Torrid (Sordid 2)

“How are you today?” he asked casually, strolling toward me.

I stiffened and backed away, abandoning my task. “I’m fine. I’ve just finished.”

When I tried to go around the far side of the desk and avoid him, he switched directions. “So, you have a few free minutes now?”

It hurt to breathe, and I sucked in shallow sips of air. “No, sorry.”

“Come on. Don’t be like that.” He put his hands on my hips, one then the other, and pulled me up against him. I hated his touch so much, it burned. It scorched against my skin like a hot iron. His face was right in front of mine and his thick breath was stifling, using up all the air I wanted.

With his hands on me, I couldn’t run. I had to fight instead, and my voice was full of warning. “Ilia, stop. You’re not allowed to touch me.”

There were weapons stashed all over the office. I’d cleaned this room every week for the last year, and knew the hiding places. There was a loaded gun Konstantine had showed me how to use hidden behind the books on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. A knife beneath the center couch cushion.

“I can’t help myself,” Ilia said. “I can’t stay away.”

He buried his face in the side of my neck. Shivers of disgust rolled down my spine as he sucked and licked. I put my hands on his chest and pushed as hard as I could, but he was so much bigger. I was a fly, barely of notice to a bear.

“No,” I said, loud and angry. How many times had I said it to him before? How many more times would I have to say it, and would it ever mean anything to him? “My father gave you an order.”

“He won’t care. We both know he doesn’t give a shit about you. Hell, if I asked, he’d probably give you to me.”

Horror flooded along my skin. I knew in my heart what he was saying was true. “Konstantine—”

“You think I’m afraid of your brother? I’m your father’s right hand. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

His hand snaked up my shirt, searching for my breast. No more. This will stop. I couldn’t tolerate his touch another fucking second, and slapped him across the face so hard, my palm stung. He grinned his sick, cruel smile. He seemed to enjoy it when I fought back.

“You fucking bitch,” he said, throwing me against the side of the desk. My knee cracked painfully against the solid wood. An angry sneer streaked across his face as he began to undo his belt buckle. “Now you’re going to get it.”

My knee ached, but I dashed around the desk, narrowly avoiding his grasp. I tore at the books on the bottom bookshelf, flinging them aside. My mind went blank with panic as I grabbed the gun. It was cold and dangerous in my hand. I wheeled around, aiming at his chest, and Ilia pulled to a stop.

He blinked, staring at the barrel. His reaction was pure disbelief.

The corner of his mouth lifted hesitantly.

His lips tugged slowly upward into that same sickening smile. Was this how he’d look as he raped me? He’d never stop until he had.

The gun was heavy and rattled in my trembling grip. I could read his thoughts in his eyes. He didn’t believe I’d use it on him. I was just a stupid girl, bluffing. Neither my threat or the chamber of the gun were empty.

“Oksana.” He said my name in a demeaning tone and took a step toward me—

The kick on the gun was almost as surprising as the puff of red mist and fabric fibers exploding outward from his chest. He groaned a sharp sound, stumbled forward, and landed on his hands and knees. As blood began to drip from the hole I’d put in him, splattering onto the hardwood, I didn’t feel horror or regret.

I felt absolutely nothing.

Empty.

The only thought running through my mind was I had just cleaned the floor this morning.

1

NOW

Vasilije

Aleksandar bounced his knee as he stared out the rain-soaked window, and the noise got on my fucking nerves. Why was he so twitchy? This was the third meet and greet we’d done. I sat beside him in the back seat of a Lexus SUV and thought about making him stop by pressing the barrel of my Glock to his kneecap.

Not that I’d shoot him.

I mean, this Lexus just came into the dealership yesterday.

“Alek,” I barked.

His knee stopped vibrating, his head swung to look at me, and I got a view of his stupid face. His forehead was too big and flat, and his eyes were small.

“What?” he asked. His leg went back at it, jackhammering his heel against the floorboard. Could he not hear how fucking irritating he was? I glared down at the offending leg, and it slowed to a stop. “Sorry. I had a Red Bull right after you called.”