Savage gave her a thumbs-up as he headed toward what all the Torpedo Ink members considered a prime table. The table gave them the advantage of seeing the windows and the door, and they could keep an eye on the back exit without being seen. Everyone else wanted tables by the windows, but they didn’t care to present a target to anyone looking in. They stayed alive by being careful.
Kasimir “Preacher” Popov sauntered in as if he owned the place. Preacher was Lana’s older birth brother. He had very curly hair and wore it on the longer side. He was the club’s chemistry man. He had other well-developed gifts as well. He worked at the roadhouse as the head bartender and manager of the bar. Hannah Harrington was working with him to teach him more about the natural products and what they could do. There may have been a little magic mixed in, but if so, Maestro didn’t want to know about it.
Preacher greeted Savage and Maestro, and rubbed his knuckle on top of Sabelia’s head as he swept past her to go behind the counter. “I’ll make my drink this morning, Sabelia.”
“Good morning to you too,” Sabelia said. “I don’t recall Hannah hiring you to work here, but if she did, that makes me your boss.”
Preacher gave a little dramatic shudder. “You’re already bossy as hell. I’m not stupid enough to allow you free rein to boss me around.”
Sabelia arched a winged black brow. “I work for you at the Torpedo Ink Roadhouse. Does that mean I’m braver than you? Because you’re sounding a bit like a coward.”
“You’re looking to get yourself in trouble, little girl. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself over my knee.” Preacher sounded perfectly amicable.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Try it and you’ll have the cops knocking on your door.”
Preacher laughed, his eyes lighting up, indicating he felt genuine amusement. “That’s an empty threat if I ever heard one. You despise law enforcement.”
She tilted her chin. “I don’t despise them,” she clarified, “but I don’t trust them. So, no, I wouldn’t call the cops, but your favorite truck would be filled with frogs. Slimy ones. Toads. Big giant toads.”
Preacher threw back his head and laughed aloud. “That isn’t an empty threat, but it still might be worth the pleasure I’d get from spanking your ass.”
Sabelia stuck her nose in the air. “I’m ignoring you this morning. Everything was quite pleasant until you came along. I refuse to change my good mood just because you’re a blight on society and the bane of my existence.”
“You two need to get a room,” Savage suggested.
“I don’t need a room,” Preacher said. “I’ll lock the doors so she doesn’t get embarrassed when her customers come in.”
Sabelia’s pale skin flushed red. “You two aren’t funny at all. For your information, Savage, Preacher thinks of me as a baby.”
“An obnoxious baby,” Preacher confirmed.
“Maestro?” Determinedly, Sabelia turned to him. “What are you looking for this morning?” she asked.
“Clarity,” he answered honestly. “Tranquility. You make the blend of tea for me, Sabelia. And three of your orange cranberry scones.”
Sabelia laughed softly. “I don’t see how any of you can put away that many scones and look the way you do. If I ate like that, you’d have to roll me out of here.”
Preacher came around the counter and smacked Sabelia on her ass. She yelped and spun around, glaring at him. He glared right back.
“We had an agreement. You weren’t to talk or think negative things about yourself anymore. No liquor and no ugly thoughts.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you keep your hands to yourself, or I’m retaliating by practicing with Hannah on your truck.”
Preacher didn’t appear impressed. He made his way back behind the counter. “The agreement stated there could be no retaliation if you were punished for either of those two things. You always keep your word.”
Sabelia’s breath hissed out in a long slow exhale. “I think I’m going to need to drink whatever kind of tea I make for Maestro for my own tranquility.”
Maestro gave her a sympathetic grin. Preacher and Sabelia had a strange chemistry between them. Enemies, but the physical attraction between them couldn’t be denied. He had no idea why Preacher hadn’t acted on it. He certainly ran men off in the bar if they made a play for her.
“I’ll buy your cup of tea, Sabelia.” He poured sympathy into his voice, knowing it would irritate the shit out of Preacher.
