Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

  “A glass of water,” an all-too-familiar voice answers on my behalf.

  I spot her red fingernails first. She taps them against the black stone counter. Unable to take all of her in, I keep my gaze on the bartender. “I think I’m capable of ordering a drink,” I grumble, not sure why the hell I’m pissed at her. Her boyfriend is the asshole. As far as I can tell, she didn’t do shit. Well, except for falling for the bastard in the first place.

  “I’m sure you’re more than capable.” Dasha closes the gap between us, her bare elbow brushing my chest. “But remember what I told you at Sin?” She trains her hazel eyes on mine. “Buy them a drink first…”

  Fuck them later, my mind finishes the sentence.

  “So,” she takes the water glass from the doll behind the counter, “here you go.”

  I squint, completely taken off guard. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she just offered me—Bullshit, Boulder. Get that idea out of your head. Now!

  “That’s the second time,” she says, batting her thick black lashes.

  “Second time for what?” I inquire before gulping down half the water.

  “The second time you’re speechless.” Dasha touches my bicep. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the great Markus Boulder is intimidated by a helpless little girl.”

  She’s five foot two, but not little. She’s a woman, not a girl. And, yes, I’m intimidated as fuck and don’t even know why. Okay, maybe I have a hunch. All she has to do is look at me and I’m hard. That’s a dream come true. Except it’s a distraction, too. It could fuck up my plan to avenge Luke’s death by spooning out Shadow’s heart.

  “I…” Want to push you against that wall and fuck your goddamn brains out. “I’m…” So fucking crazy about you, half of the time I forget why I’m here.

  She flashes me a sweet smile. “You?”

  “I—”

  “Boulder!” Dimitri waits by the pool, gesturing for me to join him.

  “Gotta go,” I blurt, escaping her fiery gaze.

  I speed toward Dimitri and Deveraux, hell-bent on getting away from the goddess fucking with my senses. She’s worse than booze. I never wanted to sell my soul to the devil for a bottle of Jose. Can’t say the same about Dasha.

  “What’s up?” Judging by the wicked grin etched into both their faces, I’d say nothing good.

  Excitement flashes across Dimitri’s eyes. “It’s time,” he whispers, looking at a group of chicks. All of them are dressed to impress. Short dresses, high heels, pretty faces. “Pick your trophy, my friend.”

  I cast him the ultimate WTF look. “Come again?”

  “Pick any one of them,” he repeats. “They’ll do whatever the hell you want and more.”

  Dumbstruck, I stare at the girls. Some of them look as young as sixteen. The others, barley legal. No way in hell I’ll lay a hand on them. Fifteen will get ya twenty, remember? “Nah,” I wave it off. “I’m good.”

  “C’mon.” Deveraux elbows me hard. “Don’t be a fucking prude, Boulder.”

  Damn, how the fuck do I get out of this? Don’t get me wrong, declining a good fuck isn’t my usual gig, but this feels wrong and I don’t even know why. “Look at my face.” It’s a purple mess. “I’m not really in the mood to lick some pussy.”

  Dimitri laughs. “That’s why she’s going to suck you dry before she fucks you to heaven and back.”

  “I…” Only want to fuck one chick at this party, and she’s off limits. Yeah, I can hardly say that in front of her boyfriend, can I?

  Patience isn’t Deveraux’s strong suit. “Her.” He tilts his head at a brunette with a pink dress and endless legs. “She sucks like a fucking rock star.”

  Does your father know what a bastard you are? If he does, his “feminism rules” speeches are a joke.

  “Good choice,” Dimitri compliments him.

  “Irina,” the Russian shouts.

  The brunette drops everything. “Yes?”

  Dimitri shoves me toward her. “That’s Markus.” He looks at Deveraux. “Will’s new fighter.”

  Irina looks me in the eye. “Nice to meet you, Markus.” She smiles, but like the rest of this place, it’s fake and overdone.

  “Likewise,” I reply, still not sure how not to get blown by her tonight.

  Dimitri throws an arm around Irina. “Why don’t you give him a full tour of the house?”

  Irina nods. “With pleasure.”

