Chapter 1 #4
“Okay, I think we’re done here,” I chastise, but give her a smile so she knows I’m not actually mad.
More than anything I’m distracted.
By thoughts of my boss… because what are the chances that Chris is right? What else would explain why he let me walk out of his office today, knowing I’ve stolen from him?
No one steals from Konstantin Martynov.
Which means he’s brainstorming a new level of punishment for me, or Chris is right, and he has a soft spot for me.
Forty-five minutes later, I step into my apartment and wobble a bit.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, kicking off the heels that betrayed me this morning.
My apartment is small and dark except for a little lamp throwing amber light across the living room. I love how homey and calm it makes me feel immediately and start to undo the zipper of my pencil skirt, which it now feels like I’m going to burst out of.
Just in crossing the room I manage to peel off most of my clothes, leaving me in only the silk panties and matching bra I slipped into this morning. Going into the kitchen, I rummage around for girl dinner—pretty much whatever I can find, since it’s already after 7 p.m.
Leaning against the kitchen counter to eat cold cuts and crackers, I’m reminded once again of Konstantin bending me over his desk.
Mr. Martynov.
Ugh, I can’t start thinking of him by his first name—I’m pretty sure if I slip and call him “Konstantin” to his face it’ll be just as bad as the missing $50K.
Only that money isn’t missing.
It’s Sal’s now.
With a groan, I drop my head onto the counter. “What am I going to do?” I whisper.
Somehow, I’ve found myself stuck between two criminal organizations. It’s so ridiculous that I laugh, and then immediately tear up, because if Nana could see me now—I can already imagine the disappointment on her face.
I did it for you. I just wanted you to be comfortable in those last few months.
Banishing the guilt, I open the refrigerator again and find an old bottle of Riesling. Old enough that when I take a swig, it’s sour-vinegary and overpowering. But tonight, I don’t want to think about Nana and how she struggled at the end.
I don’t want to think about the possibility of my own ending, possibly at the hands of my murderous boss.
Frustrated, tipsy, and angry at the world, I march over to my purse and dig around for my cellphone.
This is a bad decision.
Snorting, I ignore the voice of reason in the back of my head and scroll down to a number I’ve never texted before. The contact’s name is: Last Resort.
A warning.
This is Konstantin Martynov’s direct number, only to be used if we are ever caught by his rivals. Threatened. Tortured.
A way to let him know they’re coming for him.
The funny thing is, most people in Martynov’s organization have this number.
But every single one of them are too afraid to use it for anything other than… a last resort.
Finger hovering over Last Resort, I lick my lips. It feels like my body is a kettle that’s been boiling all day, and I need to blow off steam.
Before I can open a new text message, a notification flashes at the top of the screen.
It’s a message from Sal.
What the hell did you do, piccolo idiota?
Little idiot. That’s his newest nickname for me.
Refusing to respond, I instead tap on Last Resort and type out a quick, angry message, fueled by wine, anger, fear—and the warmth that’s still pooling between my thighs at the thought of Konstantin standing over me.
If you’re going to threaten to debauch me, the least you could do is follow through. Maybe you’re too busy running a global empire to satisfy a woman.
My nipples pebble in the cool air of the apartment as I hit send, and then grow bolder:
I guess I’ll just have to take care of it myself.
Sliding the phone across the counter, I slip my hand beneath the silk panties and find my throbbing clit easily. As soon as my fingers graze it, I whimper; a sound mirroring the one I made in Konstantin’s office with his erection pressed against my ass.
Eyes closed, I let the fantasy play out beyond the guard’s interruption:
‘I’m going to make you pay me back, one way or another.’
What would he have done next? Yanked up my skirt and spanked me until my skin was red and raw?
Undone his zipper and fisted himself, rubbing his hard length between my folds?
‘You’ll tell me who made you do this.‘
Trying to mimic the way I want him to touch me, I let out another frustrated whimper; my slim fingers are no match for Konstantin Martynov’s large hands and rough touch. But after a day of feeling on edge, turned on, and in danger, the wine is all I need to loosen up just enough…
‘Whether I have to get it out of you in a scream or a moan.’
The orgasm washes over me hard, a ripple from my center to the hard peaks of my nipples, shudders running through me with my legs spread and the sloppy sounds of my desire filling the little apartment as I ride it out on my fingers.
It takes a moment to catch my breath.
Across the counter, my phone lights up.
Sal has probably heard from someone about the incident in the Spire. I know he has a mole inside, someone other than me, but I haven’t been able to figure out why. Either way, he’ll be pissed that I’m on Martynov’s radar now.
Sighing, I tap the screen.
The notification is from Chrissy asking if I got back okay, since we took separate cabs. I start to type back, but then see the three little dots on another text thread—
The message to Last Resort.
The dirty, pushy, snappy challenge I sent to my boss only minutes ago. I brace myself for his response, but there isn’t one.
The three little dots disappear.
Under my message is the small phrase Read 7:45 p.m.
Fuck.
With a man like Konstantin Martynov, silence is a death sentence.