Dirty Grovel: Chapter 42

From her sweet lips come forth the kind of plan that I might have concocted in the dark recesses of my office.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

She stands before me, the very picture of demure grace, her blue eyes sparkling, her mouth parted, her chin set.

But the words that come out of her are the words of a seasoned professional. A ruthless, merciless mafia queen who will stop at nothing to achieve her goals.

And her goals are vicious.

She wants revenge. Payback. Retaliation.

If that were all she was after, I’d have been surprised but not shocked.

Except that’s not all she’s after.

Which is why I’m standing here, with my jaw on the floor, staring at this familiar face giving voice to decidedly unfamiliar motives.

Because my sweet, innocent Sutton, the woman who plays dress up with toddlers and quotes Disney movies, has just proposed murder with the casual flair of a trained assassin.

Worst of all, my pregnant fiancé wants to play bait for her psychotic ex.

Un-fucking-believable.

“No,” I growl. The words escape me with artic control but inside, I’m a volcano on the verge of erupting. “Absolutely fucking not.”

No way am I exposing my woman to that worthless cockroach, Drew.

No way am I risking my child in the process, either.

Her eyes narrow. “Oleg, this is important.”

I’m starting to think that there might be a volcano of equal power spewing inside the pint-sized warrior princess standing in front of me.

“You haven’t even heard my whole plan yet.”

“I don’t need to,” I snap coldly. “It’s a no. And that’s final.”

I try to move around her but she steps right in my way. “Oh, no, you don’t just get to walk away from me, Oleg. And you most definitely do not get to veto this plan. When it comes to you and me, we’re a democracy.”

“You want a democracy? Fine. It’s a fucking democracy. But the only vote that counts is mine.”

She slaps her palm against my chest and walks me back to the chair at my desk. “If this is going to work between us, you’re going to have to pay better attention,” she informs me, her cheeks brightening. “I’m not going to be the traditional Bratva wife, Oleg. I’m not going to be a yes woman. Or a doormat. Or a dumb, pretty accessory that you tote out when it suits you. I have a voice and if you’re not going to listen, I will scream until you do.”

Who the fuck is this woman?

She looks like Sutton. She sounds like Sutton. She’s even dressed like Sutton.

But the woman standing in front of me can’t possibly be the same one who blushes every time I pay her a compliment.

She leans forward, giving me a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. Her hand lands right on my crotch and my semi becomes a raging hard-on.

“Ready to listen?” she practically purrs.

Dear God. Have I unleashed this diabolical siren? Or has she been lying in wait all along, waiting for the perfect time to strike?

“Fine,” I rumble. “Go ahead.”

She releases me and takes a seat on my table. Her dress hikes up, the slit falling open a little further, offering me up a peek of bare thigh.

“This is my plan: We go for a classic, old-fashioned set-up.” The moment I open my mouth; she holds up her hand to stop me. “We set the stage at a crowded public space. A restaurant. A rest stop. A mall. We stage an exchange. Box trucks positioned strategically. You and your men will be on the scene, just out of sight, lying in wait. While I will be playing the part of the ditzy ex. A.k.a., the bait.”

I’m preparing to shoot down her plan. Poke holes in the strategy. Laugh at the sheer impracticality of the whole thing.

Except I can’t.

Because her plan actually has a chance of working.

It’s simple. Straightforward. Clean.

Still, there has to be something legitimate to pull apart. Something specific.

Because there’s no way Sutton will accept a generic it’s risky critique. And I can’t, in good faith, deliver one, either.

“Well?” she presses. “It’s good, isn’t it? The whole thing will be orchestrated down to the last millisecond if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” I huff. “If we’re doing this in a public place, there will be too many factors we can’t control.”

“If we suggest any other place, he’ll be suspicious,” Sutton points out. “He’ll suspect a trap. But if I suggest a public venue, he’s going to assume I’m doing it for my own safety. He’ll come running like a bee to honey.”

“Fucking hell,” I groan, staring at my fiancée with new eyes. “Do you know what you’re proposing? What you’re really proposing?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me again. I want a play by play of this plan of yours.”

I don’t ask because I’m unclear on the details.

I don’t ask because I need to hear it.

I ask because I want to make sure she understands just what’s at stake.

I need to know that she knows what it means.

And what it will cost.

Her shoulders square. She takes me through her plan—step by step—with no hesitation. She doesn’t falter; she doesn’t shy away from the gorier details. Her voice stays steady, devastatingly calm. Her eyes are focused, pierced with flecks of light.

“And after you’ve got him,” she finishes. “I want you to finish him. I want him dead, Oleg. That’s the only way this ends.”

This strange, new version of Sutton is both mesmerizing and terrifying. It’s in equal measures arousing and exciting.

It feels as though she was born to this world.

“And you’re not going to regret it after?” I ask, trying to find a crack in her armor. Trying to see past this lioness who’s taken shape in front of me. “Guilt is a hard beast to live with. I’m speaking from experience.”

For the first time, her eyes soften. With a sigh, she puts her hand on my arm.

I’m glad to know that she’s still inside there somewhere beneath the ice queen mask she’s donned.

“It must have been hell,” she murmurs. “The things you endured…”

“It still is sometimes,” I say. “But this isn’t about me.”

She straightens up to her full height. “Thank you for wanting to protect me from myself. But I know what I want, Oleg. And I know the consequences, too. I’m not acting on a whim here. I’m not motivated by anger or intense emotion. I won’t regret this decision—because I’ve given Drew a hundred different chances and he’s always spat in my face afterwards.” She takes a step towards me, her hand settling against my chest, right across my heart. “This is personal. Drew wants to steal my peace, my happiness, my dream of a happily ever after. He threatened my sister, he lied to me, he’s actively trying to destroy everything I’ve built and I know now, he’ll never stop.”

She pauses and draws in a slow, shuttering breath.

“He’s never going to stop unless I make him stop. I have to protect what’s mine, Oleg. You understand that, don’t you?”

Her words, precise and devastating in their truth, pierce right through me. It’s like looking at a reflection of myself.

In this instance, it feels like she can see into my very soul.

And for the first time in my entire life, I don’t mind.

It doesn’t feel like an intrusion.

It feels like hope.

I nod slowly, my doubts fading away as I take her hand. “Okay. Then the decision has been made. We’ll do this together.”

“You’ll support my plan?”

“I will support you always, in everything and anything you choose to do in life. You are a force to be reckoned with, Sutton Palmer. It’s about time Anton knew that, too.”

She smiles, her eyes brightening with fire. “Thank you.”

“We’ll meet him with everything we’ve got. I’ll use every resource, every man and every trick in the book if that’s what it takes. I don’t want you wasting another sleepless night on this asshole.”

We clasp each other’s hands tightly.

She doesn’t have to tell me she’s ready. I can see it in her eyes. The fierce resolve. The determination. It’s amazing to behold.

And it gives me the boost I need to get the job done.

Time to remind Drew Anton why they call me the Beast.