Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SLOANE
He found me.
Hope floods my system at the knowledge that there’s no way he’ll let me go home with anyone else.
Minutes crawl by while I stand under the lights, every second stretching thin, my body locked tight as I wait for it to be over.
When the man in the blue mask calls two million, my vision tilts. I wait for Kirill to bid higher. I need him to. But he doesn’t lift his paddle. Instead, his hand slides into his jacket.
“I warned you,” he says.
The room freezes around his words. Even the music seems farther away, like it’s muffled.
Right before the gun goes off. The sound splits the room and goes straight through me. I jerk back on instinct, feet skidding, and my stomach drops as the man collapses.
For a second, my mind won’t accept it, even as the blood spreads and the man lies there without moving. My stomach lurches, my skin going cold all at once, like my body is trying to pull away from what my eyes are forcing me to see.
He’s…he’s dead.
Oh my God. Kirill just killed someone. In front of everybody. Without a second of hesitation or regret.
My eyes go to his while he stands there talking to another man, gun at his side, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.
What have you done? Who are you?
The emcee clears his throat, the sound scraping across the room like sandpaper.
“Well…” he says, faltering only once before he forces himself through it. “That was…an unfortunate turn of events. But the auction will continue.”
People are still gasping. Some are cursing. One woman stumbles to her feet and rushes for the door. Two men in black masks move in, lifting the dead man and dragging him out like all of this is somehow normal.
I still can’t move. My hands are tangled together in front of me so tightly my knuckles throb.
Kirill, though? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and when he moves toward the stage, I back away a step.
“The last bid at one and a half million still stands,” the emcee continues, voice smoothing out as if we haven’t all just watched a man die. “If anyone wishes to raise to two million, now is your chance.”
No paddles lift. No one even moves this time. You could hear a pin drop if not for the muffled bass thumping somewhere beyond these walls, the club outside this tense bubble still pulsing along like nothing happened.
“Very well,” the emcee says. “Going once. Going twice.” He lifts his hand, gesturing toward where Kirill stands. “Sold. To the gentleman right there.”
My legs feel like they’re made of wet paper as Kira appears at my side, materializing out of nowhere.
“Come on.” Her hand clasps around my elbow. “Let’s get you backstage.”
She tries to steer me away just as Kirill steps onto the stage.
“Don’t touch her.”
Three words, and the air changes. His tone is cold enough that I shrink back.
Kira’s hand instantly falls away and she starts to retreat, but both of us already forgot that she exists, unable to look at anything but each other. The weapon is still in his hand, and when he notices my eyes there, he slides it back in its holster like it will change what I just saw him do.
The longer I look at him, the more I come apart, until a cry barrels free.
How did I let myself fall for a criminal? It’s what he is, isn’t it? Unless he just causally murders people for fun, which would also make him a criminal.
God. Who is he?
How deep does this go? Is he one of Barrett’s contacts? Is this how Eli knew about him, about this place, this auction? My stomach twists itself into knots so tight I can barely stand it.
And what happens now? Am I his to do with as he pleases? Will he hurt me?
Did I ever know him at all?
Even still, my fingers ache to touch him, to trace the line of his cheek still half hidden by the mask, to feel his lips on mine.
But it’s the eyes that get me. Sharp, blazing, and locked on me like I’m all that he sees. His chest rises on a harsh inhale, and the muscle in his neck tics like he’s forcing himself not to break apart right here in front of me.
“You’re coming with me.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. His hand closes around mine as he leads me to the back and into the dressing room I used earlier, now empty, before locking the door behind us.
I take a step back on instinct, my pulse hammering so hard I sense it in my throat. The room suddenly seems smaller than it did before, and the man in front of me nothing like the one I thought I knew.
He crosses the room in three strides, his hand closing around my throat, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
“Why?” he asks, and it sounds like it hurts him to say it. “Why did you do this?”
“Kirill…” I manage, my voice shaking.
He lets out a low growl and backs me into the wall, caging me in with his hands on either side of my head. His eyes are wild, searching my face like he’s trying to force the truth out of me.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sloane? Answer me.”
I don’t know what to say. I just stare at him, tears stinging my eyes, trying to give him something real so he understands my desperation without uncovering my deception.
“I needed money.” My mouth goes dry. “A friend told me I could make some here doing this, and I just thought…”
“Why do you need money, Sloane?” he presses, tension pulling tight across his face. “You have a job. You have a place to live. Is something going on I don’t know about?”
My eyes drop, but he tilts my chin back up, his thumb tracing the edge of my bottom lip.
I swallow around the thickness in my throat. “I was living with my sister until we got into a huge fight and she kicked me out of the house.”
His expression hardens. “Where have you been staying?”
“Here and there.”
“That’s not an answer.” His tone cuts sharper. “Tell me before I lose my mind more than you’ve already made me.”
Something in him fractures on the last word, and it pulls at something in me too.
