dead.”

He shrugs, neither denying nor agreeing with my assessment.

While loading my plate with pancakes, he grumbles, “I don’t like being interrogated, so let’s get these questions over with as soon as possible; then we can enjoy the rest of our day.” A waggle of his brows dampens the haughty arrogance in his tone.

After covering my pancakes with syrup and butter, he aligns his eyes with mine. He doesn’t speak—he doesn’t need to. His commanding gaze relays his every demand. I am to eat every bit of food in front of me without reservation. If I refuse, our exchange will be over.

I start our conversation on one fact that hasn’t left my mind for thirty minutes. “Did you arrange for my brother’s transfer to Harborview?”

He nudges his head at my plate of food, demanding I eat before he’ll answer my question. I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance at his bossy demeanor. I’m not annoyed—I’m far from annoyed. I grew up with four older brothers. Dealing with bossy, testosterone-fueled men is as second nature to me as salty water in an ocean.

If I so much as mentioned the word “diet” in front of my brothers, I was interrogated until I gave up the source responsible for my slump in confidence, and then every meal I ate was scrutinized to ensure it gave adequate nutrition for someone of my age and height. My brothers’ gazes lacked the lust Nikolai’s eyes are carrying, but his stare is one I’ve been given many times previously.

When I pop a big chunk of pancake into my mouth, bending to Nikolai’s unbreakable demand, he finally answers, “No, I didn’t set up your brother’s transfer.”

My eyes rocket to his, certain I heard him wrong.I didn’t. His eyes are open and honest. He didn’t arrange for Maddox’s transfer to Harborview.

“I asked Roman to do it. He did as instructed,” he adds when he spots my baffled expression.

I ball up an unused napkin and hurl it at his thrusting chest. He chuckles as his focus returns to his overflowing plate of food. His chin is tucked into his neck, but I don’t miss the curve of his lips when I follow his lead. I’m starving, but not all my hankering is for food.

A short time later, while pushing chunks of melting butter around my half-empty plate, I ask, “Why did you help Maddox, Nikolai? Your opinion on his case was highly notable last night, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“You asked for my help. I looked into it,” he answers like it’s no big deal.

“I asked for your help? When?”

Remaining quiet, he slides the surveillance device to my side of the table. I run a napkin over my hands, removing the sticky residue from my fingers before lifting it from the tabletop. Seemingly aware of the direction our conversation was going to take, the surveillance footage starts in the minutes leading to my fainting spell.

My swaying movements are as compelling in playback as they felt in real life. I am as white as a ghost and as wobbly as a drunk. Although Nikolai’s crusade to catch me before I fall is impressive, the heaviness of my head plummeting to the ground is too swift for him to prevent, meaning my right temple brutally makes contact with the floor.

After scooping my slumped frame into his bloodstained chest, Nikolai exits the kitchen, leaving a white-faced Sergei withering on the floor. The crowd of primarily men covering every inch of my living room part when they spot Nikolai’s approach. Some stare at him in admiration, whereas the rest peer at him in shock.

“That’s Dok,” Nikolai advises when he is followed into my bedroom by a man not much older than him.

I’m shocked. When Nikolai said my bump was inspected by a doctor, I anticipated a man in his mid-sixties with gray strands of hair and a rounded tummy, not a strikingly handsome young man with snow-white locks hanging past his ears, and a fit, cut body.

“Fast forward an hour,” Nikolai requests before shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

I raise my eyes to his. “Why? So I can miss you spiking my drink?”

He smirks but doesn’t deny my claim. I fast-forward the tape as suggested. Thank god, as the entire hour was filled with me passed out on my bed with an ashen-faced Nikolai sitting at my feet.

Although Nikolai’s obvious agitation weakens the more the footage rolls, his protective stance never falters. No one gets within three feet of my bed—not even Dok and Roman—when I wake up dazed and confused.

After cradling my jaw to assess me as if he’s a doctor, Nikolai hands me two white tablets. My brows furrow when I down the tablets without a snick of hesitation crossing my face.

“Is there any sound?” I ask Nikolai, who is eating his breakfast across from me.

Hearing our conversation may explain my willingness to trust so quickly. Usually it takes a lot to gain my confidence, so I’m stumped at how cooperative I’m being.

Nikolai removes the device from my hand and fiddles with the buttons. There has been a significant jump in the timeline when he hands it back to me. The sun setting through my curtains has been replaced with an inky-black sky.

My pupils expand when, “You’re sooo pretty,” booms through the speakers of the surveillance device. My voice is missing the drunken tone I have after too many shots of tequila, so I’m confident I’m not drunk.

“I wish I had your lashes. They’re sooo long they could reach the stars.” I inwardly gag, mortified at the seductive purr of my voice. Even not seeing who I’m schmoozing, I know it’s Nikolai. He has the world’s longest lashes.

Although peeved at my lack of self-worth in the footage, I will admit that I wear drunk well. The unique color of my eyes is even more noticeable with dilated pupils, and my pasty-white skin is accentuated with a golden hue from the alcohol squashing my inhibitions.

