Page 75 of Riding Hard

“How the fuck?” I ask.

The woman beside me laughs softly. I don’t know if I should continue talking to her. I don’t even know her, but I don’t want to give her the wrong impression either. I’ve never had to worry about giving anyone the wrong impression. I’ve always been free to fuck and do whatever I wanted. This woman clearly wants that. I can’t and won’t give that to her, though.

Turning to her, I give her a smile. “We got this taken care of, honey.”

Her cheeks turn pink at my words, and my stomach twists the moment I use the word honey. That’s Juliette’s word. I shouldn’t have said it.

Shaking my head a couple of times, I clear my throat. “We got this.”

And we do.

We fucking got this.

Speed reaches for the elevator button, and I watch as he touches the up one. The woman standing to my side hums. I watch her walk over to the other elevator, her eyes lifting to meet mine.

“I’ll see you there, then.”

The elevator door opens, and I step into the car, unsure of what is going on, because clearly, she’s someone, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to find when I make my way up to the top of the building.

The door closes, and before it begins to move, Speed puts in some kind of code. I tilt my head to the side, watching him, and when the elevator begins to climb, that’s when he finally turns to me.

“What did you do?” I ask.

“Fucking the girl in reception when this is done, so wait for me outside,” he states before his brows lift a couple of times.

He thinks he’s fucking funny. Personally, I find it goddamn hilarious because he is not funny, but I’m glad he was able to get what we needed before I had to compromise my morals. Not that I would—it’s not enough money for me to do that shit. I’ve got Juliette at home, and even though we aren’t fucking right now, I would never hurt her like that.

I fucking love her.

The elevator rises, and when the car doors open, I’m the first to step out. And when I do, I realize why there was no office number. This is one big fucking room. I was right. This asshole’s desk is facing the window.

Another elevator car opens in the distance, and I hear Speed announce that he’s got my back. That’s good because I don’t plan on dealing with anyone but the person who owes twenty-five grand to the Perov Bratva.

Marching forward, I walk toward the desk where he has his back to me. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even attempt to face me, but I know he realizes I’m here because his spine straightens.

I decide that having my back against the window isn’t a good strategic place. So instead, I lean my shoulder against the bookcase on the side of the office space.

“You know why I’m here,” I state.

“I do,” he murmurs before he slowly turns his head.

His eyes find mine, and I see the absolute wreckage going on behind his gaze. He doesn’t have the money. In fact, he has nothing. He doesn’t tell me that, but I see it swimming behind his eyes.

“You don’t have it,” I state.

“I don’t,” he confirms.

“It’s only twenty-five Gs,” I remind him.

“I know.”

There is an awkward moment of silence. It’s at this exact moment that I wonder if I can do a double-dip deal here. “You got a mortgage on your home?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You got fire insurance?”

“Yeah.”