Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
DINARA
I push past Marco without a word, abandoning the polite smile I’ve maintained all night. Right now, all I want is space. Space from this asshole and his wandering hands, and more than anything, space from Kirill and Rada, wrapped around each other on the dance floor.
I shove through the crowd toward the ladies’ room. When I swing open the bathroom door, two women are touching up their makeup and chatting away. They barely spare me a glance before going back to their conversation.
I duck into the nearest stall and lock it behind me, leaning against the cool metal door.
My head is spinning. The private party Matvey invited us to turned out to be Elio Valenti’s birthday celebration, packed with his friends and family.
I know how to handle mafia men, but in the Syndicate, I’m respected. Here, I’m just another chick in the crowd, fair game for Elio’s men to hit on.
Marco zeroed in on me the second we arrived. What started as harmless banter at the bar escalated quickly to his hand brushing over my ass while he leaned in to whisper how good he’d make me feel if I went home with him.
As if.
The only fantasy I entertained about him involved my knife and his femoral artery. I moved to excuse myself and rejoin my friends when I spotted Kirill in the crowd.
For one perfect moment, everything else disappeared, and there was only that magnetic pull between us.
Then, like a villain in a bad movie, Rada came into view. She was pressed against him, hands splayed across his chest, her body moving against his to the music. And he let her.
Seeing her hands on him felt like someone reaching into my chest and twisting something vital loose, leaving me hollow.
The bathroom door opens and closes, the voices of the two women fading as they leave. Silence wraps around me like a blanket. I press my fingers against my eyes, angry with myself for being so weak. For caring when I shouldn’t.
Kirill Baronov is nothing to me, and tonight’s a good reminder of that.
He’s a tool to get close to the Baronov organization and uncover what happened to my mother. That he’s hot as sin, that his dominance makes my pulse race, that I like the way he looks at me—none of that matters. None of it changes why I’m here.
He can fuck whoever he wants. Rada. A dozen other women. It’s irrelevant.
What matters is maintaining my cover and using whatever means I can to find out the truth.
Calmer now, I step out of the stall and cross to the sink to wash my hands.
It’s late. I won’t learn anything helpful at this point. I’ll find my friends and let them know I’m going home. I’d like to make an exit before Marco corners me again or I have to see Rada draped all over Kirill once more.
The bathroom door swings open and Marco stumbles through, his eyes unfocused and his tie loosened.
“There you are,” he slurs, a grin spreading across his face. “I knew you wanted me to follow you.”
Ice slides down my spine. “You thought wrong. This is the ladies’ bathroom. You need to leave.”
“Don’t play games.” He steps closer and I move back on instinct.
“You’ve been eye-fucking me all night. You practically begged for me to follow you here.”
He turns and locks the door behind him. Panic creeps up my throat, but I force it down. Staying calm is the only way I’m getting out of this. I assess my options. He’s bigger and stronger than me, but he’s drunk. That means slow reflexes, which I can use, but it also makes him unpredictable.
“My friends are waiting for me outside. If I don’t come out soon, they’ll come in here looking for me.”
He laughs. It’s an ugly sound. “No one’s outside that door, baby. I checked.”
“The security cameras will show you following me in here. That won’t look good for you.”
He crosses the distance, backing me against the sink. “No one gives a shit about that. It’s a party. Loosen up a little.”
My heart pounds in my throat. I could scream, but the music’s too loud and the bathrooms are far from the main area. If it comes to that, I’ll fight him.
I try one more time to talk sense into him, keeping my voice steady. “You’re drunk. You’re going to regret this tomorrow. Walk away, and we can both pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Or…” He presses closer, his breath hot and sour against my face. “We can make this quick. No one has to know.”
His hand shoots out and clamps around my wrist, yanking me against him. His other hand knots in my hair, pulling my head back, and then his mouth is on mine, his tongue forcing past my lips.
Revulsion turns to fury as he releases my wrist and slides his hand down to grab my ass, squeezing hard.
I react on instinct, driving my knee up into his groin with everything I’ve got.
He stumbles back with a choked sound, doubling over, but the pain just makes him angrier. His skin flushes red, and a second later he lunges at me with a roar.
His fist swings toward my head, but I duck left and his knuckles graze my cheekbone.
I pivot and drive my elbow into his kidney.
He grunts, reaching for me, but I’m already moving.
I catch his arm mid-grab, wrench it behind his back, and slam my knee into the back of his thigh. His leg buckles and he drops hard.
But drunk men don’t feel pain the way they should. He breaks free and swings again. This time his knuckles connect with my shoulder, and I stumble back against the counter, pain shooting down my arm.
He lunges forward. I grab his tie, step to the side, and use his momentum to send him crashing face-first into the mirror. The glass shatters on impact.
Marco staggers back, blood streaming from his nose and a deep gash above his eyebrow. He drops to his knees with a howl, clutching his face while crimson seeps between his fingers.
Adrenaline sings through my veins. I push away from the counter, breathing hard, and put distance between us as he collapses onto the tile.
The door explodes inward, the lock blasted apart, wood splintering as it slams into the wall.
Kirill’s frame fills the doorway, his gaze locking on Marco, his expression deadly. The pistol in his hand tells me exactly how he got through the lock.
