Page 33 of Viper’s Reign

I log into my student portal and navigate to the graduation application form. My final clinical marks won’t be processed for another two weeks or so, but I can still file this now and have one less thing hanging over my head.

The act of filling it out, though, makes my throat close.

It’s another milestone without Millie.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to myself, ready to sob. I can’t believe I tried to get out of this nightmare just to spare someone else. And a man at that. I should have my girl card removed immediately. Along with my best-friend card. And all sorts of other cards. “I’ll make it up to you,” I swear, a little louder this time. I’ll end a thousand men if I have to.

Shaking my head, I try to snap myself out of the self-pity party and think sensibly.

Really, what’s my problem? Oh no, I have to kill a billionaire, and I might have to let the gorgeous bastard fuck me senseless a few times before I do. That’s literally the fantasy of every woman in my generation. And I’m complaining?

Get a grip, girl.

With a semipermanent pout, I trudge through the form, and when I’m finally done, I spend the rest of the day drifting aimlessly from one room to the next, unable to stay still. By the time I check the clock again, it’s almost time to meet Dimitri—and a fresh wave of panic hits me.

Clothes.

Shit. I have nothing decent to wear. And I used the last of my money on graduation fees, so I can’t even go shopping.

God, I can’t do anything right.

I chew on my lip, regret pressing in. I shouldn’t have stopped my shifts at Dr. Lenz’s consultation room—that’s where I made my real money. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back. Not with everything going on. That place is where this all started. It doesn’t feel the same anymore. Nothing does.

I dig through my closet again, pushing hangers aside over and over, hyperaware of how fast the minutes are slipping away. I need to meet Dimitri—or rather, his driver—in less than an hour.

In the end, I settle on a pair of slacks and a black top. Nothing fancy, but it’ll have to do. I keep my makeup light, enough to look put together without trying too hard, and then I’m out the door before I can talk myself out of it.

Nerves coil in my stomach as I make my way to the subway. The city blurs around me, my heartbeat picking up the closer I get to the meeting spot. I step off at 42nd Street and move with the crowd spilling onto the platform, elbows sticking out to create a little space around me.

At the curb, a black Audi idles, windows dark enough to hide whoever’s inside. I hesitate beside it, unsure, but then the driver’s door opens and an older man in a dark suit steps out, looking directly at me.

“Miss Holmer?”

I blink, thrown for a second—then I remember. I am Laura Holmer. Shit, I almost forgot. I force a polite smile and nod, playing along as he opens the back door. “Thank you,” I murmur, sliding into the car.

“You’re late.”

The familiar, husky voice sends my heart tripping over itself. I glance across the dim interior and find Dimitri sitting back, eyes locked on me.

I stare at him, my pulse thudding in my throat, caught off guard. For some reason, I didn’t expect him to be here. I thought his driver would pick me up and take me to him.

Apparently not.

My brain short-circuits as I take him in. His eyes are impossibly blue, threaded with striking swirls of green, and his dark hair looks artfully tousled. His jacket is gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a stretch of bronzed skin marked with shadows of dark ink. He has no right to be that attractive, damn him.

He cocks a brow at me. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I-I didn’t know you’d be in the car,” I manage, my next deep inhale drawing his mouthwatering scent into my nostrils. He taps the panel at his side without breaking eye contact, and the partition between us and the driver rises, sealing us into our own private space.

“Keep looking at me like that, and you’ll find yourself thoroughly… occupied for the remainder of this drive. Would you like that?” His voice lowers, turning to silk, and the image his words conjure makes my core throb with fierce need.

“Yes, you would.” He smirks knowingly, then shifts on the leather seats until he’s right next to me, close enough that the heat of him wraps around my body.

His hand lifts, his middle finger tracing from my temple, down my cheek and onto my lips, the touch leaving a slow, burning trail behind.

“You would like that very much. Admit it.” He drags his finger over my lips, smearing my lipstick, and my eyes flutter shut. The car spins around me.

He’s too magnetic, too hot, too sensual—too much.