The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(44)
Author: Kresley Cole

But that didn’t mean I wanted . . . forever.

“Listen to yourself! Put down the Kool-Aid and get some perspective, doll. Sneak away, and I’ll meet you in Europe. We’ll dodge bullets and break hearts.”

“I wish.” When I tried to picture how Sevastyan would react if I stole away, I kept hearing his promise: If you run from me again, I will catch you. It’s what I do. And then I’ll spread you facedown over my knees and whip your plump ass until you know better.

Only now I knew he’d probably meant that literally. The thought made me shiver. “I’m stuck here for the duration.”

“Say you accept the enforcer. Say the danger passes. Could you be happy there?”

That was the crux of it, huh? “Moving to a new country to be with a new guy while starting at a new school seems like a lot of variables all at once. A lot of choices to make,” I pointed out. “And there’s more. . . .” I told her all about Filip.

This afternoon, I hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask the man what Paxán had wanted to talk to him about before he bit out, “Sevastyan was all over you at the front doors. The bastard as good as announced you’re his.”

Filip had looked harried, like this development had really affected him. But I hadn’t sensed any deeper feelings from him. Yes, he’d flirted with me, but I was fairly sure he would flirt with a perfumed rock. “How is this your business?” I’d demanded, wondering if he’d been drinking.

“Because I care about you. Really care about you.” He’d rubbed his hand over his wan face, drawing attention to his bloodshot eyes, to the deep-seated anger blazing from them. “Sevastyan teed you up. He played you. Now he’s walking around this place with his shoulders back and a smirk on his scarred face—because he’s a billion dollars richer. You’re so naïve. You’re not even his type—did you know that?”

Yes. Yes, I did. Still I said, “That’s bullshit, Filip. Not that I owe you an explanation, but Sevastyan wants me.” Except he hadn’t given me a reason why it was me that he wanted above all others. He’d just said that he’d do anything to possess me.

“You got manipulated by a con artist, a hard-core prison thug. Well done, Cuz!”

Then Filip had added a parting shot that had made me cringe, driving me to the sanctuary of my room. I hadn’t even gone down for dinner.

Had I believed what he’d said about Sevastyan? No. But Filip’s accusations highlighted what I’d already accepted: I didn’t know Sevastyan.

“What a scrote,” Jess decided, dismissing Filip easily. “Normally I’d say you need someone over there, running point for you, skull-fucking when necessary. But then I recall how you react when backed into a corner.”

“How’s that?”

“You come out throwing elbows,” she said. “You’re nice, until it’s time to not be nice.”

“You’re quoting Road House?”

“It was either that or quote from my latest torrid romance novel.” That was Jess’s not-so-secret habit. As much as she loved the idea of love, her reading tastes made sense. Every now and then, she’d foist one on me. “You wanted my unvarnished advice, Nat? Here it is—do nothing permanent. And you damn well better not do anything until you fly my ass over there.”

Chapter 23

I wasn’t surprised when I got a summons from Paxán the next morning. I hadn’t slept, was hardly functioning after two cups of strong tea.

For most of the night, I’d paced, wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess. After alternately blaming myself and Sevastyan for this, I’d settled on Sevastyan.

He was more experienced than I was, and clearly more ruthless. But how had he manipulated me so easily? And to what end?

Paxán would want a decision this morning. He would lay down the law.

As I made my way to his study, I felt like I was marching to the gallows, my boot heels clicking along the marble. I adjusted the collar of my jade turtleneck, then smoothed my warm palms down the legs of my jeans. All I knew for certain was that I was bone-weary and so tired of being confused.

I passed Gleb, one of the brigadiers, sporting a pistol in an uncovered holster. Like Sevastyan wore. The man gave me a nod of acknowledgment, but nothing like the friendly greetings I usually received when I encountered one of the men.

Gleb’s response brought to mind Filip’s parting words: “All the brigadiers have been wagering whether the Siberian would lock you down. I should’ve taken that bet. But you told me there was nothing between you! And all that time, you let me think you wanted me.”

I was now the subject of a bet. Paxán was right; my actions with Sevastyan had eroded my standing here. Live in the crime country, then obey its laws. . . .

When I entered the study, I was taken aback by Paxán’s kindly expression. He’d been working on a clock, looking adorable with his magnifying glasses on. “Good morning, dorogaya moya! Tea?” Ever the gentleman. “You look like you could use some.” He removed his glasses, setting away his tools.

Once I had a cup in hand, he motioned me to join him beside his desk. “I want to show you something.” He opened a large glossy book, flipping to a page. “Have you ever seen this animal?” He pointed to a picture of a black wolf with vivid amber eyes, poised to strike from a snowbank. “Stunning creature, no? It’s a Siberian wolf.”

I nodded absently.

“This type of wolf is more likely to be a loner than other wolves. Some will roam the wilderness, hunting by themselves. But like others of their kind, they mate for life. They’re vicious yet possess an undying loyalty.”

I set down my cup. “We’re not talking about wolves, are we?”

He shook his head. “The more I think about you and Sevastyan together, the more sense it makes. Then last night, he told me the two of you had come to an understanding?” The hopefulness in Paxán’s expression killed me.

God, I didn’t want to disappoint this man. “I . . . maybe we did? But I don’t know if I feel that way now.”

“Oh. I see.” In a sad tone, he said, “Yet actions have consequences, my dear. On the bright side, your engagement could be a long one.”

Except I’d never be able to break it. I was about to hyperventilate. “But . . . but . . .” I pulled at my turtleneck, beginning to pace the room. “I don’t know him—not enough for this. I’m not saying I’d never want more with him, but I can’t just sign on for this. Not yet.”