strikhedonia
(n.) the pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it.”
RONAN
I sat in the library behind my desk, an unlit cigar in hand. I refrained from smoking it because my brother occupied the couch with a sleeping Kat. They were always welcome, uninvited or not, but I found myself irritated by the timing.
Silence held steady in the room with his cool eyes on mine. I knew he had something to say, and I knew what it would be about, but still, I waited.
“There’s a naked girl tied to your guest room bed.”
My muscles tightened, revolting against the idea he saw her naked—an odd reaction considering I’d never minded sharing women before, not with my brother or anyone else. But I forced myself to lean back in my chair and say, “She’s my pet.”
I assumed the uncomfortable feeling originated from the fact I was the one who caught Mila. I put all the work in. I didn’t want anyone else to see her misery. It was mine.
“Your pet looks like a Mikhailov.”
“That’s because she is.”
“Her papa didn’t give in to your demands?”
I trimmed the end of the cigar with my cutter. “He did.”
He watched me with those inquisitive eyes. Christian—or rather, Kristian as I knew him—had always been able to see more than he should. It was annoying as fuck.
“So why is she still tied to your bed?”
My gaze narrowed. “She’s my pet.”
He looked away from me, obviously seeing everything he needed to. “You’d better make the trade.”
Aggravation lit in my chest, but I kept my voice indifferent. “I don’t tell you how to do your fancy desk job, so don’t tell me how to do mine.”
I was surprised Alexei had conceded so quickly.
And I didn’t like being surprised.
Though something else—something visceral, violent—swept through me at the thought of giving Mila up before I got what I wanted from her. I had a better idea: Prolong Alexei’s suffering by holding onto his precious daughter for a while. If this was like-for-like, I’d send her mutilated body back to him. But I didn’t want to mar her skin. I wanted her naked underneath me, her nails in my back, while I saw how many times I could make her come. The need raged inside me, hot and unrelenting. I was sure once I had it, this obsession would subside.
Then I could have my cake and eat it too.
“She has a hickey on the inside of her thigh,” Kristian mentioned casually.
My gaze could kill a lesser man. I should have rolled Mila into a nun’s habit instead of leaving her naked, though even if I had, my brother would still come away with provoking observations. I was now regretting his open invitation.
“Normal people have normal hobbies,” I said. “Why don’t you find one that doesn’t include dissecting everyone around you?”
A smile played in his eyes. “You’re twice as fucked up as I am.”
“The fact you find the idea of me going down on a woman more concerning than her being my prisoner tells a different story.”
“I just find the former a bit out of character. And interesting.”
“You find infomercials interesting, so forgive me if your curiosity about my sex life doesn’t hold much weight.”
I could count how many times I’d given oral on one hand. All of those encounters happened when I was a young, horny teenager; when I couldn’t stop myself from eating the pussy spread out in front of me. But once I’d gotten familiar with it, the desire waned beneath the cold, childhood memory of seeing the sexual act through a cracked closet door—including my mother’s day job as a whore and the sick perversions she and her clients forced upon my brother. I could only blame almost going down on Mila on the fact seeing her naked, tied up, and at my mercy really fucking turned me on.
Gianna slipped into the room and moved to her suitcase near the couch. My gaze followed her movements as she grabbed something from the chaotic pile of clothes inside. She glanced at me. My expression darkened, telling her if she was clothing my little captive, I would teach her daughter every Russian curse word I knew. And between living on the streets and prison, I knew a few.
She glared and disappeared out the door.
“Your wife better not be freeing my collateral,” I said, biting my cigar between my teeth.
“It’s not like she’ll get far.”
Eighty acres of remote land surrounded the house. It was a four-hour walk under the best conditions. Even if Mila managed the snowy jaunt before I could catch her, I’d have all five-thousand men in my arsenal on her tail. She’d never make it out of Russia.
My brother worked for the corrupt director of the FBI and could probably find Alexei if I asked him to. Then we would be done with this whole charade. But this was my fight, not his.
“How’s the one-pussy life treating you?” I drawled.
His gaze hardened.
A smile touched my lips. He was so touchy about his little wife. He was never exactly a sharer before her, but now all locker-room talk was completely off the table. He didn’t even seem to give a shit a woman had him by the balls. I never thought I’d see the day. Our mother had fucked all of the love right out of us—figuratively at least. Although . . . the analogy hit so close to home, dark amusement rose in me.
