Sergey’s pained groans filled the room as I stared at the strand of hair on my sleeve, relishing the fact it was there and hating it all the same.
I’d like to think my interest in Mila was just about her body, but I’d never talked to a woman as much as I did her without experiencing the pull of suicidal boredom. And yet I was the one striking up conversation even while balls-deep inside of her just to hear what that mouth of hers had to say. The truth was . . . Mila could have braces and leprosy, and I’d still want to fuck her six ways to Sunday.
I ran a thumb across my lip, coming to terms with the uncomfortable realization while Albert grabbed Sergey by the hair and threw him into the wall. The side table splintered, breaking beneath the banker’s hefty weight.
Less than forty-eight hours. That was how long I had left before making the trade with Alexei. He was the one with a death sentence, but somehow, it felt like I was getting fucked over. The passing minutes mocked me, settling beneath my skin with an edgy feeling I couldn’t shake.
Alexei’s head no longer seemed an adequate trade for Mila. She was worth millions more . . . and the stolen Eiffel Tower. As a tension tightened my body, searing my chest, I pondered asking for exactly that.
It would give me more time. More time to get Mila out of my blood. Though if things continued the way they were, she’d only work her way in deeper. Not to mention, this meeting told me the one thing I didn’t have on my side right now was time.
Albert wiped the wall clean with Sergey’s face. Picture frames fell, and glass shattered on the floor. Any other day, I would have something to say about Albert destroying my office, but all I could focus on was this token of Mila’s she’d left behind and how, soon, it would be all I’d find of her.
It felt like a hot iron was wedged in my ribs at the thought of pushing her into Alexei’s men’s arms. The idea of Ivan being one of them made me grind my teeth. Apparently, jealousy was imagining smashing the other man’s head into a wall. Five times. A sinister feeling spread through me, telling me she was mine—every yellow, sickly-sweet, hearts-in-her-eyes inch of her.
Albert slammed Sergey’s face into the desktop, and blood splattered on my inked hands. The same ones that would separate Mila’s papa’s head from his neck.
She gave me her forgiveness.
I had nothing to give her but vengeance.
I brushed the hair off my sleeve and let it fall to the dirty carpet.
“I met with him!” Sergey finally gasped in Russian, hunched against the wall from the latest punch to the stomach. There was so much padding there, I was surprised he felt the blow.
Staying Albert’s fist with a hand, I waited for Sergey to continue.
“I . . . I met with Alexei,” he repeated, flicking his swelling eyes from Albert to me.
“We got that much,” I drawled and leaned back in my chair. “This meeting of yours better be because you and Alexei are hiding a love affair.”
“What?” He gaped. “N—”
“Because if you weren’t fucking”—my eyes hardened—“it leaves me to assume you were discussing business. My business. So which is it? Are you fucking Alexei, or are you a fucking rat?”
By his expression, I’d put him in an impossible position. He wiped blood from his nose with the back of a hand, his eyes coasting to the exit he would never reach.
“I—we didn’t discuss anything, I swear,” Sergey said. “H-he only asked me some questions—”
“Like who would do the fucking.” I nodded as if I understood.
He grew flustered, sputtering, “No! I didn’t have a choice! He had a gun to my head!”
I raised a brow. “So you were definitely on bottom.”
His bruised face turned crimson. “We didn’t fuck! I’m not gay! Alexei asked me about stocks and liquid assets and to redirect some of your money into an offshore account. Said I’d receive ten percent if I did it.” He was breathless, and when he realized how much he’d given away, his double chin wobbled. “Oh, God.”
I smiled with venom.
Sergey’s shaky hands pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his brow. “I can fix this! Just let me fix this. Please . . .” he whined. “I have a family.”
Alexei was going down swinging. Anyone else would assume his master plan was to redirect all my funds so I couldn’t pay my dealers and therefore my men, which would demolish their loyalty and leave me to live a sad, lonely life as a manual laborer. And apparently chimney sweeping was out. But knowing Alexei, this was just one annoying distraction of multiple others that were sure to come.
“Alexei didn’t offer you ten percent,” I stated.
Sergey swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Alexei may be a cornered animal right now, but a leopard couldn’t change its spots. The man held onto pennies like each one was another day he’d live. His greed was one of the reasons it had been so easy to work my way up from the bottom of his ranks to sitting in his own cushy leather chair now.