When I reach the part where Nikolai demands I climb under the sheets, I lift and lock my eyes with his. “Yet I wake up with you naked in my bed.”

“The fewer clothes I had on, the more chance your scent would imbed into my skin,” he replies, revealing he heard my mumbled statement.

I grimace when I return my focus to the tablet. I’m practically dry humping Nikolai while underhandedly announcing how perfect we are for each other.

“You can’t trust a drunk,” I mumble.

Nikolai’s smile is brighter than the tablet screen. “No, you can’t. But you can trust the word of a drunk. People are most honest when they’re void of anxiety.”

With no defense to his reply, I refocus on the video footage.

Flapping gums must be exhausting, because I blabber nonstop for twenty minutes before I finally fall asleep.

After switching off the tablet, I hand it to Nikolai. “What was in the white pills? If it’s anything illegal, I need to know. Regular drug testing is mandatory at my firm.”

Although I have a million questions running through my mind, I must start with the most critical one. If I lose my job, I lose any chance of having my brother’s conviction overturned.

“You have nothing to worry about. Anti-anxiety pills are exempted from every test,” Nikolai answers, his tone informative, as if he researched his answers.

“They were anti-anxiety pills?” I cringe when my girly voice bounces off my kitchen walls before shrilling back into my ears.

“Yes,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re quite entertaining when you let go of your worries.”

I burrow my head in my hands, wishing I could vanish from the world. I’m well overdue for a weekend bender, but I wish I had chosen better circumstances.

“Okay,” I breathe out slowly, lifting my eyes to Nikolai. “First, thank you for arranging Maddox’s transfer to Harborview.” When he attempts to interrupt me, I talk faster, wanting to express myself before I lose the chance. “You may not have directly initiated it, but it would have never happened if you hadn’t asked Roman to look into it. So, thank you.”

He bows his head, accepting my gratitude with a sincerity I was certain he didn’t hold.

“Second, I am attracted to you…” –The shit-eating grin spreading across his face makes what I am about to say so much harder—“but nothing can come of it. I am your attorney, Nikolai.”

“That can be fixed.”

“I am also not a girl who does casual sex. I don’t necessarily need commitment, but I need feelings,” I continue, pretending I didn’t hear his snapped remark.

The smile is wiped straight off his face. “You need a heart to feel, Justine. I don’t have one of those.” His admission is so quiet, if he hadn’t said my name, I would have assumed he didn’t want me to hear it.

After setting his fork onto his half-eaten plate of food, he connects his eyes with mine. He stares into my eyes, showing me what he sees inside himself. A chill runs down my spine from the desolate cloud swamping his alluring gaze. He truly looks like a lost soul. He is dark and haunted but also real.

“Any man can be a monster, Nikolai, but only a monster who knows right from wrong can turn into a man. You were born into your lifestyle, but it only became your life when you let it.”

He shakes his head, dismissing my claims. “No. This life was not my choice. It was my destiny. This is who I am. I am my father’s son.” He stands from his chair, his chest puffed high. “I am the devil reincarnated to rule my empire and slay the weak. I am Nikolai, prince of the Russian mafia.”

He couldn’t shock me more if he slapped me in the face. It isn’t his arrogant words that have me choking back tears. It’s the brokenness of his voice. If that wasn’t a rehearsed line, I’m not Catholic.

Although frightened by his response, my campaign to alter his viewpoint doesn’t falter. “Your family are not gods, Nikolai. They’re mere men who’ll meet with their creator on their final day like every other person on the planet.”

His icy glare sends a chill down my spine. “You need to watch your tongue. Respect is a highly valued commodity in my family. It’s more worthwhile than life itself.”

I nod. “Respect is valued, but when it’s gained with integrity, it far exceeds respect gained by force.”

“Respect without fear is worthless.” Nikolai’s hot breath hits my lips.

“No. Respect derived from fear is worthless. Fear is forcing people to bow at your feet. Respect has them bowing of their own free will. They’re two completely different things,” I continue to argue.

When pain flashes in his eyes from my snarled comment, I lower the severity of my tone. “You know this. Deep down inside, you know what I am saying is true. Values are not taught. We are born with them.”

My heart hammers so fast I’m afraid it will explode when the anger in his eyes fades for vulnerability. “That is easy for you to preach when you’re not the one forced to toe the line. Shadowing his reign is the only thing keeping me alive. If I don’t do that, I’ll be buried right alongside my father. You don’t have to understand the rules of this lifestyle, Justine, but I must abide by them.”

I stare at him with confusion smeared on my face. His father isn’t dead. The countless reports of him wreaking havoc on families from Las Vegas to Florida ensure I can’t mistake this, so I’m genuinely at a loss as to what Nikolai means by his comment. Maybe he means it metaphorically? Like he will become as heartless as his father?

The moisture brimming in my eyes doubles when my gaze briefly collides with Nikolai’s. His comment wasn’t a metaphor. It was a statement relayed directly from his heart.

“Leave, Nikolai. Walk away and don’t look back.”

“I can’t!” His arm flies across the table, sending our plates sailing to the floor. “Disrespecting Vladimir carries the penalty of death. If I leave, it will be at the cost of my life.”