by Kenya Wright
What the hell was going on? It’s going to be a long day.
“Do you know who the women were?” I sipped my morning whiskey.
“No, but we’ll get you the information.” He turned away. It was always his tell for when he had horrible news.
I took another hard gulp. “What?”
“Louis sent a team by Eden’s apartment like you asked. They have her belongings.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “And how’s the Vibrato? I wanted the furball over here.”
“Vibrato is dead, as well as her roommate.” Giorgio took a sip of his drink.
My heart beats increased. Whoever had done that wasn’t with Celina. Her and I had an unofficial rule—no civilian attacks. If they weren’t in our world, we diverted them to outside the war zone.
Giorgio went to the folder on my desk and flipped it open. “They cut up the roommate pretty bad. Leo was his name.”
I gazed at it. It had been a long time since I’d felt sick to my stomach. They’d sliced Eden’s roommate like he was a terrorist with the location to secret nuclear weapons.
“This isn’t low level.” I brought the image closer to me. “The cuts are clean. They were torturing him. Some are healed near his arm and then cut again. Jesus.”
What will I tell Eden? And what the fuck is going on?
Giorgio shrugged. “Bratva would’ve gave the clear shot to the forehead. I don’t know how they torture.”
“This isn’t Bratva. They have a level of secrecy, and professionalism with their kills. They also clean up as well as us. This guy wanted everyone to see. He has too much pride in his work.” I dropped the photo on the desk. “However, we can’t count the Bratva out of this completely. You said Misha was hiring low level people. This could be his team.”
“When I told Louis this news, he beefed up security around Eden.”
“Tell him thank you.”
It was clear that these attacks could come Eden’s way. It was only a matter of time.
“So, tell me if I have the timeline right.” I rubbed my hands together and walked around the desk. “Igor dies in Prague. We know who did that. For some odd reason, Kazimir’s ex-girlfriend is found dead.”
“The ballerina?”
“Yes.”
“Oh damn. I loved watching him fuck her.”
I ignored Giorgio. “Igor is killed. Celina flees the country and disappears that night. No one can find her.”
“But she didn’t kill Igor.”
“No, but she did something stupid after he died. A week later, Eden’s roommate and cat are tortured and killed. And then two days after that, someone murders two people in Shalimar’s apartment.”
“Then, Shalimar rushes to Europe.”
“Which tells me Celina is still in Europe. She has old lovers all over and is not above using her contacts.” I rubbed my forehead. “Why did these killers go to Eden’s apartment first? Is this directly related to me or Celina?”
“It’s something else,” Giorgio said. “They tortured him. Eden’s roommate probably has no idea what they wanted to know, so he dies in torture. They go to Shalimar’s place. Maybe these women are roommates or family members, regardless they die too.”
“Shalimar probably shows up to the apartment, sees dead people, and runs.”
“Or, Celina knew something was coming Shalimar’s way and gave her the warning. Our men said that it looked like Shalimar had packed her things before the people died.”
“But do we know?”
“We don’t know anything yet.”
I growled, “I’m tired of these half-assed answers. Get the full ones, or don’t come to me at all.”
“There’s more.”
I held my grumble down, knowing that Giorgio was just the messenger. “What?”
“You asked us to get an ID on the black woman that’s with Kazimir. It’s been rather difficult to get the FBI’s help. I have the images in the file that further show evidence of this.”
“Just say it.” I went to the bar and poured more whiskey. “What’s in the file?”
“Pictures of dead FBI men.”
Of course. Let’s top all these murders with a couple of dead untouchable agents.
I returned with a full glass, flipped the file open, and saw one man shot in the forehead. “Now that’s Bratva.”
The next image showed another. Same shot. Clear wound. Cleaned space. There would be no prints or evidence of who did it or why. “Another Bratva kill. Very old school which is how the Lion likes it. Why am I looking at dead FBI agents?”
“We asked the first agent to run the fingerprints for Kazimir’s alleged lover. This black woman that he’s brought to Paris.”
“Okay.”
“Someone killed the agent a day later.” Giorgio went to the next photo. “So we gave this agent the prints.”
“And he was killed?”
“And so on. It’s been four dead FBI agents.” Giorgio flipped to the final photo. “And now the fingerprint sample is gone, and the limo driver that was on our side, the one who lifted the prints, he’d also dead.”
“And now Russians are outside of my building and the Lion is on vacation in Paris?” I took another swig of my whiskey and let the liquid burn my throat. “He doesn’t want us to figure out who she is. That’s interesting. There wasn’t that much mystery when he was fucking the ballerina. What’s different with this one?”
“We’ve got a name for the black man with Misha.”
“Please say it’s mouse.”
“No. His name is Maxwell. A small-time hustler from Harlem. Nowhere on Misha’s level.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And Maxwell is from New York?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
Giorgio crossed his arms. “Usually, I stand by and let Rafael and you lead the race, but this time, I’m presenting my thoughts on this matter.”
“Go ahead.”
“Kazimir is killing international agents to protect this woman’s identity. I would leave it alone.”
“I don’t know, if I can. On one side, I have no intentions of bothering the Lion. On the other side, I have to protect us.” I finished my glass. “Any word from Rafael?”
