Chapter 8
LUKA
The sight of her walking away from me, that silk dress clinging to every curve I've claimed, makes my cock twitch again.
I'm not finished with her yet. That body is mine—every inch of it.
Knowing I'm the first and only man to touch her makes me fucking feral.
The thought of her beneath me, around me, crying out my name. .. It's an addiction I can't shake.
But business calls.
I follow Mark down the hall to my office, my mind still half-focused on the taste of Cindy's skin, the sound of her moans echoing off the walls. When we reach my office, Mark closes the door behind us, and his expression turns grim.
"What's the problem?" I ask, moving behind my desk and pouring myself three fingers of vodka.
"Charles Tremaine has been making calls from his business line," Mark says, pulling out a tablet. "We've been monitoring his work and personal communications since you took the girl. He's reached out to the Kozlov family three times in the past week."
I freeze, the glass halfway to my lips. "The Kozlovs."
"Gets worse. Anna Tremaine—the daughter you saw tonight—has been sleeping with Adrian Kozlov for months. Our sources say she's been feeding him information about her father's debts and his business operations."
The vodka burns as it goes down, but it's nothing compared to the cold fury building in my chest. I set the glass down carefully, my mind racing through the implications.
Anna was at the dinner tonight, draped all over Adrian like a fucking trophy. She saw Cindy with me. Saw how I reacted to her, how protective I became. And now I'm wondering if Cindy's phone call yesterday was as innocent as I thought.
"When was the last contact?" I ask.
"Today. Right after you left for dinner."
I curse under my breath. The timing is too convenient. Cindy makes her call, gets caught, and suddenly her father is reaching out to my rivals? Either it's a coincidence or I've been played by a woman who looked at me with those deep blue eyes and lied through her teeth.
"There's more," Mark continues, and I can tell from his tone that I'm not going to like what comes next. "Yuri Kozlov—Adrian's uncle—approached me at the dinner. In the hallway. He wants to make an offer for the girl."
My hand tightens around the glass. "What kind of offer?"
"Five million. Cash. He says she'd make a perfect addition to their roster of entertainment."
The glass shatters in my grip, vodka and blood mixing as shards bite into my palm. The idea of those animals touching her, using her, makes me want to burn down half of Miami.
"Sir?" Mark steps forward, concerned.
I wave him off, grabbing a towel to wrap around my bleeding hand. "Set up a meeting with the Tremaines. All of them. Tomorrow night."
"At their shop?"
"No. Neutral ground. The warehouse on Fifth Street." I flex my injured hand, welcoming the pain. It helps me focus. "They've caused enough trouble. Time to clean up this mess once and for all."
Mark nods and heads for the door, but I stop him before he can leave.
"And Mark? Double security around the compound. Especially around Leo and Cindy. If the Kozlovs think they can use either of them as leverage..."
After he leaves, I pour another drink and walk to the window overlooking the pool area. The water glows blue in the darkness, peaceful and serene. Nothing like the storm brewing in my chest.
I trusted her. Against every instinct, every lesson learned in blood and betrayal, I let myself believe Cindy was different. That she wasn't like everyone else who'd tried to use me, manipulate me, or sell me out for the right price.
But the evidence is mounting. Her phone call. Her father's sudden contact with my enemies. The way she played her role so perfectly tonight. She charmed everyone she met. Maybe she's a better actress than I gave her credit for.
The thought of her in my bed right now, warm and soft and waiting, makes my chest tighten with something I don't want to examine too closely. Part of me wants to go to her, to lose myself in her body again and pretend none of this matters.
The other part wants to drag her out of bed and demand the truth.
I know I was the first man inside her.
That cannot be faked.
Why? Why was she a virgin?
Women her age are not virgins. She’s beautiful with a body that would make any man fall to his knees.
Was Charles always planning to sell her off to the highest bidder?
I need to understand that relationship. He isn’t her biological father. What would she do to protect him?
The compound is quiet; most of my men are either on patrol or grabbing a few hours of sleep before the morning shift. My footsteps are silent as I make my way to my bedroom.
She's there, just as I ordered. Curled up in the center of my king-size bed like she belongs there. Like she's always belonged there.
The sheet has slipped, revealing the curve of her hip and the indent of her waist. Her skin still carries faint marks from my hands—evidence of how desperately I held her earlier.
She's naked beneath that sheet. Vulnerable.
Trusting me even after I threatened her, accused her—nearly broke her in that hallway.
My chest constricts at the sight. She looks young like this. Too young for my world, too soft for what's coming. One arm is flung above her head, her breathing deep and even. No nightmares tonight. No fear.
