Clubs: The Suit’s Book 2

Max brought me back to my room that night, and I haven’t left since. There’s an awful taste in my mouth after everything that happened. Mikhail wants to show his authority, I get it. But it’s gotten to the point where he needs to get on with whatever his plans are. If he wants to kill me, he needs to do it. If he wants my help, he needs to ask for it.

It’s odd being here. One moment I’m enjoying my time like I never have before, and the next I’m left expecting the worst of my fate. Is this what Stockholm syndrome is?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t excuse Mikhail’s actions. He almost forced me to kill someone that night. He’s threatened my life so many times I can’t even count them on my fingers.

Mikhail’s heart is cold. I don’t understand him. I can’t even stand the mere thought of him.

I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I may have tried to escape, but what else would he expect from me when I found that notebook? Anyone with a brain would’ve run, just like I tried to.

He’s making my life a living hell. “My worst fucking nightmare,” as he once told me. He’s scum. And to be honest, he terrifies me. Before, I thought I was scared of him because of his looks, but it’s his actions and demands that make my skin crawl now.

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way his touch feels against my skin? I shouldn’t find anything about him attractive. What the hell am I doing? Leave it to me to be attracted to the psycho. I’m an idiot. I should be repulsed by him, but I’m not. I find him enticing. I want to push him to see how far he’ll let this go.

While I can’t see much of a human inside him, I know there must be one underneath all his hurt. No one is born a bad person. I truly believe Mikhail can be kind—he just doesn’t have anything or anyone to live for. His heart is drowning in pain, and he survives through it somehow.

That notebook was his. He’s suffered through everything on that list. I wish I still had it. I could read everything else he wrote in there and maybe get a better idea of what he’s been through. Whoever caused him this much hurt deserves the same in return.

The bedroom door unlocks, and I turn my face away. If it’s Mikhail, I don’t want to see him. I need more time to get him out of my head. I need to remember how much I can’t stand him.

“It’s been two days, Sloane. You need to eat.”

The second I hear Max’s voice, I turn to look at him. He’s come by six times each day, helping me with my shots and telling me to eat. But I can’t. I don’t have the stomach for it anymore. My body’s begging for nutrition, but the mere thought of food in my mouth makes me sick. I’m just tired of fighting.

He walks to the end of the bed and places down a tray.

“I’m not hungry,” I tell him for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Mikhail is getting frustrated with you.”

“What’s new?”

“What is your favorite food?” he asks.

“Max, I just don’t want to eat right now.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. I just can’t seem to figure something out.”

He smiles softly and sits on the edge of the bed. “Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think you can,” I tell him as I massage my neck. “I just don’t understand why I’m here. I don’t want to get you in trouble, but if you know anything, please tell me.”

“Do you know a man named Giovanni?”

My eyes fly to his, and I hold back a smile. “I’ve heard the name, but I have no idea who he is.”

He nods but doesn’t give me an answer. “Have you heard of the Suits?”

“No.”

He scratches his arm and leans in closer to me. He almost looks disappointed in me for not having a clue about his meaning. “What I can tell you is that Mikhail has been different since you arrived. He’s less . . . cold.”

I laugh, unable to control myself. “Less cold? The man has it out for me.”

“That’s because of your smart mouth, doll. Mikhail is the most considerate man I know. You just haven’t given him a chance to show that part of him.” He pauses and shakes his head. “I’m not saying he’s perfect. He is easily triggered due to the abuse of his blood father, I guess . . . I guess you just have to warm up to him.”

I watch him question his own words, but he nods once he’s finished speaking. I can tell there’s more he wanted to say, but he held back. Maybe he wants me to find out for myself. But do I even want to give Mikhail a chance?

“So you’re telling me I need to be quiet around him?” I don’t think I could be even if I tried. He says things that just piss me off.

He licks his lips. “Nah, I think he actually likes how you fight him. I’m not sure. You two have a strange dynamic, but maybe you could start with not trying to run away.” His cheeks turn rosy and small dimples form in the centers. His deep chuckle fills the room, and I can’t help but laugh with him. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve felt in a while.

