Page 35 of Lord of Pain
I haul myself up the stairs, wincing on each tread as he gives me an out, bantering with the girls and keeping them busy. Showering, I slide my hands down my thighs. I have never been tossed around in someone's arms like that, never been impaledon something so big I was concerned it would pierce a lung. My center still aches and burns, but in the best possible post-orgasmic way, those last tingles refusing to leave.
As I undress for my shower, I look at my breasts in the mirror. They're still red from being treated so harshly, my nipples sore from being tugged. The sharp pain and the shock of Roman slapping my tender breasts made me come.
This is… I never thought about myself like this, adventurous, someone who could mix pain and pleasure to make an orgasm so explosive that I'm still recovering.
Roman is right. We should definitely do this again.
I don't let myself think about the complications this could create. I don't think about the fact that I just had torrid, spectacular sex with a Bratva assassin. Instead, I remember howgoodit felt, the thick, hard slide of him inside me and a tiny orgasm shivers through me again.
Roman…
Violet is glowing. I don't think any woman has ever walked out of Sinful Secrets looking as satiated as Violet does now. A vivid image of tying her up in intricate knots, suspending her from a hook in the bondage room, just the two of us, is making my cock unhelpfully hard again.
I kept busy and out of temptation's way with family business all afternoon, but by midnight I'm heading further downtown. The Chads are not particularly difficult to find. Many extremely wealthy assholes enjoy having people know they live across from Central Park, or on 57th Street. This particular Chad lives in an uninspiring steel and glass skyrise with only perfunctory security. The resident's co-op fees are going to waste.
Picking his front door lock is almost hilariously easy. He's the type of asshole who keeps another house up in Connecticut, commuting there on the weekends so he can go rowing on the Lower Connecticut River. No doubt he's planning on stashing Violet there, keeping her trapped like a hothouse flower so she'll bloom only for him.
This pisses me off so much that I make another trip through the living room, looking for something to destroy. Alexsey is a gifted artist, and he's taught me enough to suspect the Degas painting hanging over the mantel is genuine. It is a tempting target. With a sigh, I put my knife away. Alexsey would never forgive me for desecrating an original.
Maybe I'll carve into The Chad instead.
Making my way to the bedroom, I settle in a chair across from his ridiculously elaborate bed. This asshole sleeps in pajamas. Could he be any more white bread? Royal blue Gucci pajamas, matching his slippers.
There's a heavy silver picture frame on the little table next to me; an image of him and three buddies on - of course - the golf course, posing next to Tiger Woods, preening. The Chads are, at any rate. Tiger Woods wears a look of bleak resignation. Tossing the picture across the room, it slams against his shoulder and he sits up with a pained yelp, looking around the room.
"Oh, good you're awake," I say. Not that I'm shy, but I have my balaclava pulled down over my face because there's no reason to give him a clue as to who's watching over Violet.
"I will cooperate," he says, blank blue eyes watching me. He's surprisingly calm for a civilian who woke up to find a masked intruder in his bedroom. "I don't keep a lot of cash here. I havea couple of watches - good ones - a Louis Vuitton and a vintage Rolex-"
"I don't want your fucking watches." I cut him off, strolling over to the bed, flipping my stiletto to let him see the gleaming, razor-sharp tip as I catch it. "Did you know, Colin, that a blade like this can peel the skin off a man's muscle and bone as cleanly as skinning a rabbit?"
Colin stares at me, expressionless.
I slap him and he puts his hand up to his cheek, shocked, as if no one has ever struck him before. He really needs another one, so I backhand the other side of his face, too.
"Whatdoyou want?" he says, tight-lipped.
Oh, I just need your cooperation," I say, seating myself next to him on the bed, tapping my blade across his cheek. I'm a bit careless because it opens a small gash underneath his jawline and a trickle of blood drips onto his 5,000 count linen sheets. "You've been a predatory prick," I say pleasantly. "Chasing after girls half your age? Now ordinarily, your pathetic midlife crisis is really no concern of mine. In this case, though, you're bothering my client."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he says. "Can you be more specific?"
"This will be your only warning." I trace the stiletto over his neck, watching his pulse thunder in his neck. Such a juicy vein, it would take seconds to sever it. "First, you will leave Violet and her sisters alone. You will not attempt to contact them again. Whatever genuinely fucked-up plan you might've had for matrimony will no longer include them."
"You misunderstand. We look afterfamilyat Pinnacle Ventures –"
"Shut up. Do I look like I'm an investor?" I put my gloved hand around his throat, squeezing the sides of his neck. Not too hard, just enough to make it clear how easy it would be to choke him out in seconds. "You don't get near the Monroe girls again. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
This country-club motherfucker is a wasteland. No expression. No inflection in his tone. Did I hit him too hard with that picture frame?
"Second thing. Where is Jack?"
His brows knit, possibly in genuine confusion. I examine him for a minute before releasing my grip enough to let him pull in a gasping breath. "I don't know," he says. "He got injured during a mugging. He's seeing a specialist in London, I believe."
"You don't know where one of yourseniormanagers is?"
"Jack was in fear for his life. Understandably shaken after his encounter." Colin pulls the sheet up to staunch the blood on his neck. "He took a brief leave of absence to receive medical treatment. I can give you his phone number."