Sure enough, Preacher looked up, glaring at Maestro. “She doesn’t need you to pay for her fucking tea, Maestro.”
It was all Maestro could do not to burst out laughing. “Just helping the lady out.” Preacher didn’t swear much. When they were children, he looked after Lana like she was his child. He couldn’t prevent the abuse she suffered, but he made certain all the kids down in that torture chamber of a basement knew Lana was under his protection. He didn’t want them swearing around her, and they respected his orders—for the most part.
“Don’t annoy me,” Preacher warned.
Sabelia rolled her eyes. “I live to annoy you. Don’t get all grumpy because someone wants to do something nice for me.” Her implication was that Preacher didn’t do nice things for her.
“I’m never grumpy,” Preacher denied. “Get to work before your boss comes in and finds you flirting outrageously with your customers.”
Color swept under Sabelia’s pale skin. Her long lashes fluttered as she glared at Preacher. “I don’t flirt with customers. That would be you.”
“Sabelia,” Savage interrupted. “I find this all very entertaining, but if I don’t get coffee soon, I’ll be the grumpy one.”
“Coming right up, Savage,” Sabelia swept past Preacher, going straight to the coffeepot.
Maestro’s phone vibrated. He pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced down, inwardly wincing as he read the text message from Azelie.
I had a wonderful time with you, Andrii. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I can’t keep the clothes and jewelry. You can pick the box up at the coffee shop. I am keeping the coat. I looked on the website at Label 287 but couldn’t find the amount I owe you for it, so I’ve emailed the designer asking. I’ll pay you back as soon as possible. Thank you again for a wonderful time, but clearly, it’s best if we don’t see each other again.
FIVE
Two days had gone by since her date with Andrii, and Azelie found herself more upset than she had realized she could be when she barely knew the man. She hadn’t gone back to the coffee shop after giving the box of clothing, shoes and jewelry to the owners, Shaila and David Manger. They promised to text her when Andrii came in to pick up the box. The text had come in that morning.
She still hadn’t gone to the coffee shop because she didn’t want to answer any questions. She knew the merry widows would ask her how her date had gone. What was there to say? He was perfect until he wasn’t? She’d blown it, but she didn’t know how? She felt sad. Bereft. The intensity of her emotions made no sense and raised another red flag for her. She had no business dating a man who brought out such overwhelming emotions in her.
Her phone dinged, letting her know she had a text message. She didn’t want to look because she knew it wouldn’t be from Andrii, or worse, it might be, and then she would have hope. She knew she was ruled by emotion, but she’d tried very hard to be more logical. Swearing off Andrii was logical. She couldn’t prevent herself from looking. The compulsion was too strong.
Coming up now. Open the door for me.
Her heart stuttered. Andrii. Already in the building. How did he get the code? He was on his way up to her door, and she was dressed in her ridiculous but very comfortable tank and drawstring flannels. She was barefoot and had no idea where her slippers were.
She caught up her phone and tried to hastily text to stop him from coming to her apartment. Her home was too small, and he would leave his presence everywhere. His scent would linger. She would dream of him, not that she didn’t already dream of him. Erotic dreams. She didn’t know which were worse, nightmares or erotic dreams that left her burning for him.
Before she could text, he knocked. She found herself hurrying to the door, one hand on the dead bolt.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Andrii,” she said without opening the door. Her voice sounded strangled. Husky. Her heart pounded with trepidation and excitement.
“It’s the only idea, Solnyshkuh. Unlock the door.”
His voice. Soft but commanding. Compelling. Goose bumps whispered along her skin and crept down her spine. She was so susceptible to him. Her hand was on the dead bolt almost of its own volition. Her brain wasn’t catching up.
“I’m not dressed,” she announced as she cracked open the door.
Opening the door was a mistake—a huge one. Looking at him standing there, dressed casually in dark jeans and a tee from a Queen concert stretched tight across the heavy muscles of his chest, took her breath away and robbed her of her ability to talk.
