Blaire Dark Romance Page 2

  I have a dark feeling he's going to turn the world as I know it upside down.

  “It's the latest in technology for a certain CCTV system,” he says softly, insisting I take the paper from him. “Here you go.”

  To break whatever the fuck this is, I pinch the piece of paper out of his fingers and scan the notes written down, mentally willing my heart rate to calm. It's the details for London's closed-circuit television system.

  “Can you shut that down for fifteen minutes?” Charlie asks, his voice still unexplainably soft.

  I've entered this system a few times before. Maksim likes to know that he can control a city for if trouble breaks out.

  “Can you shut it down, my little pet?” Maksim says.

  “I can shut this down for four, maybe five minutes before I get locked out.” I lean over to give Charlie back the piece of paper, avoiding his touch—and his eyes. I have the contents of the note now stored in my memory.

  Charlie shakes his head, screwing up the piece of paper in a large hand before tossing it across the office. “I need fifteen minutes.” He exercises his eyes on Maksim, who seems a little uncomfortable, pulling open the top buttons of his shirt. “You said the redhead can get me fifteen minutes. I. Need. My. Fifteen. Minutes.”

  My protective instincts kicking in, I step closer to Maksim's desk. No one talks to my master like this with such contempt. No one.

  I center my attention on Charlie. He’s glaring at Maksim, his nostrils flaring.

  I have to protect Maksim.

  I have to ensure nothing happens to him.

  Maksim is all that matters.

  “Can you do it, my little pet?” Maksim says in a rush of words, visibly nervous—I hate that. “Can you get the fifteen minutes?”

  “I'll need a few weeks,” I whisper. I actually need more than a few weeks but I'll tell Maksim that over the phone. At least this way, if he gets mad at me, I have time to mentally prepare. Mad Maksim doesn't bode well for my ass.

  Charlie nods, then Maksim tells me two weeks is fine, that there is no room for error. “Don't run over schedule, my little pet. You know what will happen if you do.”

  “I won't,” I say. I do know what will happen, all too well.

  Just as quickly as it bloomed, the tension in the room vanishes, though I stay by Maksim’s desk.

  Charlie pulls another piece of paper from his jeans back pocket. “For Maksim. Please, give it to him.”

  Maksim gives me the 'okay', so I take it from Charlie and put it on the desk.

  “That's a Dark Web link. Don't lose it.” Charlie gestures at the piece of paper. “To contact me the password is Guzmán Decena.” He follows with saying out each letter of the password like we're fucking dyslexic or something. “Keep me updated regarding Blaire and the job. You can e-mail me any time and I'll get back to you within the hour.”

  Regarding Blaire and the job? Why would he need to be updated about me?

  “Of course, my friend.” Maksim touches his chest in a deceivingly composed approach. “Of course.”

  I feel Charlie is looking at me again, and my anxiety spikes when he asks, “Will Blaire be attending Rumo's poker game next weekend?”

  I don't like how personally interested he is in me. It's... odd.

  A few seconds of silence until Maksim says, “She will be.” He smiles at me with an agenda, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “I might even put on a little show for you.”

  Charlie doesn't understand, so Maksim explains that he sometimes has me fight for entertainment. “Like I said a moment ago,she's a beauty in battle.”

  Chills run down my spine because I know what's going to happen. I know who he'll make me fight.

  “You will come to the poker game, won't you, Charlie? You will come watch her fight?”

  “Oh, I wouldn't miss it.”

  My stomach twists.

  “Good. Very good, my friend.”

  While I stand here staring ahead impassively as not to draw attention to the fact that I'm sweating bullets, they chat about what's been going on in London over the past six years, which isn't much short of sex, crime, and murder. Charlie doesn't sound impressed as Maksim blathers on about his power in Western Europe. Seeming to have heard enough, he cuts Maksim off mid-sentence to say he needs to go. “Time’s getting on.”

  Maksim focuses on me then. “Do you have any questions before you go, my little pet? Is there anything you need?”