“No.”
“So, we have Kazimir killing people over fingerprints, as he spends time with a mystery black woman in Paris.” I leaned on the edge of my desk, half-sitting, half standing, but utterly confused and already feeling tipsy. “And in St. Petersburg, we have Misha, buying clothes for some small-time hustler from New York named Maxwell. Yet, he’s looking for Celina.”
“Do you want more on the Maxwell guy?”
“No but follow Misha. If he’s looking for Celina, then I want to know why, and I would like to grab Celina first.”
So you’re running, Aunt Celina? That makes more sense. You’re busy.
“And if we find Celina, before him?” Giorgio asked. “What do we do with her?”
“Ask Celina who the hell killed Eden’s roommate, and why. She’s directly related to those hits, unless Kazimir is going after me. Either way, the Bratva is pissed. I’m just wondering with who, Celina or me?” I gave him a weak smile and set the glass down. “We need answers, not more questions.”
Nodding, Giorgio left.
I didn’t know how I would update Eden tonight. I’d already told her enough. She was now trying to be a part of everything and help out. That was the last thing I wanted her to do. With her roommate being killed, she needed to be far away from this as possible.
She’s not going to take this well.
Since confessing to Eden, I’d promised to keep a lot of my world and the danger away from her. However, I’d also said I would update her on Celina and Shalimar.
Not this time. This would scare her. It’s scaring me.
I wouldn’t go to Eden with this, until I had answers to what was going on and even more, a clear solution to fix this.
Twenty minutes later, a knock
came at my door.
I’d still been leaning on the desk, contemplating what I would have to do next. “Come in.”
I hope Giorgio has some answers.
This time it wasn’t Giorgio.
Eden stepped inside. She wore a white robe that fell to her ankles. Black six-inch heels covered her feet. In her hand, she held Eros.
Hmmm. What surprise do you have for me, queen?
Once Eros had been my violin. I’d named it Belladonna. But the moment I first spotted Eden, my lovely woman held my full interest. No longer did I care about the instrument unless her fingers caressed it.
The door closed behind Eden.
A lock click came next.
I returned my view to the robe. My fingers itched to take it off.
“Are you busy?” She set the violin down on the mahogany table next to the door.
I drank her stunning image in. “I’m never busy for you, reine.”
“Good. This won’t take long.” With confidence, she took her sweet time opening the robe. Underneath, sheer red lace hugged her full breasts.
Fuck.
The dark circles of her areolas peeked out beneath the thin fabric.
Yes. This is what I need.
Some sort of thong barely hid the sweet folds of her pussy. It didn’t matter. I would tear it away soon. But with the thong being so tiny in the front, I knew a back view of Eden would reveal lush ass, ready to be grabbed.
Her gaze remained on me as she pulled the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor.
“I hope you’re wrong, reine.”
She widened her eyes. “You hope I’m wrong about what?”
“You said that this won’t take long.” I rose from the desk. “I would like to take all the time that you need.”
“Stay there, Jean-Pierre.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then, I’ll have to show you my surprise later.”
I grunted and leaned back on the desk. “And how long do you think that lace will remain on your body?”
She blushed. “I haven’t decided if you’re going to touch it yet.”
“Lies.”
Smiling, she turned around and went to the violin. My gaze went straight to that fat ass. It was all bare and jiggling with each step. My cock grew in my pants.
Grunting, I rubbed my mouth, needing something to do with my hands.
She picked up Eros, and I wished my cock was in her fingers instead. She strolled over to me. “I wanted to play for you.”
“And then afterwards, I can play you?”
“Yes.” Desire filled her gaze as her voice lowered. “Then afterwards, you can play me.”
My cock jerked. “Hmmm.”
Lifting the violin and bow, she went into position, giving me a nice view of those breasts. The first notes she executed with precision, but that was my Eden—skilled and talented in a gritty, yet breathtaking way. She reminded me of myself.
What will she play for me today?
The song began with a romantic tone. Subtle. Bright. Hopeful. Smiling, I recognized it immediately. She seduced me with her playing, calling to the lust in my soul and causing goosebumps to cross my arm.
Damn you, Strauss’s Sonata.
She swayed, losing herself in the first movement. The sound was a fragrant haze. I inhaled and became drunk. If her playing could be a drug, I would’ve smoked it, sniffed it in my nose, injected it in my blood. I held my breath as she finessed each stroke, performing a fiery and powerful Allegro. Mesmerized, I left her bow work and watched those fingers as they danced around the board. Each time her fingertips placed; I whispered the notes in my head.
Beautiful.
I stood, unable to contain myself. My heartbeats increased as if trying to follow her rhythm. Soon the measures united in my brain, and the tune lured my ears deeper into the song.
Strauss’s Sonata had an initial flourish, but then the main theme arrived. A heroic melody. An adventure with a sense of urgent drama.
It was fascinating how music could transport one from their reality. In one moment, I was in my office. The next, I stood in my childhood living room, playing this very sonata to my mother.
Eden brought back all those old memories. I could taste my mother’s hot chocolate on my tongue. She’d made it during the winter. Thick, dark, and extremely rich. So much that one cup would make me miss dinner.
