Page 81 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“The police would come knocking if one of my employees didn’t show up for work.”

“I am not your employee,” I say, jabbing a finger in his direction.

He arches a dark brow dangerously. “Even worse. I can’t forge documents claiming you quit suddenly and joined the circus.”

I frown. “You sound familiar with the process.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says with a smirk I don’t quite understand.

The stain on his collar suddenly takes on a more menacing undertone. I shudder. The sooner I can get away from him, the better.

“Fine. Call a car.”

“You act like you had a choice in the matter,” he says, pointing for me to walk ahead of him back through the kitchen. “I already did.”

We’re walking through the dining room towards the front doors when our waitress stops us. “Is something wrong with your meal, Mr. Zhukova?”

“Everything was perfect,” Nikolai says easily. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a thick stack of bills. The waitress doesn’t hesitate as she takes them from him. He really must be a regular here. “But we’re leaving early.”

“But… but…” The waitress shakes her head. “The vodka and caviar tasting is very expensive. Are you sure—”

“Send it to the Schneiders,” he says, gesturing to the old couple in the corner. “My treat. Or throw it all away—I don’t give a damn.”

The waitress looks at Nikolai like he’s God’s gift to Earth. If she would even spare me a passing glance, I’d disabuse her of that notion. But she keeps her eyes fixed on him as we navigate through the elaborately decorated dining room and out of the gilded front doors.

Just like Nikolai said, an unmarked black car is waiting at the curb. He opens the back door for me, tosses me in, and then leans in to speak to the driver.

“Take her straight back to the hotel. Nowhere else.”

“I’m not your prisoner,” I argue. “You can’t control where I—”

Before I can finish, Nikolai shuts the back door and steps away from the curb.

I glare at him through the tinted glass. “Asshole.”

He just stands like a statue on the curb as the car pulls away.

I’m livid for a while. But by the time the driver drops me off at the hotel, the adrenaline has worn off, and I’m starting to panic.

Nikolai trapped me in a closet and then reappeared with a bloodstain on his collar and bruises on his knuckles. Did he get in a fight? I saw it happen at the club the other night. It wouldn’t be so surprising. But then why lock me away so I couldn’t see?

The obvious answer: because I would have been a witness.

A witness to what, I don’t know. But I know it’s not good.

“I can’t stay here,” I whisper to myself as I step through the lobby doors. “We have to go.”

I’m halfway across the lobby and already determined to pack up our things and get myself and Elise out of New York City tonight… when I remember I left my laptop in the conference room at Zhukova Incorporated.

“Shit,” I hiss.

If I lose it, the money for a replacement will come out of my paycheck. Roger already made that clear before I left for the trip, and I can’t afford that.

I’m frozen on the wooden floor, my mind spinning as I try to figure out what to do next.

“Miss?”

I turn and see the night concierge smiling back at me over the desk. “Is everything all right?”

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