Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  I swallowed a breath. Goran had orchestrated the death of Vasilije’s mother?

  Vasilije shifted over me, moving until he was more comfortable and I was better trapped beneath him. “Goran told my father he’d had the bodyguard killed, but instead my uncle offered him a deal. Tell the lie about fucking around with my mother, and he’d get two hundred grand to start over somewhere else.”

  Which the man had obviously taken. Vasilije leaned forward and the tip of his tongue traced the edge of my ear, causing me to shiver. “You found him.”

  “He moved back here to be by his family once he heard my father was gone.”

  Goosebumps broke out on my legs. Vasilije had probably started planning this bodyguard’s death the moment he went looking for him. “How will you do it?”

  “Kill him?” His hot breath rolled down my neck. “My gun. It needs to look like someone broke in.”

  “When?” I asked. I should have felt alarm at the ease we were discussing his plot for murder. His tone was casual and distracted, and he sucked on my neck as if he liked the flavor of my skin.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation, but I tried to focus my thoughts. I was already in deep with Vasilije. I felt like I knew more about him than anyone else. Could I build the bond between us so strong that when he learned the truth, he’d let me live? Strong enough he’d stay by my side?

  Nerves raced in my bloodstream. “Let me come with you.”

  His body solidified and the lips on my neck ceased. “You want to, what? Help me?” His tone was so dubious, it bordered on anger.

  “No.” I had zero desire to take part, and it wasn’t my place. “What you’re talking about doing is personal.”

  “Then, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I can stay in the car.”

  He pulled back and suspicion cast a dark shadow on his face. “Why?”

  “So you can tell me every detail when you’re done. I don’t want to wait until you get home later. I want to see you right after.”

  His smile was a mouthful of fangs. He acted like what I’d said was easily the best thing he’d ever heard. “You say shit like that and it makes me want to fuck you again.” In a heartbeat, he had his hand under my dress and his fingers stirred between my legs.

  I choked on air. I was so sore, just the idea of his fingers sliding inside me made me ache. I glanced away and put my hand on his wrist. He’d said if I told him to stop, he would, but I was nervous he wouldn’t hold to his word.

  “No,” I whispered.

  His eyes burned with wicked amusement. “Okay.” His cold hand slithered away. “You can tag along. But be prepared. Your evil little mind turns me on. I might not take off my bloodstained clothes to fuck you on the drive home tomorrow. You’d probably get off on that, wouldn’t you?”

  I had absolutely no answer.

  ♪

  Thanksgiving morning, Vasilije slept in. I’d eaten breakfast and was seated at the piano composing when he came downstairs, shirtless and his hair askew. I jotted a few chords down in the notebook and played them, but wondered if I had the right key for the whole piece. My gaze drifted from the paper to watch the boy in the kitchen.

  My muse.

  I smirked at the thought. Wouldn’t he just love it if I called him that?

  Items were pulled from the fridge and stacked noisily on the counter. Bell peppers. Mushrooms. Green onions. Cheese. A carton of eggs. He went to a cupboard, retrieved a bowl, and then drew a large knife from the butcher’s block, the sharp edge gleaming.

  I watched as he chopped the vegetables and tossed them in the bowl. He moved efficiently and with precision. I didn’t expect him to be good with a knife. It was an intimate weapon—one you had to be close to use.

  I also didn’t expect Vasilije to know how to cook, but he clearly did.

  A skillet was put on the stove, the gas turned on, and he dropped a pat of butter into the pan before cracking eggs into another bowl. He didn’t look up as he whisked them. “Are you going to fucking stare at me while I eat, too?”

  “You can cook?” I asked.

  He cast an annoyed look at me over the top of the piano. “I can do a lot of things, Oksana. You want an omelet?”

  I was glad I was sitting down because shock overwhelmed me. “You’re making me breakfast?”

  “I’ve already got everything out.”

  “You don’t seem like a guy who cooks for a girl after he fucks her.”

