30
Vasilije sat on the bed and played on his phone while I carried the box into his bathroom and changed. It wasn’t just a black bra and panties, it was also thigh-high stockings and a garter belt. I was as careful as possible while sliding the silky stockings on, determined not to get a run in them. Would he punish me if I did? I put on the garter belt next, and hooked the straps to the lacy band near the top of each thigh.
The underwear and bra were similar to the white ones I had. The sheer mesh and lace obscured just enough, only teasing nudity. When I was finally dressed, I gazed at my reflection and watched a flush color my face.
It was amazing what a few scraps of lace could do. I was confident when I walked out into the bedroom, Vasilije was going to like what he saw. I grabbed a tube of the new bright red lipstick he’d bought me and smeared it on. The blue undertone of my pale skin made the color even more dramatic. I combed my fingers through my blonde hair, fluffing it out, and sauntered into the bedroom.
“Puši kurac,” he said.
His heavy gaze etched over the skimpy bits of fabric covering me, and I half expected drool to leak out of one side of his mouth. He stood and ran a hand over his crotch, massaging himself through his jeans. “Stay here.”
He left, only to return moments later with my black heels, which he thrust at me.
“What does that mean? The Serbian you said?” I asked as I stepped into the shoes, completing the look.
He smirked. “Suck my dick.”
I blinked.
Slowly, I knelt, folding one knee and then the other as I reached for the button of his jeans, but he swung his hips away.
“It’s an expression, not an order.” He scooped a hand under my arm and tugged me to my feet. “We’ll get to that, don’t worry, but I want to take pictures first.”
“Do you have any space left on your phone?” He’d taken a lot of pictures last night.
He rewarded me with a swat on my ass, and I was sure it left a perfect red impression of his hand. I bit my bottom lip. Wearing the lingerie turned me on, and his aggressive touch was the foreplay I desired.
His photoshoot didn’t last long. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself, and when he kissed me, his erection dug low against my belly.
“Pull your panties to the side,” he commanded, stepping back and pointing the phone at me. I darted my fingers to the crotch of my underwear and tugged it aside, and when he made a noise of approval, it sent a current of desire thrumming through me.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said. It wasn’t an act. The raw need in my voice was real.
“Do you?” he mocked. “Just a second and I will.” He looked down at the phone in his hand, scrolling through the screens. “I want to make sure Petrov gets this first.”
His words cast me into a pool of ice, and I strangled it out. “What?”
Vasilije’s expression was devious. “I’m in a giving mood.”
“You’re sending those pictures to Sergey Petrov?” I didn’t feel shame about most things, but even this was beyond my limit. The man was my father.
“No.” He said it like I was ridiculous. “They’re going to the other Petrov, Konstantine. The shithead who was staring at you, remember?”
“Ahuyet!” I reached for the phone to stop him. “You can’t.”
Vasilije drew back with surprise. “What do you care? You’ll never see him again.”
Panic was whirring so loud in my mind, it was deafening. “You can’t know that.”
When I scrambled for his phone a second time, he stepped away and distrust clouded in his eyes. “I do, because he’ll be dead by the end of the week.”
“What?”
“The Russians pushed my uncle too far. He gave the order last night. The Russians want to control us, but instead? They’re getting war.” Vasilije acted like he was talking about a simple thing. “I’ll give him a few dirty pics and send him out with a bang.”
I latched my hands onto his forearm, half needing him for support. I was shaking with fear for my brother as my mind raced. “No. Vasilije, no. Please.”
“What the hell?” Confusion ate at his expression.
I closed my eyes and dry swallowed, unable to see any other way out of my situation. “You have to stop this. You can’t kill Konstantine.”
“Why the fuck not? The Russians are—”
“He’s my brother.”
The statement hung, suspended in time while Vasilije processed it.
I felt a connection to him, stronger and more real than I thought possible. Did he feel any of it, or would he kill me now that I’d shattered the trust?
Finally, he gave me a dubious look. “I’ve seen Konstantine’s sister, and you aren’t her.”
I knew my next statement could be the nail in my coffin, but said it anyway. “Tatiana is my half-sister. Konstantine is my half-brother.”
Doubt washed away and left a hard look in its place. I could see him trying to put it together in his head. He was looking for a way to connect me to the family without going through my father, but I needed to get the whole truth out.
“When my mother died, I was sent to Sergey Petrov.” My voice cracked with stress. “My father.”
Had I broken him? Vasilije simply stared at me. He didn’t seem to be breathing.
The room grew colder than Siberian winter.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, but he was lying. I watched his gaze flit to the dresser drawer where we both knew his gun was stored, and pain stabbed at the hole where my heart was supposed to be. He was considering murdering me. “If Sergey had another daughter,” he said, “I’d know.”
I shook my head. “No one knows. It’d be an embarrassment to my family, especially my stepmother, if it got out. I’m sorry I lied to you, but—”
He sneered. “I don’t believe you.”
“—most of what I said is true. I hate my father. I’m not the enemy, Vasilije. I’m your ally.”
He moved so fast, it wasn’t until the sharp pain of his fingers dug into my waist that it registered he was touching me. He was right in my face. His eyes were dark and furious, and all I could see. They threatened to incinerate me. “I. Don’t. Believe. You.”
I gasped from the pain. Usually I liked it when he was rough, but this was different. It wasn’t sexual. He wasn’t doing it to bring on pleasure. This was pure, raw anger. Punishment.
“Please, just listen. We can help each other. I want to kill him,” I bit out. “But I don’t know how to and not end up dead.”
