She was mine.
Mine.
She had always been mine.
From the day I first saw her.
“Violet…” I wanted to worship between her thighs, lick my fill, and come back for seconds as she coated my tongue. “Let go.”
“No.” Her body shook.
“Of everything…” I whispered, gripping her ass with my hands. “Let it all go.”
“I can’t.” She heaved a sob.
I moved to stand, then slowly freed myself and slid my cock between her thighs.
Shit, she was so wet.
“Are you going to—” She squeezed me between her thighs, and it took every single restraint I had to keep from thrusting instead of teasing her, instead of rubbing my length against her.
“Let go,” I said it softer this time.
She reached up and clung to my arms, then came apart all over me, exactly how she should have the first time. Had things been different, I would have taken my time like this, I would have tortured her in the best and worst ways until she felt no pain.
She was silent and then. “I imagined it was him.”
I stilled and whispered back into the darkness, “Until tomorrow night, Violet, I’m sorry for breaking you first…”
“Let me go home.”
“Three more nights.” I sighed. “And at the end, you will see my face.”
“Will I hate you?”
“More than you will ever know.” I taunted her because I knew she wouldn’t commit to me, and I knew once this was done, once she knew.
She would be lost to me forever.
For how could the pure princess, white as snow—end up with the man who took everything from her and then took some more?
“Did you have anything to do with his death?” she asked just as I reached the door, my hand on the handle.
I sighed and looked back; she lay there like the queen she was, fully exposed, chest still rising and falling like she’d run a marathon when I was the one who was hard enough to roof an entire house with only the nails. “You know the answer to that. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. Until tomorrow, Violet.”
“Until tomorrow,” she whispered back.
Chapter Eighteen
Torture wasn’t dying—torture was living. —Valerian Petrov
Ash
I paced the room, back and forth, back and forth. We’d all returned home the night of the accident—all of us but Violet.
I went to my dad first. He had to know what was going on. Only I was waylaid by Phoenix, who gave me a cruel smile and shook his head.
“How are you even still alive after all the shit you’ve pulled?” Not my finest moment, but I was hurting, and I was pissed, and I had nothing fucking left, so why not let the sick bastard kill me?
I was ready for it.
I welcomed it.
Breaker was fucking gone.
Junior and I didn’t talk about it.
Serena was a ghost of herself.
And Violet was somehow married.
This wouldn’t happen unless one of the bosses knew, and I suddenly realized with glaring clarity that Phoenix was most likely that boss.
“You know.” I crossed my arms.
“You should show more respect.” He shrugged and then put a bulky arm around me and led me away from my dad’s office and down the hall.
“How the hell did you even get in?” I said more to myself than anything.
“Oh, I’m the one that saved whatever the hell your mom calls dinner—it had Kale in it. Just call me a pizza delivery boy now.” He grinned.
“You’re not funny, and I hate you at least ninety percent of the time.”
He just nodded. “Honestly, I would be concerned if you didn’t.”
“Well, at least you know.”
“I always knew.” He led me outside, and when we were out of earshot of the house and the dozen suits that guarded it, he spoke. “Violet has a different life now.”
I was quiet and then. “Did she have a choice.”
“No,” he whispered into the darkness. “She didn’t. I guess she could have said no, but at the end of the day, she was owned by the Petrovs the minute she put her life on the line for her family, and there is no getting out of that sort of pact.”
Blood roared in my ears. “The Petrovs!”
“Valerian Petrov, to be exact.” Phoenix sighed. “She’s his now, and once we make it official, of course, he will be the new boss to the Petrov Family, leaving Andrei less stressed about getting killed all the time, and more focused on the Italians as it should be.”
I frowned. “What could she have possibly offered up to the Petrovs of all—” I stared at him, hard. “No, don’t tell me she sold herself to them. Don’t tell me she gave herself over to one of those bastards that are twice her age, ugly as hell, and reek of vodka.”
“He’s not ugly.”
“That’s what you focus on? That he’s not ugly but could be her dad’s age? This is Violet we’re talking about. When she was little, she told her teacher she wanted to be a ladybug when she grew up! The hell, Phoenix!”