Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Nikolai.” I hold my hand out to shake his.
He clasps mine but then doesn’t let it go. “Text my girlfriend again, and I’ll kick your ass.”
I try to pull my hand away. He tightens his grip. These bratva guys are serious about their women.
Really serious.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say.
Nikolai instantly relaxes his grip, releases my hand, and thumps my shoulder as if to say no hard feelings.
“Why are you here?”
I think about going forward with my bluff about having practice, but I know it won’t fly. Especially because I didn’t bring my guitar. I go with the truth.
“Yeah, well, I need to see Nadia. We went out last night–after the gig–and she left abruptly. I want to make sure everything’s okay.”
“You went out with Nadia?” Nikolai says it like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah. After the show.”
“Nadia went out with you.”
Why does it sound like he doesn’t believe me?
“She came to the party with me, but she left with her brother–with Adrian.” I never imagined I’d be explaining the whole damn thing just to get through the front door.
Nikolai’s expression clears. “Don’t worry about it. Nadia often ducks out early. It’s not personal.”
Now I’m getting impatient. “Yeah, I know she gets panic attacks. I saw her through one earlier in the night. I just need to see her myself, okay?”
Nikolai’s eyes narrow. “You have her number?”
Fuck.
“No. I never got it. I wouldn’t be here if I had. I mean unless she invited me.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t ever be here without an invite.”
“Dude, stop busting my balls. I am trying to do the right thing here. I just need to talk to her.”
Nikolai grows more relaxed, which makes me want to punch the guy. “Nadia is okay. She has a lot of people here to look after her. You can go home.”
“How many people here kissed her last night?” I sound like a middle schooler. I don’t know why I’m trying to make anyone else understand the connection I have with Nadia. I don’t need outside approval or recognition.
It gets Nikolai’s attention though. He grows alert. “Is that why she left? Did you upset her? You shouldn’t have–”
“What the fuck? No, I didn’t upset her. I mean–maybe, but she definitely liked the kiss. Kisses, more than one.”
I’m an idiot. Why, oh why, do I have to explain this shit to another guy?
“Listen, Flynn.” Nikolai takes on a counseling tone. “I know you get a ton of action with the ladies. Just cross Nadia off your list. She’s not for you, bro.”
Now I’m getting pissed, which isn’t like me. I’m an easy-going guy. People underestimate me because I’m laid back. I seem like a slacker or stoner. They mistake my lack of ambition for a lack of intelligence or talent. But for once in my life, I’m not playing it cool.
My hands clench into fists. “You listen, bro.” I’m probably going to get my ass kicked here. Nikolai is no less lethal-looking than any of the bratva guys, but I don’t care. I’ve lost patience with this conversation. “She’s not on my list. She’s a friend, and I need to check in with her. Can you understand that?”
“Huh.” Nikolai considers me for a moment, then pulls out his phone and swipes across the screen.
Fuck. Is he requesting ass-kicking assistance? I don’t actually know how violent or brutal these guys are. Oleg is a giant teddy bear with Story, but I’m pretty sure he could crush a man’s windpipe with two fingers.
Maybe they have a torture room down in the basement. The kind with plastic spread across the floor and a drain in the center for the blood…
Still, I’m holding my ground until I get in.
It seems like an eternity. Nikolai sends and reads a few texts while I stand there freezing my ass off in the icy February wind that comes straight off the lake.
Finally, he turns and pushes the door open. “Come in.”
“Whoa, really? Cool.” I drop the aggression and follow him in. He doesn’t pause in the reception area, but just heads to the elevators, so I follow him on one. He uses his key card and presses the button for the right floor.
“I don’t actually know which apartment Nadia lives in,” I admit.
“I’m taking you to the music studio. You’ll wait there.” The elevator stops, and the doors open. Nikolai walks with me to the practice room Oleg sound-proofed for the Storytellers and uses the keycard to open the door. I walk in, but he stays out in the hallway. “Go anywhere else in the building, and I’ll cut both your hands off.”
My brows slam down, and I turn both my palms in consternation. That’s…fucked up. How would I play guitar?
“Kidding,” he says as he walks away. “Mostly.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, shrugging out of my leather jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. The room is carpeted and most of the walls are covered in sound-absorbing molded foam. A large whiteboard covers one wall, so Story can write the playlist or the chords or lyrics to a new song. The studio has a couple of old amps and my acoustic guitar but otherwise is empty because our instruments and equipment are still in the back of the van.