9. Natasha
9
NATASHA
I t’s more than a little embarrassing that I can’t stop thinking about my night with Killian.
I didn’t get back home until the early hours of the morning, and then I couldn’t fall asleep until well past the time I would normally get up.
But eventually, the exhaustion overtook me, so I slept for the better part of the day.
Now, as I wake from my fitful slumber, I stretch luxuriously. And a pained groan escapes my lips. I’m sore from the number of times Killian and I had sex over the span of one night. Not just because I’m unfamiliar with a man who has so much stamina. I’m actually muscle sore from how thoroughly he worked me out.
We had sex more times—and in more positions—than I imagined possible.
And damn him. The images of our entwined bodies rise to the front of my mind as soon as I wake. Now that I’ve had some time to process what happened, I can’t deny I’m attracted to the Irishman—even if he’s over a decade older than me. I know I shouldn’t be. My family would be appalled if they knew the deal I struck with him.
Which is why I haven’t breathed a word of it to anybody.
I did tell Papa that I failed my mission, though—and that was hard enough to confess.
I never fail, and definitely not in such a massively humiliating fashion.
But no matter how many times I run last night through my mind, I can’t think of any other alternative. Not unless I was ready to die.
Which I’m not.
Not until I watch the life drain from Killian King’s eyes.
And I promised myself—and my father—that I would go back tonight to finish the job. Which I fully intend to do. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find Killian. He’s a threat to our family’s survival. So he has to die.
Fighting the feeling of lead sinking in my stomach, I roll out of bed to the obnoxious protests of my muscles. I take a moment to stretch, loosening them up one by one until the tension eases from my shoulders.
And I roll them as I make my way to my bathroom.
I didn’t bother to undo my braid before I fell into bed this morning. And I do so now, finger-combing my tangled locks as I eye my reflection. My lips are swollen from Killian’s poisonous kisses, my cheeks flushed despite the hours since I felt his lips on my skin.
My eyes drop to the thin necklace of bruises around my throat, and butterflies erupt in my stomach when I think of not his hand choking the life from me but the way he brushed his lips across the tender skin—like he wished he could wash away the damage he’d done.
A shiver runs up my spine as my mind fights to remove the dangerous thought before it can take root. Killian might have touched me in a way that could make me believe he cared. But it would be suicide to give the Irish brute a stronger sense of humanity than he deserves.
I’ve put myself at enough risk hoping he’ll keep my identity a secret.
I’m still not sure I should trust him with something so important, which is why I need to kill him. Tonight.
Climbing into the shower, I turn the water on hot and let the steam build to relax my muscles. I wash my hair and scrub every inch of my body, washing away Killian’s strangely appealing scent.
A glance into my bedroom tells me it’s getting dark by the time I’m done in the shower. So I weave my damp hair back into a simple French braid, brush a layer of coverup over my throat to hide the bruises, and head down to dinner with my mom and sister.
Papa will be out late tonight—it’s poker night, so I won’t see him until the morning. And I know that after the past few weeks we’ve had, he needs a night off from thinking about Killian King and his antics.
Hopefully, by breakfast tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to deliver the good news that the Irish mafia boss will be out of our hair. Permanently.
Though I wouldn’t mind keeping his scent around a little longer.
The traitorous thought slips into my head, making me stop dead in my tracks on my way to the dining room, and I bite my lip as I silently scold myself.
You’re better than that, Natasha. Don’t go getting all twitterpated over a man just because he knows how to press all the right buttons…over and over and over again.
Heat radiates through my body, and I take several deep breaths as I force my thoughts to something more innocuous. Like how good it will feel to be out from under Killian King’s thumb.
Although, being under it was far more exhilarating than I ever could have imagined.
Ugh!
“Natasha.”
My sister’s sharp tone makes the heat pool in my cheeks as I wonder if I might have said that last rather lascivious thought out loud.
“Oh hey,” I say, attempting a casual tone.
“Have you been sleeping all day?” she asks, her voice shifting into concern as she catches up to me.
“Um, pretty much. It was a late night,” I admit, willing the heat to dissipate from my flaming face.
“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” She presses a cool palm to my forehead. “You feel like you’re burning up.”
Forcing a nervous laugh, I wave her off. “I’m fine, really. I just took a hot shower.”
