Novak (6 page)

Katrina

I can’t fucking believe it! The bastard has done it again. He has wormed his way right back into my panties.

“Look at me, Katrina.”

I raise my eyes and listen to a voice that now sounds distant to my addled brain, as if it’s coming through a tunnel.

“You have your ass downstairs and in front of this building promptly at five. I have dinner plans with the Mayor and you are attending.”

With that, he is gone. Once again, as quickly as he has entered and invaded my space, poof, he is gone…

It seems like no matter how many speeches I prepare in my head when I’m away from him, he comes in and makes them null and void. I can’t ever remember being around a man with this commanding of a personality.

He is in control of everything. It’s like when he walks into a room, he owns it. I don’t even think that it’s a conscious thing for him; it’s just something that he naturally does. I have never been subjected to anyone with that much confidence. He is the cockiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. It’s like once he gets something in his head, it’s as good as accomplished. The problem is… he’s set his sights on conquering me and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist him.

Katrina

I rush down the hallway. I have had all day to think about it and, as unbelievable as it may sound, I am actually more apprehensive about having to dine with the Mayor than I am about the danger that I’m in with my new admirer, the thug.

I want to get ready the way I deem necessary and my goal is to get to my house and avoid Novak altogether.

No sooner do my heels hit the pavement than a man’s voice is bursting through the silence and interrupting my thoughts.

“Ma’am, I’m here to deliver you to Mr. Sims.”

“Well as enticing as the offer of being delivered is, I believe I will just carry on in my wayward state,” I inform the man who sits behind the wheel of a luxury sedan.

He chuckles, “Mr. Sims said that you were a spitfire. I have him on the phone and he would like to speak with you.”

My heart immediately begins to race. It is becoming a habit lately. My body keeps reacting, in ways I can’t control, to a man that I just want to be free of.

I take the phone in my hand and, trying to project innocence, I say, “I’m going to get dressed and you can pick me up at my house.”

“Katrina, get in the car! Your clothing has been delivered here already.”

“Why don’t you buy a fucking Barbie doll to dress or, better yet, a dumbass, bimbo blonde might fit the bill?”

“Get in the car, Katrina. I am not a man who likes to repeat myself.”

Without a word, I hand the phone back to the man, who looks more like a gun for hire than a driver, and get into the car.

I eye him in the mirror from the back seat, sizing him up. It is something I always do with anyone and gender makes no difference. I think perhaps I picked up the habit when I started interviewing people for the magazine. Knowing how to read people makes for a good interview, though this is the first time I have ever had to utilize my skills on gangsters.

He has bird-like facial features with the eyes of an eagle and my instincts are telling me that this man is no ordinary driver. Though he isn’t large and there’s nothing overtly threatening about his appearance, I know instinctively that he is dangerous. I can’t shake the feeling that this guy is an assassin—an international hit man type of assassin.

Novak

I speak into the phone, breathing in slowly and trying to exhale the frustration that threatens to hinder my goal. This woman has a way of pushing the limits of my patience unlike any other I have ever met. She seems to instinctively know how to push my buttons.

Though I can feel the faint twitching in my temple that betrays my irritation, I manage to remain in control.

I’m all about control and that means I also keep myself in check when I’m frustrated or angry. It isn’t a habit I have learned; it is who I am.

Sergei listens intently to my voice.

“Do not let that bitch out of your sight! I want her brought directly here to me.”

“Yes, Sir,” is all Sergei has time to say before the phone call is over and I hang up.

Sergei knows me well and he, of all people, damn sure knows this is not common behavior for me concerning a woman. He’ll deduce there must be something very special about her and Sergei will guard her with his life, literally.

Sergei

I have a bit of a sadistic streak in me. Well, I guess I should say a streak a mile wide, because I like to torture people. My favorite thing to do is to torture those who cross my boss.

This trait in me works out quite well for the both of us, but more than that, Carl and I grew up together and I have a deep-seated allegiance to him.

Our parents were European immigrants. We had grown up in New York but Carl preferred California so when he moved out west, naturally, I went with him. The bond that we have goes much deeper than an ordinary friendship.

The immigrants who came to America came in large groups and would, literally, take over whole neighborhoods in major cities of the US.

Carl’s birth name was Mathias Novak but he had it changed when he left New York at a young age and relocated to San Francisco, California.

You see, ‘Carl Sims’ sounded much more Americanized and he thought it would keep him from being viewed as a mobster or a thug.

Carl likes to think of himself as a businessman with an edge and the word ‘mobster’ carries a stigma with it that he doesn’t want to be associated with.

Being of European descent, he is very particular. He is a polished man, a very precise man, and a perfectionist at everything he does.

Yes, it is true; not just any woman has the capability to snag Carl’s attention. It takes a certain something, if you will, and women like Katrina are few and far between.

I know my boss has no intention of letting her get away from him. As if that wasn’t enough, there is also the issue of the diary. I’m certain he will keep Katrina on a short leash and judging by the fire I see in her eyes, he is going to have his hands full doing it.

Novak

I watch as she runs her hands over the sequins on the jacket. I know it isn’t something she would have normally picked out for herself, but it was purchased from a high-end boutique, and I like it which is all that matters. The bright colors will cause her to stand out in the crowd, but in a tasteful, classy way.

What she doesn’t realize is that in dressing her, I am ensuring that her mind stays focused solely on me, and that is exactly what I want.

I know what every good Dominant, Alpha male knows… once you conquer a woman’s mind, you are always with her, whether you are there in body or not.

I stand and lean against the doorframe, eyeing Katrina as she runs her hands over the jacket again.
Yes, little one, your mind will remain on me.

She turns, unaware that I’m standing there, and jumps a little which only serves to embarrass her.

“Don’t do that,” she hisses.

I chuckle, I’m well aware to what she’s referring.

“It’s not funny, Carl, it’s rude to lurk around corners and spy on people.”

I make my way over to her, standing well within her personal space. I stare into her with ice cold, blue eyes and say, “It’s rude to come into to a man’s home and tell him what to do, is it not?”

I bend down close to her, breathing deep as I take her
come fuck me
scent in, and I softly run my lips over her neck. I whisper, “I asked you a question, Katrina.”

“I don’t know. Stop it.”

“You don’t know what, Katrina?” I ask as I lightly nibble up and down the side of her neck.

“Please stop. I’m begging you, please. Please stop doing this to me. Please.”

“Please give me back my diary,” I softly reply as I clamp my teeth down into her neck just hard enough to make her heart start racing.

She cries out, but it is more of a weak whimper.

“It makes my cock hard when I hear those feeble little sounds come out of your mouth.”

“It is time to go, Katrina,” I state. I then take my arm and whisk her away as if nothing has even happened.