Killian
THIRTEEN
I’ve been punched in the face more times than I can count. But nothing’s ever hit me like Jhene Prince’s lips on mine.
My brain says stop. My body says… fuck that.
Her soft mouth’s on mine, and every thought I’ve ever had goes straight out the window.
She’s kissed me.
The stubborn, prickly, wallflower with too big glasses and frizzy curls and walls ten fucking feet high has made a move and kissed me.
It’s a shock to the system. So damn unexpected I’m thrown off.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up. One hand finds the slim curve of her waist while the other cradles her face, thumb brushing against the damp trail where her tears were moments ago.
She tastes salty and sweet. Salty from the tears she’s cried. Sweet like sugar from a peach.
She makes a little sound against my mouth that manages to pierce straight through me. It instantly does something to me, activating the part of myself I’ve kept restrained.
I kiss her back with everything I’ve got. Enough to overwhelm most women.
My tongue parts her lips, and I’m unapologetically ravenous as I kiss her deeper. The rhythm’s erratic and desperate and it makes the muscles tense inside my body.
Jhene responds by pressing herself closer. Her fingers slide into my hair and she wraps a leg around me.
I stop thinking altogether.
I lift her easily, one arm hooked under her thighs, and carry her the few steps to the kitchen table. She lands on the edge with a thump. I step between her legs, hands braced on either side of her as I take her lips in another kiss.
Deeper. Hungrier. Just as unapologetic.
My teeth catch her lower lip and gently pull it between mine. Then I’m sucking hard, practically fucking drunk off this girl, and we’ve only kissed.
Her hands explore the planes of my chest, fingers tracing the muscled ridges. She teases me by massaging her tongue against mine, playing hard to get as she quickly retreats.
I grip her thighs, dragging her closer ’til there’s no space left between us. ’Til our bodies are pressed together and she can probably feel the instant hard-on I’ve got.
…then sense knocks back into me, and I realize what the fuck I’m doing.
It’s a thought that splashes over me like a bucket of ice water.
Jhene’s been through hell. Ten years of captivity from the time she was a young girl. She was in the clutches of a monster who treated her like property.
There’s no telling what unspeakable things she’s been through.
Five minutes ago, she was sobbing in my arms about her backpack. About having no control.
Yet here I am, pawing at her on my kitchen table. I’m taking advantage.
I wrench my mouth from hers and take a wide step back. My chest heaves as the blood pumping through my body, straight to my cock, is disorienting.
I’m so damn aroused it’s hard to pull myself out of it.
I bite down on my jaw and grit out, “We shouldn’t do this. We’ve got our wires crossed.”
Jhene runs her tongue over her bottom lip. The subtlest rosy coloring has suffused with her light brown complexion. A vague hint of blush I’ve never seen on her before.
I know the feeling. The back of my neck’s burning hot. I’m like a fucking furnace, I’m so turned on.
“What?” she breathes.
I grab her glasses and hand them back so she can put them on.
“You heard me,” I rasp. “We’ve agreed… we wouldn’t do this.”
“But, Killian—”
“It’s important you stay put,” I cut her off. “I came back to grab more weapons. I didn’t tell you earlier, but we’re making our move against the Raguzins tonight. It’s happening in a few hours.”
Her brown eyes fill with worry from behind her glasses. “Tonight? I thought—”
“This is life or death, Jhene,” I say. “I need to know you’re safe here while I’m out there. Give me your word you’ll stay put.”
A second of hesitation passes where she opens her mouth as if about to argue, then closes it again. Her fingers twist in her lap. The conflict plays across her features. Her desire to push back warring with the fear of what’s to come.
“Okay…” she murmurs, voice small. “I’ll stay.”
“Good.”
I turn toward the door before I can change my mind about leaving. Lines have already been blurred and wires crossed.
We’ve already made things so damn confusing.
It’s for the best we spend a few hours apart. I’ve got important shit to handle.
“Be careful,” she calls at the last second. “Don’t get yourself hurt… please.”
I merely nod then shut and lock the door.
Cian’s in the hall keeping post. I jut my chin at the apartment door.
“Send another buttonman for the fire escape,” I order. “We need to make sure she goes nowhere while I’m gone.”
He pulls out his cell phone. “Sure thing, Kill. I’ll get Brady over.”
I turn and head out of the building, the summer air hitting my face as I head off to battle.
We hit the Vodka Room minutes after midnight.
The pub still has customers. Russian patrons drunk off vodka who we shoot point blank in the head as we barge into the place and open fire.
