Yelena
The city lights flash as we drive past them, I sit back in the seat and release a sigh. I’m bone-ass-tired, but I know that returning to the house is a no-go. I can’t deal with Nikolai today. I just don’t have the strength to say no to him.
My grandfather is going to kill me if he finds out that I've been working while he wants me to recuperate. But I need to find out who set me up and I have a feeling I already know. It wouldn’t be the first time that my mother had sold information on me to get what she wants. The first time she did it my father ended up dying.
My father died when three men came to kidnap me, and he stopped them, but ended up dying from the injuries he had sustained. I’ve always known my mother had something to do with his death, as the very next day she was smiling instead of mourning, and she had a lot of money to flaunt around. To this day, I’ve not been able to prove it.
There are only a handful of people who know that I am The Bullet. While other members of the family know that I am an assassin, they don’t know the depth of my skills. My mother, grandfather, and a few high-ranking members of the Bratva know who I truly am. There’s no one else that could have betrayed the family.
The men wouldn’t betray me, they are loyal to the Alekseev family. The only person without any ties is my mother. She’s also motivated by greed.
“Yelena,” Pavel says softly. “We’re here.”
I give him a smile. “Thank you, please, go home and rest.” The man wants to be by my side twenty-four-seven. While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. “Bring some dinner home to your wife.”
He grins sheepishly at me. “She’d love that, thank you.”
I shake my head. Of course she would. I reach into my purse and hand him some money. “Buy her flowers too,” I instruct. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him as I slide out of the vehicle.
The past three days have been hectic and I’ve barely slept. No thanks to Nikolai. It’s been almost a week since we slept together, and yet I can remember every inch of what he did to me vividly. My body ignites whenever I remember what happened between us. I want him, there’s no denying that and finding out that he’s never slept with my mother has helped me feel less guilty about what we did.
Walking up to the club, the bouncer smiles and lets me walk through the rope he’s just opened for me. There’re groans from some of the people waiting outside, but I ignore it and walk in. The music is already thumping and I let it wash over me. It’s been a while since I’ve been out and had fun. But tonight, I’m having a drink or two, maybe a dance, and then I’m heading home where I’m going to crash—hopefully without seeing Nikolai.
“Can I buy you a drink?” a handsome cowboy asks a while later, the lilt of his accent making me smile.
“Thank you, but I’m good,” I decline politely, cursing Nikolai for being a bastard. If I hadn’t slept with him, this man right here would be the perfect guy I’d hook up with. One night, no fuss, and once it’s over, I’ll never have to look back.
His smile is wide as he winks at me. “That’s alright, darlin’, I hope you have a good night.” Damn, these men down here are sweet.
“Right back at you. Hopefully, the next woman you ask won’t turn you down.” He chuckles as he steps away from me, and I’m glad that he didn’t take offense to me turning him down. Some men are dicks and hate being told no.
The club gets busier as the night progresses. I glance at my cell and see that I’ve been here for almost two hours, my two-drink limit is gone and I can’t remember what number this is. I’m buzzed, my head feels a little lighter and the room spins as I get to my feet. I’m a little uneasy as I make my way to the dance floor, but I let the music take over and lose myself in the song.
The songs start to blur into one another, I’ve lost track of time, my head is swimming, and I know that I should leave, my mouth feels weird—dryer—and I swallow hard trying to make it better.
I spot a guy walking over to me, his gaze firmly on me, I shake my head. No, I’m not in the right frame of mind to be around anyone right now. It’s time for me to go home. But the man doesn’t take no for an answer and pushes toward me, his hand outstretched ready to grab me. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
Wait, is that me? The slurred words?
But he doesn’t listen, he grabs hold of my hips, the grip he has is painful as he pulls me toward him to stop me from leaving. His breath is hot against my skin as he leans into me to speak.
“Get off me,” I tell him. Needing him to understand that no means no. “Don’t fucking touch me.” My voice is getting lower and lower.
Has someone slipped me something? There’s no way that I should be this messed up after a couple of drinks.
His lips press against my cheek as his hand starts to move down my body. Bile rises in my throat and I try to push him away. “I’ve been watching you all night, you’re such a cock tease.”
Ugh, why on earth do men believe that we’re doing it for them? I was having a good time until he came over to me.
Even in my addled state, I know how to take care of myself. My foot comes down onto his and he jerks back, giving me enough space that I can wrench free of his hold. I bring my knee up and hit him right where it hurts. He clutches his balls, giving me the perfect opportunity to ram my fist into his face. He snarls at me, righting himself before he moves toward me. I brace for what’s about to happen, adrenaline coursing through my body. Just as he gets ready to strike me, a tattooed hand tightens around his wrist, stopping him before he manages to hurt me.
“You do not touch her,” Nikolai growls. Twisting the man’s arm behind his back, even over the music I can hear the snap of it breaking. “You are going to pay for that.”
“Shit,” the voice of the man from the other day sounds from behind me. “Nik, you couldn’t wait for me?”
I sway on my feet, heat courses through my body as nausea makes its way up my throat. I swallow it down and try to step away from the scene in front of me. I need fresh air. But the moment I take a step, I know that something is seriously wrong.
“Malenkaya?” Nikolai asks, his tone filled with worry.