The Bookie

Chapter 2-1

2

Nikolai

The game is in full swing by eleven. We have a suite in a posh hotel where I have one table, seven players. I’m satisfied—the house has already made thirty grand, and I have a buyer lined up for Zane’s Mustang.

A knock sounds at the door, and I shoot a glance at my twin, Dima, who’s in town for the weekend, as I go to open it. Oleg flanks me, as my muscle. Dima reaches for the pistol in his waistband. We’re all more cautious since the incident with the Feds last month. Getting shot at one of my games isn’t the way I want to go. Dying young has been a possibility since the day my brother and I joined the bratva, but I’d rather go out in glory than from a pot-shot taken by a trigger-happy kid.

I c***k the door to peer out.

“I’m here to see Nikolai,” a female voice announces.

“Oh, hell no,” I say, when I take in the small but mighty female standing outside. I recognize her from the photo at her apartment—Zane’s sister.

She preemptively thrusts her hand through the c***k in the door before I can close it.

I may be a d**k, but I’d never smash a woman’s fingers. I’m also not about to let her into the hotel suite to kill the vibe. I open the door enough to step outside, forcing her to back up into the hallway.

She’s adorably angry—all five foot two of her. Her chestnut hair is pulled up into a high, thick ponytail, and her golden eyes spark with fire. Bronze freckles dot her nose and cheekbones, matching the reddish lights in her hair.

Oleg looms in the doorway behind me, drawing her gaze, which I dislike for some reason.

“I’ve got this,” I murmur to him in Russian, leaving her in the dark about what I said, and Oleg retreats and shuts the door.

She puts her hands on her hips and raises her brows. “I’m Chelle Goldberg. Sister of the guy you put in the hospital today?”

“I know who you are,” I say mildly, advancing on her, just to see if she’ll retreat or hold her ground.

She holds her ground, which I find even more adorable.

“Tell me Zane did not give you the location for this game because that kid does not need another a*s-kicking from me right now.”

“No,” she snaps, thrusting her chin up. “I saw the text message on his phone. While he was lying on a hospital bed.”

I roll my eyes. “Zane did not require a trip to the hospital, Freckles. The only thing the ER would do for him would be to hand out some pain meds, which a guy with substance a***e issues doesn’t need.”

That steals her thunder and her breath. She blinks at me, like my words gave her an unpleasant shock. A twinge of sympathy niggles in.

Does she seriously not know her brother has a d**g problem?

Maybe she’s been in denial, and my saying it out loud made it real.

“Go home. Take the pain pills away from him. See if he’ll smarten up and get his s**t together.”

“I came here to talk about Zane’s debt.” She’s lost some of her bluster. She meets my gaze but can’t hold it anymore.

I fold my arms across my chest. “So talk.”

She makes a show out of looking around. “Out here in the hallway?”

It’s comfortable as far as hallways go. Wallpaper and artwork and side tables with heavy pottery sitting on top.

“You’re not coming in here, doll. Not unless you brought cash.”

She clutches her purse tighter, like I’m about to rip it from her arm. “I came to find out exactly how much he owes. And to see if we could come to some kind of arrangement.”

Oh, Freckles, yes. I would definitely like to come to an arrangement with you.

The n***d-tied-to-my-bed kind.

I let my interest show in my slow perusal of her body. She’s not curvy—in fact, she’s a bit on the angular side, but I find the whole package to be alluring. Something about her interested me the moment I saw her photo at her apartment. “What kind of arrangement?” My low rumble holds a seductive edge to it, and her body responds, her n*****s protruding through her thin sweater.

She firms her jaw. “May I come in?”

Fuck. I definitely don’t want her in the suite. But for some reason, I’m finding it hard to deny her.

Against my better judgement, I open the door and usher her in.

Oleg immediately moves in to search her purse and pat her down, and I have to stifle the sharp rebuke that rises in my throat. He’s doing his job. Protecting me from getting shot again. I just don’t like his hands all over her.

She steals a quick glance at the game going on then produces a fat envelope from her purse after Oleg gives it back and hands it to me.

I take out the cash and count it. “Fifteen hundred off Zane’s debt,” I tell Dima, who is positioned with his laptop near us to record every time money changes hands.

He nods and types it in.