  He sneered. “You’re right. I don’t.” Had I just . . . offended him? He closed the carton of eggs and put it back in the fridge.

  I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t like mushrooms.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re fucking weird.” He poured the eggs into the heated pan.

  I’d already eaten, but watching him cook made me hungry. I rose from the piano and drifted closer, my gaze fixated on the guy who seemed to command the kitchen as well as he did my body. He lifted the skillet off the heat and flipped the omelet over in the pan with a clean jerk.

  My mouth hung open, and Vasilije’s eyebrow arrowed up. “Whitney taught me how to cook,” he explained.

  Anger sliced down through my chest. Who was that? An ex-girlfriend?

  I didn’t understand my instant reaction. I couldn’t be jealous. It wasn’t even possible. My tone had a too-bright edge as I overcompensated. “Who’s Whitney?”

  “My chef. She does all the shopping for the week. If you want something, you can tell her tomorrow when she’s here.”

  “Oh.” That couldn’t be relief in my system, because I wasn’t jealous. My gaze fell to his hands, and I watched him slide the omelet onto a plate, folding the egg perfectly onto itself. “That looks good.”

  He set his hands on the counter. “If I made you one without mushrooms, will you pick at it like a fucking bird, or will you actually eat?”

  I turned, opened the fridge, and pulled the carton of eggs out. “I’ll do my best.”

  He didn’t smile, but I could see he was pleased. I watched him craft my omelet with the same technique, and eagerly took the plate when it was passed to me. It tasted great.

  We stood at the counter and ate, all while morning sunlight glowed from the windows. It was too bright and warm in the house to talk about what was going to happen tonight, so we stayed silent. In addition to cooking like a man who’d been trained by a chef, he cleaned like one, too. I put the produce away while he handled the dishes, and when it was done, he set his hands on the low-hanging waistband of his sweatpants.

  “Upstairs,” he said, flicking his gaze upward. “You can show me how thankful you are for breakfast while we’re in my shower.”

  I nodded slowly, accepting whatever he wanted. Part of me didn’t mind. There might have been a sliver of me that was looking forward to it. We took pleasure from each other.

  I climbed the steps, went down the hall, and into his bedroom, listening to his footsteps as he followed me. The bed was unmade and the lumpy comforter was pushed to one side. I’d lost my virginity in that bed, but it looked . . . like any other bed.

  His bathroom sink was messy, dotted with whiskers from where he’d trimmed and maintained his scruff. I didn’t wait for his order to do so, and began to tug off my clothes as he started the water running. It was still awkward being naked around him, but I was smart enough to know it gave me an advantage.

  Vasilije froze with the shower door halfway open and gaped at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  His eyes weren’t on mine, and I followed his gaze down to the red-purple blotches on my chest. He stared at the marks with fascination. His marks. I quirked an eyebrow. You think that’s something? Wait until you see this.

  I tugged off the jeans and underwear, and turned around to show him his handiwork.

  “Puši kurac,” he said under his breath.

  When I’d gotten dressed this morning, I’d stared in the mirror at the beautiful variet
y of marks covering my ass. A perfect handprint in purply-blue could be made out on one side.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked. His voice was unsteady.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly when I’m sitting on the bench.”

  Because the piano seat was lacquered wood with no cushion. Since I was stark naked, I turned back around to face him, and Vasilije slowly came back to life. He undid the string holding his pants up and they flooded to the floor, making him as naked as I was. His eyes heated as they noted every mark he’d given me.

  “When we’re done here,” he said, ushering me toward the shower, “you’ll play me what you have.”

  I locked up halfway across the door frame. “What? No, it’s not ready.”

  When it was clear I wasn’t going to move, he shoved me inside the tiled area that was almost large enough to call a room. I breathed in the heavy, thick steam and stepped out of the way of the falling water.

  “I don’t care,” he said flatly, coming in behind me.

  “I told you it might take a while for me to—”

  He pressed his palm into the center of my chest, right between my breasts, and walked me backward until the cold, wet tile was against my back. His eyes were unforgiving. “I didn’t say it has to be done, but you’ll play it for me. I get to hear it today, got it?”