She feels safe with me.
The irony tastes like poison. Here I stand, planning to violate that trust in the smallest way—a tracker no bigger than a grain of rice. Here she sleeps, believing the danger comes from outside these walls, not from the man whose bed she warms.
Do it, the paranoid part of my brain insists. Before you're too far gone to protect yourself.
But I'm already too far gone. The moment I let her read to Leo, let her into our lives, I crossed a line I can't uncross.
She looks younger like this. Vulnerable. The sharp edges of her personality softened by sleep. It's hard to believe this woman could be playing such a dangerous game.
But then I remember Anna's smug smile tonight. Charles's panicked voice on that phone call. The Kozlovs are circling like sharks who have caught the scent of blood in the water.
I've made too many enemies to survive by being naive. And flaunting Cindy tonight, showing her off like a prize I claimed, might have been the biggest mistake of my life. Every man in that room saw her. Wanted her.
And now they know exactly how to get to me.
The smart thing would be to end this now. Send her back to her family, and wash my hands of the whole situation. Let the Tremaines deal with their own debts and their own consequences.
But the thought of letting her go didn’t sit well with me. Losing her makes something dark and possessive uncurl in my chest.
She's mine now.
The first woman to make me feel anything other than cold calculation in years. The first person besides Leo who makes me want to be something other than a monster.
I'm not giving her up. Not to the Kozlovs, not to anyone.
Tomorrow I'll get answers from the Tremaines. I'll find out exactly what game they're playing and how deep Cindy is involved. And then I'll decide what to do with the woman who's either the best thing that's ever happened to me or the one who's going to destroy everything I've built.
But tonight, she's still mine.
The small gold necklace at her throat catches the light—a simple chain with a locket that she never removes. She mentioned once that it belonged to her mother. The only thing she has left of the woman who died when Cindy was a child.
I stand frozen, watching her breathe. The Tremaines' sudden contact with the Kozlovs. Her phone call yesterday—too perfectly timed. Either she's the most talented actress I've ever encountered, or she's exactly what she appears to be: a woman caught in circumstances beyond her control.
I can't afford to be wrong. Not with Leo in the house. Not with the Kozlovs circling like sharks.
The tracker is in my hand before I fully decide. Smaller than a pill, it will tell me the truth her words cannot. If she runs to them, I'll know. If she stays, if she proves herself... then maybe this thing burning in my chest isn't the weakness that will destroy us all.
Forgive me, I think, though I'm not sure if I'm asking her or myself.
It's smaller than a pill, undetectable unless you know what you're looking for. I've used dozens of them over the years to keep tabs on assets, enemies, and the occasional lover who couldn't be trusted.
I approach the bed carefully. Even in sleep, Cindy has good instincts. I've seen her wake at the slightest sound, instantly alert like someone who learned early that safety was never guaranteed.
My fingers work the tiny clasp of her necklace. She shifts slightly, murmuring something I can't make out, but doesn't wake. I slip the tracker inside the locket's hollow backing. It’s so small she'll never notice the added weight.
The clasp closes with the faintest click.
If she's lying, she'll disappear. If not, she stays in my bed.
Simple as that.
She stirs as I settle the necklace back against her throat, her eyelashes fluttering open.
"What happened?" she whispers, her voice husky.
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, tasting the salt of her skin. "Nichego, malen'kaya lgunia," I murmur against her temple. Sweet dreams, little liar.
She frowns slightly at the Russian words but doesn't ask for a translation.
I strip off my clothes and slide into bed beside her, pulling her warm body against my chest. She fits perfectly in the curve of my arm, her head finding that hollow between my shoulder and collarbone like she belongs there.
"Sleep," I tell her, my fingers threading through her dark hair.
She's already drifting off again, trusting enough to let me hold her even after everything that's happened between us. The irony isn't lost on me. She sleeps peacefully in the arms of a man who just violated that trust in the smallest, most necessary way.
My chest tightens as she burrows closer, seeking warmth. If she's the leak, if she's feeding information to my enemies... The thought trails off because I can't complete it. Not while she's soft and trusting in my arms. Not while Leo calls her 'Mommy' in his sleep.
If she betrays us, I'll do what needs to be done. But tonight, God help me, I'm praying the tracker proves what my gut already knows—that she's ours to keep.
The thought should disturb me more than it does. Instead, it terrifies me how much I want it to be true.
If tomorrow brings proof of her betrayal, I want to remember this moment when she was simply mine.