Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
"You better not," I say softly, teasing. I straddle his lap and slide my hands over the breadth of his hard chest. It’s not this part of him that’s injured. I lean in and kiss him, but only briefly. He hates to be late. I hate to be told what to do.
I press my palm against his hard erection as his hands lace around the back of my neck, a warning. I trace the line of his cock, my pussy wet and needy. I slide back and bend, touching my mouth to the head of his cock. “You sure we don’t have time?” I ask in a mewl. “I want you, Semyon.”
I can’t help but giggle at his guttural curse as he fists my hair and yanks my head up.
“Keep doing that, and I’ll come in my fucking pants.” He shakes his head and adjusts his cock. “Hard to concentrate with blue balls. Jesus.”
But instead of pushing me off his lap, he fingers my hardened nipple through the thin fabric of my top. I moan and lean in closer. With a tug, he pulls my top down and palms my breast, his thumb tracing a line over my nipple. My clit throbs.
“There,” he says with a satisfied smirk before his teeth graze my collarbone. “Now we’re even.” He slams his palm across my ass. Lucky me, it was his nondominant arm that was injured. “Now get your ass downstairs. If you make us any later, I’ll take it out on your ass after dinner.”
I cock my head to the side as if contemplating this.
“Anya.” But I’m standing, walking over to the door beside him.
“The sooner I can get to our hostage, the sooner I may have answers about Eli.”
I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry. “I know.”
At the dinner table, Stefan has much to say. He’s eager to tell us about the cookies he made with Zoya, how well he did in school, the new book he's reading, the new level he reached on his game, and the dog he and Zoya want to get.
Rafail growls at the mention of a dog, but Zoya just giggles.
At one point, Stefan is so excited that he reaches across the table and knocks over a glass of milk. Rafail’s stern gaze falls on him, and Stefan blanches, but Semyon calmly rights the glass.
"Pay attention, Stefan. It’s alright; accidents happen, but fewer do if you’re careful.”
Stefan doesn’t seem fazed. I’d have been mortified at his age. I think this kind of environment will be good for him. Zoya ushers him out to change his soaked shirt. “Let’s go get those cream puffs we made earlier.”
"I used to bake with my sister," Stefan says petulantly, glancing at me. "When are we going back to the bakery?"
"Soon," I tell him. "Semyon and I are making some renovations. We’ll be there soon."
Stefan leaves, and Zoya follows hot on his heels.
"We need to talk about what happened," Rafail says quietly. Polina’s eyes flick to mine. Semyon says she feels responsible for what happened because it was at her family estate. She’s not, of course.
“We have a decision to make,” Matvei says, his voice dark and his gaze pinning me in place. “Are we sure everyone here can handle the truth?”
I press my lips into a thin line. He means me. "I think all parties present understand exactly what they need to," I say with a soft smile.
Semyon nods in agreement.
"We scoured the footage," Matvei continues. "The person present in the video we got about Eli’s capture is the one Semyon spotted in the attack, but also the one who got away. It seems he doesn’t like to be anonymous. We’ll know more when we interrogate our hostage.”
“Why are you waiting?” All eyes snap to me.
“The weaker he is, starved and thirsty, the easier it will be to get answers,” Semyon answers quietly.
My stomach lurches.
"Who have we identified?” Rafail asks, his eyes sharp and focused on Matvei.
"They call him The Undertaker," Matvei says. "The son of Keenan McCarthy."
"Son of a bitch," Rafail whispers. "He’s a deadly shot. Infamous.”
I get the distinct feeling there are a lot of things they’re not saying out loud—things that may or may not involve me.
My face feels hot, and something roils in my belly. I think of Eli.
The Undertaker?
"Why would he just show up and pull that shit?" Rodion mutters, shaking his head.
"The Irish want us to know they’re present but not prepared for full-on war," Matvei says. "Not yet, anyway."
"Of course they aren’t," Semyon replies. "We have more allies here than they do."
Rodion drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about. In America, I had drinks with one of the cleaners for the West Coast cartel. He mentioned meeting with the don from the Boston Italian mafia and a few others."