I Bite Back - Katya x Reader

I'm no prey, but I am pursued

"I had a vision
A vision of my nails in the kitchen
Scratching counter tops, I was screaming
My back arched like a cat
My position couldn't stop
You were hitting it"
-Stargirl Interlude; The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey

Katya's club was gorgeous, all sleek black interiors and recessed lighting. It was, in any regard, miles better than the shithole bar you had been working at months ago when you had been offered the job at Katya's Klub.

There were rumours that circulated in the area among others in the service industry that the club's owner had connections to the Russian mob, and that the whole thing was just a front, but you privately thought that was a bit judgmental. Just because Katya was Russian, insanely loaded, and habitually carried weapons on her, didn't mean she was necessarily a mobster. And if you were being honest, you were so attracted to her that the idea of her being some kind of underground mob boss didn't bother you in the least.

Besides, it paid better than any job you'd ever had at any of the other shitty dive bars you'd worked at, and the clientele were generally incredibly wealthy and great tippers.

You worked behind the bar, serving cocktails to the upper class patrons who flocked to the club like moths to a flame. You learned quickly, picking up the recipes for the fancy cocktails they served and developing a nice rapport with your coworkers. You weren't quite friends yet, but you had found your niche, and you were at least friendly with the other bartenders. Regardless of how well you did or did not get along with the rest of the staff, you liked this job better than you'd liked any other one, and again - you had never been so attracted to any of your bosses as you were to this one.

Katya was magnetic, her huge white smile so dazzling it practically fried your eyes out of your head the first time you'd met during your interview. After you'd walked out of Katya's office on shaky legs, you had staggered to your car in a daze before immediately dialing your roommate Bob and dissolving into a complete mental breakdown, hyperventilating down the phone line for a solid five straight minutes and babbling about how you'd just met the hottest woman you'd ever seen in real life until Bob had called you a useless lesbian and yelled at you to get it together.

Bob was now the current sounding board off which you bounced every single interaction with your boss, no matter how minute. She would roll her eyes and call you a psycho, but she always listened and told you to go for it, regardless of any sketchy boss-employee power dynamic or potential human resources violation. You should really get her a fruit basket, or something.

Anyway.

Katya, the source of your endless day dreams and, shamefully, the star of every single one of your deepest, darkest sexual fantasies as of late, radiated power and easy confidence, and she was a great boss outside of how insanely gorgeous she was. She took great care of her employees, and had made sure to emphasize during your interview that she prioritized the safety and well-being of her employees over most anything else - a rarity in the service industry. And Katya was as good as her word - security was tight, and bouncers roamed the club, keeping an eye on the staff and intervening before any of the patrons could get handsy with the staff or the dancers.

Katya had seemed to take a liking to you, and she spent a good amount of time sitting at the bar, talking and flirting with you while you mixed drinks and flirted right back. You hadn't seen her yet tonight, though.

You were mixing a cosmo, going through the motions automatically as you smiled prettily at the patron leaning on the bar and waiting for his drinks. Your attention was caught by a familiar white-blond head bobbing through the crowd.

There she was.

Katya wore a tailored black suit, her white button up opened to reveal a lacy black bustier, and your mouth watered. You could just barely see the shadow of the shoulder holster that she habitually wore under her suit jackets. You were usually a proponent of strict gun control, but something about the way Katya kept a firearm on her got you so riled up you couldn't see straight. Her blonde hair was curled, stopping just before her shoulders, and it bounced as she weaved through the crowd, pausing to greet customers and talk to staff members as she went. The heavy blunt bangs across her forehead stopped right at her dark brows, a pair of wicked sparkling ice-blue eyes peering out from under dark lashes.