Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(38)

She leans an elbow on the table and smiles at him. “I like your rings, Kage. That skull is badass.”

He gazes at her. After a moment, he exhales a short breath through his nostrils. It’s a laugh, but one that seems to say he knows she’s trouble.

“Thank you.”

“What’s the other one? The signet thingie.”

He slides it off his finger and holds it out to her. She takes it, then examines it with quirked lips.

“Memento mori,” she reads. “What does that mean?”

“Remember death.”

Startled, she glances up at him. The Russians on either side of her sit perfectly still, their expressions blank and their postures rigid.

I’m sitting still too, but my heart definitely isn’t. It’s about to break right out of my chest.

Sloane grimaces. “Remember death? That’s morbid.”

“It’s Latin. Literally translated, it’s ‘Remember that you must die.’ Legend goes that ancient Roman emperors used to hire slaves to whisper it in their ears during victory parades so they’d be reminded that earthly pleasures are fleeting. That no matter how powerful or great a man was, death would eventually find him.”

He shifts his gaze to Stavros. His lips lift to a small smile. “Death eventually finds us all.”

“It was supposed to be a motivator to lead a meaningful life. It also created a major art movement that had its heyday in the sixteenth century.”

Everyone looks at me.

I swallow. My throat is as dry as bone. My entire body feels like a memento mori sculpture, knowing as I now do precisely who Kage is.

What he is.

“Skulls, decaying food, wilting flowers, bubbles, hourglasses, guttering candles…memento mori artwork features symbolism about the fleetingness of life.” I look at Kage. My voice only shakes a little bit. “All the same symbols you have tattooed on your body.”

His gaze on me is soft, and so is his voice when he answers. “Among others.”

Yes, I’ve seen the others. When I spied on him hitting his punching bag through his living room window.

“Like those stars on your shoulders. What do those mean?”

“High rank.”

I whisper, “In the mafia.”

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Yes.”

Oh god. How is this my life?

Looking interested and not at all surprised by this bizarre development, Sloane rolls Kage’s ring between her fingers. “What would the mafia be doing in Lake Tahoe? Snowmobiling?”

Kage says, “Gambling. Skimming from casinos here and in Reno. Running illegal gaming operations.” With a small, lethal smile, he glances at Stavros. “Isn’t that right?”

Stavros sits stiffly in his chair, looking like he’s wishing he were anywhere else on earth. “Exclusively online.”

When Kage lifts his brows, Stavros clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “I own a software company.”

“Ah.”

When he doesn’t add more and only continues to give Stavros a challenging stare, Stavros drops his gaze to the table.

He murmurs, “We’d be pleased to pay tribute to Maxim any amount he feels fair to continue operations.”

“In arrears, as well.”

A muscle in Stavros’s jaw works. “Of course.”

I say, “Wonderful. Glad we’ve got that all worked out. Please excuse me for a moment.”

I push back my chair and walk toward the restaurant’s entrance, my cheeks burning hot and my pulse flying. I don’t know exactly where I’m headed, only that I needed to get away from that table.

I knew it.

I knew he was dangerous from the moment I set eyes on him.

The question is, why didn’t I run away?

At the hostess’s stand, I make an abrupt right turn toward the bathrooms. The corridor keeps going past the two doors, ending in another door that I push through.

I find myself in an employee break room. A square table surrounded by chairs sits in the middle of the room. There’s a stack of metal lockers on one wall. A TV hangs from another. Aside from me, it’s deserted.

Before I can collapse into the nearest chair, Kage bursts through the door.

“Stop,” I say firmly, wagging my finger at him as he approaches. “Stay right there. Don’t take another step.”

He ignores that and stalks closer.

“I’m serious, Kage! Or is it Kazimir? I don’t want to talk to you right now!”

He growls, “I don’t want to talk to you, either,” and grabs me.

My yelp of surprise is cut off by a hard, demanding kiss.

He drags my head back with a hand fisted in my hair and ravages my mouth until I’m breathless. He’s got one of my arms pinned behind my back, holding me firmly by the wrist, but my other hand pushes against his chest.

It’s useless. He’s too strong.

He kisses me until I make a small, pleading sound in my throat. Then he pulls away, breathing just as hard as I am.

He says roughly, “You knew I wasn’t a choirboy.”

“If you think that’s getting you off the hook, think again.”

“I told you I wasn’t a good man.”

“You didn’t tell me you were the head of the Russian mafia.”