Page 61 of Bratva's Intern

“Tell me now,” I said, my voice deathly quiet. “Who hired you to kill me?”

“I don’t know,” he sobbed, shoulders racking as he tried to breathe through the blood pouring from his nostrils into his mouth. “I swear I don’t—someone paid me, pointed you out. Said if I killed you, he would give me another grand. That’s all.”

“One lousy fucking grand? That’s what my life is worth to you, you piece of shit?”

“I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know. Swear it on my life.”

“And this someone.” I crouched, voice deceptively calm. “Describe him.”

“I—I can’t. I was high. Listen, man, I’m a drug addict, and I hadn’t had any in a while. I was desperate. If I remembered what he looked like, I swear on my life?—”

His fucking useless life.

I drove my knife into his throat, steel sliding between flesh and sinew like it belonged there. A gurgling noise, wet and frantic, rattled in his chest as he clutched at the wound. Blood bubbled over his fingers, spilling onto the floor. I quickly stepped back before it got onto my shoes again. I didn’t have the time to go back to the house to change.

Wren was waiting for me.

“Sergei, did I get any blood on me?” I flicked the excess from my knife and wiped the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt.

Sergei, standing to the side like the ever-patient executioner he was, gave me a once-over. “Only your hands.”

I grimaced, thankful I’d slipped the disposable gloves on earlier. “Take care of it.” I yanked off the gloves with a wet snap and tossed them onto the lifeless body before me.

Sergei nodded, already moving forward to deal with the body. I turned to Nik, who stood silently near the exit. “Let’s go.”

“You sure now’s a good time to go on a date?” Sergei asked. “Maxim, you should be lying low, not dragging Wren into this when he has no idea what’s going on behind your business.”

I stopped. I balled my hands into fists.

“It’s not a date,” I said coolly. “It’s a business dinner.”

Sergei didn’t respond, but I felt the weight of his stare on my back, full of silent skepticism. He didn’t believe me. Iscowled and stepped through the door, pushing aside the irritation simmering in my chest.

It wasn’t a date. As far as Wren was concerned, this was nothing but professional development for him. He didn’t need to know about my secret fantasy. Our date could never be acknowledged.

Nik drove in silence, the city lights flickering past in streaks of gold and red. The scent of blood still clung to my nostrils, even though my hands were clean. Still, I grabbed a packet of wipes, peeled several free, and ran them over my fingers, knuckles, and wrists.

When we arrived at Wren’s apartment, I stepped out. Nik shadowed me inside the building, and we rode the elevator up in silence. At the door, I took a deep breath, then knocked.

This is not a date.

After a few moments, the door creaked open. Wren’s roommate stood in the doorway, smiling. The slinky gold chain mail dress—if it could be called that—nearly blinded me. The shimmering material clung to her like liquid metal, its plunging neckline accentuating the sleek lines of her collarbones. A high slit almost to her waist showed off the toned curve of her legs. The fabric caught the dim hallway light, sending a warm glow across her skin.

Her hair was swept into a tousled updo, stray strands framing her sharp cheekbones. A pair of gold hoop earrings glinted as she shifted, settling her weight onto one hip. There was something almost predatory about the way she looked beyond me and rested her gaze on Nik. The charged tension between them was thick, palpable. Almost as if I wasn’t there.

If I had any interest in her, I might have been offended by how much attention she gave my subordinate.

“Where’s Wren?” I asked.

She flicked her eyes to me. “He’ll be out in a minute. Come in.”

She turned her back to us, expecting us to follow her. Her ass snapped from side to side, kicking up the material of the dress that lost the battle in hiding her curvy backside. Behind me, Nik swore under his breath.

“Why the hell did I agree to play fair?” he mumbled.

“What was that?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

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