  I felt sick to my stomach. I liked what I had so far, but it wasn’t much. It barely scratched the surface of the man looming over me. When I didn’t answer, he took it as confirmation. He stepped back into the water, letting it pour down his bulky frame, and he pushed the wet hair out of his eyes.

  “Good,” he said. “Get on your knees.”

  27

  Vasilije

  David Garvin’s house shared a driveway with two other homes, but not any walls, thank fuck. According to the real estate listing last year, it had a finished basement. That was where I’d need to pull the trigger to keep this shit quiet.

  Oksana and I sat in the back seat of the Lexus, with John behind the wheel, and all our gazes went beyond the windshield to the top of the hill, where the back of David’s house was visible through the trees. The lights had gone off over an hour ago, but I was cautious. It’d be easier to persuade with my gun if he was asleep and unarmed when I got to him.

  She’d been jittery on the car ride over, and now drummed her fingers on the leather.

  “Stop,” I said, covering her hand with mine. “I don’t like useless noise.”

  The hand was just like the woman it was attached to. Soft, delicate, and warm.

  I’d come in her mouth in the shower this morning, while the water poured down on us and her wet hair was coiled around my fists. I figured she needed a break from the fucking. Didn’t want to wear out my new favorite toy so soon.

  After she’d swallowed, she’d gasped as I’d shoved her back to sit on the ledge in the shower, and the sound echoed off the glass. I’d crouched down, put one knee near the drain, and slung her legs over my shoulders. Listening to her compose a symphony of sex as I worked her over with my tongue sounded amazing. Her cries of need, and those moans of pleasure? I could listen to that shit all day.

  Oksana exploded with a loud cry, shuddering while my tongue was massaging her and her fingers scratched at the tile. The wet ends of her hair dripped onto her heaving chest and gorgeous tits. I’d almost told her she’d be showering with me from now on, but realized I’d never fucking get anything done. The girl and her delicious pussy were distracting.

  “I’m going,” I announced to everyone in the car, including myself. I wasn’t scared, but not super comfortable either. I’d done as much research and planning as possible, but there were a lot of unknowns in the house on the hill.

  Her hand shifted, turning until she could wrap her fingers around mine and squeeze. Her blue eyes looked nervous. Who would have thought this Russian girl would be worried about me? And that I’d like it?

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  It was weird as hell, the need to kiss her, but I gave in to it. If I was about to walk into that house and not walk out, who fucking cared if I kissed her? I planted my lips on hers and slipped my tongue deep in her mouth, kissing her in a way she’d never forget me.

  She swayed at the end of it, disoriented.

  I turned to John. “If I’m not out in an hour, text Aleksandar and tell him where I am. You take Oksana back to my house and call Luka.”

  John nodded.

  “Don’t take an hour.” Her voice was tight as she tried for a stern tone. “I don’t want to wait that long to hear about it.”

  I flashed her a full grin. Bringing her along instead of Alek wasn’t too smart, but it was way more fun. I pushed open the car door and got out.

  There was no ID on me, other than my phone, which would be tough to unlock. My clothes were dark and utilitarian. I only carried two tools, a lock pick and my Glock. No under-arm holster tonight. I needed concealment and went for a rear waistband one, hidden beneath my black shirt. It’d be slower to draw, but hopefully I wouldn’t need to pull in a hurry.

  Dry leaves crunched under my boots as I hustled up the hill, sticking close to the trees and ducking under branches. It was overcast tonight, making it unlikely anyone would see me. My lungs were tight in the cold air and I wanted to cough, but I held it in until the sensation passed. I made it to the back patio door and listened for any sounds from beyond the glass.

  There was a sign in the front yard announcing the home was protected by a security system, only my PI said it was bullshit. The house might have been wired at one time, but the company didn’t have an account for this address on file. I put my gloved hand on the sliding door, curious. Might as well see if he’d been dumb enough to leave it unlocked, and save myself the trip to the front door and the time it’d take to pick.

