Page 5 of Ruthless Dream

“I saw them in a bar the other day.”

All my life I’ve thought about what it would be like when I finally got a chance to come to Fujimori’s. Never did I think I’d be sitting next to my brother, feeling like the third wheel, unable to comment on whatever gossip is happening here.

“Then why is she wearing the red dress for Blake?” Ren asks the group.

“’Cause she’s planning on getting fucked,” Isolde answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ren crosses her arms, sitting back. I didn’t expect her to act like a petulant child. Christ almighty, is that why she and Ian get along so well.

“I just thought. . . Like. . .” Ren works through her thoughts. “I don’t know, maybe she would like break up with him now.”

Ren swings her head toward her friend, looking for solidarity.

“He’s not that bad.”

Blake falls into some sort of nice zone deemed more boring than anything. I pity the guy. His girl might bring him around, but her friends will never like him.

“Right.” I cross my arms, taking a deep breath. I’m not here to step on any toes, but I didn’t fly across the Atlantic for some gossip. Ian goes into any scheme without thinking shit through. I’m not like that. I will be asking for details.

Ren smirks. “You planning on having a chaperone for all your dates, Ian?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “The women love him. The beard, the muscles.”

Her smirk grows. I don’t break eye contact. I’m not afraid of her quizzical glances.

“They have no idea how annoying the motherfucker really is,” Ian adds.

“Heard you’ve done good when it comes to fucking with the Stuarts,” Ren says. Warmth coils in my chest. Shit, there’s no shame in developing a praise kink when it’s someone like Callahan doing the praising.

The kitchen door swings open, Abe stomping toward the table. “Hang on, did I hear that right? Blake is still around.”

Jesus Christ. We’re never going to get to see the contract at this point.

I take a deep breath, my head starting to pound. Little sleep, an international flight, and a brother will do that to a person.

“Blake is still around.” The fake smile on Ren’s face shows how she feels about the matter.

“Damn.” Abe grabs Ian’s empty bottle. “I really thought she’d break it off by now.”

“Did you not see her in the red dress tonight?” Isolde asks, lifting a brow.

Abe snorts. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck Adeline,” Isolde replies.

Every nerve in me goes haywire. The air is too tight.

It’s just a name. But any attempt at trying to shut down this slice of panic is torn away when the British triggerman speaks again.

“When Adeline Akatov wears the red dress,” Isolde tells her friends, their attention rapt, “you know what it means.”

When Abe whistles, a wolfish grin on his face, I want to take a fist to his fucking face.

“That Adeline Akatov is looking to be fucked within an inch of her life,” Abe says.

He has no idea what beast he’s just unleashed inside of me.

Because if there’s anybody who should be fucking Adeline Akatov within an inch of her life, it should be me—and she damn well knows it.