Ezra Sokolov (Cypher Security Book 2) Read online

  He nods with a smile, the first light-hearted expression on his face since I met him. It had not been the best first impression, but it was not the worst I ever saw either.

  I am only human and had already envisioned what Reese was like. I did not see him as the type of person to smile, not when everything about him screams danger.

  It is a nice surprise, to say the least.

  “I live quietly, Ezra.”

  Since we are getting off on the right foot, I have no problem going with his flow.

  I smile back. “That’s all I need, sir.”

  Something akin to possessiveness sparks in his amber eyes.

  What an interesting man.

  Chapter Two

  Reese

  My coach is a mean Russian man.

  His voice could shatter glass. His unparalleled mental strength encourages me to break through my limits. And his ability to hold his own in a fight is admirable.

  He is not the typical coach who does not care about much of anything.

  He had strong-armed my former coach into retirement, but I cannot say it was a bad idea. I notice a lot of things about my body have changed for the better, and I needed this new coach to bring out the best in me.

  I liked my former coach, but he did not know how to train me properly despite having the right qualifications.

  His daughter, on the other hand, is something else.

  He is playful around her but clearly terrified of that tiny girl.

  She does not take any shit from him.

  “It’s good publicity,” he argues.

  Ezra goes silent with a mere stare into her father’s eyes.

  “Think about all the new clients that would come your way!” he shouts with a wild gesture into the air.

  “Your boss would love you!”

  She taps on the elevator button to get us downstairs. There is a delay at the airport, so we are leaving later than planned.

  My coach wanted a private plane, but it would be a waste of money for a short trip to another state. There is nothing wrong with a commercial flight; we will just take first-class seats and relax.

  “Isario tolerates his employees at best,” she says curtly.

  “I haven’t met your boss to make that assessment,” the coach mumbles.

  “You don’t want to meet him. He doesn’t have my level of patience,” she snarks back coolly.

  The coach squares his shoulders and turns to Ezra. But I am between them, and he must lean to the side to talk to her. She has purposely put me in the middle so she can avoid talking to him unless it is necessary.

  She is cunning and not afraid to show it.

  “Ezra,” the coach grumbles. “I need you to do this.”

  His daughter turns her unblinking stare to him. His confidence rushes out as her gaze lingers with a hint of insanity peeking through her lashes.

  “Okay, okay. No fake dating, but you should know I was doing it for both of you!” he relents.

  Then my coach huffs under his breath just as the elevator opens. “I have seen women do unspeakable things to get his attention, but you won’t even entertain the idea of being his girlfriend for free.”

  Ezra ignores him as she scans the lobby, matching my longer strides. I understand she does it to avoid any conflict and disarm any threats.

  When I heard my coach wanted to put a tail on me during the period leading up to the match, I thought he meant another man. I stupidly made assumptions without remembering it’s common for people to have names that don’t fit their appearance.

  I just never expected Ezra Sokolov to be a tiny girl with the strength of a damn bull. She was so strong when she held me down, it resonated with me at the core.

  I was amazed by her quick reflexes.

  “Airport!” the coach driver shouts as he opens the door while I climb into the backseat. Ezra stands outside, her small body turned to watch people walking down the sidewalk.

  She hops in and slams the door shut; the muffled car horns are unsatisfying. Ezra is not the talkative type when she focuses on looking out the windows during the ride, and I take the time to watch her.

  I know she is aware of me watching her, but she does not make a problem out of it. I am a bit too fascinated with her to care about what is socially acceptable.

  Nothing about her physical appearance reveals the damn strength in her actions, making me too curious to look away. I want to see more of that agility, and it strangely occurs to me that she could be someone I can learn from.

  I have heard of Cypher, a company that only hires the best of the best because the clientele can pay tens of thousands of dollars in consulting fees.

  The actual protection fee is much more than that.

  This is the benefit of having a coach whose daughter is one of the employees. We still must pay, but the screening process is cut in half.

  The airport comes into view, cars switching lanes at the last minute as we pull up to the curb for a brief stop. The coach pays the driver as I take the luggage out of the trunk, but I notice it contains only his and mine.

  “You don’t have luggage,” I note as I slam the trunk.

  “I wasn’t given notice of this job,” she says, eyes darting around the busy area.

  “You weren’t,” I echo.

  “Oh, don’t worry about my little hedgehog, she can take care of herself,” the coach jokes with a grin as the car speeds away.

  Ezra hums, her face blank with a voice of judgmental casualness. “I’m sure no one wants to do this job. For the record, I am supposed to be on vacation, so you owe me a week of silence.”

  “What do you mean—” the other man sputters.

  “No talking.” She flicks her eyes and glares daringly at him.

  The power dynamics between them are awful. It’s shocking such a small girl can make a mean man like the coach speechless.

  “You cannot expect me, your dear father, to avoid speaking to my daughter—”

  She injects again with a firmer tone, “What I expect and what I want are two different things, but I don’t look forward to it.”