  Pleasure, huh? Hers? Mine? Ours? Or Dimitri’s?

  “The asshole claims his prize.”

  Markus

  Irina leads me up the stairs, past a Kandinsky, and into the bedroom with the door open.

  The four-poster bed is solid fucking gold and perfectly made—cardinal red sheets and pillows. Gold ornaments between the ceiling and wall along with dark wooden furniture give the space an imperial look. I’ve been to St. Petersburg a couple of times, but never got to see the inside of Alexander Palace. This bedroom, however, is exactly how I pictured the royal family’s chambers—pompous, yet elegant and neat.

  A cold hand slides beneath my jacket. “This,” Irina takes the fabric off, “is going to get in our way.”

  The thud of my jacket hitting the black marble floor roars through the quiet room. Fragile hands shove me backward.

  The back of my knees make acquaintance with the frame of the bed. Next thing I know, my ass kisses the mattress.

  Irina works her magic on my belt. “Relax,” she says, pulling the zipper of my pants down. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

  I should stop her. Getting laid by one of Dimitri’s house bunnies isn’t on my to-do list. Sure, she’s hot and one of the few who actually looks over twenty-one, but I’m on a protect-and-kill mission not a sex mission.

  Her cold fingers find the waistband of my boxers, slowly tugging them down. My cock—always the bastard—jumps free, ready to take what she offers.

  “Do you want to fuck my mouth?” she whispers, squeezing my dick. “Or do you prefer my hand first?”

  I want you to stop, is what I should say. Elbows propped on the mattress, I stare at her like an idiot instead.

  Irina waits a couple of seconds before she makes the decision on my behalf. An ocean of dark hair spreads across my lap, tickling me like soft feathers. “Fuck my mouth,” she orders, licking my shaft.

  Her tongue is quick and hot—drawing circles, lines, and driving me fucking crazy.

  “Shit.” I suck in a breath and let my head fall back. How the fuck am I going to tell her to stop now?

  Irina squeezes my shaft tighter and kisses my tip, teasing me with her tongue every now and then. My dick throbs, longing for a release. And when she takes me in—deep and fast—I lose the ability to think straight.

  Cock circled by a cave of heat and wetness, I press my hand against the back of her head. Then, I thrust into her, like a dying man chasing his last moment in this world.

  Feeling the roof of her mouth, I close my eyes.

  Dasha’s red hair spills on my skin. Tempting cherry lips run up and down my cock. Soft moans fill the electrified air, sending chills down my spine.

  Shit, this is good. Better than I dared to imagine. Letting me set the pace, taking as much of my length as she can—this is heaven and hell having a get together in Nirvana, because I fuck the mouth of a goddess.

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  Missing the smoke in Dasha’s voice, I jerk my eyes open. There’s no red hair, no cherry lips. Just Irina blowing me like a fucking champ.

  Reality hits me like a baseball bat. Dasha isn’t here, and I’m fucking the mouth of a chick who’s only here because some sleazebag told her to. This isn’t right, and it sure as fuck isn’t who I am. “Wait.” I scrub my fingers through her hair, hauling her away from my painfully throbbing dick. “You—”

  “Want my pussy?” she teases, climbing over me. “All you have to do is take it.”

  Jesus! This girl is—

  She lifts her skirt, exposing her ba
re pearl. Her shirt is gone next. A handful of soft tits catches my attention, driving my bastard cock insane.

  I need to…God, I don’t know what I need. But I sure as fuck know what I want—to burry my dick inside that marvelous pussy.

  In her pussy? A voice in the back of my head taunts me. Are you sure you don’t want red pussy?

  “Stop,” I bark as she comes down on my dick.

  Wide-eyed and a little startled, Irina stares at me. “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, a hint of fright in her tone.

  Did she do something wrong? I got a blow job from her while fantasizing about fucking a goddess’s mouth. A goddess who already has a god. “No,” I say softly.

  She furrows her brows. “I don’t understand.”

  Yeah, that makes two of us. “Look,” I crawl out from under her, putting some distance between us, “I just need a minute, okay?” A minute to give my cock a lecture and a release.

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you want.”

