10 Days to Ruin (Ozerov Bratva Book 1)
10 Days to Ruin: Chapter 15

“And that’s it?” Gina balks. “He just let you leave?”

“Well, it’s not like he could lock me inside.” Though a part of me almost, kinda, sorta wished he would.

“Can’t he?” she retorts. “He’s a big, bad Bratva pakhan. Bet there’s a lot of things he can do.”

I take a sip of my triple chocolate mocha latte. After yesterday’s lack of calories, I’m craving everything on the menu. Any menu, really. “I don’t think he’d do that. Call me crazy, but he just… didn’t give me that vibe. The ‘lock you up and tie you down’ vibe.”

“Bummer,” Gina sighs. “That’s the best vibe there is.”

I’m about to tell her that I’d prefer none of Sasha’s vibes whatsoever, no matter how kinky, when Lora rushes into the café. “Sorry!” she gasps. “Traffic was insane. What’d I miss?”

“Ariel’s still trying to shake off her bad boy billionaire,” Gina informs her. It’s the watered-down version, the one that doesn’t mention my real identity, or his real identity, or why this union would be a career-ending move for me, or why refusing it might be a life-ending one. “Her dad wants her to marry him.”

“Sweet baby Jesus!” Lora says in flabbergasted shock. “It’s like men think we’re back in the Fifties. I’m so sorry you have to deal with that, honey.”

“It’s okay. He’s actually kind of hot.”

“Gee!” I snap.

“It’s the truth!”

“Huh,” Lora muses. “Is he a bad guy?”

Technically, yes, but— “He’s just not my type.”

“But he’s attractive?”

“Well, yes.” Unfortunately.

“And rich?”

With drug money, but yeah. “Kind of.”

She purses her lips, pensive. “You know I support you, right?”

Uh-oh. “Why am I feeling there’s a ‘but’ at the end of this thought?”

“It’s not a ‘but’!” Lora quickly denies. “It’s a… a ‘well.’”

A “well.” How comforting. I hope it’s a deep one. I’d like to fall into it.

I slump forward in defeat. “Let’s hear it.”

Since earthworms have more backbone than Lora, the prospect of contradicting me puts a guilty expression on her face. If there’s one thing Lora hates, it’s conflict. “Well… it’s just that he sounds kind of dreamy, doesn’t he?”

More like nightmarey.

“Define ‘dreamy,’” I tell her.

“Hot, rich, and famous,” Gina fills in. “Bam. Triple threat.”

I give her a fierce scowl. “Which side are you on again?”

“Oh, we’re all on your side, honey!” Lora croons. “I just need a quick explainer… why don’t you like this guy?”

“Well, he kind of… he…” There are plenty of ways to answer her question, but I replace myself fumbling. The first words I ever heard him speak were an order to commit cold-blooded murder seems like a neat explanation, but it comes with even more questions I’d have to answer. “He just…”

“Kicks puppies,” Gina cuts in. “For sport.”

Lora gasps. “Oh my goodness!”

“He’s also an advocate for baby seal clubbing. He has a bumper sticker and everything.”

“What the hell?” I mouth in Gina’s direction.

She pretends she doesn’t see me. “Isn’t it? Who in their right mind would hurt a baby ani— OW!”

I elbow Gina in the side, but Lora is locked in on the horrors.

“A monster, that’s who,” Lora decides. The joke seems to fly well over her head. “You’re right, Ariel. This man is no good. You need to get rid of him.”

Glad that’s settled, at least. “That’s the thing: I really tried last night. I was so rude, you guys.”

“But were you?” Gina narrows her eyes. “I’m just asking because your threshold for ‘rude’ seems to be a bit…”

“Canadian?” Lora suggests.

Gina makes finger-guns. “Bingo.”

I throw my hands up. “What does that even mean?”

Gina slaps her hands together. “Let’s do a postmortem. Break down last night. Where do you think things went wrong?”

Aside from letting Mr. Big, Bad, and Brooding feel me up all over? “Hand to God,” I say, “I have no idea. I did everything you’re not supposed to do on a date: I was picky, passive-aggressive, thoughtless…”

“In what ways?”

“I didn’t finish a single course,” I say. “He took me to this fancy-schmancy French restaurant, and I pretended everything there sucked ass. Which it so didn’t.” I can still taste the single nibble of hors d’oeuvres I took.

