Chapter 728: Do You Like Older Sisters?

Yelena leaned against the rusted metal table, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she studied Claire. "So," she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement, "do you even know who’s really behind this attack?"

Claire’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the water bottle in her grip. "It can only be Nickolai," she said, her voice sharp with conviction. "We came here to target him. This is his style—brutal, direct, no subtlety. He’s the one who blew up my team."

Yelena’s smirk deepened, her gaze flicking to me before returning to Claire. "Or," she purred, stepping closer, "it could be someone else trying to stir things up. Make you chase shadows while the real enemy slips away."

Claire’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Do you know something?"

Yelena shrugged, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. "I don’t know anything," she admitted, her voice dropping into a teasing whisper. "But things don’t seem that simple, dorogaya(dear). Nickolai’s a monster, but he’s not stupid. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve done it himself—not blown up a building and painted a target on his own back."

Claire’s fingers twitched around the bottle, her knuckles turning white. "I’ve already contacted GhostByte," she said, her voice clipped. "We’ll have all the information we need by tonight. I gave him your message address on the deep web—check if he’s replied."

Yelena nodded, pulling out a burner phone and tapping at the screen with long, manicured fingers. "Fine. But if this is bigger than Nickolai, you’re walking into a trap." She looked up, her expression shifting into something far more dangerous. "Do you need weapons? I can contact—"

"Already bought them," Claire interrupted, her voice dry.

Yelena’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in mock surprise. "The FBI didn’t assume you were dead? How the hell did you get approval for that?"

Claire’s smirk was all teeth. "I didn’t."

Yelena burst out laughing, shaking her head. "Bullshit. You? Spend your own cash? Please. I know you better than your own panties, Claire. You’d never—"

"It’s Jack’s money," Claire said, her voice laced with annoyance.

Yelena’s eyes lit up, her gaze snapping to me with sudden, predatory interest. "Oh?" she purred, stepping closer, her hips swaying with deliberate seduction. "Is he rich?"

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. "Don’t even think about it."

Yelena’s smirk deepened, her voice dropping into a husky whisper as she sauntered over to me. "What? Is he your boyfriend?" She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her body pressing against mine in a way that left no room for misunderstanding. "Or are you just jealous?"

I cleared my throat, my pulse kicking up despite myself. "I’m right here, you know."

Claire shot me a look before turning back to Yelena, her voice flat. "No, he’s not my boyfriend. You can have him if you want."

Yelena’s grin turned downright wicked. "Oh, thank you," she purred, her fingers trailing down my arm before she pressed her body fully against mine. "Tell me, Jack..." Her voice was a velvet whisper, her scent—dark, spicy, intoxicating—filling my senses. "Do you like older sisters?" Her hand slid up my chest, her nails grazing lightly over my collarbone. "Or do you prefer younger ones?"

I swallowed hard, my mind racing as her body molded against mine. "I—"

Claire’s hand shot out, grabbing Yelena by the shoulder and yanking her away with a force that made it clear she was done with this game. "Leave him alone," she snapped, her voice sharp with irritation.

Yelena laughed, unrepentant, as she stumbled back. "Oh, someone’s territorial."

Claire’s glare could’ve melted steel. "I’m not."

"Sure, sure," Yelena said, her smirk never wavering. "Keep telling yourself that, darling." She stepped closer again, her gaze locked onto me with open hunger. "But if you change your mind, Jack..." She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "You know where to find me."

Claire groaned, rubbing her temples. "I hate both of you."

Yelena laughed, looping her arm through Claire’s again, though her eyes never left mine. "No, you don’t." She shot me one last, lingering smirk. "But after this? We’re drinking."

Claire muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "I’d rather shoot myself."

I couldn’t help but laugh, though my pulse was still racing from Yelena’s little performance—her fingers trailing over my arm, her body pressed against mine, the way she’d whispered in my ear like she was sharing a secret meant only for me. It was intoxicating, dangerous, and entirely too distracting.

Yelena’s eyes sparkled with mischief, her smirk never fading as she leaned against the table, watching Claire with the kind of amusement that only came from years of pushing each other’s buttons. "See? He gets me," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose again, her voice tight with frustration. "I need a gun and magazines," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I’ve run out."

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. She sauntered over to the kitchen cabinet, her hips swaying with deliberate slowness, every movement calculated to draw the eye.

She pulled out two sleek, black handguns and four extra magazines, tossing them onto the table with a clatter that echoed through the warehouse.

"I just have these," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "And I want them back." She slid one of the guns toward Claire, her fingers lingering on the grip for a second longer than necessary, her eyes flicking up to meet Claire’s with a challenge.

Claire caught it, checking the chamber with practiced ease. "Thanks," she muttered, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t thrilled about owing Yelena anything. She didn’t look up, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened around the gun like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The hours dragged on as we waited for nightfall. Yelena’s teasing never let up, her energy a constant hum in the background, filling the silence with jokes and innuendos that kept Claire on edge and me caught between amusement and the creeping sense that we were all playing with fire.

She flirted with Claire, with me, even with the idea of the three of us teaming up like some kind of dysfunctional heist crew. Claire endured it with increasingly thin patience, her responses growing sharper, her glare more pronounced every time Yelena pushed a little too far.

"You’re insufferable," Claire snapped at one point, after Yelena had made yet another suggestive comment about the three of us sharing a bed.

Yelena just laughed, unfazed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You love me," she shot back, her voice light but her gaze sharp.

"I’d rather shoot myself," Claire muttered, though there was no real heat in it. She was too focused, too wired, her mind already on the mission ahead.

Yelena just winked at me, as if to say, See? She’s already mine.

Finally, as the clock ticked past midnight, Claire stood abruptly, her expression all business. The playful banter, the tension, the teasing—it all fell away, replaced by the cold, hard focus of someone who knew exactly what she was walking into. "It’s time," she said, her voice firm. "I’m going to get the weapons. I asked them to be delivered at 12:30 A.M. Both of you stay here."