  “No,” I whisper, devoid of emotion.

  “I guess we're all done here then.” He reaches over to shake hands with Charlie, his chair creaking under his weight. “It's good to see you again, my friend.”

  Nodding once, Charlie stands and fixes the hem of his t-shirt over his jeans. He's really tall—I'd say at least six foot two—and he's bigger than I thought: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and hard muscles stretching under dark, olive skin. He looks like a Spanish soldier.

  “If you’re heading back to London, Blaire-” my name rolls off his tongue like satin, “-I'll get a lift with you.”

  What?

  My heart does this weird doubling over thing.

  I whip my eyes from Charlie to Maksim, who strangely nods. “You will have to forgive my little pet's attitude, as I am sure you will learn she has.” Maksim chuckles under his breath. “She's as arrogant as a redhead comes.”

  Charlie laughs too, clearly amused. “I can handle one small girl, no matter how arrogant she might be. Don't worry about that.”

  My stomach is sinking with anxiety. This is a test. It has to be. Maksim would never leave me alone with another man.

  Maksim tells me that I have to be polite to Charlie, that I'm not allowed to fight him. It isn't a request. It's an order. “You can speak to him, also, just not about me.”

  “Of course,” I say, head-bowing to my master, hiding the fact that my anxiety is going through the roof.

  I’m not allowed to fight him? What, ever?

  2

  After bidding Maksim goodnight, I lead the way out of the club. Charlie isn't far behind—I can feel his distance on my shadow—but he's far enough for me to have a sense of mental space.

  The club is still booming with music and heaving in perverted old men tossing money about. They're chanting over the music, “Take it off! Take it off!” because the girls are still performing on the stage, naked breasts and asses jiggling all over the place. I'm surprised Charlie doesn't want to stay and have a nice European girl for himself. Any normal man would stay.

  At the exit doors, I nod to bid the doorman goodbye and steal out into the cold night, beneath a cloaking black sky sparkling in stars.My silver Porsche is parked under a flickering streetlight at the end of the car park. I open it using the key in my pocket. It flashes three times with a low, deep beep.

  “This is a nice car for such a young girl,” Charlie says, walking past me to open the driver's door. He rests his forearm on the top of the door and looks down on me, his head slightly cocked. “Did Maksim buy it for you or did you buy it for yourself?”

  Maksim?That is so disrespectful. It's Maksim-Markov to those considered friends or work acquaintances.

  “Do you want to drive or something?”

  Charlie tips his head to the other side, his eyes glancing back and forth between mine. “Why'd you ask that?”

  I gesture at my car. “You are holding my door open.”

  He laughs under his breath, flashing even white teeth. “Tis' called manners, Blaire.”

  I screw up my face. Holding my door open is considered manners?

  “In you get.” He nods at my car, amusement glittering in his eyes.

  My neck arched back, I stare at him, baffled to say the least. He looks a bit different up close, more... I don't know. Beautiful? No. Handsome. He's too masculine to be beautiful. His lips are perfect, the lower fuller than the top, his cheekbones are sharp and high, and his eyes are deep set, a lagoon blue in this light.

  “Do you want me to drive?” He n
ods at my car again without breaking eye contact. “I can if you want me to. I know where you live.”

  I scoff at the audacity of him, sink down into the plush leather and yank my door shut. He's laughing as he walks around to the passenger side, I'm guessing at me. I don't get what he finds so funny.

  Pressing the power button, I fire-up the purring engine. My entire body vibrates as I rev to warm-up my pride and joy.

  Charlie settles in the passenger seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He smells sweet and musky—a weird scent for a man but bizarrely appealing.

  I peer at him from the corner of my eye. He's too big for my car; has to adjust the seat by sliding it back to give his long legs some room.

  A quick glance, and he catches me staring; smirks at me. My heart almost jumps out of my chest but I save face by telling him, “Put on your seatbelt and then we can go.”

