Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(80)

When I set the box on the sink and open it, the feeling of doom intensifies.

It’s not the dress, which is lovely. It’s sleeveless sapphire velvet with a long, slim skirt and cinched waist. It’s not even the shoes, a pair of low strappy heels in an elegant champagne color that are mysteriously my size.

It’s the contact lenses.

The small rectangular box of contacts has my name printed on a label on the outside, along with my prescription.

My precise prescription, including power, curve, cylinder value, axis, and brand. Everything needed to correct my astigmatism perfectly.

In short, somebody had a nice little convo with my optometrist about my eyeballs.

This isn’t some shit you grab off a shelf. These are custom lenses. It normally takes weeks for them to arrive when I order them, and they’re expensive. They’re also delicate and tear easily, which is why I switched back to glasses.

But tonight my glasses will be staying home.

I don’t dare insult the most powerful man in Russia before I’ve even met him.

I take off the clothes I’m wearing and leave them folded on the sink. I put on the dress, which fits perfectly. The shoes do, too, and so do the lenses.

Then I stand and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if maybe I’m still in the hospital and this is all a strange dream.

At least I’ve put back on the weight I’d lost, thanks to Mal’s cooking. And the color and fit of the dress are very flattering. Whoever this Pakhan is, he’s got better taste than Sloane.

Nobody will mistake me for a sex worker tonight.

It’s small comfort, but I’m taking what I can get. I turn my back on the mirror and head into the bedroom, where I stop short and suck in a breath.

Mal stands waiting for me near the foot of the bed.

He’s in a beautiful fitted black suit with a crisp white dress shirt open at the throat, no tie. His black leather shoes are polished to a mirror shine. His wavy dark hair has been brushed back against his scalp and glossed with some kind of pomade. The unruly ends curl against his collar.

He’s breathtaking. Gangster chic, a dangerous beast disguised in a gentleman’s clothing.

He takes me in with one greedy look, licks his lips, then growls something hotly in Russian.

My blood thrumming in my veins, I whisper, “You look nice, too.”

“Come here.”

The hand he holds out is a magnet. So is that hungry look in his eyes, drawing me in. I cross the room with butterflies flitting madly around in my stomach and step into his arms.

He kisses me deeply, one arm wrapped around my waist and a hand gripped firmly around the back of my neck. When I’m certain I’m about to combust, he breaks the kiss and says gruffly, “You’re fucking delicious.”

The Big Bad Wolf couldn’t sound nearly as ravenous. I shiver, pressing closer to the hard expanse of his chest and tightening my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I want to tear you out of this dress with my teeth.”

“I don’t think we have time for that.”

Gazing at me with hot eyes, he licks his lips again. He debates for a moment, then shakes his head impatiently. “You’re right. Later. Where are your glasses?”

“On the bathroom counter. There was a pair of prescription contact lenses in the box with the dress. My exact prescription, as a matter of fact.”

He says drily, “And I’m sure the dress and shoes are your exact size, as well.”

“I’m trying hard not to be freaked out, because I trust you, but this seems like a very deliberate message your boss is sending.”

“Yes, it does.”

“You agreeing with me doesn’t make me feel better.”

He gazes at me for a moment, his face pensive. Then he brushes a strand of hair off my forehead and tucks it behind my ear.

“I’m going to tell you something. It’s important.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Just listen to me carefully and remember this. If Pakhan asks you a question, no matter what it is, tell him the truth. The entire, unvarnished truth. Don’t try to dress it up or make it sound pretty.”

His voice lowers. “And especially don’t try to lie. He can smell a lie like a shark can smell a drop of blood in the water.”

Feeling sick, I say faintly, “That image is great, thanks.”

He gives me a squeeze and a firm kiss on the lips. “You’ll be fine. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. We’re going. Remember what I said.”

With that final warning echoing in my ears, he takes my hand and leads me out the door.





The restaurant is a ten-minute drive through traffic from the apartment. We seem to be in the city center. Skyscrapers tower all around us for miles. Pedestrians are everywhere, though the hour is so late. There’s a bustling, cosmopolitan, 24/7 vibe that once again reminds me of San Francisco, but much bigger and without the steep hills.

I wait for homesickness to hit me, but it never comes.

Sitting beside me in the back of the Phantom, Mal is silent.

I can’t tell if he’s tense. His body is relaxed, but there’s a watchfulness in his eyes. A certain way of slicing his gaze from one point to another that reminds me of a big cat lying in wait in tall grass for a gazelle to pass.