Page 57 of Hers to Command

That does it. With a grunt of annoyance, the first man shrugs and heads off. The second stays in place, muttering something under his breath.

My time-window is small.

I head straight through the back door into the space between the club and the parking lot, which has an emergency exit that leads straight into room nine.

I can do this.

Sliding the taser from my coat pocket, I steady my hand as I grip the handle. Ironically, the gun I’m carrying is legal, minus the silencer, and I even have a valid firearms license and an Authorization to Carry, but this taser is most definitely not legal. Not that I plan to document any of this for the police, so it hardly matters.

Every nerve in my body is alight, every instinct screaming at me to run, to hide, to get the hell out of here. But I ignore it.

This is my moment.

When Dmitri’s guard shows up a moment later, I walk right up to him.

“Hey, excuse me, sir. My battery died. Is there any chance you could give me a jump start?”

The guy turns my way, completely unsuspecting. As he steps closer, he squints at me in suspicion. “Hey, wait a second—”

Idiot.

Before he can finish, I lunge, jabbing the taser into his ribs. He collapses, twitching on the ground. My heart races as I secure him. I move as fast as I can and cover his mouth with duct tape. Then I wrap his hands and feet. He isn’t dead, or even completely unconscious, but at least he isn’t going to get in my way easily now.

The problem is, he’ll be a witness, and that I can’t have. But I’ll require Sergei’s clean-up services, anyway. So he can deal with this guy then.

Once Dmitri is dead, I’ll have made my point and can have my men deal with this shit.

With some effort, I drag his body behind a massive trash container. The parking lot is dark enough and located aroundthe building, so I don’t worry about anyone stumbling over this brute. I leave him there and pull out my phone to make a quick call.

Once that’s done, I head to the emergency door opening into room number nine.

Katja didn’t fuck up. It’s still unlocked.

I tug it open and use my foot to quickly wedge a brick under the edge of the door, sending a silent thank-you to the smokers who probably left it there since the brick keeps the door ajar, giving me a clear retreat path if shit hits the fan.

Satisfied, I slip inside.

Dmitri is looking up from where he’s sprawled on the bed, his pants around his ankles, a glass of something dark in his hand. Katja is kneeling between his knees.

His eyes narrow when he sees me. “Get in here.”

He isn’t talking to me. He’s calling his guard, who is in the room quicker than a guy of his size should have any right to move.

Dmitri pushes Katja off the bed. She falls but quickly scrambles to her feet, scooting to the far corner of the room as Dmitri’s guy is blocking one door while I’m blocking the other.

“Well, well,” Dmitri drawls, setting the glass down. “If it isn’t the Bratva princess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I’m here to have a chat,” I tell Dmitri, ignoring the fact that his guard now has a gun pointed at my chest. My adrenaline is already so high, it’s almost like shit is going down in slow motion.

Dmitri leans back, spreading his arms across the back of the bed like he’s settling in for a show. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he says. “But guts won’t get you far without brains. Did you really think you could walk in here and intimidate me? Why don’t you go be a good girl and keep going where that slut didn’t finish?”

I level the gun at him, my grip steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “No, thank you. And do us both a favor and pull your pants up. You’re embarrassing yourself with that wiener on display.”

His smile fades, replaced by a cold, angry look. “What do you want, Tsepov? You can’t honestly think I’m still interested in dealing with you. I’ve got enough support. I can take over your clubs without anyone putting up a real fuss. Not even your brother has said shit, and he’s supposed to have some guts. At least that’s what people tell me. Then again, all of your father’s guys jumped ship after he died and none stuck around to wait for your loser of a brother to get his head out of that Italian pussy he’s got himself hitched to. Fair enough, he’s shown his loyalties. They’re nonexistent. Like yours, apparently. Fucking the other Italian.” He spits on the floor. “And so your father’s men have been running to me, like they should.”

I shake my head, half shocked, half amazed by his ego. The asshole really thinks he’s got everything sorted. Thinks I’m coming to him... for what?

He’s delirious, though his mention of Mikhail stings.

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