Eden continued to play, and more memories filled the room.
I swore long logs crackled in the fireplace next to me and heat brushed my skin, even though there was no fire in my office. But there had been one in my childhood home. My mother’s perfume filled the air, and the salty breeze of the sea as it would blow in during the summer.
I blinked.
Eden’s view returned to me. My temptress. My siren. My queen. She spun magic with that bow.
Jesus. She plays it better than me.
Eden entered the second movement of the sonata.
My father’s face flashed in my mind.
“Play, Jean-Pierre,” my dad yelled as Etienne dragged him up the stairs with his other men. “Don’t stop playing, Jean-Pierre. Don’t stop.”
“Yes, papa.”
I fisted my hands, shut my eyes, and did my best to push the memory back.
The music stopped.
Eden’s sweet voice pulled me out of the darkness. “Jean-Pierre, is everything okay?”
Swallowing, I opened my eyes. “You’re amazing.”
She lowered the violin. “What happened?”
I blinked again and focused on the moment in front of me—her looking beautiful. “How long have you been practicing the sonata?”
“I found a few times yesterday evening, while you were getting your men together to fly us back from Nice. And then I’ve had all morning.”
I checked the time. Several hours had passed. I hadn’t eaten. I’d just been sipping whiskey while trying to figure out what the hell had been going on.
“I’m jealous.” I grinned. “I’ve practiced that song all my life and could never find the joy in the bow strokes that you found. Rafael said my version always sounded so sad. Even when it was supposed to be upbeat.”
She walked over to me and placed Eros on my desk. As soon as the instrument hit the surface, I captured her. She shrieked. “You’re so fast.”
“Am I?” I kissed the curve of her neck.
“Jean-Pierre?” She caught my attention, touching my chin, and lifting my view to her. “What happened, when I was playing? Why did you close your eyes?”
“I thought about that moment with my father.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“No. That shows how well you play. But that’s not important. Currently, I want to fuck you on this desk.” Lifting her up, I turned us both around and set her on my desk. “Do you know how bad I would want to fuck you, after you played that?”
Before she could respond, I captured her mouth. All the bad news and horrible memories disappeared within those sweet lips. No longer did I care about the Lion, or Celina. No longer did I wonder why the bad memory of my father and the song appeared.
I sucked on her tongue. She’d been sipping on something sweet. Honey. For a minute, I leaned away from her, needing to take a breath, scared that I would devour her.
She licked her lips as if trying to taste me.
I grunted. Already, my balls ached. “Lay down.”
She did. Her breasts jiggled with the movement as they propped high on her chest. On my desk, she looked like a special buffet laid out for a horny king.
I snatched at the thong. The lace tore away in my fingers with ease.
I gazed at her with an intensity I couldn’t explain. “Do you mind if I play with this sweet pussy?”
Her voice was a hungry whisper. “Please.”
“When you play, you open me like a song.” I stroked those moist folds, concentrating on the throbbing bud. “And I swear that my soul plays back the melody.”
/> The clit was such a special button on the female body. It was a blessing from God, for both men and women. For women, they had so many ways to be turned on and orgasm. For men, it gave us some cheat codes to a women’s body. And so I slipped my fingers slowly along her clit, learning her passion, taking note of how she moaned when I drew a slow circle around it.
Breathing in, I confessed. “I want your scent all over me.”
I leaned over and dove my face into that pussy.
She shrieked at first, and then it turned into a shivery moan, as I rubbed my face all over her pussy, sliding my cheeks against all the wetness, poking her clit with my nose. Inhaling the fragrance of her lust. And then I licked and sucked.
“Oh, Jean-Pierre.” She rocked into my face.
I pulled her legs over my shoulders, getting a better target on that clit. I relished in her taste as I licked. I groaned from the warmth as I slid my fingers into both tight little holes.
“Oh.” Crying in pleasure, she arched up from the desk.
“Once again you’re the tranquility in my soul.” Tasting my lips, I rose and snatched at my tie, wishing all my clothes were off. “You always save me from the terror of my mind.”
“Your words are always so beautiful.” She sat up and took over undoing my tie. It was off in seconds. She moved her attention to my shirt, unbuttoning with a hunger that made me groan.
I loved the way she took control, but my impatience wouldn’t let me enjoy her undressing me for too long. I undid my pants, ready to be inside of her and unable to help myself.
When my clothes fell to the floor, she lay back down on the desk.
I lowered myself onto her, wrapping her legs around my waist and pumping into the softest place on Earth. “What could be better than your pussy?”
She moaned, and that sound possessed me more than her violin playing. With no hesitation, I craved her. I wanted to own her body and those cries of pleasure.
I kissed her, trying my best to consume her.
Never had I let go with her like in this moment. The desk rocked. My lamp fell from the edge. And then the phone crashed off the side. Grunting, I sped up. Her nipples bobbled as her breasts bounced. I gathered one in my mouth, sucked, and pumped some more.
Her pussy was so wet. So welcoming. It hugged my cock. It gave me hope. It was paradise. Pussy designed by a loving universe. It was sunshine in this dark world. It was pleasure among all of the pain.
