Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
KIRILL
Evelina’s shivering when she wakes up. Her bare skin is covered in goose bumps, nipples hard against the black lace of her bra.
“Cold,” she mumbles, the word thick and slurred.
“I had to check you for weapons.” I stay sitting in the chair across from hers as she fights her way to consciousness. It was the first thing I did when I brought her back to my penthouse. I found one more knife strapped to an ankle holster, and an ether-soaked cloth tucked in her jacket pocket.
Then again, she could have shot me less than an hour ago, and didn’t. I don’t know if that makes her merciful or calculating.
Her lids crack open, her eyes struggling to focus on the expanse of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living area.
The sedative I gave her in Spider’s apartment has likely worn off, but the sodium pentothal I administered moments ago is starting to take hold.
It’s designed to lower her inhibitions and make lying nearly impossible.
Though, with the right training, she might be able to hold back even under chemical influence.
But she will crack eventually. Everyone does.
When her eyes finally focus, they land on me. Confusion clouds her expression. She tries to move and realizes she can’t when she looks down at herself. The restraints hold her wrists behind the chair, her ankles bound to the legs.
Her black lace bra and underwear barely cover anything at all. Her gaze travels over her body like she’s trying to understand how she got here, piecing together fragments of memory that won’t quite connect.
“Good. You’re awake.” I keep my voice level, clinical even. “The drugs knocked you out for a bit, but you should be fine for a little chat now.”
Her head turns toward me, movements slow and uncoordinated. Blazing hazel irises lock onto mine. Even drugged and tied to a chair, she’s the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen.
I hate that my body still responds to her like gravity, pulling me toward the abyss.
“What did you give me?” Her words are thick, slurred at the edges.
“Sodium pentothal. Also known as truth serum.” I stand and cross to her, taking my time. “Usually I torture liars, but I’m hoping I won’t have to resort to that.” I crouch down so we’re eye level. “But mark my words, I will if you hold back.”
Her gaze sharpens, some survival instinct cutting through the haze. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.” I settle back on my heels, studying her face. “Starting with who you really are and who you work for.”
“I don’t work for anyone. Just … myself.”
“You broke into a former bratva member’s apartment, tied him up, and slashed his throat. Somehow I don’t believe you’re just another MTI student.”
My hand shoots out, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her head back sharply. She gasps, pupils blown and locked on mine.
“Are you working for the Ghost?” The question has been circling in my mind since I found her in Spider’s apartment.
It’s possible she’s been operating right under my nose this whole time, using me, playing me, manipulating me, and feeding information back to my silent enemy.
A giggle bubbles out of her. “Do I look like a ghost to you?”
“Don’t play games with me. The Ghost Syndicate. The organization targeting every major family in New York.” My grip tightens until tears spring to her eyes. “You have tech skills and training. Are you working for them?”
“No. I don’t care about the other families. I only care about yours.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. “And why is that?”
“Because your family ruined my life.” The words spill out like she’s been holding them back for too long and can’t anymore. “Your father is a bad, bad man. Did you know?”
I release her hair and cradle her face with both hands, forcing her to hold my gaze.
“Know about what?”
Despite her state, something raw and wounded surfaces in her expression. “About the trafficking? About all the women that were sold through Velour?”
The question lands like a blade to my back. Because yes, I fucking knew. I knew and didn’t do a thing about it, and it haunts me to this day, even though I was just a kid.
“Forget about me,” I hiss. “How do you know about this?” It’s a long-dead, well-guarded secret.
Another giggle, this one edged with something bitter. “I’m good with computers, remember?”
“Evelina.” I put steel in my voice, a warning she’s too far gone to recognize. “Focus.”
“I was looking for my mother.”
“Your mother?” I rewind to what she told me days ago. “Your mother committed suicide.”
Her lids drift closed before she forces them open again.
“No. No, she didn’t. It was like she did, but …
She disappeared when I was six years old.
Abandoned us, that’s what I always thought.
But then…” Her teeth chatter. I have the urge to get her a blanket, but I make myself stay where I am.
She deserves this. “I had these dreams. Memories coming back. Men with domed cathedral tattoos taking her away in the middle of the night. It led me here. To you. Your family. And eventually to Spider.”
The cathedral domes. The Kupola Network.
“The poker game,” I mutter. “When Abram rolled up his sleeve and you saw his tattoo. That’s why you lost your shit and spilled the drink.”