  He does, pulls it across his chest and plugs it in. I shift in gear to reverse out of the car park and head down the bumpy country lane. The car is easy to drive, even over all the potholes, the steering smooth and light. It's the best thing I've ever bought myself.

  Though Charlie is blatantly watching me, he doesn't speak for about ten minutes. So I flick on the radio to drown out our silence and check the rear-view mirror. I notice twin SUV's on our shadow then with blinding headlights. They look suspicious; heavily tinted windows, both going at the same speed. I maintain my eyes on them, driving carefully as not to draw attention to us, but as I turn off to hit the clear motorway, they follow us.

  Keeping one hand near my gun in my inside jacket pocket, my other hand on the wheel, I press down on the throttle to boot it out of Dartford, the force pressing me back into my seat.

  “What's wrong, Blaire?”

  “I think we're being followed,” I say, reaching one-hundred miles per hour, dodging what cars are on the road. “Have you got a gun?”

  “Have I got a gun?” Charlie laughs at me again, and when I look at him, he smiles. It's an utterly seductive, sly smile that makes me feel warm all over. “Relax,” he says, “it's just my men. No need for guns.”

  “What?” I drop a gear to slow the pace. “If you have men with cars, why did you ask me for a lift?”

  He doesn't answer my question, which I don't like. He diverts with, “How long have you known Maksim?”

  Maksim-Markov! It really bothers me that he addresses my master like this.

  “That's none of your business,” I say. My voice comes out surprisingly calm.

  “Well, I'm making it my business. How long?”

  I try not to react to his cool, dominant approach, though it's hard. I want to punch his lights out because he's so fucking conceited.

  “I cannot comment without his permission,” I say in a flat tone.

  He laughs at me again, though in a more mocking fashion. “You know, in all the years I've known your boss, you're the first of his girl's I've seen off a leash.” Reaching over, he grabs my seat headrest, forcing intimacy.

  I shift over in my seat, a little uncomfortable. I can feel the warmth of his large body at my side.

  “Maksim must really trust you,” he whispers, checking me out with obvious lust.

  I don't say anything in response. Of course Maksim trusts me. I'm his most trusted devotee.

  We fall silent again.

  I glance at him a few times, sensing he's still staring at me with stark concentration. He is. I wish he'd stop. I'm already on guard and he's making the whole ordeal ten times worse with that penetrating gaze.

  As a distraction, I turn up the radio.

  “What are you allowed to say?” he breaks the silence, turning the radio down.

  I shrug, steering off the motorway for London.

  “Okay... How fast does your car go?”

  Silence.

  “You can answer me that, surely?” He sounds like he's being sarcastic. “Maksim said you can speak to me.”

  “Naught to sixty in five and a half seconds,” I say, just to shut him up.

  “And the color, did you pick it?”

  Though his questions might seem ordinary, they're not. I know what he's doing. He's trying to get me talking by luring me into a false sense of security. I scowl to warn him off but he isn't bothered. He repeats his question.

  “What is with you?” I snap my eyebrows together. “Why are you asking me these stupid, mundane questions?” My heart stutters with panic—Maksim said to be polite. “Sorry. I... I didn't mean to-”

  “S'all right.” He shrugs with one shoulder, still holding my headrest. “You can ask me a question if you want to.” He pauses, then leans a little closer and whispers down my spine, “I won't tell Maksim.”

  I hold his stare for as long as I can, but then I have to center my attention on the road, on the cars.

  “Why are you asking me these questions?” my voice is soft but demanding. “What's with the whole Spanish Inquisition?”

  “The Spanish Inquisition, huh?” A wide grin spreads across his face. “I'm curious about you, Blaire,” he says. “Even more so now.”

  I glance at him, puzzled, and he elaborates, “You don't wear a leash. You live outside of Maksim's house. You can apparently put up a good fight. You're educated...” the list of compliments is endless.

  Why the fuck is he curious about me? And how the hell has he accumulated that much information about me in under an hour?

  I don't ask why he's curious. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of my own curiosity.