Anybody hanging around a pub belonging to the Russian mob this time of night deserves what’s coming to them.
A few bouncers rush toward us, but we make quick work of them too. For as loud and obnoxious as Sean can be, he’s a good shot.
He takes them out as I lead a couple others upstairs.
Jhene said if Fedorov or Rurik were here, that’s where they’d be. Rurik specifically spends every night at this establishment except for Sundays.
Exactly why we’ve dropped in on a Wednesday.
We make it to the second floor and put a bullet in another enforcer that goes to shoot at us first. He drops to the ground and we step over his body.
We come up on the door at the end of the hall that Jhene said is the main office. I waste no time kicking it in, my boot slamming against the knob.
The door bangs open, and we find the room empty except for some bald fuck who pops to his feet and yells at us in Russian.
Jhene told us about him too—name’s Koyan, and he’s a longtime friend and associate of Fedorov. So much so he hired him to manage the pub.
“Where’s Rurik?” I demand.
“Idi v zhopu!” he screams. Then he adds, “mudak!”
“Shoot him,” I say simply.
The buttonman to my left rushes to pull the trigger. Koyan goes from loudly cussing at us to flopping to the floor, bleeding out from the chest.
The others that’ve come with me fan out. They’ve got canisters they use to pour gas around the room.
I turn and stride back into the hall.
The pub smells like rotten eggs from the bullets we’ve fired and now like the gas we’re pouring. It’s an unpleasant, potent stench, but it’s also the smell of revenge.
“Kill,” Sean says when I make it back to the ground floor. He jerks his head toward the back half of the pub. “Check this out.”
I follow him to backroom where there’re large kennels set up. Cages made of metal wire big enough to fit an adult human.
All of them are now empty.
Whoever was being kept down here has been moved. Which means Fedorov and his son probably got wind we were coming for them.
But setting sights on the cages takes my mind to Jhene.
She’s never told me specifics. I’ve never pressed for them. But I have heard the news reports—the stories that’ve circulated in the media about the women trapped in cages at the Vodka Room.
Rage thickens inside me imagining her in one of these cages.
These bastards kept her and her sister in them. And probably countless others too.
My hands flex open and shut at my sides. I’d snap these cages in half and still be coursing with rage. Still be lusting for some fucking payback for what they’ve done to her.
“Burn it,” I growl. “All of it. Now.”
Sean and the others make it happen.
We step to the street outside as the Vodka Room goes up in a wave of flames. The windows blow out and the roof caves in as smoke hazes the air. The fire starts to spread to the buildings on either side—a Russian bakery and money exchange that’s a front for more Bratva activities.
Collateral damage. I can’t bring myself to care.
We stand by and watch the carnage ’til it starts to drizzle. Summer rain the weather forecasts predicted but that can’t slow down what we’ve done.
It’s already too late. The Vodka Room and the buildings beside it burn down to the ground.
Sean appears at my side, a savage grin splitting his face. “Hell of a night, Kill.”
“It’s a start,” I reply, my eyes still fixed on the flames. “Fedorov and his son are next.”
The Vodka Room crumbles in on itself, sending a plume of smoke into the rainy sky. Sirens wail from a few miles away, emergency responders finally en route.
We turn to go, leaving the scene in shambles.
This is just the beginning.
It’s well past two in the morning when I finally make it back to the studio. The summer rain’s only picked up, tapping against the side of the building. I’m soaked through, hair damp and plastered to my brow and T-shirt sticking to me like a second skin.
The adrenaline of the night still courses through my veins.
I’m buzzed and probably won’t be getting much sleep tonight. Normally, that’d mean a late-night trip to the Rialto.
But I’ve got someone waiting for me at home.
The studio’s dark except for the distant blur of streetlights in the rain-streaked windows.
I’m only a step inside when I feel a set of eyes on me.
It takes a second longer for my own to adjust to the dark and make out the shape of her.
Jhene’s perched in my bed, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s awake. She’s… been waiting for me.
Our gazes meet in the dark, though neither of us say a word. We let the loud silence stretch on, aided only by the trickle of downpour outside.
I look away, tossing my keys on the kitchen table and sliding out of my boots. A shower’s in order. I’ve got other men’s blood on me (a common occurrence in my world).
Jhene’s watching every move I make. I feel it in the dark. Her eyes tracking me.
“You’re back,” she murmurs finally.
“Told you I would be,” I answer in a tone as low as hers. I peel off my ruined T-shirt and cast it aside. “I’ve told you not to wait up for me.”