She nods, the movement sloppy. “Same one from my nightmares. Overheard them talking. They mentioned Spider and the good old days.”
My thumb brushes across her cheekbone and comes away wet.
“Spider trafficked your mother?” The thought sits in my gut like lead.
“I thought so, but…” She shakes her head, trying to reshuffle her thoughts. “He denied it. Said he would know if she came through the Network.”
“How would he know?” They must’ve moved hundreds of women through the pipeline.
She’s getting distracted, her mind wandering and thoughts scattering like light through broken glass.
“Look at me.” I shake her gently, bringing her back. “How would he know?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Can’t.” She presses her lips together, trying to lock in her secret.
“You can. I’m not my father. I was never involved in that shit, and you know that.”
“I don’t know anything.” She sighs heavily. Her attention drops to my mouth and lingers there. “The only thing I know is that I shouldn’t want you like this. You look at me and I forget how to breathe. You touch me and I forget why I’m supposed to stay away.”
The confession steals the air from my lungs. My forehead drops to rest against hers and I breathe her in, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
She swallows hard. “You’re so damn hot. Even now. Even like this, I can’t stop wanting you.”
When I pull back, her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted and wet. Her nipples tighten against the thin fabric and the air thickens with her arousal.
“Stay with me,” I rasp, not wanting to get caught in her web. “What’s your real name?”
She strains toward me, fighting the restraints. “Touch me. Please, Kirill.”
I swallow hard, my throat going dry. “This is a reaction to the drugs. They lower inhibitions and heighten arousal. That’s all it is, Evelina.”
“I don’t care why.” She pushes against her bindings and the chair creaks under the strain. “I’m begging you to touch me. I need you.”
Fuck. I let one hand fall away and drag the other from her jaw down to her throat, fingers pressing against the side of her neck. She chases my palm with a shameless desperation that makes my control splinter.
“You’ll hate me for this tomorrow,” I say roughly, distracted by the taut line of her nipples, the way her thighs are spread and bound.
“You want me as much as I want you.” Her chin gestures to the bulge straining against my pants. “I can see it.”
My voice comes out wrecked. “Of course I want you. I want you so bad I can’t see straight, but I don’t fuck liars.”
Even as I say it, my hand drifts from her throat to her sternum, and lower. My thumb dragging over her nipple through the lace. Her head falls back, a moan tearing from her throat.
I continue lower, mapping the curve of her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach. I stop just above the waistband of her underwear.
“Your fingers. Inside me. Please,” she begs, too far gone to feel embarrassed.
My hand hovers exactly where she needs me before drifting lower, the pads of my fingers grazing the wet fabric of her panties. Her need is thick in the air.
“What’s your real name?”
She shakes her head, still fighting. Even through the chemical haze and the desperate arousal, she’s trying to protect whatever secret she’s holding onto.
I bear down harder against her, feeling the wet heat through her underwear. She lets out a whimper that makes my cock throb.
“You’re so wet,” I murmur, teasing. “So ready. All I have to do is move this aside and slide my fingers inside you. I’ll make you come again and again, until you can’t remember your own name.
” My thumb finds her clit through the material and strokes her.
She arches, moaning. “But first you’re going to tell me what I need to know. ”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Desperation bleeds through every word. “I came here to find out what happened to my mother. I’m not a spy. I’m not working for anyone.”
A part of me believes her. The part that recognizes grief, that knows how loss decimates you.
“Tell me who trained you to fight like that. To kill.”
She bites her lip so hard blood wells up dark against the pink of her lovely mouth.
I slide my hand inside her panties and drag a finger through her wetness. She’s drenched, her whole body trembling under my touch.
“Last chance to talk,” I whisper against her ear.
She’s right there, on the edge. Her muscles tense, her breathing quickens. One more swipe of my finger and she’ll shatter.
“No.”
I press inside her for just a moment, feeling how tight and ready she is. Then I pull away.
“Kirill—”
“You made your choice.” I stand, leaving her writhing in the chair. Instead of walking away, I cross to the couch directly across from her and sit, spreading my legs so she has a perfect view.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you what you’re missing.” I unbuckle my belt slowly, unzip my pants, and free my cock. It’s been hard since she started begging, straining against my fly and aching for release. “Showing you exactly what I’d fill you with if you just told me the truth.”