“Okay,” she says skeptically, and she loops her arm with mine as she joins me on my way to dinner.
“Papa said you had a harder time getting into the King compound than you thought you would,” she says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye as we walk.
Again, the heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck at the small deception. Sure, breaking in wasn’t a cakewalk, but I did do it. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Papa about the deal I made with Killian, so I intentionally made it sound like I couldn’t get past his guards. As far as our father is aware, I didn’t even get inside the house.
“Yeah,” I say evasively, keeping my eyes on the dining room door to avoid meeting my sister’s gaze.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get him next time. I have faith in you,” she says vehemently.
“Thanks.” I really am lucky to have the family I do.
My sister is so supportive, my father and mother strong, capable parents who have honed me into the woman I’ve become. And though the weight of our empire rests heavily on my shoulders, I couldn’t ask for a better family to have my back.
Tatiana and my mother help take my mind off of last night’s failure as we laugh over dinner and a glass of wine.
After, we move into the living room to relax. And the open space with vaulted ceilings and wall-to-wall windows that look out across the city skyline leaves me in a better mood. Tucking my feet up underneath me, I can finally have a few minutes of quiet without my thoughts turning to Killian and my task ahead of me.
“Mm,” Mama says around her freshly baked cookie, as if suddenly recalling something important. Covering her mouth with three fingers, she chews quickly so she can get to what’s on her mind. “You girls need to pick out dresses for the charity event coming up.”
“Another one?” Tatiana asks, echoing my thoughts. “We just had one.”
“Yes, well, I think it’s important with our businesses doing so well that we take time to give back,” Mama insists. “This one’s a new one I just finalized.”
“What’s it for?” I ask, plucking my own cookie off the plate on our white marble coffee table.
“Bringing clean water to Africa.” She beams, her high cheekbones rising in a way that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“It’s a good thing we have a saint like you for a mother,” Tatiana observes. “It balances out all the violent tendencies we get from Papa.”
I laugh. “I think you mean the tendencies I get from Papa. Who’s ever heard of a pakhan who can’t stand the sight of blood?” I tease good naturedly. But in truth, I’m glad my sister is the one who will take charge when my father steps down. Her aversion to bloodshed will make her a careful leader. She won’t waste lives needlessly.
And with my skill set to back her up, I think we might actually make a pretty powerful succession—regardless of our gender, which men feel the constant need to point out as a weakness. I love that Papa’s never thought so.
“Hey, I can—” Tatiana starts to argue defensively.
But before she can finish her sentence, the elevator doors open, announcing our father’s return. She stops short, and we all turn as one, confused by his early arrival.
And by his thunderous expression, I can guess that something went wrong.
“Boris?” Mama asks in concern, setting her half-eaten cookie aside.
“That bastard! I want him dead! If I were ten years younger, I would wring his damn neck with my own bare hands!” He mimics the motion with his hand, his face turning redder by the second.
“Papa!” I’m honestly stunned by the fit of rage.
I’ve never seen my father lose his temper so completely, and he storms into the living room like a bull in a china shop.
“Who, Boris?” Mama asks, striding over to him and stroking his cheek in an effort to calm him down.
“That damn Irishman, that’s who!”
Heat blossoms in my belly as Killian’s devilish grin rises in my mind’s eye. Those dimples that threaten mischief around every corner. Of course he had to go and rile my father up. It isn’t enough that he spent the entire night fucking my brains out.
Does the trickster god even sleep? Or is that only necessary for us mere mortals?
“What happened?” Tatiana asks cooly, always the voice of reason—no matter the topic in a heated conversation.
“He and his crew of miscreants broke into Depravity tonight and stole our product. All of it! Hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth. And he had the audacity to remind me of his ludicrous marriage proposal before waltzing out the door.” My father’s beard quivers with fury, his lips pressing into a pale line.
“He’s toying with us,” Tatiana observes.
“He’s going to destroy our reputation if he continues to succeed with these antics. Natasha, that Irish devil can’t live to see another day.”
His fierce gray eyes find mine with an intensity that brooks no questions. And my heart flutters nervously as I realize the consequences of failing my mission a second time.
“Yes, Papa,” I say, rising from my chair.
I need to get my head in the game.
And this time, I can’t stop until I’ve killed Killian King.