agents are still around but acting more like security guards than the annoying jerks they are known to be. However, I would agree that they got assigned a pretty good job considering the cluster fuck O’Hare can be.
I break my sights from the window and head toward my momentary salvation. A woman stands behind the bar, waiting to help me. She is a friendly-looking woman with a pearly white smile and happy green eyes. Her orange hair is twisted behind her head, standing out against the navy blazer covering her modestly-sized breasts.
“I will have a Martini,” I demand, pulling out my wallet from the inside of my jacket pocket.
“Sweet or dry, sir?” Her voice is cheery, much too happy for my liking.
“Dry,” I say curtly.
She tries to keep the smile on her face, but she can’t hide the fear that flashes in her eyes.
“Don’t mind him,” Josslyn’s voice breaks through her fears as she strides up to the bar, standing behind me. “He’s an asshole.”
The woman looks over at her and uncomfortably smiles back. She is clearly not prepared to be in the middle of whatever argument Josslyn is trying to start.
“Would you like a drink, ma’am?”
“A water, please.”
Josslyn moves from behind me to lean against the bar. She props her elbows on the countertop, making her breasts pop forward.
My eyes act of their own accord and pan down, taking in her fine form. This woman is impossible. Every time she gets near me, I can feel this cloud surround me, and it is impossible to find my way through it.
I turn my head forward, focusing on the awful piece of art hanging on the wall above the bar. I lift the glass to my lips and savor the bitter taste of the drink. It’s cool and refreshing the more I consume the clear liquid.
I finish off the drink, relaxing somewhat as I motion for the woman to make me another. She quickly mixes the Martini and places another glass in front of me. I pull the olive out of my first drink and pop it in my mouth. The treat explodes with flavor and sets off the aftertaste of the drink. I will have to admit, this bartender can make a fine Martini.
“So,” Josslyn says, “what’s the plan now?”
C HAPTER N INE
Josslyn
August 15, 2015 12:08 p.m.
N ikolai is in a foul mood, more so than normal. I can only assume it has to do with what happened to us in Vegas. Perhaps it’s because Vlad’s men caught up with us at the Bellagio, but that was probably normal for him—running from flying bullets. My gut is telling me his foul mood is attributed to what happened at the club.
Although I was very drunk by the time I arrived at the club, the intensity of the moment extinguished my high once Nikolai joined me on the dance floor. We were living someone else’s life in that moment, and it was amazing.
Actually, I have been living someone else’s life for the last several days. It’s like my existence up until I met Nikolai was a dream, and now I am really experiencing life for the first time. It’s a very unusual feeling and one I am still getting used to. Then again, I wished that old life away. I stood in a Macy’s bathroom and shed my old existence for this new, dangerous one. Maybe that is why I’m feeling this way. Being with Nikolai completely changed me. I’m nostalgic and pining for the old me, but she’s vanished.
Nikolai grabs my wrist, his grip firm, cutting off the circulation to my hand, when I ask him what the plan is. He pulls me toward a private corner of the room, his drink sloshing over the rim of his glass as he walks aggressively. I wonder if he comprehends how hard his grip can be when his hostility pulls in whichever direction he pleases.
I spin around and fall back onto a couch. Nikolai swallows down the rest of his drink and sits beside me. He is in a mood; that’s for sure. I ready myself for his quiet lecture and cold, deadly stare down. The sight doesn’t terrify me anymore. I know what he is capable of, but I also know what he is
I break my sights from the window and head toward my momentary salvation. A woman stands behind the bar, waiting to help me. She is a friendly-looking woman with a pearly white smile and happy green eyes. Her orange hair is twisted behind her head, standing out against the navy blazer covering her modestly-sized breasts.
“I will have a Martini,” I demand, pulling out my wallet from the inside of my jacket pocket.
“Sweet or dry, sir?” Her voice is cheery, much too happy for my liking.
“Dry,” I say curtly.
She tries to keep the smile on her face, but she can’t hide the fear that flashes in her eyes.
“Don’t mind him,” Josslyn’s voice breaks through her fears as she strides up to the bar, standing behind me. “He’s an asshole.”
The woman looks over at her and uncomfortably smiles back. She is clearly not prepared to be in the middle of whatever argument Josslyn is trying to start.
“Would you like a drink, ma’am?”
“A water, please.”
Josslyn moves from behind me to lean against the bar. She props her elbows on the countertop, making her breasts pop forward.
My eyes act of their own accord and pan down, taking in her fine form. This woman is impossible. Every time she gets near me, I can feel this cloud surround me, and it is impossible to find my way through it.
I turn my head forward, focusing on the awful piece of art hanging on the wall above the bar. I lift the glass to my lips and savor the bitter taste of the drink. It’s cool and refreshing the more I consume the clear liquid.
I finish off the drink, relaxing somewhat as I motion for the woman to make me another. She quickly mixes the Martini and places another glass in front of me. I pull the olive out of my first drink and pop it in my mouth. The treat explodes with flavor and sets off the aftertaste of the drink. I will have to admit, this bartender can make a fine Martini.
“So,” Josslyn says, “what’s the plan now?”
C HAPTER N INE
Josslyn
August 15, 2015 12:08 p.m.
N ikolai is in a foul mood, more so than normal. I can only assume it has to do with what happened to us in Vegas. Perhaps it’s because Vlad’s men caught up with us at the Bellagio, but that was probably normal for him—running from flying bullets. My gut is telling me his foul mood is attributed to what happened at the club.
Although I was very drunk by the time I arrived at the club, the intensity of the moment extinguished my high once Nikolai joined me on the dance floor. We were living someone else’s life in that moment, and it was amazing.
Actually, I have been living someone else’s life for the last several days. It’s like my existence up until I met Nikolai was a dream, and now I am really experiencing life for the first time. It’s a very unusual feeling and one I am still getting used to. Then again, I wished that old life away. I stood in a Macy’s bathroom and shed my old existence for this new, dangerous one. Maybe that is why I’m feeling this way. Being with Nikolai completely changed me. I’m nostalgic and pining for the old me, but she’s vanished.
Nikolai grabs my wrist, his grip firm, cutting off the circulation to my hand, when I ask him what the plan is. He pulls me toward a private corner of the room, his drink sloshing over the rim of his glass as he walks aggressively. I wonder if he comprehends how hard his grip can be when his hostility pulls in whichever direction he pleases.
I spin around and fall back onto a couch. Nikolai swallows down the rest of his drink and sits beside me. He is in a mood; that’s for sure. I ready myself for his quiet lecture and cold, deadly stare down. The sight doesn’t terrify me anymore. I know what he is capable of, but I also know what he is
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