Page 16 of Savage Boss
I watch with the attention of a predator as she returns to typing on the keyboard, then leans back to read what she’s typed, fingers twirling unconsciously in her long, dark hair.
Having Clara this close, every day, is a slow, agonizing education in how much I want to dismantle that professional focus and demand her attention for myself completely.
I realize I’m hooked.
It isn’t just lust anymore. It’s an itch, an interest that I haven’t felt since I was a young man in Moscow. It feels dangerous. It feels possessive. She is my employee, and my thoughts about her have nothing to do with contracts or corporatecompliance. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.
Clara abruptly lifts her head to answer her desk phone. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I watch her lips move, watch the expression thatcrossesher face lightning-fast. She purses her lips, painted in that same deep Bordeaux color, before she slams her phone down and pushes herself away from the desk.
I can’t take my eyes off the way her hips sway as she hurries from her office and disappears down the hallway, her hair waving behind her.
“Dmitri?Ty zdes?”
Pavel’s question shatters my reverie, and I realize the conference room has fallen silent and all attention is on me.
“Yes, I’m here. Sorry.”
The cautious expressions on the men’s faces seated around the table mean no one will mention my lapse, save for Pavel, who is watching me with a bemused look I can read plainly.
But before I can say another word, I hear a commotion down the hallway that takes only a heartbeat to grow into shouts, protests, and the sound of heavy footsteps.
My body is moving before it fully registers what’s happening. I am out of my chair and across the room in three strides, knowing Pavel is right behind me.
When I open the door, there’s nothing but chaos.
The executive floor of Smirnov Corporation is flooded with uniformed officers, and they aren’t beat cops. They’re wearing tactical gear and heavy boots, and have the cold, hard appearance of an organized crime unit. They move with the brutal, practiced speed of people who expect resistance, pinning employees against walls, weapons at the ready if anyone challenges them.
“What is going on? Who authorized this? Get your hands off my people!” My voice is a low, guttural threat as I storm out onto the floor.
A lean man I recognize from my recent visit to Dean Johnson’s precinct sneers and holds up a hand, a warning for me to halt. “Search warrant. Get against the wall. Your entire operation is under investigation for racketeering, financial fraud, and a whole fucking bunch of other things.” He leans forward, his sneer and his dark eyes nasty. “You’re going down, Smirnov.”
The detective is trying to get a rise out of me, but my focus is locked on Clara.
She stands stiffly off to the side, her cheeks flushed and her eyebrows furrowed over narrowed eyes as she berates another officer. Based on her expression, she’s in full lawyer mode, evenwhen the heavy-set man grabs her arm and twists it behind her back before grabbing for his handcuffs.
“Show me the warrant,” she demands, voice loud enough I can hear her over the tumult.
“You can read it at the station, sweetheart,” the officer replies. He secures the cuffs and yanks her forward—hard.
The moment the cop’s hand closes around Clara’s arm and twists it, the moment he secures her wrists in handcuffs behind her back, the moment he refers to my employee, mywoman, as “sweetheart” and manhandles her like street trash, is the moment the corporate CEO side of me disappears. The only thing left is thepakhan, the powerful, dominantmonsterwho lives on violence and blood.
A red haze descends over me. I don’t calculate, I don’t plan, I just move. I cross the floor in a heartbeat, past stunned employees and surprised officers.
“Take yourfuckinghands off her,” I snarl, my accent thick, my voice a crack of thunder.
The officer holding Clara is big, but I’m bigger. I grab him by the front of his tactical vest and slam him against the wall. The air bursts from his lungs in a wheeze as his head hits the wall with a muffledthud.He scramblesto get his hands on the sidearm holstered at his hip.
“Touch her again, and I carve your heart out with a spoon,” I promise him, my face inches from his, the threat not just verbal but visceral, rage radiating from every coiled muscle in my body. My fingers dig into his shoulders, crushing him against the wall.
Another officer rushes me, but he's too slow. I have him by the wrist with one hand before he can react, twisting until he lets out a whimper, his weapon clattering to the floor.
“Dmitri!Nyet!”
A hand with a grip like iron clamps around my forearm. Pavel doesn’t pull me away immediately; he holds me, a steady strength, an immovable barrier against my explosive rage.
“Stop. This is exactly what they want. Don’t let feelings cloud your judgment. We deal with this the smart way.” Pavel’s Russian is a sharp, low rasp only I can hear.
I stare past Pavel, past the officers with their weapons pointed at me, past my startled and stunned employees, to Clara. She is watching me with wide eyes, but there is no fear, only a look of dawning understanding. She has seen beyond the tightly controlled CEO; now, she has seen the mob boss.
