13. Damien
13
DAMIEN
I take a long, steady breath, trying to collect myself.
I was seconds away from fucking Sasha Caldwell against that sink.
And the worst part?
I wouldn’t have stopped.
Not until she was spread out, wrecked, moaning my name, clawing at my back, begging for more. And that’s not how I want this to happen.
Not the first time.
Not up against some cold porcelain basin, rushed and reckless, with someone knocking on the damn door.
I drag a hand through my hair, jaw tightening as I force the heat in my blood to settle.
Then, without another word, I unlock the door and pull it open.
Oleg is standing there, arms crossed, his expression blank—but I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to Sasha as she rushes past him, looking utterly disheveled.
Her hair is a mess, her blouse still unbuttoned at the top, lips kiss-swollen and flushed.
She doesn’t even glance back at me as she hurries down the hall.
Smart girl.
But that won’t save her from me.
Oleg raises a brow as he watches her leave, then turns back to me.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at me.
I know that look.
And I don’t like it.
I step forward, voice low, warning. “Don’t open your mouth.”
Oleg exhales, shaking his head. “Isn’t she a little too young for you?”
My jaw tics.
I level him with a glare. “What did I just say?”
Oleg holds up his hands. “I’m just saying?—”
“You’re saying nothing,” I cut in, my tone leaving no room for argument.
He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Fine. Whatever. Sorry to interrupt your little…meeting, but we need to leave. I have new information.”
I roll my shoulders, forcing my blood to cool.
Business first.
For now.
I follow Oleg down the hallway, still feeling the ghost of Sasha’s body pressed against mine, the way she melted under my touch, the way she gasped my name.
The moment she walked into my life, I knew she was going to be a problem.
I just didn’t realize how much of one.
“Where are we going?” I ask, adjusting my cuffs, trying to push away the lingering heat still coursing through me.
“My office,” Oleg says, leading me toward the secured wing of the building. “Got some intel you’ll want to see.”
I nod, my mind shifting gears.
This is what I should be focusing on.
Not the way Sasha’s lips felt against mine.
Not the way she whimpered when I touched her.
Not the fact that I can still smell her perfume on my skin.
I grind my teeth, forcing my focus back to reality as we step into Oleg’s office.
He shuts the door behind us and gestures toward his desk, where a laptop is open, displaying security footage.
“Got something interesting for you,” he says, leaning back against the desk. “Remember the parking lot incident?”
“Go on.”
Oleg taps a few keys, pulling up a new video feed. “This is from a traffic cam across the street. Took a little digging, but…”
The footage plays.
At first, it’s just the usual night traffic—cars pulling in and out, headlights flashing.
Then, movement in the shadows.
A figure, dressed in dark clothing, hood pulled low. He moves with purpose, edging along the side of the building before slipping into an unmarked car.
Oleg freezes the frame, zooms in.
The image is grainy, but the outline of a tattoo peeks out from the man’s wrist.
Something familiar.
Something I haven’t seen in years.
A slow, dangerous heat spreads through me.
“Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”
Oleg exhales. “Afraid so.”
I lean forward, my hands braced against the desk.
“Lev Fedorov.”
A name I thought was dead and buried.
A name that should have never resurfaced.
A name that means this is far from over.
I straighten, cracking my knuckles, already knowing what comes next. “Find him.”
Oleg nods. “Already working on it.”
I glance at the security footage one last time, then push away from the desk.
Lev.
Back from the dead.
Lev used to be one of ours.
Until he betrayed us.
I should have had him killed years ago.
Now he’s back, making himself known, sending a message.
And that means trouble is closer than I thought.
Oleg doesn’t move from his desk, his arms crossed, watching me with that look that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, already done with today.
“Out with it,” I say, leaning against the desk. “What else?”
Oleg tilts his head. “You got an invitation.”
I arch a brow. “I get a lot of invitations.”
“This one’s from Nina.”
My entire body goes still. “Not interested,” I say flatly.
“She doesn’t seem to take ‘not interested’ as an answer,” Oleg replies, clicking open an email on his screen. “She’s hosting some charity gala this weekend. Made sure to extend a personal invitation to you.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “I already turned that down.”
Oleg nods. “She knows. Didn’t stop her from inviting someone else.”
I glance at him, my patience already thin. “Who?”
Oleg doesn’t blink. “Your mother.”
A slow pulse of irritation thrums through me.
I stare at him for a beat, letting the words sink in.
Nina is pushing.
Testing.
Going too goddamn far.
“Christ,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “She really doesn’t know when to quit, does she?”
Oleg shrugs. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that.”
“Persistent,” I repeat, my jaw tightening. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“She wants a reaction,” Oleg says simply. “Question is—are you going to give her one?”
I breathe in through my nose, forcing the slow simmer of anger to stay beneath the surface.
I don’t like being manipulated.
I don’t like people using my mother to get to me.
And Nina? She’s just made it clear that she still hasn’t learned when to back the fuck off.
“When is the event?” I ask, my voice calm. Too calm.
Oleg watches me, then checks his screen. “This Saturday night.”
I nod once, pushing off the desk.
Nina wants a reaction?
Fine.
She’s about to get one.