  Pulling my boxers and pants up, I vanish inside the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

  I lean against the wall, drawing several deep breaths. Get a grip, Boulder. Get. A. Fucking. Grip.

  How, when my dick throws a fit?

  My gaze drifts, searching for distraction. White marble, a gigantic tub, a step-in-shower, an ajar door leading to another room—anything that pushes the need in my groin into oblivion.

  By the time I’ve counted every single one of the two hundred and twenty-one perfume containers sitting on an ebony drawer, I’m finally able to relax a bit.

  Flushed and sweaty, I move to the sink and splash some cold water on my face.

  Moans echo off the white tiles.

  Irina?

  I close the faucet to locate the direction of the sinful sound. It can’t be Irina, though. The hard breathing and moans come from the other room, the one with the ajar door.

  Don’t ask me why I walk over there or what has gotten into me when I peek through the gap. I couldn’t fucking tell you. Not when I’m looking at this.

  Dasha’s fiery red hair is spread across white sheets. Black lace caresses soft rosy nipples. Legs…those endless, breathtaking legs are spread so far apart, I get a glimpse of the hottest pussy I ever laid eyes on—shaved bare and with the plumpest lips ever.

  Her gaze darts in my direction. “You like to watch, don’t you?” Her hand travels down her flat stomach, stopping at her wetness.

  My heart drops in my belly. Did she see me? Does she think I’m some creepy pervert? Is she fucking herself?

  “I do,” a husky male voice replies.

  Is that—

  Dimitri walks out of the shadows, placing a chair in front of the bed. “Now,” he bites his lower lip, “fuck yourself, Dasha. Show me how badly you want me.”

  Bile crawls up my gullet. The asshole claims his prize. And his fucking prize is Dasha. Shit, I think I’m going to be sick. Yet I can’t look away.

  Dasha slides her hand down her thigh. She moves her fingers out, spreading her wetness all over her clit. “Fuck me,” she breathes out, her gaze not on Dimitri, but the ajar door. “Please, I want you.”

  “Show me how much,” Dimitri taunts her.

  She pushes two fingers inside, moving her hips in small circles. Her moans deepen, her eyes remain glued to the door. To…Me?

  Dasha fingers herself, hard and deep. Her other hand plays with her clit, getting herself even wetter.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! My dick is head-banging to an AC/DC concert, making me dizzy as hell. I have no choice but to release him from his prison.

  “Come on.” Dasha lifts her hips, rocking into her own hand. “Fuck me.” And that’s more than I can take.

  I squeeze my ready cock, feeling Dasha’s wetness and heat all over me.

  “Fuck me,” she orders.

  I thrust into my palm, mimicking her pace. She’s like a tornado, fucking herself so fast it destroys me. Hell, it shatters me into pieces, spilling my cum all over the polished marble floor.

  Dasha is close, too. The fire in her eyes, the way she slams her hips into the mattress—perfection. I’m dying to see that sexy-as-fuck face when her orgasm rushes over it. When—

  “Markus?”

  Shit.

  “Markus, are you okay?”

  Irina. How the fuck could I forget the chick who just blew me? I was watching a goddess pleasing herself, that’s how.

  “Markus?” Her voice grows louder. “What is going on?”

  I gotta do something before Dasha hears her. Shoving my spent dick in my pants, I zip myself in and head to the door.

  “What the hell took you so long?” she grumbles, lips tugged downward.

  Banishing Dasha’s pussy from my mind, I take a deep breath and say, “Sorry, my assistant called. I gotta run.”

  I don’t wait for a reply, don’t look back when I rush out of the room as if chased by a Rottweiler, and I don’t bid Deveraux farewell either. I just need out of here. ASAP.

  “Defiance is for rebels.”

  Shadow

  You never forget your first, they say. And they’re right. Except, not every first is as prominent in your mind as the other.

  First kiss? I vaguely remember the shabby motel room my target had booked for us. I was seventeen, the target about to bite the grass.

  My virginity? I believe I lost it in the back of a dark alley, but I mostly remember the scent of vodka lingering between us.

