Chapter 3

The only sound Claudine could focus on was the hard pounding of her heart.

Hail Mary, full of grace, bozhe, spasi menya--God, save me-- she prayed silently.

Her eyes not blinking a second as she surveyed him... Waiting.

After what felt like forever he eventually relaxed back into the couch, the strange expression lingering. “The bullet… the men who attacked the casino tonight… they use a very specific type of ammunition. And this…” He held up the small, mangled piece of metal. “This isn’t it.”

Her heart did a nosedive. How could he know so much? How could he see her? She tried to play it cool, her voice trembling slightly. “Maybe… maybe they had different guns?”

He looked at her, his gaze intense. Then, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. His touch sent a jolt through her, a confusing mix of fear and… undeniable attraction. Like touching a live wire.

“Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe… you’re not as lost as you claim to be.” He smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile that sent a fresh wave of panic through her. And something else. Something warm and unsettling. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving Los Angeles in the morning. We’ll be just a blip on each other’s radar.”

A blip? Claudine almost choked. This man had murdered her parents! He was the reason her life was a constant, paranoid game of hide-and-seek! But she forced a smile, her mind racing.

The night stretched on, a surreal blend of danger and desire. It was well past midnight. Drey would be having a conniption. She needed a moment to text him, to let him know she was (sort of) alive and (sort of) had a plan. But the Crossbearer’s eyes never left her. It was like being observed by a very handsome hawk.

They ate the takeout his “associate” had brought – surprisingly good pizza and fries. Claudine, narrated to him how she couldn’t eat the burger because of the onions. It was an allergy. “They make me… violently disagree with my stomach,” she explained, a small, hopefully convincing detail.

He watched her with an almost… fascinated expression. “Intriguing,” he murmured, and she couldn’t tell if he was talking about her or her digestive system.

As the night wore on, the air in the suite thickened. The earlier tension morphed into something… else. A strange, undeniable pull. He kept checking on her shoulder, his concern seeming almost… genuine. He was acting… gentle. A freaking gentleman. It was a good act, Claudine reminded herself. This man was a devil in a designer suit.

He shifted closer, his voice low and husky. “You look incredible in that dress,” he said, his gaze lingering on the way the torn fabric clung to her curves.

“I’m going to kiss you now baby girl. Don’t panic.” His voice dangerously low as he gripped her chin, slamming his lips against hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was like a dam breaking. A raw, urgent claiming. It was nothing like the hurried, almost desperate kisses she shared with Drey in the back of the van. This was… something else entirely. A battle of wills, a surrender of control, a temporary insanity.

Her carefully constructed walls began to crumble. Her brain, usually so sharp and calculating, turned to something resembling warm pudding. This is for the mission, she tried to tell herself. Get the evidence.

Get out with your life.

But her body was a mutinous teenager, ignoring all rational thought.

Claudine pulled away, gasping for air. “I… I have a boyfriend,” she blurted out, the words sounding weak and pathetic even to her own ears.

He laughed, a low, arrogant sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Not anymore,” he said, his eyes burning with a possessive heat that both terrified and… okay, fine, thrilled her a little bit. He was staking his claim, marking his territory. Like a very hot, very dangerous wolf.

His hands roamed, exploring, demanding. He kissed her again, harder, deeper. He pushed her gown up, tearing it further in his haste. Her breasts spilled free. He groaned, his gaze devouring her. He bit her nipple, not gently, but with a fierce hunger that made her arch against him. His other hand found its way between her legs, his fingers probing, teasing, driving her to the edge of reason.

“Hhhmmhmppp”She moaned, her carefully practiced composure dissolving like sugar in hot water. Claudine couldn’t help it. She bit her tongue from calling out his name, causing her moans to sound like she was in deep pain, sound she barely recognized as her own. She kept grinding against him, her body screaming for release.

He pushed three fingers inside her at once, his thumb applying excruciatingly perfect pressure to her clit. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure and pain. “So tight. So fucking warm and tight.” He hissed.

“Please..” she cried, not knowing if she was begging him to stop or not. As if possessed with unfamiliar spirits she gripped his hair, her nails digging into his scalp as her other hand clutched at her own breasts, squeezing, pulling.

And then she came. Hard. A raw, animalistic cry tore from her throat. But he didn’t stop. He kept pushing, working, his fingers relentless. The combination of his touch, his hot breath, his dark, hungry eyes…she was going to spontaneously combust.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Baby girl. Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. And in that moment, everything else ceased to exist. The pain in her shoulder, the mission, even Drey. There was only him. His gaze held hers captive, a strange, undeniable connection forming between them. It was like they were… linked. Two halves of a very messed-up whole.

