Chapter 39 – Ivan #2
Poppy was breathing hard, using her mouth, not her nose. This was where we would see if she could handle such audiences in the underworld.
I sent an unspoken burst of reassurance to her, hoping and praying it was enough.
“You like this piece of cheap jewelry, boss?” Rayko held up the hand. The black twinkle in his eye meant he was enjoying this despite his broken leg.
I was too, as were our other guests. My soldiers shook with mirth.
Poppy shook too. But she wasn’t in on the joke. No, she shivered with fear—and maybe, just maybe, a darker thread of excitement.
“Yes, maybe?” I drawled, rubbing my chin. “It does look good from here.”
Rayko tore the ring off once more and held it out. “Better?”
My face scrunched. “No, not really.”
Howls rang out, ascending to the rafters, the sound more animal than human.
The ring crushed over the swelling digit. This time a scream broke out, since the enforcer gave enough slack to keep the scumbag from passing out.
“Ah, now it’s pretty again,” I sighed. “Maybe I could add it to my vault?”
“I think,” Rayko mused, holding the hand high. “I think that you like it on his finger.”
I snapped my own. “That’s it!”
The crowd cheered in approval. Feet stamped, and thunder boomed as Rayko’s thick blade flashed through the air right on cue.
I gripped Poppy’s hands, squeezing them as my soldier sliced the finger off at the base.
Rayko sauntered over and knelt once more. He held the leaking digit out in his palm.
“Boss.”
I stroked the damp, shivering skin of Poppy’s forearm. “My queen, would you like the token?”
Poppy looked between Rayko and me. Her face was decidedly pale. Those soft, gentle brown eyes were swallowed by the pupils.
“That’s kind of sick,” she wheezed. “This is like a badly rehearsed play.”
My thumb rolled over the three rings on my right hand. “We’ve rehearsed plenty of times.”
Horror washed over Poppy’s face. “Take them off!”
I leaned back. “Really?”
“Yes! Now,” she hissed, grabbing at my hands.
Because I couldn’t refuse this woman anything, I plucked the rings, one by one, tossing them to Rayko. “Put them in the vault.”
“No, get rid of them!” Poppy grabbed my fingers rubbing them as if to wipe the memory away.
I arched a brow. “They are evidence, little flower. I can’t just let them go.”
“Then melt them down,” she ground out.
Too cute. Too beautiful for a heathenish den like this. She might belong here in spirit, and she definitely deserved the crown I would place on her head one day soon, but for tonight, she’d endured enough.
“I’ll give you a proper ring,” she hissed, squeezing my fingers. “But no more of wearing those. That’s fucking barbaric, Ivan!”
The dirty word dancing off her tongue was music to my ears.
Suddenly, I was done. Done with this show, done with the gory business. I wanted to be back home, making her scream for me.
I tapped her, helping her off my thigh.
Jumping up, Poppy gestured absently to where Rayko still knelt before us with the garish offering. “I’m serious. Get rid of them.”
“Alright, my love.” I placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and stood.
“Wait, where are we going?” she gasped as I tugged her to my side.
“I’m taking you home while my guests entertain the commissioner—”
“No.” Poppy planted her heels on the floor. “No, not yet. I’m not finished.”
In a flash, before I grasped what she was doing, she pulled at my side. Three steps and she was out of my hold.
“It’s my turn,” she wheezed, talking to me but looking at the commissioner.
The scum wriggled in the Italian enforcer’s hold.
Mancini’s brute realized what was happening right as I did. The man—Damien? Dustin?—jumped out of the way as three shots rang out through the club.
The commissioner gargled and choked as he fell.
One more shot, and he lay still.
Poppy slouched. The gun seemed to pull her to the floor.
I was at her side, gently taking the weapon from her. But she rallied quickly, turning her back to the limp body and the blood pooling out in a crimson wave.
“Consider this my initiation into the organization,” Poppy said loud enough for the whole club to hear.
There wasn’t a shake or tremor in her voice.
An unholy riot of noise broke out around us.
“Good God in heaven, there’s two of them,” Mancini muttered as he walked past us to the bar, awe and appreciation filling his voice. He crossed himself for good measure.
Around us, my soldiers began to sink to their knees. It was the fire dance all over again. Each member of my syndicate bowed their heads respectfully. I joined them, gazing up at the beautiful woman, strong and powerful, and all mine.
“Welcome to the underworld, Poppy Mladenov,” I smiled.
The little flower swept a look around. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
THE END