Page 2 of Wicked Arrangement
He raises an eyebrow, though still calm and collected, the corners of his mouth twist into an amused smirk.
“Trust me, nobody is going to steal that hunk of metal you call a car. And I’m not letting you drive anywhere,” he says, his voice betraying the fact that he’s the sort of man who doesn’t get told no, often.
Infuriated, I fold my arms and give him my best ‘don’t fuck with me glare’. “Are you implying I would run off without exchanging insurance details like some common criminal just because of the way I look?”
He seems affronted that I’ve just insinuated he’s being racist, classist, or both, a small waver in his cool demeanor shows that there’s a hint of compassion or humanity under that hard exterior.
His jaw clenches and I wonder if I’ve offended him. “I would never make assumptions like that. In case you haven’t noticed, you have a rather large bump on your head. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to get behind the wheel when you could have a concussion or worse. You could injure yourself further or someone else.”
Feeling a little chagrined, I’m unsure how to respond. While he might be a bit of a snob, it’s not like I’ve made the first impression. I’m the one who crashed into him and now I’m picking a fight. I should be grateful he hasn’t called the cops. Just as I’m about to toss the keys to him, my phone rings.
I know immediately that it’s Amelia from the embarrassingly cringey song that she put as her ringtone after I lost a dare, I can’t believe I agreed to have the stupid thing for a whole month.
Ah, me so horny.
Ah, me so horny.
The ringtone blares out mortifyingly loud and I frantically scramble around in my bag looking for it so I can shut off the sound. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I curse Ameliafor picking such a ridiculous ringtone. On the plus side, perhaps she’ll forgive me for being so late to her birthday party once she’s had a good laugh at my expense. In my haste to retrieve my phone, I don’t notice that I have dropped the gift bag containing Amelia’s present.
After what feels like an agonizingly long time but can’t have been more than a few moments, I find my phone and decline Amelia’s call. It’s then that I look up to notice the man retrieving the scattered contents of Amelia’s birthday gift from the floor.
I can only imagine that this current sequence of events is divine punishment for being so horrendously late to my best friend’s birthday party. First the stupid song and now this. When Amelia and I went shopping a while back she dragged me into this ludicrously expensive lingerie shop where she spotted some sexy tantric cards that were beautifully illustrated and eye-wateringly expensive. She’d admired them and suggested that I use my art skills to create similar pieces that I could sell. I’d dismissed the idea at the time, but decided that I would create a pack for her birthday. I can barely afford the party, let alone an extravagant gift so I hoped something homemade and one-of-a-kind would make up for it. I tried to draw the sexual positions in ways that are erotic yet tasteful, with elaborate borders and detailed descriptions in neat cursive on the back. I was quite proud of them before, now I wish I’d never made them. The handsome stranger is flicking through the cards, each one more explicit than the last, his face impassive. Does he think I’m some sort of sexual deviant? Or a weird stripper? I’m dressed in a uniform that more resembles a sexy costume version of a diner uniform than actual work clothes, combine that with the ringtone and the cards and god only knows what he’s thinking.
Words cannot describe how mortified I feel right now. I wish the ground would open and swallow me up. Just as I’m about to snatch the cards from his hands, there’s a deafeningly loud blast and the floor shakes. I dazedly wonder if my wish just came true as a hot blast of air from the explosion follows. The man quickly pulls me into his chest, throwing us both to the ground and covering me with his body.
The sound of terrified screams and honking horns fills the air as onlookers desperately try to flee the scene. The protective embrace that the man holds me in is strangely comforting, a quiet safe space amid the chaos around us. My ears are ringing from the blast, and I feel as though I’m witnessing the events outside of my body. I look over to see the blazing inferno and it dawns on me that it’s the man’s car that’s now in flames. In my confused state, I briefly wonder if somehow the accident caused the car to explode.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice sounding distorted as though I’m underwater to my still ringing ears.
I go to open my mouth and reply that I’m fine. But my vision swims and I become overwhelmed by panic and fear. I’m vaguely aware of the feeling of his strong hands assessing me for injury, the distant sounds of sirens approaching, and the man trying to reassure me.
“It’s okay, you’re just in shock. Just take a deep breath and try to stay calm, everything will be alright.”
I want to ask him how he can possibly remain so calm when we just came so close to death when we don’t know who got hurt or if his driver survived, but the words won’t come. I struggle to stay alert but soon the darkness embraces me like an old friend, dragging me into oblivion.
Chapter 2
Yaroslav
Iwatch as the young woman in the hospital bed beside me sleeps. I had my men pull some strings when we arrived to make sure we were in the same hospital room so I could keep an eye on her. She looks peaceful as she sleeps, her dark curls framing her face like a halo, the long thick eyelashes rest gently, and her full lips are parted as she breathes softly. Her smooth, unblemished skin is the color of warm caramel, I assume she’s of mixed heritage and I’m curious to know what it is. Her high cheekbones and delicate, pointed chin give her face the shape of a heart. Her impressive mane of hair dwarfs her otherwise tall, slim frame.
Thankfully, neither of us was injured too badly, she had a small bump to her head from the crash and some minor cuts and scrapes from the blast. I’m a little worse for wear with some burns to my back from debris from the wreckage. My driver Ivan didn’t fare so well, he was killed outright by the bomb.
If it wasn’t for the woman beside me, I’d be dead too.
I owe her a debt and I don’t even know her name.
That’s not something I’m comfortable with. Ivan was making calls to find out who the hell she was, and if it really was an accident her running into our car like that, when the bomb went off.
My second-in-command, Artem, and another of my most trusted men, Vova, enter the room, closely followed by three of my other men.
“Good to see you in one piece, Pakhan,” Artem says.
“If only we could say the same for Ivan,” I reply somberly. “Be sure to send his family the usual condolence package. We need to get to the bottom of who is behind this, an attack like this can’t go unpunished.”
The men all nod in agreement.
“There are police waiting outside that want to speak with you and the girl,” Vova explains.