He clears his throat and says, “He asks about you every day. Lev calls him weak because of this. And don’t take that lightly. It should mean a lot when his men talk about him like that and he doesn’t mind.”

Are we even talking about the same person? None of this sounds anything like Mikhail.

“Thank you for making me smile,” I say, diverting the conversation.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. Will you eat now? Mikhail has mentioned a feeding tube once or twice, and I’m starting to think it’s not a joke anymore.” He laughs faintly.

“I don’t want a feeding tube, but I can’t. I still don’t feel great.”

“I wish there was more I could do to help you, Sloane.”

I shrug my shoulders before he slowly hands me a velvet box. “He wants you to wear this from now on.”

Leaning my weight off the headboard, I open it to find a silver necklace that looks like the North Star. “Why?” I ask.

“Not sure, but he also wants you to join everyone for a dinner tonight. He’s meeting with a couple of people—investors.”

“Investors?”

“He’s slowly taking over New York. His name is getting plastered all over the state.”

“What does he even do?”

“Besides the obvious money laundering, he’s been buying property all over the place. I think that’s what his father would have wanted.”

Hundreds of thoughts run though my head, and I decide to go along with his conversation. “I thought his father was crap.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m taking about his adoptive father. He was a great man.”

My eyes wander around the room. “What happened to him?”

“Cancer took him. And his brother was taken from him as well. I played a part in that—which I regret, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Everything changed after that. I’m sure there is so much more I’m not telling you, but I can only tell you so much, you know?”

“No, I understand, and you’ve really helped me.”

“Mikhail will get you at seven. Don’t piss him off tonight.” He smiles as he heads toward the door.

“I’ll try not to, but it’s like walking in a minefield.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. I don’t feel as angry. I do believe there’s another version of Mikhail I’m not as familiar with, but I’m not sure if I want to meet him.

For the first time in a while, I feel like I can lower my guard. I only hope I don’t get too comfortable.

The energy in my room shifts instantly when I see Mikhail leaning against the doorframe. He makes the space look small.

I stand in front of the dresser messing with the jewelry in a weak attempt to bide my time.

He’s dressed in an all-black suit with silver rings and a watch on his hand. Those sunken cheeks of his beg to stretch with a smile.

I watch him in the reflection of the mirror as I put on earrings. His eyes devour every part of me, not leaving a single inch of my body untouched by his vision. It’s a shame a man as handsome as Mikhail gets rich from the suffering of others. No amount of money could be exchanged for his human decency.

“Mikhail?” I call, giving him a glare.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You see that door?” I ask. “I want you on the other side of it.”

He laughs darkly and walks inside the room, ignoring my demand. “Where do you find the strength, Sloane?”

Acting naïve, I ask, “For what?”

The room closes in on me when he places his hands on either side of the dresser, caging me in. His head lowers to mine. “Don’t play coy with me.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, ignoring him while I look down at his hands. The hands of a killer.

He lifts one arm and brushes my hair to the side, nuzzling his mouth close to my ear. “Find your words, love.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I admit.

As if that was the magical phrase, he pushes off me and walks away. “Finally,” he grits out.

My head turns to him and my mouth drops open slightly, ready to fight him with my words. It’s like he always has to have the last word, but if I say something back then I’m no better than him.

“You know what would look great on you right now?” he asks as he crosses his arms.

My eyes flutter and my jaw stiffens. “What?” I ask hesitantly, knowing he’s about to say something snide.

“That necklace you stole from me.”

I shake my head. “You left it in plain sight—anyone could have taken it. Might I also mention you gave it to me?”

His eyes challenge mine. “That necklace you’re wearing now? It’s made from the one you stole. I made it to fit you better.”

My hand lifts to the necklace around my neck. I fight the urge to process that it might have been a thoughtful gesture.

Rolling my eyes, I reach for the box of shoes Max brought over earlier. Yet another “gift” from Mikhail. My hands fall flat on the box.

“You know . . . if you roll your eyes a little more, there’s a chance you’ll see the back of your head,” he says with a smug smile.

“I have a question for you.” I bite down on my lip. I want to laugh, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making me smile.

“By all means, Sloane, ask away. I’m sure you have many of them.”