The hell? Claudine almost choked.

Another orgasm ripped through her, more intense than the first. She cried out again, her body shaking uncontrollably. She was squirting, she realized dimly, dampening his trousers. The force of it was almost… violent. Like her soul was trying to escape.

He felt all of her on him and couldn’t stop himself from groaning, his own arousal evident and at this point he was rock-hard against her.

Finally, Claudine collapsed against him, her body trembling, her mind a blissful, exhausted blank. That was her first orgasm. Ever. And her first time squirting. She couldn’t even remember her own name, let alone her mission.

They lay there for a long moment, breathing heavily, the silence filled only with the soft sounds of their ragged breaths. Then, inexplicably, they both started to laugh. A shaky laugh that slowly built into genuine amusement. Like they’d just survived a near-death experience. Which, in a way, they had.

“Was that… was that even real?” she managed to gasp, her voice still thick with aftershocks.

He looked at her, his eyes still dark with a dangerous hunger. “I never knew a man could die from the hunger of kissing someone,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But I think I’m about to.”

She laughed again, the sound shaky but real. He didn’t answer her unspoken question about whether or not they were going to have sex. Instead, he gently lifted her and carried her back to the couch, his movements careful, almost tender. Like she was made of spun glass.

He hissed in pain as he straightened his trousers, the bulge still stubbornly prominent. “No,” he said, his voice slightly strained. “I’m not going to… you know. I don’t have any protection. And I have too much pride and dignity to go raw with anyone. Even someone as… distracting as you.”

He stood, staggering slightly. “I’m going to… the bathroom,” he chuckled, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long, a strange mix of regret and longing in his eyes. He grabbed the glass of scotch from the stool behind him, downed it in one gulp, and disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Finally. she breathed out. Unable to believe the turn of events.

Claudine stared at her reflection in a nearby mirror, a mess of tangled hair, smudged makeup, and a torn dress that looked like it had survived a small hurricane. Her body burned with a lingering arousal that both confused and disgusted her. How had she gone from hating him – the man responsible for her parents’ deaths, the man who represented everything she despised – to… that?

Guilt clawed at her.

 Drey. Her boyfriend.

 She’d just had the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering sexual encounter of her life with the enemy.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of lust and betrayal. No time for a moral crisis. She had a mission. She got up, her legs still shaky, and tiptoed to the bathroom door. She could hear him inside, groaning softly. Definitely… taking care of himself.

She turned back to the room, her eyes scanning for his phone. She found it on the coffee table, tucked it into her purse. Then, the cross.

Where was the damn cross?

Ah, yes. She remembered now. She’d practically ripped it off his neck during their… escapade. It had to be here somewhere.

Relief washed over her as she spotted it on the floor near the couch.

 Finally.

She picked it up, the heavy gold cool against her skin. It was surprisingly decorated, the cross itself intricately carved, hinting at the power and history it represented. She tucked it into her purse, her fingers trembling with a mixture of triumph and lingering… something.

Just as she did, a loud crash echoed from the bathroom.

Claudine froze, her heart leaping into her throat. What the hell was that? She stood still for what felt like an eternity, listening. Silence.

She glanced at the mirror again, her reflection staring back at her. She looked like she’d been dragged through a very attractive, very dangerous hedge backwards. She moved slowly towards the bathroom, cursing herself for not just grabbing the evidence and running the moment she had the chance.

As she eased the door open, her breath hitched in her throat.

The Crossbearer lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

Damn it. That drink had really done the trick. She knelt beside him, her hand hovering over his chest. No pulse. For a terrifying moment, she thought she’d killed him. But then, she felt a faint heartbeat. He was alive.

She finally released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, quickly followed by a surge of renewed anger. This man. This monster. She remembered him standing before her parents, a gun in his hand, his face a mask of cold indifference as he ended their lives. The pain, the loss, the years of fear and hiding… it all came flooding back. The Vancouver family had taken everything from her.

He deserved to suffer.

Claudine stood, her gaze hardening. Their families were now enemies. Her father, Vladimir Kalashnikov, had once ruled a significant faction of the Russian Bratva. But the Vancouver family had systematically destroyed him and now the Kalashnikov Omerta was being rubbished, leaving Claudine and her younger brother orphans, fugitives, shadows. They’ve taken new identities, just because the late Vancouver--who was practically best friends with her dad—had wanted to wipe off her linage.

She went to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and smeared her makeup, trying to look less… compromised. She pulled out her burner phone and texted Drey.

‘Death was too merciful a punishment I wanted for Hadeson Vancouver. I got him knocked out. Time to initiate phase 2.’