  Ezra sighs as she explains, “You’re chatty when you find a new hobby.”

  “You wound me.” He gasps, but it mostly goes over her head as she follows me inside the airport.

  The coach shakes his finger. “And coaching is not a new hobby. I’ve always had a nurturing side.”

  Even I want to say that’s bullshit, but I don’t know much about that side of him. All I have experienced in six months under his wing is a lot of yelling and a peculiar way of encouragement.

  We move swiftly to the check-in area and present identification to pick up our tickets. Ezra has her driver’s license; the coach and I have our passports. She did say there wasn’t adequate notice of the job to be prepared, so she’s adjusting as needed.

  Nothing too complicated happens at the security checkpoint, but I get a good look at how small Ezra is. The coat and the scarf hide her body; without them, the plain black clothing makes her look even smaller.

  I’m wondering if it was a dream that her small body had straddled me with an unparalleled strength to keep me down with a threat around my neck.

  “What?” she asks when she notices my eyes drawn to her frame.

  “Nothing,” I say as I put my jacket back on.

  The airport is warm, but the filtered air lowers the temperature quite a bit. I find it to be perfect since I have a high body temperature, and a coat would only constrict my movements.

  As a boxing professional, my body is used to the free-flowing movement.

  The coach leaves us to get something from the duty-free area.

  It’s just Ezra and I sitting at the gate as we wait for boarding. I adjust my face mask and hat that are getting odd stares from people. But the disguise is also shielding my identity from them.

  Boxing fans are strange, but it is also one of the biggest sports out there. Based on my experience, boxers don’t have fans bombarding our p
ersonal space like other big-league athletes.

  They probably know I will punch them if they get too close.

  Other than boxing, I am not too fond of being close to anyone. Ezra, on the other hand, does not appear to care what I want. She sticks by my side like a hawk with those keen eyes, but I don’t mind her presence.

  She smells nice.

  And I am a damn creep.

  I press my palm to my forehead and internally sigh. How is it that gorgeous women can bat their eyelashes at me, and I don’t feel a response at all?

  When Ezra shifts closer, I feel like my heart will break free of my ribs?

  “There is a VIP lounge, sir,” she mentions off-handedly.

  “I don’t need rest,” I whisper back.

  She goes quiet again as she finds the digital clock on the screen. We have ten minutes before boarding the plane. But we have priority seating, so it will be earlier.

  The voice above us announces the boarding of first-class passengers. We stand, and while she glances back searching for her father, I catch the eyes of a man in a business suit staring at Ezra’s ass.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I coil my arm around her waist and press her body to mine. The tenseness in her frame goes slack when she looks towards where I was staring. The man blushes at getting caught and quickly turns away.

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  I hold Ezra a minute longer as her hand comes up to put me at a distance from her. I let her go and hum nonchalantly, but do not give a clear answer.

  I am trying to figure out where this insane attraction to her came from. I wish it was not wintertime, so I could have felt that small body pressed against my hardened one.

  Fuck, I am a creep.

  “Here, I got you clothes!” her father’s voice says from behind us.

  She steps out of my reach and raises an eyebrow at the packages in his arm. “You got clothes.”

  “You don’t have anything to wear,” he comments. “I know how much you value cleanliness, so I got you some things.”

  “You got me a dress,” she remarks slowly.

  The man shrugs in his defense. “It’ll come in handy, but I got something else too.”

  She takes them and mumbles her gratitude with a small smile that disappears when I blink. I offer my carry-on bag to put her things in, but there is a moment of hesitation before she takes me up on the offer.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  A spark of fire pops in my stomach as a shiver goes straight to the base of my cock. It is most certainly not the time to have a physiological reaction to her. I can’t help this desire to take advantage of the difference in our status.

  Strictly speaking, I am her boss. She will need to do everything I ask of her.

  Just the thought of that type of power over her is exciting, especially when I know first-hand how strong she is. I want to dominate the hellfire I saw in her eyes when she was sitting over me.

  She does not seem to be the type of girl to drop her panties if I tell her to. In fact, I can guarantee that she would round-kick me into oblivion.

  The announcement calls for the remaining first-class passengers. I must take off my mask for the employee to check my identification and see recognition flash in her eyes. But she scales back the excitement behind her hand.

  “Thank you for flying with us, sir,” she whispers.

  The title does not have the same effect as when Ezra says it, but I am too biased with the sudden obsession of getting to know everything about her.

  We will be spending a lot of time together, so there will be ample opportunity to get to know her.

  Ezra finds our seats: mine is by the window, hers is the one in front of me, and the coach is right beside me. Every row has three seats across, so there is a bit of space between all of us.

  “I’ll take the middle seat,” Ezra suggests as she snags the ticket from her father’s hand.

  The man grins slyly. “You remembered that I get motion sickness if I don’t look out the window.”

