Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

Once I’ve rearranged a few things, I have the whole morning to myself. Whistling softly under my breath, I take the hunting knife out of my desk and unsheathe it, turning it in the light. It’s as finely honed as it was during its last adventure with Georgios.

I can hear him grunting and struggling as soon as I step out of the elevator. My footsteps echo loudly down the corridor, announcing my arrival.

“How did you find me? What are you doing? Let me go.”

I watch him struggling like a fish on the line. I’ve got nothing to say to him. For years I struggled to make peace with what he and Lucan did to Nataša—and my father’s hand in her demise—but peace is as easily shattered as glass. I’d rather have revenge than peace. It’s more permanent.

I wonder if Mikhail should be here for this, as he was for our father’s death. This is a Ravnikar killing, to avenge a Ravnikar. The only one who loved all of us. The only one who wouldn’t be pitted against this parent or that brother. The only one who was innocent.

I use Georgios like a human punching bag, landing blows where they’ll hurt the most. His guts, his face, his nuts. I cut my knuckles on his teeth, earning me more scars and making me bleed. But he bleeds more. He cries out for mercy, but his cries echo uselessly around this concrete chamber.

I pause to catch my breath, and Georgios is weeping. With all the blood in his face it looks as if they’re tears of blood.

“I’m sorry, Damir. I was weak and greedy, and I—”

I don’t want to fucking hear it. I backhand him viciously across the face.

Georgios’ head snaps to one side, and then he spits on the ground, breathing hard. “You fucking asshole. You know what it’s like to have an overbearing father who—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” I lunge for the knife with a growl of rage, ready to silence him permanently. As I unsheathe the blade, my phone rings. I snatch it up. “What?”

The cool female voice of the receptionist speaks into my ear. “Mr. Ravnikar. There’s a Miss Alders at the front desk to see you.”

Instantly, my senses sharpen. I look at the knife in my hand and then at Georgios. “What does she want?”

“To give you something, by the looks of it.”

A cold smile breaks across my face. Perfect. “Send her down. Basement level five.”

So, Ciara Alders has the temerity to bring me money when she should be begging for mercy. I glance at Georgios. “You’re about to meet someone I hate almost as much as you, old friend.”

He doesn’t hear me. He’s passed out. I punch him a few more times for luck.

I meet Ciara out in the corridor, and her eyes go wide at the sight of me. “Miss Alders. What perfect timing.”

She follows me into the room, and I wake Georgios up by pouring a bottle of water over his face.

He takes a gasping breath, and his eyes flutter open. “Kiss my ass, you son of a—”

Fast and clean, I grasp him by the hair and slit his throat. No preamble. I don’t want Ciara to have time to steel herself against the sight. My shirt is splattered as Georgios severed arteries spurt all over the place. The scent of blood fills the air.

Ciara bends double and throws up on the ground. I shake my head. Pathetic. Bethany might have gasped or shrunk back because she’s not quite used to my ways yet, but she wouldn’t have fallen apart. Not until I got my tongue between her legs, anyway.

Sighing, I step forward, grab Ciara’s hair and wrench her upright. Her eyes go so wide that there’s white all around the edges.

“Did you know that some girls don’t throw up when they see violence? They get turned on. Some of them get so wet it soaks right through their clothes.”

The look of disgust on her face makes me hate her even more. Suddenly I want nothing but to get her out of my sight. I let go of her and give her a vicious shove. “I like those girls better.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she totters out of the room. I pick up the pencil case full of money she left behind and open it. Five thousand, five hundred pounds. All in crisp one hundred-pound notes. Where the fuck is she getting this money?

I don’t want her to pay me back. I want her to suffer. I want her to lay at my feet and beg me for mercy.

I lie awake in the middle of the night, furious at the thought that she’ll somehow get the better of me. Someone must be helping her, and when I find out who that someone is, I’m going to crush them, and then I’m going to crush her.

A few days later, Ciara Alders is back with a second payment. She gives it to the receptionist, who passes it onto me the next time I come through the lobby. I stare at the envelope in my hand like I’m holding rotten fish.

“Did I do something wrong, Mr. Ravnikar?” the receptionist asks, fear tinging her voice.