God, goat cheese is to die for.

“So you were a spoiled bimbo?” Gina barks out a laugh. “Babe, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those are the types of women that men like Sasha wife up by twenty-one. That’s their brand.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?!” I exclaim. “I’m out of ideas, guys.”

“We don’t need a new plan. Trophy wives have torpedoed empires with way less. Your game is just weak, Ward.”

I’m about to swat Gina again when Lora’s hand flutters up like an eager kindergartener. “I think I might have something.” She leans in conspiratorially. “So last summer, I met this really sweet commodities trader at my sister’s wedding. He had the most gorgeous green eyes, and when we danced, he told me all about his yacht in Sag Harbor.”

“But you scared him off,” Gina predicts, dunking a macaron in her coffee.

“No!” Lora protests. Then she wilts. “Well… maybe? I just got so excited. I made him a care package for our second date with his favorite snacks and a little photo album of pictures from our first date. And I might have mentioned that my Pinterest wedding board already had our couple aesthetic picked out…”

I wince. “Oh, Lora.”

“I know! I know.” She sighs dreamily. “But you should have seen his yacht, you guys. I already had names picked out for our future children. I was thinking Sebastian for a boy, after the boat. Get it? Like, Seabastian?”

“Kill me,” Gina mutters so only I can hear her.

Lora twirls her hair. “Anyway, he stopped answering my calls after I showed up at his CrossFit class with matching ‘Soulmate’ water bottles. And then at his office with chicken soup when I heard he had a cold. And then at his mom’s house to introduce myself…”

Gina goes preternaturally still. “Wait. You’re a genius.”

Lora blinks. “I am?”

“Not on purpose, but yes.” She leans over the table, a wicked grin smeared across her face. “Men want a hunt, Ari. Especially men like Sasha. So don’t be a rabbit—be a werewolf.”

I blink at her in confusion. “I do not follow.”

She clutches my wrist, her bangles shaking. “We’ve been going about this all wrong! You don’t just be a brat—you mess with him. Get him hot and bothered under that pretty Armani suit. Show up at his office all sexy librarian, bend low over his desk, whisper exactly where you want his hands in your best Jessica Rabbit voice—then peace out. No adios, no follow-through. Let him stew there with blue balls and a spreadsheet.”

“At his office?” I squeak.

The thought terrifies me. I’m picturing corporate boardrooms filled with black leather riding crops and I really, truly feel like that’s at least mostly accurate.

“At his office,” Gina confirms. “Men’s brains short-circuit when you invade their turf. Trust. I once gave a handjob to a VP in the Duane Reade stockroom during his lunch break and didn’t even let him finish. He texted me sonnets for weeks.”

Lora gasps. “Gina! That’s cruelty.”

“No, it’s science.”

I push my mug away. “You want me to… flirt. With Sasha. At work. Then bail.”

“Correction: Arouse, don’t just flirt. Then you tactically retreat. Then…” Gina mimes an explosion with her hands. “Capitalize on repressed Catholic guilt or whatever trauma he’s lugging around.”

“He’s Russian Orthodox. I think.”

“Potato, kartofel’.”

Lora and I both stare at her blankly. She rolls her eyes. “That’s Russian for— You know what? Never mind. My humor is wasted on this audience. My point is, dominance games are universal. So it’s play to win or play to lose—but you’re playing either way. Whether you like it or not.”

I stare at my latte art—a collapsing tulip. Meanwhile, my mind starts playing movies for me. I imagine Sasha’s scarred fingers drumming on a desk. The graveled hitch in his voice as the elevators closed.

“What if he… retaliates?” I ask timidly.

Gina scoffs. “Please. Bad boy or not, he’s got a boardroom full of goons to look tough in front of. Worst case? He hauls you into a supply closet and eats you out ‘til the cows come home. Best case?” She wiggles her brows. “He calls your dad and says, ‘Sorry, sir, your daughter’s a hazard to my productivity.’”

Lora folds her napkin into nervous origami. “It does sound a little… risqué…”

Risqué. That’s a word for it.

Suicidal is another.

But Gina is right: Sasha is the one who set up the stakes of this game. I’m just the one stuck playing it.

So if he wants to take it this far?

Fine.

I can fight dirty, too.