  “It seems Maksim wasn't lying when he told me you've got a bad attitude,” Charlie says, chuckling to himself. His voice is so deep when he laughs like that. It's almost mesmerizing. Almost.

  “I'm not gonna get anything outa you yet, am I?”

  Yet? What makes him think he'll ever get anything out of me?

  “No,” I say. “You're not.”

  He doesn't say much more now, just wants to know if I like living on my own, that kind of thing. I shake, nod, and shrug a few times, but I don't actually answer his questions.

  “Where would you like me to drop you off?” I ask, driving past my apartment building, curb crawling The River Thames.

  “Here will do.” He unbuckles his seatbelt.

  I pull over with a sharp stop, desperate to get him out of my car. He doesn't seem to be in a rush to leave. He gives my body the once over, his eyes hooded and full of zest. “Maybe I'll stop by your apartment over the next two weeks to say hi.”

  “I wouldn't bother,” I narrow my eyes at him, pushing my car in gear, “I won't answer the door to you.”

  He flicks up his eyebrows. “Sure you won't.”

  I snort with affront. Bar Maksim, I don't think I've ever met anyone so fucking smug.

  He gets out of the car and leans down to look at me, causing that death black hair to fall around his handsome face, enhancing those diamond blue eyes. I feel trapped in a moment of visual connection with him, my chest constricting with unease.

  Neither of us speak—I couldn’t even if I wanted to. So I just hold his gaze.

  I think he's contemplating something about me. I can't figure out why I come to that assumption. It's just that thoughtful expression on his face...

  “I thought you said you had to leave? 'Times getting on', isn't it?” I try to rush him along when I find my voice, using his own words against him.

  “I've always got time for a pretty girl,” his tone lowers as he says that.

  My stomach ties up in knots. I can't stand the way he talks to me, or the way he looks at me, as if he's mentally taking off my clothes. It's so personal.

  “I'll see you very soon, Blaire,” he says eventually, like it’s a promise, breaking what can only be described as a spell.

  In a fluster, I glance away, my chest so heavy that I can hardly breathe. He shuts the door and disappears into the city, one hand in his jeans pocket. I can't help watching him in quiet muse. He walks with purpose, his tall body sauntering at a relaxed pace
like he has all the time in the world to get to his destination.

  As soon as he's out of sight, I sag in my seat, the tension draining out of my body.

  And I thought Maksim was intense.

  ———

  When I can gather my wits after enduring Charlie, I steer into the underground car park of my apartment building. My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. Pulling it out, I see it’s James calling.

  James is a friend? of mine. I'm very fond of him; known him since before I can remember. He plays a role much like mine with Maksim—security and devotee—but he doesn't reap luxury like a personal car and an apartment as I do. He drives a supplied security SUV, as all the other men do, and lives in Maksim's attic because Maksim doesn't trust him like he does me. That's never affected my opinion of James though. He is one of the good guys. I've lost count of how many times he's taken a beating trying to protect me from our master. How many times he's let Maksim fuck him in an effort to ensure he doesn't fuck me.

  “Have you spoken to Maksim?” I step out of my car and lock it with the key. It beeps and flashes, echoing through the eerie car park.

  “He just rang me about some bloke called Charlie,” James says, his voice soft and husky. “Wants me to beef up security.”

  “Beef up security?” My eyebrows snap together. “Did he say why?”

  “No. It was a brief call, and I wasn’t about to start asking questions. Who is this Charlie?”

  “I have no idea.” I lean back against my car, poking my chin with the key in a musing fashion. “Maksim is nervous around him though.” I’m quiet for a second, going over when Charlie told Maksim that he’s not talking to him in such an aggressive approach. “I’ve never seen him so... I don’t know.” I pause again, still recalling things. “Charlie kept cutting him off from talking and Maksim just let him.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. And I will admit, I am nervous too. He makes me feel-”

  “You're nervous?” James’ voice goes up a notch. “But, you don't get nervous about anything.”