“Because we aren’t Russian.” He hisses through gritted teeth. “Fucking assholes.”
“It’s fine. We’re great at what we do. If we haven’t proven our loyalty to them by now, we never will.”
“You’re right.” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Still think it's a good idea to keep Stevie a secret from the rest of The Organization?”
“I do.” I say, taking another slow sip. “Even more so now that Mitri’s been promoted. As far as they’re concerned, she is a friend that works at the club. Identifying her as anything else…”
“Will only make him want her more.”
“Exactly. You out of all people know how detrimental that would be for all of us.”
“Don’t remind me.” He says, pacing the floor. “So what do we do now?”
“We do whatever we can to make sure Stevie stays off of his radar and we wait for this little pissing contest of his to blow over. He wants to flaunt his power, so we let him. He’ll get bored with the games and leave like he always does.”
“And if he tries anything with Stevie?”
“Then we kill him.” I say, leaning back into my leather seat. “There’s always risks involved when stepping into such a powerful role. I’m sure The Organization has another purebred backup plan ready to go.”
Seven
The second myskin touches the cold sheets next to me, I know something’s wrong. I open my eyes and wake up to an empty room cloaked in darkness. Tristan isn’t here and probably hasn’t been here for quite some time.
I glance at the clock on my marble nightstand and do a double take. 12:17 AM. We fell asleep around 9:30 PM, which means he couldn’t have slept for more than a couple of hours. Tristan promised that he’d stay with me tonight. Something must have happened for him to break that promise and leave like this. Something big.
Scrambling out of bed, I whip the black silk sheets to the floor, throw on an oversized band t-shirt, and march straight for the door. If something is going down, especially if that something involves my sister, I have to be there.
As soon as I grab the door handle and feel the resistance of the lock in place, my heart immediately sinks. The asshole locked me in.Again.
“Tristan!” I scream, slamming my balled fists against the wooden door. “Open the door!”
The pain in my palm kicks up, but I shake it off. I need to get out of here now.
“I know you’re out there.” I call out, getting more hysterical by the second. “Open the fuck up!”
Assuming he’s outside is a hunch, but I know the guys. Even if something is going on, they’d never leave me completely unprotected. Hell, they didn’t even leave me alone with their own staff.
I’m about to start another bout of yelling when I hear heavy footsteps approaching. Silence fills the air as unease creeps into my mind.Shit, what if it isn’t the guys?
I instinctively step back as my heart thunders in my chest.What if someone broke in and my dumb ass just put a huge target on my back? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Beep.
The second I hear the mechanical sound of the door unlocking, my worry instantly washes away. Ithasto be them. They’re the only ones with access cards. They don’t even give members of their own security team that kind of clearance. Staff still use regular keys and are only allowed access to certain spaces on the estate.
Giving the door just enough space to open, I’m ready to give whoever it is a mouthful, but I nearly choke on my words as the door swings open.
My eyes bulge as a complete stranger strolls into my room. He isn’t one of The Reapers, but that isn’t what catches me so off guard. The man is monstrous. A few inches shy of Tristan and Cyrus in height, but at least 1.5x their mass. While The Reapers maintain lean muscular physiques akin to The Greek Gods, this man has the body of a barbarian. Thick cords of muscle fill out the fitted herringbone slacks he wears and as he cocks his head, his golden brown brushed-back hair gleams in the pale moonlight. He relaxes his sharp, bearded jaw as his soft blue eyes scan the entire room before landing on me.
“Who are you?” I ask, looking at him accusingly.
They would never leave a stranger alone in their house like this. Let alone give him an access card.Who the hell is this guy?
“I could ask you the same.” He laughs with the tinge of a Russian accent. “I am many things for many people, but you can call me Dimitri.”
“Dimitri.” I say, drawing out his name as I cock a brow and assess him further.
He wears a freshly pressed white shirt that doesn't have a wrinkle in sight, a flashy diamond-encrusted Rolex watch on his wrist that's probably worth more than my old car, and a smug smirk on his golden tanned face that screams wealth and power. I’m not one to judge a book by its cover, but this man has Russian Mafia written all over him. Still, the question remains, is he a friend of The Reapers or a foe?