  “If it makes you sleep better,” she says. “But this seat allows maximum contact with my client.”

  “My name is Reese,” I reckon.

  She takes her seat and nods at me without a fight. “Of course, Mr. Reese.”

  A chill runs lethargically down to my cock as she smiles; it is professional with a hint of warmth. I could be reading too much into it, but it is better than the one she gave me when we first met.

  “Champagne, sir?” the senior air hostess asks from the aisle.

  “No, thank you,” I decline.

  She nods and turns to Ezra, who shakes her head. Then another flight attendant comes, a lot younger as she sways her hips a bit too much.

  She bends down with her ass sticking to Ezra and her breasts jutting out as she asks me if I want a snack. But I gather from her tone that the snack she is offering means something else.

  I was never interested in the mile-high club, and this woman is not going to change my perspective.

  “I’m good,” I say and slip the mask back onto my face.

  The woman laughs so forcibly that the buttons on her uniform nearly pop off. I will not appreciate my eyes being injured if the button flies my way.

  “I’m not hungry,” I repeat with a low hiss.

  Her glossy lips pull into a tight smile before she straightens her back to turn to Ezra, who merely watches the whole thing without a speck of emotion in her eyes.

  She almost seems bored.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she declines before the hostess can get a word in.

  When she leaves, her steps are notably more aggressive.

  Ezra glances over the edge of her seat and turns her attention back to me. She seems to be thinking of something, and I want to know what is going through her head.

  I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and assume I am trying to remain courteous because she is here.

  “I’m not interested,” I point out.

  She hums. “Not judging, Mr. Reese.”

  “I am,” the coach jumps into the conversation, “Why aren’t you taking the offer that women made you and work off some of that pent-up tension?”

  The man has no sense of social cues when his voice rises in anger. I have no idea why he is so offended by my lack of sex life.

  I find that boxing releases more tension from my body than anything. The mere thought of women coming to tell me they’re pregnant with my child is enough reason to avoid the hell out of them.

  I want to focus on winning the championship match. And women tend to be the worst kind of distraction that comes with loads of drama for people with an ounce of fame.

  Also, my hand does the job fine when I need it.

  The captain warns that the plane will take off momentarily. I buckle the belt around my hips and steal a glance at Ezra as her small hands fumbled with the tangled seat belt.

  Her cool façade breaks as she scowls at the uncooperative seat belt, but she eventually gets it buckled.

  She huffs and sniffs, her hair falling over her eyes as she scans the front of the plane. Everyone is seated, but her eyebrows are furrowed. I want to ask if something is bothering her, but she turns to me so suddenly that I don’t have time to speak.

  Her cheeks turn red, likely from being caught in her most natural state. Her lips twitch in an adorable smile before her eyes dart back to the seat in front of her.

  The plane takes off without a hitch.

  In the middle of the flight, it’s not as smooth as I want it to be. The younger hostess comes back with her skirt hiked up as subtle as it can be while putting a spotlight on her legs.

  I am not the one staring when the same businessman who was checking out Ezra follows the woman with his sleazy gaze.

  “We are serving lunch, sir. What would you like?” she asks, her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

  It was not like this before.

  I clench my jaw and grunt out my order. It is not th
e type of meal I prefer, but I am limited to the available choices. I choose the one that is the most balanced.

  My nutritionist is already at the training camp. I am not his only client; he has one more that I know of. It is common for nutritionists to have multiple clients given that they split the time to fix each meal with data that rarely changes unless there is a modification in the training regimen.

  Then comes the problem of people stealing training regimens, but that is not likely either. My coach does not write anything down because he trains based on when he sees something that could be improved upon. Then he will have me make an immediate adjustment.

  I see my nutritionist once a week, but my dietitian is a different story. I see him every day since he is the one who deals with my meals.

  I snap out of my thoughts when Ezra’s voice reaches my ears. I did not hear what she said, so she repeats it.

  “Am I that riveting that you must stare at me?” she asks, but there isn’t any spite in her voice.

  I must have been staring for too long; I can’t help it.

  “Yes,” I say. “Are you uncomfortable?”

  There is not a pause when she smiles softly. “No.”

  Good, I do not plan on stopping.

  She is too pretty, and I don’t think I can stop this outlandish obsessiveness about taking over either.

  Chapter Three

  Ezra

  The facility is massive. It is a privately-owned space that has always hosted the championship match every year. But it’s an open secret that the owner wants to ramp up the tension between the athletes so it will attract more viewers.

  The more drama, the easier it is for the public to choose sides.

  I researched everything while we were in the air, so I was prepared to see a lot of athletes with their teams.

  Rivals are inevitably going to run into each other, a fact I am counting on. Despite Reese having his own section of the facility, there are common areas used by everyone that are helpful for training.

  One of the most popular common areas is the arena. Participants can fight each other according to previously established rules unless both parties agree to modify them.