Look at that—he’s right for once. What a shocker.

“Can you pick one personality and stick with it? You’re giving me whiplash.”

His eyes widen, but in the smallest way—shock that would go unnoticed if I didn’t dissect every little thing about him. But I can’t help it. I’m curious. He ignores my question, which doesn’t shock me.

“I didn’t ask for the attitude.”

Reaching down on the bed for the shoes, I take them in my hands. “I know. It’s on the house,” I tell him with a bright, cheerful smile.

“Put your heels on,” he says in an irritated voice.

I drop them and slowly stand back upright, folding my arms across my chest and forcing a smile. “You know . . . I was going to, but now I don’t want to.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m not doing anything,” I say.

His tongue rolls over his cheek as he walks toward me with purpose. “Bozhe, zhenshina. Ya hochu pocelavat tebya zamolchi.” God, woman. I want to kiss you to shut you up.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask, looking up at him.

“I said put the shoes on.”

“Is that what that was?” I tease.

I’m able to talk to him without being worried. His words don’t scare me as much after what Max told me. He said Mikhail asks about me. I might be reading into that wrong, but I hope not.

“If you want the shoes on my feet, put them on,” I say as I grab them off the floor and hold them up for him to take.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” His jaw clenches while I hold back a smile. He looks good when he listens.

He takes the shoes from my hands and kneels to the ground. I look down at him as he takes my foot in his hands and let out a small giggle.

“What’s funny?” He slips my foot into the heel.

“I have you on your knees.”

He looks up at me through his dark brows with an expression that makes my knees weak.

“You like me on my knees, moya malenkaya koldunya?”

It takes every atom in my body not to smile from ear to ear. I bite down on my lip and nod.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Bummer.” I frown.

I grab onto his shoulder as he puts the other heel on. He stands up, turns away from me, and walks toward the door.

“Let’s go.”

“Hmm, not just yet.”

“Sloane, I don’t have time for this.”

“I do.” I have all the time in the world right now.

“What do you need?”

I’m caught off-guard by his question. I think that’s the first kind thing he’s said to me since I’ve been trapped here. “I want you to apologize to me,” I say.

“For what?” He looks confused.

He can’t be serious.

“For the stunt you pulled in the living room.”

His head falls back. “Forgive me, but which stunt are we talking about here exactly? When you came on my tongue or when you tried to leave me?”

He would bring that up, wouldn’t he? “The third, actually. When you tied me to a chair and threatened me with a hot knife.”

“I won’t apologize for that,” he says, shaking his head.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He walks up to me. “You madden me.”

“I could say the same!”

“Well, we won’t be going anywhere then. I’m not sorry for what happened. You pissed me off.”

“That doesn’t justify anything, Mikhail!”

He holds his finger up to me. “I never said my actions were justified.”

I’m taken aback. He crosses his arms, and I cross mine. We look ridiculous bickering like children, both too stubborn to let this go.

“I—”

“Yeah? You what?” he mocks, stepping toward me and picking me up off the ground.

“Stop it!” I pound on his back.

“I need to get to the meeting, and this seems like the only way.”

“Just apologize!”

“No. Unlike you . . . I don’t lie. I’m not going to tell you what you want to hear just to get my way.”

He walks us to the door, and I hold onto the frame. But I can’t hold on for too long because he overpowers me.

“You’re impossible to like.” My arms fall down the length of his back, where I feel his muscles tensing. I close my eyes to ignore the sensation my stomach makes when he touches me.

“That’s all right,” he says as he takes me to the dining room.

Three new faces stare at me. I’m already humiliated.

Mikhail pulls out a chair and sets me down. He takes a seat next to me. Many of the men surrounding me clear their throats.

“You must be Sloane Koziov,” one of them says. Half his face is hidden by the bulk of his beard, but his bright green eyes pierce mine. “I’m Gabe. This is Mason and Oliver.”

Oliver looks really young, maybe fifteen. His skin is light, and his face is round. His suit is too large for his body.

I smile. “It’s nice to meet you all.” Looking around, I find familiar faces. Adrian, Lev, and Dimitri sit across from me. Max sits on my other side.

