Page 27 of Wicked Mafia Beast
Her eyes dip to my mouth and then to the bowties pinning my collar closed. “I don’t even know your name.” Her lips part and I watch as she licks the plumpness of her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
“Konstantin Vetrov. I am usually the brother who grants wishes that end with bodies buried in cement.”
She begins to relax in my hold. There’s no doubt she feels my arousal. Not with the blush working over her cheeks.
And then she says the damndest thing.
“Sorry my wish isn’t that kind of wish, but I think we can still manage to get you some bodies to bury.”
My lips peel back in a wolfish grin. “Da, ??????. Da.”
Six
Onyx
I’ve got a big problem.
The SUV rolls to a stop outside of a building that looks like a corpse.
The brick is old and blackened by decades of Chicago soot, crumbling at the edges where the mortar has given up the fight. Every window is dark, not just unlit but aggressively black, like someone painted them over to keep the world from seeing what happens inside.
Some days–no, every day–I wish I were the submissive type. I would have slid under the radar easier in the past and tonight I wouldn't have a fight ahead of me. Because as sure as I am sitting here, if the man beside me drags me into that building, I’m raising hell.
I’m the spitting image of my mother inside and out according to my piece-of-shit uncle and lousy father. I’ve paid handsomely for it and it looks like I am about to pay some more.
“This looks like the kind of place where bodies disappear, not where someone like you calls home-sweet-home.”
A snort from the driver. "She figured that out fast."
Kon's jaw tightens, but there's something like amusement in his voice when he answers. "The bodies are in the basement. The loft is quite comfortable."
Is he joking? He's joking, right? Great job, Onyx. Really stellar survival instincts. Out of the auction and straight into the slaughterhouse.
I stare up at it through the SUV's tinted glass and wonder if I've made a catastrophic miscalculation. Then again, what choice did I have? Stay on that auction block and get sold to some Saudi prince with a taste for virgins? Nah. I'll take my chances with the Russian beast who bought me instead.
Low bar, but here we are.
Kon's tuxedo jacket is still wrapped around my shoulders, the silk lining warm against my bare arms. Without thinking, I pull the lapel closer to my nose and breathe in. Sandalwood and smoke and a darker undercurrent of something that makes my stomach do a weird flip I'm absolutely not going to examine right now.
Stop sniffing the mobster's jacket, Onyx. Get a grip.
The driver says something to the man beside me and they both exchange a look through the rearview mirror.
“What did he say?”
“My cousin says you have good instinct and that the second we are underground you’re going to try and run.”
“He’s right on both accounts.”
Not really, but that’s only because at the moment I feel I’m better off with the devil I don't know rather than the one who sold me. Once those scales flip, I’m outta here.
Vetrov shifts his weight and pins me to the seat with a daring look, “I don’t recommend running,” he deadpans and fuck. That was creepy.
In the rearview mirror, the driver’s pale gray eyes flick toward me and then he hits a button. Doors swing open and the driver pulls the SUV into an underground garage. Fluorescent lights flicker to life overhead to reveal a large underground parking.
I take in my new surroundings, hitting on all the points that always stand out to me like how many assholes do I have to fight to get out of here and where are the keys kept?
But I spot neither of those things right off the bat. In fact, there’s no added security that I can see as far as hired muscle. My father and his brother have teams of men everywhere.