“I’ve been…” Heat creeps up my face. I close my eyes because I can’t stand to watch him see this part of me. “I’ve been living in my car. Sometimes I sleep at the diner.”
His breathing catches, and something breaks across his features before he locks it down again. “Why the hell didn't you tell me?”
“Why would I have to tell you that?” I snap. “We don't know each other like that, and it's not something I tell anyone. My best friend doesn't even know.”
“God damn it, Sloane.” His hand clasps my cheek, and it makes everything hurt, knowing he cares when I don’t deserve it.
“I would have helped you. Don’t you understand that?
I would have done whatever you needed.” His eyes drag over my face like he’s trying to read every bruise I’m not showing.
“Instead, you thought selling yourself to some stranger who would do God knows what to you was the answer?”
Bitterness floods my mouth; I hate every second of what he's saying.
“Maybe it's easy for you to judge me.” I let out a dry laugh, blinking past the tears blurring my vision. “But I have nothing. No money. No education. I barely have clothes, and when you’re starving and scared and alone, desperation makes you do ugly things.” Fighting my emotions, I continue.
“You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.
You don’t know what I’ve had to crawl through just to still be standing here by some miracle. ”
He flinches at the edge in my tone. His hand drifts down my cheek, slower now, like he’s trying to calm me.
“This ends today.” His stare traps me in place.
“Do you understand me?” His knuckles brush along my chin, the touch gentler than the words that follow.
“There's no more living in your car or sleeping in the diner or lying to me about any of it. I own you now, Sloane Maddox, and you will do what I say when I say it.”
I know I shouldn’t like the sound of that, but my body doesn’t seem to care. Heat pools between my thighs, a slow pulse throbbing with every word, with the certainty behind them, the way he says my name like it already belongs to him.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
“You will find out, but for now, let's get you back into your clothes.” He tries to look anywhere but at my naked form, even as his eyes keep dropping to the swell of my breasts. “I’m taking you home. We’ll continue this conversation there.
” He grabs the back of his neck and grumbles something in Russian.
“Blyat, I can’t stand the fact that all those people saw you like this. ”
He groans, grabbing my hip and pushing himself flush against me—and that’s when I feel the swell of his cock, hard and heavy against me.
“God, Sloane, the things I want to do to them for it.”
What do you want to do to me?
The question snakes across my mind, even though he should be the last man I want right now. Still, I can’t help how badly I want him.
“You killed someone.”
“Yes.” A faint curve touches his mouth. “And I would do it again if it meant protecting you.”
I wait for the fear to come. For my stomach to turn. For the image of the man hitting the floor to finally push me away from him. But it doesn’t.
“Are you afraid of me?”
The back of his hand feathers over my breast, fingers pinching my nipple until I moan in pleasure, needing more.
“No,” I whisper, tipping my head back.
Something shifts in his expression at that, darker and heavier. “Then ask me who I am, malenkaya vorovka.”
My thoughts tangle. I don’t want the answer. I’m afraid of it, afraid it will change everything. That whatever this is between us won’t survive hearing it out loud. The small, fragile picture of the family I let myself build in my head already feels like it’s cracking.
“Ask me, Sloane.” He leans closer until his mouth is just before mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Ask me who just saved you.”
My grip tightens around his bicep.
“Who…who are you?” The words barely make it out.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans in, and his lips meet mine for the briefest moment, a barely there kiss that I feel in every part of my soul. I slide my hand into his hair and pull him closer, but with a low growl, he catches my wrist and tips my head back, stopping me.
“Don't do that,” he warns. “I won't be able to restrain myself if you kiss me, and I'm trying really hard to be a gentleman right now.”
I don’t want you to be…
My God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I still want him so badly?
“Are you a criminal?” The question barely makes it out.
His deep chuckle rolls through me. “You could say that.”
“What kind?” My pulse hammers louder.
I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say, but I need to. Maybe this will be the moment it finally sinks in, the moment I understand how far away from him I need to stay.
“Russian Mafia.”
A cold shudder rolls through me.
Oh my God.
I didn’t see that coming, but I probably should have.
Now I’m going to have to steal from him. From the Russian Mafia.
That is, if he doesn’t find out and kill me first.
How the hell am I supposed to break into some safe now that I know who he is?
But what if I stall? What if I make Eli believe I’ll do it long enough to get to Milo and run? If I get that auction money, I could. Half of one and a half million is more than enough to disappear.
“Go get dressed,” Kirill says, and the unease inside me only deepens.
He turns away while I change. When I’m done, he faces me again, and his gaze sweeps over my pencil dress, making me suddenly aware of every inch of my body.
Casually, he slips out of his suit jacket and wraps it around me.
“It’s cold outside,” he says softly against my ear, then kisses my temple like I matter.
The tenderness resonates more than anything else tonight.
And I pray he never finds out that I'm here to betray him.