“Did he put his hands on you?” His voice is emotionless, the kind of flat inflection that comes before violence.
“He tried, but I … fought back.”
If he notices how thoroughly I fucked up Marco with my bare hands, he doesn’t mention it.
He steps inside and shuts the damaged door.
Marco looks up at Kirill with red eyes and wheezes, “This bitch is a cocktease. She practically begged me to meet her in here, so I show up, and she goes apeshit on me.”
A muscle ticks in Kirill’s jaw. “A cocktease, huh? What do you think I should do to her? Should I tie her up? Make her pay for hurting you?”
My head snaps up, but Kirill won’t look at me. His expression is closed off. Is he playing along to fuck with Marco, or does he actually believe it?
Marco’s face lights up through the pain. “Yeah. Yeah, she should fucking pay for this. Look what she did to me.”
Kirill’s mouth curves into something that might be a smile if it wasn’t so … predatory.
“She must be tougher than she looks. Because she’s half your size, and yet you’re the one laid out on the ground.”
I’m frozen in place, trying to read him, to understand what’s happening. Maybe my cover’s blown. He saw what I can do. No tech student fights like that.
But he doesn’t say anything as he moves behind me. His palm finds my waist, fingers spreading possessively, as his warm, solid body presses against my back.
Cold metal slides against my throat, tracing from my collarbone up to the underside of my jaw. The barrel of his gun comes to rest under my chin, tilting my head up.
Fear spikes through me, but it’s different from the panic Marco triggered. Because underneath the fear, there’s a stupid, irrational certainty Kirill isn’t going to hurt me. That I’m safe with him.
“I wasn’t sure about you Russians at first, but you’re alright, Baronov. Good to know you’ve got my back on this.”
Marco drags himself to the wall and props into a half-lean, watching us with a mixture of pain and anticipation, like he’s waiting for a show.
Kirill’s touch drifts higher, skimming along my ribs. He buries his nose in my hair and breathes deep, like he’s memorizing my scent. The gesture is so unhinged, so possessive, my clit throbs with need.
“What happened to Rada?” I bite out, unable to stop myself. “Thought you were busy.”
His teeth graze my earlobe, hard enough to sting. “You jealous, baby?”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that an invitation?” He slides his hand up to cup my breast. “But first you’re going to come on my fingers while Marco watches so he understands exactly who you belong to.”
Heat pools low in my belly despite the gun, despite Marco watching, despite everything.
“You’d like to see her hurt,” Kirill rasps. “Want to see her pay for rejecting you?”
Marco’s jaw hardens. “No. I told you. She wanted it.”
“Mmm.” Kirill keeps teasing me, palming the weight of my tits through the leather. His breath is warm against my neck, and there’s no mistaking his arousal. Every inch of his hard length pushes against my ass.
I hold perfectly still while Kirill’s lips brush the shell of my ear. “You know what I think, Marco?”
Marco glares at him.
“I think any man who has to force a woman is a pathetic piece of shit who deserves exactly what he gets.”
Kirill’s palm covers my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. The touch is deliberate, claiming, and utterly at odds with the violence simmering in the room.
“You followed her in here thinking you’d fuck her. So tell me. You’ve obviously thought about it. What did you think she’d feel like? Taste like?”
Kirill’s mouth finds the curve of my neck, tongue tracing a searing line up to my ear, and a moan slips free despite how twisted this is.
“You Russian piece of shit. Elio is going to fucking kill you when he finds out what you’ve done.”
In a heartbeat, the gun moves, and a muted shot cuts through the air. Marco screams, his hands flying to his thigh where crimson blooms through his pants.
“Shut your fucking mouth.” The barrel returns to rest against my sternum, a cold counterpoint to the heat of his hand. “I’m not done.”
Marco finally gets it. Kirill might have a reputation for being controlled and logical, but right now he’s neither. Fear edges out the anger in his stare.
His touch drags lower, skating over my hip before landing on my inner thigh. His fingers toy with the hem of my dress, and I stop breathing.
“You wanted to fuck her? You wanted to feel her body against yours? Wanted to hear the sounds she’d make?”
His hand slips under my dress as he pushes my panties to the side. I jolt back against him, and when his fingers slide through my wet heat, a whimper tears free. Shame scorches through me at how much I want this. How badly I need him touching me.
Kirill keeps talking, voice calm, as if he’s discussing lawn care techniques.
“Here’s the problem with that plan. She’s not yours to touch. She never was. And men who don’t understand that basic fucking concept don’t deserve to live.”
Raw pleasure streaks up my spine with every rough press on my clit. My hips rock against his hand, chasing the release building with every second. Just when I think I might come, he pushes two digits inside of me. Slick sounds fill the room as he pumps in and out of my tight heat.
“Do you hear how wet she is? That’s not for you, Marco. That’s never been for you. This pussy? It’s mine.”
His? Thought is beyond me right now. With a final hard stroke of his thumb on my clit, I convulse. My vision goes dark around the edges as white heat consumes me. My pussy clamps around his fingers, and my mouth opens on a silent scream.
Time moves in slow motion as Kirill aims his gun. “Men who force themselves on women don’t deserve to live.”
The orgasm is still cresting when Marco’s head snaps back and he slumps against the wall, blood and brain matter painting the tiles behind him.