Page 7 of Ruby Malice

It’s a normal-enough question on the face of it, but the way he says it with a shit-eating grin on his face makes my ears prick up. Subtlety is for the birds, I guess.

Kirill’s smirk grows. “You know me, German. I don’t restrict myself.” Then he leans back in his chair and watches me make my way around the table like it’s a sport.

“Should I get you two helpings of dessert, then?” I ask.

I’m not fishing for anything. I’m making polite conversation. That’s all this is.

He shakes his head. “One will be plenty. I have my eye on something else for later.”

I swallow down the bundle of nerves in my throat and focus on my job. Once everyone has their dessert, I try to leave, but then a man across the table needs a water refill, someone else needs a new spoon after theirs touched the floor for one second, and a third wants a fresh napkin. At some point, Viktoria harrumphs and storms off towards the restrooms.

I tend to everyone’s needs with a plastered-on smile, all the while feeling Kirill’s eyes fixed on me. The whole time, German is whispering in his ear.

As I return with cutlery and napkins from the cart, I get close enough to catch a bit of what they’re whispering about.

“… just sayin’, if you wanted to slum it, we could’ve gone to the club,” German mutters. “This one ain’t worth the headache. She’s got bite.”

Kirill says something back, but I don’t catch it. That’s probably for the best. My heart is already racing. Being talked about like a mutt at a dog show will do that to a person.

German laughs at something Kirill says and then snaps his fingers in the air. “Oh, darling? Can I get a refill?”

“‘Sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ in one night?” I say pleasantly enough. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were the reincarnation of my Uncle Francis.”

German smiles. “Was he a handsome devil with a big dick, too?”

“Mostly just a dick, actually. And he wasn’t so handsome after he got kicked by a horse.” I snatch up his empty glass from the table. “Took a hoof right in the face. It left him scarred and slow. You two have that in common also.”

Kirill bites back a smile while German’s fades away. “Do you remember what I was drinking?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I do. Despite the incident earlier, I am actually quite good at my job.”

“Is that right?” German leans forward on his elbows, eager to reclaim the high ground. “What other jobs are you good at?”

Kirill laughs. It sounds like a distant earthquake, deep and frightening. His lips are turned up in a smile and there’s a challenge in his eyes. He’s daring me to say something. To do something.

And I shouldn’t; I know that. I’m very, very aware that I should just button my lips up and walk away before Irving makes good on his threat to dock my pay, or Viktoria makes good onherthreat to blackball me from every job in the city, or Kirill makes good onhisthreat to bring to life all those dark fantasies swirling behind his eyes.

But after the day—no, the month—no, the year—that I’ve had, I don’t give a shit anymore.

God help me, I’m at the end of my rope.

And that crackling sound I hear in my ears is the sound of my last fucks withering away.

I tap my pursed lower lip, pretending to be deep in thought. “You may think a night with me would be… what did you call it? ‘Slumming it’? But let me tell you something, Thing 1 and Thing 2: I’m not interested in ‘slumming it’ with you, either. I’d rather drink rat poison, actually. Either that or feed it to you. So go slum on that.”

German’s cheeks blanche, but Kirill is stone-faced. He truly gives nothing away.

I turn to walk away, but Kirill grabs my wrist. His touch is gentle, but I think he could have stopped me with one finger. One whisper. Despite what I just said, the man has a chemical hold on me.

“You have a mouth on you,” he murmurs. “It might get you into trouble one day if you don’t figure out what else you can do with it.”

I stiffen. “You may be able to get my brown-nosing boss to fawn over you, but I don’t owe you anything. You can’t make me do whatever you want.”

His brow twitches. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. “I won’t have to make you,” he says. “When the time comes, you’ll do it of your own accord.”

Before I can ask what that means, a shrill voice cuts through my trance. “What the hell is this?”

Viktoria has returned from the ladies’ room. She’s red-faced and angry, staring at Kirill’s hand around my wrist. With her nostrils flared, she almost looks unattractive, if such a thing is even possible in a face that symmetrical and surgically-perfected.

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