“I haven’t exactly heard of any of your recent exploits lately,” he said. “Well, except for the teenager in your bed.”
I tapped my cigar on my desk, holding his gaze. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for Nadia Smirnova?”
When we were younger, I was the sidekick standing next to my brother’s ridiculous face. I always had to put in a little effort with women, but it only made me excel at the chase. It’d taken fifteen minutes to fuck opera singer and spank-bank legend Nadia Smirnova facedown on my desk a year ago. She was easy and up for anything, though her jealousy was becoming more trouble than she was worth.
“Nadia likes to be slapped around when she comes. It’s starting to kill the mood.”
“Charming.”
I chuckled.
His eyes settled on the claw marks on my neck. “It seems you haven’t tamed your pet yet.”
I rocked back in my chair. “Good things come in time.”
He stood, lifting Kat in his arms. “Your revenge is in your hands.” He stopped in front of the door and turned to me. “I’d advise you to take it and stop playing with your food before it bites back.”
I held in my response. It had to do with assuring him I wouldn’t eat my pet—at least in the way he suggested—and saying that would just give him more ammo to use against me.
“We’ll find another place to stay since it seems your guest room is occupied.”
“I have ten more. Take your pick.”
“Not sure the environment will be very family friendly.”
“I think it’s futile to shelter Kat. She probably has multiple plans of demise for her brother soon to be born.” It was a joke, but I did think she would reduce her sibling to the status of her slave.
Kristian didn’t think it was funny.
“How long are you staying?” I asked.
“A few weeks. Gianna wants to spend some time here before the baby comes.”
As soon as he left, I lit up, inhaled deeply, and kicked my feet up on my desk.
I didn’t expect Mila to fight me. I didn’t expect to lose my shit once she was naked either. There was just so fucking much of her. So much to touch, to play with. Her long legs and smooth, unblemished skin. Her newfound hatred and flashing eyes. I wanted to watch them go soft again when I finally pushed deep inside her.
My thoughts were interrupted by Viktor appearing in the doorway. The communist hammer and sickle tattoo on his shaved head caught the light. He got it in prison with a contraband sewing needle and burned rubber from his boot heel. I had more than a few souvenirs from the time I spent in the overcrowded cells of Butyrka. Ink and alliances included.
“Nikolay has become a problem again,” he told me in Russian.
The vor of mine had always made a sufficient amount from tax evasion and a used car dealership—or, more accurately, the brothel in the basement.
“He was arrested for pimping out a twelve-year-old girl.”
I bit down on my cigar, a lash of heat licking at my chest. Truthfully, I hated the prostitution business. I wouldn’t touch the industry with a ten-foot pole if I thought I could banish it from the streets of Moscow altogether. Even God couldn’t accomplish that, so I might as well capitalize on it.
But pedophiles . . . I loathed them most of all. Blood-stained sheets, cloying cologne, and the clang of coins on a grimy folding table. In prison, they were forcibly marked with a mermaid tattoo—that is, if they stayed out of my sight long enough to be inked before I beat them to death with my bare hands.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Viktor told me the name of a holding cell, one that employed multiple police officers in my pocket.
“Send Nikolay’s wife a sympathy card,” I said.
Viktor left without a word. Nikolay would be found hanged in his jail cell come morning.
I exhaled a smoke ring, eyeing the fake heart-shaped earring on my desk. My little vegan didn’t wear fur or diamonds. Her soft heart was unanticipated given her last name, but she also hid a fire beneath.
I wanted to see how hot that fire burned.
And then I wanted to put it out.
I wanted Mila, but I wanted her willingly. Her tears unnerved me. Even the shocked expression in her eyes after I gave her a light slap to the face didn’t settle right. Nadia would have been on her knees at my feet faster than I could blink, not giving me a look like I’d just strangled a baby humpback.
Apparently, I wouldn’t be able to slap this girl into submission, which made things a little more complicated. Especially because I couldn’t stand her apologies. They made me remember she was an innocent in all this. They made me feel like I had a conscience, and that wouldn’t do at all.
After last night, it seemed I couldn’t trust myself with her—not with her claw marks on my neck and the hot awareness of where she had the nerve to bite me. I’d leave her be for a few days, let the fire subside.
In the meantime . . .
Ivan rolled through my mind while I blew out a white cloud of smoke. A whisper of tension tightened in my body.
I wanted to find the man who had dibs on my pet when I was finished with her.