“I went through the system and found three nearby buildings that can be taken over for the right price,” Oliver says to Mikhail.

Mikhail takes the plate that was in front of me and switches it out with his own. His portions are nearly double the size of mine. He takes a container out of his pocket and puts a couple of pills on the napkin by my water. Then he pushes my hair to the side and pulls me closer to him.

“Eat,” he demands.

I stare at the pills, wondering if they’re drugs. Seems like something he’d give me.

Mikhail senses I’m hesitant. His fingers start to tap on the handles of his chair before he loses his patience with me. “I swear, Sloane, I will hand-feed you if I have to.”

“I’m not taking those pills.”

“Why?” he asks. “You need the vitamins because you decided starving yourself would be fun.”

“I wasn’t starving myself. I didn’t have the stomach to eat. I’m sure you know why.”

The arrogance of this man is sky-high. In a strange way, I can tell he’s trying to take care of me, but it was his actions that made me feel the way I did.

He grabs my hand and puts the pills in my palm. “Swallow them.”

I look around the table and notice everyone watching us argue. Not wanting the attention anymore, I take the pills and down them with water.

“You guys are having fun,” Gabe mutters.

“Send it to me, Oliver. I’ll talk to the owners about making a deal,” Mikhail says, continuing the conversation and ignoring Gabe’s comment.

“Sure thing. Also, Mom told me to tell you the charity event has doubled in guests who plan on attending.”

Mom? Oh my God. How old is Mikhail? Is this his son?

“Tell her to double the catering then.”

“Can’t you tell her yourself? You never talk to her anymore.”

He has a son . . .

“Oliver, did Aaron ever get back that money he owes me?”

The men chuckle. “He got half. He’s working on the rest.”

“I told him twenty-four hours. It’s long past due,” Mikhail says.

I take a bite of the food. It feels good to be able to finally eat. I didn’t think I’d be able to keep it down.

Gabe raises his hand. A burning cigar is placed between his fingers. “We’re aware. He’s caused a lot of trouble in the city to get only half. There’s a reason you only give that kind of money to people you can trust to handle it.”

“You don’t tell me what to do with my money,” Mikhail mutters.

“There are other ways to make it back. I’m sure Sloane could make you good money with her body.”

The table goes silent.

“She’s a pretty girl, worth fifty for a session.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, my jaw opening slightly. The man’s trying to imply I’m a whore.

That’s fantastic.

I turn to look a Mikhail. His eyes turn dark and his body tenses. If I thought he was terrifying before, that was nothing compared to how he looks right now. His head tilts back faintly and his hand brushes past his lips before he reaches behind his back.

“Don’t—” Max starts, but he’s interrupted.

In a flash of a moment, my body jolts with shock, my eyes slam shut, and my ears ring. I slowly open my eyes to find blood splattered across my body.

Not my blood.

“—do it . . .” Max mutters, finishing his sentence.

I look back at Mikhail as he puts the gun down on the table. His hand reaches for mine and he grabs onto it firmly. My body’s still shaking from the sound of the shot.

With his jaw clenched, he directs his eyes to me. “I’m sorry,” he mutters before he clears his throat and pushes his chair back.

Sorry for what? Sorry for killing the man? Sorry for doing it in front of me? Sorry for Gabe’s insult?

I don’t watch him leave, but I can tell he’s beyond pissed off.

Everyone follows him out of the room besides Max.

I finally let go of the air I’ve been holding onto. My breath is heavy and uneasy as I stare at the dead man. Blood falls down from the hole in the center of his forehead.

Drip, drip, drip.

I can’t stop shaking. I’ve never seen anyone get killed before. And I never thought it would be to protect my honor.

“I told you,” Max says, taking a sip of champagne, “very protective over you.”

“I can see that.” I reach for my glass and gulp down the entire flute. After the last sip, it feels as if my entire body is numb. It’s not the alcohol; it’s the dead man staring at me. Looking at me as if I can help him.

“And that’s only the beginning, sweetheart,” Max says proudly as he gets up out of his seat, leaving the room.

“Great,” I say to myself, refusing to look away from the man’s glassy eyes.