He picked me up and flung me down on the bed, so hard my teeth snapped together and I cried out. I scrambled backward on the mattress, and—
Oh, God. He stomped to the dresser, yanked the drawer open so hard it went off the slides, and withdrew his gun. “And what the fuck do you think I’m going to do now that I know you’re—” he visibly struggled to get it out, “—a fucking Petrov?”
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer I had. “My father deserves to die, and maybe I do, too, but not Konstantine. My father sent me here to plant listening devices, knowing you’d kill me if I got caught. His own fucking daughter. I’m nothing to him. An expendable pawn, just like those men at the warehouse.” I spoke even and measured for emphasis. “Just like Ivan.”
At the mention of the man who’d murdered Addison’s family, the barrel of the gun came up, and I died a little. He pointed the gun at me like I was a stranger. That wasn’t fair. Perhaps he thought everything I’d said was a lie, and now I was a stranger.
“Please, wait a minute,” I pleaded. “Konstantine saved my life. He was the one who pulled Ilia Volkov off me.”
The name pinged recognition, and it wasn’t surprising. Ilia was sure to have been on the Serbians’ watch list. “Jesus Christ! You killed Volkov? They said it was an accident.”
“No, it was me, and I’d do it again. But Konstantine . . . He convinced our father that what I’d done was justified. I’m still alive because of him, so, please.” Under the steady aim of the gun, I climbed onto my knees. “Please. You can’t kill him.” I shook so hard, it was a miracle I didn’t come apart. “You can kill me instead,” I whispered, “as long as you take my father out first.”
“I don’t give a fuck about what you want.”
Like the first night I’d come here, it was too hard to look at him, and I tore my gaze away. I blinked back the burning sensation in my eyes while I stared at the sheets beneath me. The only sound was my labored breathing and the roaring pulse in my ears.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Some goddamn answers,” he barked. “The night at the warehouse . . . Tell me how you knew I’d pick you.”
I swallowed so hard it was audible. I was about to sign someone’s death warrant. “If you didn’t, Aleksandar would have.”
A slew of Serbian came out of his mouth, and without understanding the words, it was so sharp and laced with anger, I felt little barbs cutting my flesh. In my peripheral vision, I sensed the movement. Vasilije had taken a step closer, bringing his gun closer to my head.
“He was in on it?”
“My father used Aleksandar’s gambling debt as leverage.”
“Motherfucker!” More Serbian rolled from him. More imaginary barbs sliced into my skin, leaving me exposed and raw. All my planning had led up to this moment, and as I felt Vasilije slipping away, I realized how fucking stupid I’d been. I should have just killed my father when I had the chance. I was going to die anyway, but at least that way I would have had my revenge.
“You weren’t scared last time I held a gun on you,” he snarled.
I closed my eyes. “Because you might actually use it tonight.”
“You’re goddamn right. Look at me.”
I flinched at the cold metal when he pressed it against my temple, and forced myself to drag my gaze up his body. When our eyes met, I couldn’t hold back the cry of anguish. I wasn’t so much sad for myself as I was for the loss of what we had. It was so fucked up.
His tone mocked me. “Why are you crying when you told me you don’t have feelings? Or was it just another lie?”
“Almost everything was real. I am the daughter of an opera singer from Kazan. I killed a man who put his hands on me when I didn’t want him to, and after it, I wrote the dark song I’ve only played for you.”
The barrel traced a line down the side of my face, skimming along my neck. My skin felt warm and irritated in its wake.
My voice threatened to fail, but I kept going. “You’ve done what I want to. My father’s evil. When I told him what Ilia was doing to me, he didn’t believe me. Or maybe he didn’t care to. Either way, his indifference was betrayal. It was worse than Ilia’s touch. Sergey Petrov could die a hundred times and I’m still not sure it’d be enough.”
Vasilije kept his gaze on mine as the gun’s path carved lower. It crossed over my collarbone, moving deliberately to the skin covering my heart.
“You’re the only person who knows what I want,” I said. “Who really knows me.”
The barrel pressed uncomfortably against my heavy chest. It forced the words from me.
“You’re the only guy I’ve been with.” I gulped down a breath. “The only man I’ve let inside my body, and inside my head.”
His eyes flared with perverse lust, and the tip of the gun shifted course. It followed the edge of the lacy bra, kissing my trembling skin and dipping down between my breasts. The air swirled around us, charged with sex and danger. It flowed like a current, bringing on unwanted waves of tingling across my flesh, and causing me to break out in goosebumps.
My nipples tightened into knots. A muscle clenched low in my belly as he continued to drag the hard steel down the center of my stomach. His pupils dilated and his breathing picked up. Holding this kind of power over me was probably the ultimate turn-on for him, just as it was for the submissive side of me. It was sick, but we were sick together.
“You’re the only one,” I said, “allowed to touch me.”
As if he needed validation, his free hand shot out and snaked behind my neck. He tugged me on my knees closer to the edge of the bed and pressed the gun between my legs. The cold seeped in through the lace, but the contact was both painful and pleasurable on my heated skin.
His gaze went to my mouth and watched as my lips fell open. For a moment, he seemed to consider kissing me, but drew back as he thought better of it. “I’m not going to kiss your lying fucking mouth.”
The gun moved, and the slide massaged my swollen clit, drawing a soft moan. His broad shoulders lifted in a deep breath, and he didn’t stop me as I laced my fingers together behind his neck and set my forehead against his.
“You want to punish me?” I should have felt weak, but instead I found strength. “Go ahead, Vasilije. I’m yours. I’m your motherfucking property. You can do whatever you want.”