Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Damien nodded, dropping his card without looking. “Yeah. Nothing screams ‘alpha male’ like getting robbed mid-blow job.”
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. “You would know, asshole. At least I didn’t tie her up just so she could slip the knots again and again. At least Alina didn’t jump out of a window to get away from me.”
“Yelena didn’t jump out of a window,” he scoffed, then paused. “She just made me think she did.”
“Right…but we all know she would’ve if she’d had to. But getting by you was just too fucking easy.” Teasing Damien about Yelena’s skill was acceptable.
I was taking the piss out of him, not insulting his wife.
Well, maybe questioning her choice of spouse, but that was fair game.
“At least I didn’t hand Yelena my gun,” he countered with a raised eyebrow.
“I didn’t give my gun to her,” I insisted, eyeing my useless cards. “I left her alone for less than a minute. She was supposed to stay put.”
“I guess you’re not as scary as you think if she thought it would be acceptable to disobey you,” Gregor countered, tapping the table with blunt fingers.
I had nothing to counter with. Taking the penalty cards, I muttered, "You want me to shoot you, Gregor?"
"You don't have a gun," Damien wheezed, slapping his knee as the table dissolved into uproarious laughter.
"She took one of my guns, not all of them," I muttered, but my defense fell on deaf ears.
"You know what the real problem is?" Gregor mused, slapping down an ace. "You're growing soft."
Artem pointed his card at me accusingly. "You let her escape…with your gun. If this were a movie, you'd be the dumb American love interest waiting for his balls to drop."
I wanted to point out this all happened after she'd drained said balls dry, but that would only launch a barrage of jokes. I wasn't making it that easy for them.
"The question is," Damien interjected, "did she at least deserve the gun? Was the BJ good enough to warrant a parting gift?"
I flicked my burning cigarette directly at his smug face.
The bastard dodged, laughing as ash scattered across the table.
Worth it.
My mind drifted to her mouth on me, those eyes staring upward, the blend of hatred and reluctant desire.
The way she yielded without breaking.
Her inherent submission fascinated me—how she followed instructions while maintaining that defiant spark. Stretching those pink lips around me, her entire body trembling. I craved more, wanted to discover every expression her face could form: anguish, ecstasy, and that exquisite threshold where they merged.
Her pleas still resonated in my memory.
I needed her addiction to match my own growing obsession.
I was giving her the remainder of the night.
Not by choice.
If it had been entirely up to me, I’d be between her thighs, sinking my cock deep inside her tight pussy as she struggled against the binds I’d use to tie her to her own bed.
Unfortunately, running defense against Gregor and Artem’s fury when they found out the real reason I was at the offices a couple of hours ago was more important…but only barely.
The men surrounding me assumed I was awaiting information on her whereabouts, but I already knew her true address—not the fake one she'd given management.
I’d already sent two of my men to watch the place.
Unlike Yelena or Samara, Alina lacked resources to run far. She didn't possess Viktoria's determination or Marina's understanding of our reach.
Let her cling to a false sense of security for what remained of the night.
I'd let her have that momentary comfort.
It would make reclaiming her infinitely sweeter.
My brothers and cousins hunted their women for ownership or control.
That wasn't my motivation, though I fully intended to enjoy my prize.
For me, the pursuit itself was what held the appeal.
The challenge.
The game.
I craved finding her, chasing her, capturing her.
The others wouldn't comprehend.
I'd deliberately let her escape.
Where was the satisfaction if she simply surrendered?
By the time I'd won the next round, forcing Gregor to choke down an entire shot of bargain-shelf vodka as punishment, the atmosphere had shifted.
Artem tapped his fingers against his cards, dark eyes narrowing. "Enough bullshit. What happened before the girl swallowed your common sense along with your cock? Why were you at the building tonight, and why was the place emptied?"
I braced myself.
Here we go…
"Solovyov is handled," I replied in a deceptively casual tone.
The room fell silent.
Until Gregor and Artem simultaneously slammed their fists on the table, competing for dominance even in their anger.
"What do you mean 'Solovyov is handled'? We told you to wait. It wasn't safe to—" Artem began, his voice dangerously quiet.
"It's safe now," I interrupted, leaning back. "He's dead. Everyone knows he was targeting us, and now he isn't."
"How?" Gregor demanded, cards forgotten.
"I tracked the last of his men, brought him in."
"Again," Kostya pressed. "How?"
“The man I killed tonight was a cousin of Solovyov. He thought he didn’t know anything, which turned out to be true. Fortunately the dumbass had Solovyov’s current burner number saved in his phone, so we traced the location.”