him in my mouth, like I was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. Like we were connected in this crazy, wrong way. Aleksio, sitting over me in all his brutal glory, familiar old Aleksio grown into a dangerous man. Fuck, it did something to me.
Moving up Aleksio’s legs felt wrong and good. I had no choice. And I was glad I had no choice. I was into it.
How twisted is that? Into it. All my life I’ve been trying to get out from under the thumb of men like him, and suddenly I’m crawling up his legs, begging to be used. But that’s the thing about having no choice—you do it no matter what. You do it if you hate it, and you do it if it’s a twisted thing you find out that you enjoy.
It took me by surprise when he grabbed my hair, taking control so violently. My whole body came to attention. His cock tasted of man and secrets and sweat and need. I wanted him to push me harder. And he did.
God, the way he talked to me. The names. The intensity of his breath as the whole thing spun out of control. The roughness of him.
His roughness a forbidden gift. Aleksio always went too far. The roughness felt beautiful. I know you, I thought.
And then he turned it into something ugly with the camera and the gun.
I sigh and twirl my fork.
He doesn’t have his suit jacket on; just a loose tie over his white button-down shirt. All that white in contrast with his chocolaty hair that’s a little too long. He went on a run earlier, and he apparently shaved after; his cheeks are smooth and clear, making him look deceptively innocent. Angelic.
“We’re showing it to him as soon as he wakes up.”
“It’ll kill him.”
He stabs his fork into the greens. “You should pray we find the key, then.”
“It’s just a matter of time.”
He cuts a bit of frittata and holds it up, examining it. “How does a spoiled princess who does international shopping as an extreme sport know about anatomization keys or whatever?”
My face burns. But that was the whole goal, wasn’t it? Aleksio is the exactly kind of person we don’t want knowing about my real life.
I shrug. “Are you telling me you never picked up any useless information in life?”
If he realizes I’m answering a question with a question, he doesn’t show it.
I take another bite of the best meal I’ve eaten all year, not that Aleksio seems to care.
Little Vik comes out. Whatever he has to say, it’s bad.
Aleksio sees it, too. “What?”
He shakes his head.
Aleksio stands and pulls his brother away. I sense trouble, chaos. Doors slam inside the house. Guys moving out.
I stare at Aleksio’s phone, still on the table. His phone.
I look from Aleksio and Viktor to the phone and back to Aleksio. I could grab it and delete the video—this is my chance. He may have backed it up, but I have a feeling he didn’t, considering how busy he’s been.
He’ll be angry. And it’s a gamble, but I don’t believe Aleksio will take my finger in the end. I snatch the phone and figure out what he used. Fuse. I find the file, hit delete, confirm delete. Just like that it’s gone. I set it back down and pick up my fork.
Aleksio comes back and grabs his phone and suit jacket. He swings it on and fixes his shirt cuffs.
Blood whooshes in my ears. I hope I made the right choice. “What’s going on?”
“Ligne is dead.”
My jaw drops. “Frankie? Frankie Ligne?”
Aleksio nods.
“Are you sure?”
“Most certainly dead, yes,” Viktor says.
“He’s just a sweet old man. Why would you—”
“We didn’t kill him,” Viktor spits.
“Who?”
“Bloody Lazarus,” he growls.
“Why would Lazarus kill somebody from his own organization? My father’s confidante…”
Viktor gives me a jaded look. Like, really ? Two of the Russians come out, all suited up and holstered.
It can’t be true. “Lazarus wouldn’t kill Ligne. They’re on the same side.”
“Take it up with the witnesses Viktor rounded up,” Aleksio says. “In other news, we got the key to
Moving up Aleksio’s legs felt wrong and good. I had no choice. And I was glad I had no choice. I was into it.
How twisted is that? Into it. All my life I’ve been trying to get out from under the thumb of men like him, and suddenly I’m crawling up his legs, begging to be used. But that’s the thing about having no choice—you do it no matter what. You do it if you hate it, and you do it if it’s a twisted thing you find out that you enjoy.
It took me by surprise when he grabbed my hair, taking control so violently. My whole body came to attention. His cock tasted of man and secrets and sweat and need. I wanted him to push me harder. And he did.
God, the way he talked to me. The names. The intensity of his breath as the whole thing spun out of control. The roughness of him.
His roughness a forbidden gift. Aleksio always went too far. The roughness felt beautiful. I know you, I thought.
And then he turned it into something ugly with the camera and the gun.
I sigh and twirl my fork.
He doesn’t have his suit jacket on; just a loose tie over his white button-down shirt. All that white in contrast with his chocolaty hair that’s a little too long. He went on a run earlier, and he apparently shaved after; his cheeks are smooth and clear, making him look deceptively innocent. Angelic.
“We’re showing it to him as soon as he wakes up.”
“It’ll kill him.”
He stabs his fork into the greens. “You should pray we find the key, then.”
“It’s just a matter of time.”
He cuts a bit of frittata and holds it up, examining it. “How does a spoiled princess who does international shopping as an extreme sport know about anatomization keys or whatever?”
My face burns. But that was the whole goal, wasn’t it? Aleksio is the exactly kind of person we don’t want knowing about my real life.
I shrug. “Are you telling me you never picked up any useless information in life?”
If he realizes I’m answering a question with a question, he doesn’t show it.
I take another bite of the best meal I’ve eaten all year, not that Aleksio seems to care.
Little Vik comes out. Whatever he has to say, it’s bad.
Aleksio sees it, too. “What?”
He shakes his head.
Aleksio stands and pulls his brother away. I sense trouble, chaos. Doors slam inside the house. Guys moving out.
I stare at Aleksio’s phone, still on the table. His phone.
I look from Aleksio and Viktor to the phone and back to Aleksio. I could grab it and delete the video—this is my chance. He may have backed it up, but I have a feeling he didn’t, considering how busy he’s been.
He’ll be angry. And it’s a gamble, but I don’t believe Aleksio will take my finger in the end. I snatch the phone and figure out what he used. Fuse. I find the file, hit delete, confirm delete. Just like that it’s gone. I set it back down and pick up my fork.
Aleksio comes back and grabs his phone and suit jacket. He swings it on and fixes his shirt cuffs.
Blood whooshes in my ears. I hope I made the right choice. “What’s going on?”
“Ligne is dead.”
My jaw drops. “Frankie? Frankie Ligne?”
Aleksio nods.
“Are you sure?”
“Most certainly dead, yes,” Viktor says.
“He’s just a sweet old man. Why would you—”
“We didn’t kill him,” Viktor spits.
“Who?”
“Bloody Lazarus,” he growls.
“Why would Lazarus kill somebody from his own organization? My father’s confidante…”
Viktor gives me a jaded look. Like, really ? Two of the Russians come out, all suited up and holstered.
It can’t be true. “Lazarus wouldn’t kill Ligne. They’re on the same side.”
“Take it up with the witnesses Viktor rounded up,” Aleksio says. “In other news, we got the key to
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