  The door slid open and I shook my head in disbelief.

  It was noisy as hell, and I opened it just enough so I could slither through. The kitchen was dark. No dogs came rushing at me. No men waited with guns in their hands. I dragged the door closed and surveyed the room. Dirty dishes with half-eaten dinners were stacked on the counter beside empty beer bottles.

  I unholstered the Glock and set off in search of David.

  The depressing house wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long. He was asleep in the bedroom to the left of the kitchen, snoring away with his mouth hanging open. I stepped around the piles of clothes and carefully searched for his piece. David might not have security monitoring his home, but he’d been my uncle’s bodyguard for years. His security would be a gun or two within reach of the bed.

  There was one hidden under the metal frame. I slipped it quietly out of the holster and jammed it in the back of my jeans. I didn’t find a gun under the pillow on the far side of the bed, which meant he might have the second one beneath his fat head. If he did, I’d shoot him before he could go for it.

  He was in his mid-fifties, and it looked like he’d let himself go over the last twenty years. Fuck, he was a hairy bastard. Maybe after I woke him up, I’d make him put on a shirt. I didn’t like looking at the forest of curls that covered most of him.

  I set the barrel of my gun an inch from his forehead. “Hey, fuckface. Wake up.”

  David jerked awake. His sleepy eyes focused on the gun and immediately went alert.

  “Hands where I can see them,” I said. “Right, fucking, now.”

  He probably thought about going for the gun beneath the mattress, but his split-second calculation was run and he figured it wasn’t going to work out in his favor. He cautiously raised his hands.

  “Sit up. Slowly,” I ordered.

  His anxious eyes didn’t stray from mine. “I don’t keep money in the house. You picked a bad guy to rob, kid.”

  My finger ached to pull the trigger, but the rest of me was strong. Get him downstairs first. He didn’t recognize me, and why would he? I’d been five years old the last time I’d seen him. “If I was going to rob you, why the fuck would I wake
you up?”

  He drew in a deep breath. Yeah, it was sinking in now.

  When his eyes shifted away, I chuckled. “Thinking about going for the gun under the bed? Because, surprise. I found it.” I enjoyed the grimace that rolled through David’s expression. “On your feet. Let’s take a walk.”

  He was wearing a pair of blue boxers, and thank God for that. I didn’t need to see any more of him. “Where are we going?” he asked as he came to his feet.

  “Downstairs.”

  His shoulders pulled back. “Why?”

  “Because I love the smell of mold. Fucking move.”

  I’d explored the whole place as a precaution, and had made sure the only thing that could kill me in the basement—outside of David—was the musty rot in the walls. He went down the steps at a snail’s pace, probably stalling for time, or hoping I’d slip up and get too close so he could take a gun off me.

  My impulse control had improved over the last year. I understood when to be patient.

  “What’s this about?” he asked when he reached the bottom of the steps. “Who do you work for?”

  It was both the truth and a lie. “Goran Markovic.”

  He hadn’t been afraid when he’d woken with a gun in his face, but he was scared shitless now.

  “What the fuck?” His face turned an ugly shade of purple. “I did what he told me and kept my mouth shut.”

  I flicked the tip of my gun toward the center of the room, then aimed it back at him. I’d prefer not to get anything on myself when I pulled the trigger.

  David’s agitation ramped up. “Why’d he send you? There’s no mess to clean up here. Dimitrije died last—”

  “No mess?” Anger was a thick knot in my throat, choking me. “What you did ruined people’s lives.”

  He looked guilty, but visibly swallowed it back. “If I hadn’t done it, Goran would have killed me and found someone else.”

  I knew it was true, but it didn’t matter. “You think that excuse is going to save you?”

  He began to shake. Not so much a tremble in fear, but with frustration. Like he knew this day was coming. “Look, kid, I didn’t want to do it, just like I’m sure you don’t want to do this.”