Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I climbed onto the back, straddling it. He put a hand on my thigh.
“Closer.”
I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around his waist, and hugged him tight.
“Good. Now, lean when I turn. Not too much, but don’t fight it. Understood?”
“Now I have to lean? Oh god, I’m really going to die.”
“Hold on.”
He kicked the engine and it roared to life.
God it was loud. The bike purred between my legs and I let out a little squeal of fear and surprise. I hugged him tighter, my hands gripping his muscular chest and abs. He might’ve been laughing, I couldn’t tell, because the bike leapt forward and we began to roll down the driveway. His men stared as he went past and the gate rolled back as we approached. Roman turned into traffic and rode fast, the bike churning and belching loudly, and it took all my energy not to scream.
But I didn’t freak out. He was right—I didn’t feel the panic like I had the last time I was in a car with him. Instead, my fear was totally normal, but even that began to loosen up as he drove expertly through Jersey City, heading toward the bridge to Manhattan. Once we were riding over the water, I stared out at the city and down at the setting sun glittering off the gently lapping waves, and my grip loosened slightly, but I stayed tucked up against his back, his strong and warm back.
It was beautiful and exhilarating. I hated that I liked it, despised that he was right and I’d have to admit it, but I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be on the back of this bike as we drifted along with traffic into New York, the wind moving over the exposed skin on my hands and neck and blowing my hair back.
Once we reached Manhattan, he wove through traffic until he pulled up in front of a massive skyscraper. I didn’t know New York very well and didn’t recognize the building, but evidently it was our destination. Roman killed the engine, got off, and tossed the keys to a big man in all black that approached from the front door.
“Park it nearby. Bring it when I’m done.”
“Yes, boss.” The man looked at me as I took off my helmet and shook my hair out.
Roman stared too.
“What?”
He nodded to the big guy. “Give the helmet to Igor.”
I handed it over. Igor barely made eye contact. He was all neck and head and torso.
I followed Roman into the building. It was a normal office skyscraper, or at least it seemed normal. I didn’t know much about New York real estate and had no clue if this place was nice. I had no clue if I was dressed appropriately or not in a pair of black slacks and a Gucci blouse with a bow at the throat, though Roman didn’t seem particularly dressed up either—dark designer jeans, black Henley shirt with the top two buttons undone.
He didn’t speak as we rode the elevator to the penultimate floor and stepped out into a hushed, carpeted waiting room. The sign on the wall read Berkman, Briar, and Bellsworth and the woman behind the front desk smiled blandly.
“They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Briar.”
“Thank you, Jane.” Roman strode past her.
“Mr. Briar?”
“One of my many names.”
“I didn’t realize you had more than one.”
“You don’t know me well yet.”
“Guess we’ll have to solve that, since I’m your wife and all.”
“We’ll see.”
I rolled my eyes. He liked being all mysterious and whatever.
We reached a conference room halfway down the hall and he opened the door. I recognized some of the men from the party sitting around the table. The air was heavy with silence and tension, and two distinct camps were set up on either side of the room.
The Russians were at the far end. Big Slavic-looking guys with light eyes and pale skin and bland, dark clothes. The Italians were at the opposite end, dark hair and dark skin with fancy business suits and scowls.
It was like a schoolyard fight was about to break out, except these men were all armed to the teeth.
“Gentlemen,” Roman said as we took his place at the head of the table. I took a seat toward the back wall and folded my hands in my lap, doing my best to disappear, but I noticed more than a few of men stared in my direction.
“I’m happy you showed, Roman,” one of the Italians said. He looked like a math teacher at a private college, though his clothes hung off him like stacks of fresh hundred-dollar bills.
Roman only nodded at him. “And I’m glad you’re here as well, Giatno, though I’ll admit that I had my doubts.”
“Little Italian man fears the big boss.” The Russian across from Giatno sneered at him.
“Enough, Kir,” Roman warned.