  First kill? I recall every gory, little detail. All I have to do is close my eyes and time rewinds, taking me back to the hidden base in Oymyakon, a village in the heart of Siberia.

  Minus eighty degrees and it wasn’t even night yet. The thermometer dropped lower every day. I grew colder and lonelier by the second.

  Knees tugged under my chin, I rocked back and forth. Moving helped; it heated my sore muscles and kept the frost boils at bay.

  It had been weeks since they came for me, snatching me out of my bed in the middle of the night, covering my mouth to suffocate my screams. The nuns—brides of Jesus, devotees of the Lord—just stood there, watching as the masked intruders pushed me into a car.

  I had heard horror stories of missing kids. “They come at night, take them away, and they’re never seen again,” Artem, one of my few friends at the orphanage, had told me one night. “It’s always the strongest or fastest kid that goes missing. So, whatever you do, don’t be the best.”

  For two years, I had followed his advice. I kept my head down, lost every time we played a game, and never ran quicker than the kid in front of me. Until—

  She had climbed the old tree in the front yard. The branch broke, giving in under her feet. She fell. Ten feet with only cement below.

  Masked men hadn’t sounded half as scary as her head hitting the hard ground. So I ran. Faster than the wind, determined to get to her before it was too late. And by some sort of miracle, I made it there just in time to throw myself between her and the asphalt. She broke her arm. I didn’t have a scratch.

  One of the nuns—she too had watched them take me away—called me her divnyy myshka, marvelous mouse. Fast, small, and unbreakable. She had no clue I had been broken since the day I walked through their doors, after most of my family was slaughtered by other men with other masks.

  Dusk sliced through the gaps in the walls. The huskies, trapped in kennels outside, howled at the rising moon. I felt sorry for them. I knew what it felt like to be locked away, after all.

  “Myshka?” The man’s voice made my heart race faster. He was tall and good looking, his skin a not very Russian shade of warm olive, but his eyes…his eyes were the coldest gray I’d ever seen.

  I didn’t look up. He’d been here a couple of times, and I saw what he’d done to the dogs. He starved them, beat them to a pulp, and watched them kill each other over a piece of old meat. The man was a real monster.

  “Defiant,” he said, laughing dryly. “A good trait. Let’s see how strongly it’s embedded in your
soul, shall we?”

  He cupped my elbow, hauling me to my feet.

  “Let go,” I barked, yanking free. “I can walk by myself.” I hated to be touched by strangers. But especially by him. His hands abused innocent dogs; I’d rather die than have them on me.

  He smiled and allowed me to move freely to the back of the long, narrow hallway.

  White, sterile doors stared back at me. In the darkness, they looked like monsters, the milky glass like mouths about to swallow me whole.

  “Defiance,” he said, stopping at the last door, “is for rebels, myshka. People who fight for a cause, regardless of what may happen to them. They are victims of their own beliefs.” He reaches for something in his pocket. “If you want to survive in this world, you must strip yourself of it. Embrace your most primeval instinct.” He presses a sharp edged blade against my chest. “And survive.”

  I didn’t really understand the meaning behind his words. I was barely ten, but he spoke to me like I was already fully grown, ready to face the world by myself.

  “Take the blade,” he ordered.

  The metal weighed my hand down.

  “Now,” he opened the door, “show me what you’re truly made of.”

  He pushed me inside, slamming the door shut behind me.

  Fear tightened my throat. I wasn’t alone in the windowless room. One of the huskies stood across from me, tail high, front slightly bowed.

  He snarled, flashing me his sharp teeth. His ribs showed through the thick layer of fur. He’d been starved to bones and flesh.

  The dog’s ears perked, and his growling grew louder. He was going to attack, I felt it in my bones.

  My gaze darted from the dog to the blade. My knuckles had paled around the handle, that’s how tight I held it. I wouldn’t use it though. I would never hurt an innocent animal. I only had to find a way to calm him down, to assure him I was neither his enemy nor his prey.

  “It’s okay,” I told him, rooted to the spot. “I want to go home, too.” And I was hungry as well. A slice of dry bread with water over the course of a whole day was worse than the soup the nuns had fed us.