Page 70 of Bratva Menace

“Why the fuck would I agree to wear it? Doesn’t exactly bode well for me.”

She shrugged, starting to pack the collars away. “You don’t wanna wear it? Fine. We’ll just go home.”

Argh. I really want that fucking cake though!

“Wait! Just stop.”

She paused and looked up at me beneath her long lashes. The innocence Lyla portrayed was fake as shit. She was anything but fucking innocent.

“Give it to me,” I snapped. She held it up, and I snatched it out of her hand, clicking it around my neck before I had the chance to back out.

Lyla sighed, almost contently. Something streaked across her face. Something I couldn’t place. Approval? Satisfaction? Contentment?

Fucking what?!

I hated that I couldn’t read her as well as she could read me. I had no idea what it was, or what she was thinking, but a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in my chest at the sight of her.

Lyla ran a finger down the side of my face in a warm, loving gesture, eyes fixated on the collar around my neck. “Such a good boy, you are.”

I stiffened, unable to move, completely transfixed by her.

“It looks good on you. Suits you.”

It was a struggle, almost like lifting a car into the air, but I came back to myself, slapping her hand away. “Don’t get used to it,” I hissed. “I’m only doing this because I want that fucking cake.”

She wasn’t the least bit deterred. If anything, the entire thing made her fucking smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to be begging me to wear my collar very soon, my love.”

A thrill streaked down my spine at her soft, sultry voice. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Why not?” Lyla threw back, clicking her own collar around her throat. “Sounds like fun.” She winked before getting out.

Jesus Chirst. She was goddamn fucking crazy. And if my rock-hard cock was anything to go by, I liked it a little too much.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LUKYAN VOLKOV

“Can I get another slice?” I asked the waitress who came by to collect my empty plate. She’d been the one to take my order originally, and looked to be barely fifteen.

“Another?” She chuckled, grabbing the empty dish and balancing it effortlessly on her forearm. “You really love Korolevsky cake.”

I leaned back and patted my bloated stomach. “Big, big fan.”

“Yes, I can see that. It’s definitely one of our most popular orders. I’ll be right back with your cake. And for you, Lyla? Anything else?”

Across from me, she shook her head. “No, thank you, Heidi.”

The kid smiled. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She walked away, heading for the glass display cabinet at the other end of the café filled with an abundance of sweet treats. She quickly put another slice of cake onto a plate and brought it over before disappearing into the back.

“How does she know your name?” I asked, doing another survey of the room. It was a nice place, with a sweet, rustic charm that a lot of small towns had. Customers walked in and employees greeted them by name. Knew their orders without needing them to say a word. Laughed at inside jokes with one another. An everybody knows everybody kinda vibe.

“Been coming here on and off for the past six, seven months. She’s a sweet kid. Her father owns the place, but he’s too sick to work. Parkinson’s. They live in the apartment above the café, and she works every day after school to help out.”

“You’ve been coming to a small town in the middle of nowhere in Russia to have coffee? You know you can get that at any corner store. Why come here?”

“To establish a base. A connection. I wanted to get to know the town close to home.”

Again, strange. I felt as though there was more to it. I ate the cake a lot slower than I had the other portions, using it as a cover to covertly look for a way out. Cedric sat a few tables away, a newspaper in his hands. Several different scenarios streaked through my head, none holding purchase. All of them had a low percentage of actually working, and I couldn’t risk failing.