“They make great prosthetics these days,” I announced.
Sergey’s shifty gaze came to me. “I . . . I don’t understand.” He was dripping sweat.
My eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I imagine typing speed may not be up to par, but at least you’ll still be able to wipe your ass.”
The banker’s wide eyes dropped to his hands in understanding. “W-wait—”
Albert cut in. “I’ve read new prosthetic hands can even play rock, paper, scissors.”
“Rock, paper, pliers,” I corrected, pulling my gaze to Albert. “They can’t scissor yet.”
“There must not be a woman on that team then,” Albert returned with amusement.
I chuckled.
“He offered me a girl!”
I turned my attention to Sergey. “Sorry, what was that?”
“H-he offered me a girl.”
Tapping a pen on my desk to hide my distaste, I drawled, “So he’s still dealing in flesh.”
Sergey shifted uncomfortably.
“What does this girl look like? I’m sure he showed you a picture.”
He fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a small photo, unable to hide a flicker of pride in his eyes when he put it on my desk. I slid it closer with a finger. It looked like a mug shot besides the fact it was a full-frontal of a naked girl, not a day over eighteen, standing in front of a white wall stained yellow from cigarette smoke. As beautiful as she was, her appearance was tainted by the bruises and glazed look of heroin in her eyes.
“She’s definitely a step up from your wife.”
Sergey didn’t know if he should be offended—if it was wrong to call the purchased slave prettier than the wife—but in the end, he took it as a compliment.
“She’s from France . . . Paris.”
“Ah, the city of love. How romantic. Although, beaten as she is, she might not have very amorous words for you.”
His gaze hardened a flicker. “She’ll learn.”
I smiled. “Maybe, but it won’t be you doing the teaching.”
Albert pulled out his pistol, and a pop split through the air. Sergey’s body fell with a solid thunk to the floor, dreams of an underage sex slave still in his eyes.
I shuffled bloodstained paperwork, stapled them together, and slid them in Albert’s direction. “Take these to the bank and tell Leonid I need a new banker.” I tossed the girl’s photo on top of the papers. “And burn that.”
“What do you want to do with him?” Albert nudged Sergey’s leg with his boot.
“Use him as target practice. Feed him to the fish. I don’t give a fuck.”
“That seems to be your current position these days. Well . . . besides one thing.”
I lifted hard eyes to Albert’s. “Why are you still here? The bank closes in an hour.”
He grabbed the papers off the desk. “The truck’s here, but apparently, I have very important papers to deliver.”
Albert was calling me out on being distracted today, but I refused to go along with it. “I’ll take care of the truck,” I snapped and stood, stepping over Sergey’s body on my way out the door.
I walked into the back room and straight into a brothel. Andrei’s pants were around his ankles while he fucked a woman up against a shelf, her legs wrapped around his hips.
Annoyance brewing, my gaze slid to Kostya sitting at the card table shoving a handful of peanuts in his mouth. His little brother Vadim stared at the pair fucking with wide, unblinking eyes. I was having sex at his age, but I wasn’t exactly the best role model.
The scene would have never bothered me before, though now it reminded me of fucking Mila. It seemed I couldn’t go one minute without thinking about her today, and the knowledge worked aggravation through me.
I grabbed the collar of Vadim’s coat and dragged him out of his chair toward the back door. Then I realized I knew those feminine moans and stilled, a dark chuckle escaping me.
“You reek of desperation, Nadia.”
“You probably reek of your American!” she called out breathlessly between the steady slap of flesh.
Kostya dropped a few peanuts, his eyes going dark. I gave him a warning look and nodded to the back door, telling him to get out there now. He got up and stalked out.
“She’s the reason you’ve been ignoring me, isn’t she?” Nadia asked from over Andrei’s shoulder, seeming to only tolerate his thrusts now. Apparently, he was fine with it. His pace picked up.
“Your jealousy is becoming a nuisance,” I returned harshly.
I was surprised Nadia thought I would have a problem with her fucking someone else when I never gave a shit before. Hell, I’d even watched her with others. She either thought my feelings had changed, or this was merely a desperate attempt for attention.