“Is that enough to keep you off his back for a few weeks?” she demands.

“No, bunny rabbit.”

Her eyes flash with annoyance at the pet name, but she doesn’t address it. “How much more does he owe?”

“He’s in forty grand to me right now.”

She makes a little huh sound. “You took ten grand off for the Mustang?”

I nod. “That’s the resale value.”

She digs in her purse again, and produces a set of keys. She unwinds a Toyota key from the ring. “Take my car. It should be worth at least another ten grand.” Her fingers tremble when she holds the key out to me.

I refuse to take it. “I’m not taking your car.”

She thrusts the key in my face and shakes it, the shaking growing more visible. Her lips tremble, too, although I suspect it’s with rage not fear. Certainly not tears. Chelle is a tough cookie, that much is obvious. “Take it,” she snaps. “You took Zane’s.”

“I’m not taking your car. You don’t deserve that. Have you considered the long-term consequences of always bailing your brother out?”

Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”

“Do you think Zane will learn his lesson if you keep making sacrifices to keep his nose unbroken?”

Her jaw drops. “So now I’m getting life-coaching from his f*****g loan shark? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I smirk. This woman is cute on wheels. I prop my shoulder against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. “Believe it or not, I like your brother. Before he got his nose into the blow, he was a brilliant card player and an entertaining presence at my table. Now? He’s a douchebag, and he’s out of control. He needs help, but he’s not going to get it if you clean up his messes.”

“So you beat him up out of tough love? Was that it?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

I shrug again. “It’s a natural consequence when you stiff the bratva. There will be more if he doesn’t get his s**t together soon.”

Some of her bravado fades, and I see uncertainty dance over her expression. I have to fight the urge to reassure her that I’m not going to dismember her brother. Part of the problem is that I let Zane think we were friendly. I may like the kid, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have to pay up, one way or the other.

“His other natural consequence is losing his wheels. But it shouldn’t be yours. You weren’t the one snorting coke and playing loose at my table.”

Her eyes brighten with tears, and she blinks them back. Swallows. “He’s using a motorcycle now. It belonged to my dad. You could go take that from him, too.”

“He can bring it to me,” I say smoothly.

“I’ll bring it—”

“Uh uh,” I interrupt. “Stay out of this. Zane can figure it out. He’s a smart kid.”

She stares at me for a moment then nods.

I open the door for her. “Don’t come back here again,” I say when she steps close to pass.

She stops and looks up at me. I have the irrational urge to count the freckles that dust her cheekbones. “Or what?” I see that flash of temper again. “You'll beat me up too?”

“You?” I raise my brows, then allow some of the heat she rouses in me to show in my gaze. “No, Freckles,” I murmur in a suggestive purr. “I'll pin your hands to the wall and s***k that cute little a*s of yours until I hear you beg.”

Her eyes dilate, berry lips part. “B-beg for what?” she asks.

I hold in my chuckle. “What would you beg me for, Chelle?”

She draws in a sharp breath. “You’re…”

I c**k my head when she trails off, expecting an insult with expletives.

“Bold.”

My lips twist into a surprised smile. “And you’re interested.” I allow my gaze to drop to the peaked buds of her n*****s showing through her sweater.

She looks, too, and flushes. Her gaze sweeps up my tattooed forearms and across my shoulder to land at my throat. The moment she manages to lift it enough to meet my gaze, electricity pulses between us.

My d**k gets harder than stone. She freezes.

Oh, Zane. I just had the most wicked idea of how you can pay off your debt.

Except I don’t pay for s*x. Nor do I allow it to be used as currency.

I have a personal rule about it just to keep things clean.

Besides, Adrian would probably try to put my head in a meat grinder if he did. He came to America to free his sister from human traffickers, a horrific chapter she’s still barely recovering from.

I watch as a tremor runs through Chelle’s small frame, but to my disappointment, it seems to shake her back to reality. She pushes past me and out into the hallway.

“Don’t come back,” I remind her.

She flips me the bird without turning as she walks away.

I stay in the doorway, watching her cute a*s twitch as she walks, drinking in all that is Chelle Goldberg. Fiery, adorable, and very fuckable Chelle.

Damn.

I want her.

She’s lucky I had enough scruples to let her walk away.

Next time she might not be so lucky.