30. Luna
Luna
“This is why you shouldn’t open the door for strange women who claim they have a flat tire and need to use your phone.”
The man groans, his body slumped against the cold concrete floor, his wrists bound tightly behind his back. Blood drips from his busted lip, his swollen eye barely opening as he stares up at us in fear.
Amani sighs dramatically, adjusting her gloves as she crouches beside him. "You know, if you hadn’t put up such a fight, we could’ve been out of here an hour ago. But noooo, you had to go and make things difficult."
I roll my eyes, securing the last knot around his ankles. "Men.”
Raven’s voice crackles through our earpieces. "Tell me he’s secured. I got our flight to leave in two hours, and I still need to grab a coffee."
Amani smirks. "Relax, Mom. He’s all wrapped up and ready for delivery."
Raven snorts. "Good. Now hurry up, because I have a proposition. Since we’re flying back to NYC earlier than expected, I say we make a surprise visit to the club."
Amani gasps, eyes lighting up. "Ooooh, yes! We should totally surprise Vlad and the boys."
I snort. “My husband will kill me if I show up to his club without letting him know I made it back in town.”
"Exactly why we should do it," Raven adds. "Besides, I need a night out. We all do."
Amani nudges me playfully. "Come on, Luna. You know you wanna see the look on Vlad’s face when you waltz in unannounced."
I purse my lips, pretending to consider it. "Fine. But if he growls at me, I’m blaming both of you."
“Don’t act like you won’t just growl back,” Amani grins.
I’ve only gone for thirty-four hours, but it feels like an eternity.
A quick in-and-out mission—extract a woman and her two kids from an abusive bastard in Boston.
Too easy.
Well, not for him.
Now this piece of shit will be rotting in prison with:
Four broken ribs.
A shattered nose.
A dislocated jaw.
A significant concussion.
A torn ACL.
A slipped disc in his neck.
Enough kidney damage that he’ll be pissing blood for two weeks.
And then in six months?
He’ll be involved in a prison yard brawl where he’ll be accidentally killed.
Because you know what they don’t like in prison?
Pedophiles.
I wanted to cut off his dick and make him eat it, but my orders were clear—rough him up enough to make sure the woman and her kids see justice, but leave him breathing.
He’s lucky … for now.
But he won’t feel too lucky when our inside man, "Little Ricky," gets ahold of him.
Ricky is 6’8", built like a damn grizzly bear, and currently serving life for going on a killing spree of fourteen people—the men who brutally murdered his boyfriend just for being gay.
The crime scene photos of what remained of his boyfriend? Let’s just say they deserved worse.
We can’t get him out legally, but we ensure he’s comfortable.
I even bring him a cake for his birthday every year!
The man on the floor groans again, and I sigh, standing up. "Alright, let’s wrap this up. Trunk time."
Amani and I grab him by the arms and legs, easily hauling him up. He tries to struggle, but Amani’s sharp slap to the back of his head quickly shuts that down.
We make our way to the car, popping the trunk open with a click. The man groans again as we toss him inside, slamming it shut with a satisfying thud.
Amani dusts off her hands with a satisfied grin. "I love a clean finish."
I roll my eyes, but a smirk betrays me. "Let’s get to the airport before Raven starts her dramatic monologue."
"Too late," Raven's voice crackles through the comm. "I’m already whining. Move your asses before I leave you both behind."
“Can I drive? Pleaaaaase?” Amani asks, giving me her best wide-eyed, puppy-dog stare.
Still riding the high of victory, I toss her the keys. "Don’t make me regret this."
Amani whoops in triumph. "Buckle up, baby!"
We pile into the car, laughter spilling between us as the city lights streak past in a blur of neon and adrenaline.
A few hours later, I stride into my husband's club with Amani and Raven by my side.
I already know Vladimir’s here.
How?
Because I might have installed a tracker underneath his skin while he was knocked out.
I even have one in Amani, Raven, Angel, my mom, and my brother.
I thought about putting one in my niece, but I’ll wait until she’s older.
She has a tracker embedded in the necklace I gave her.
Call me crazy, call me unhinged—but I’ve read enough books and seen enough movies to know that having a tracker implanted on you is essential.
Especially in our line of work.
Vlad will never in a million years find it, but it brings me peace of mind.
"Oooo, Konstantin is here," Amani beams, practically bouncing as we step inside.
"And so is Dimitri. Great," Raven deadpans, rolling her eyes.
I barely hear them.
Because my sole focus is on one man.
Vladimir.
Even from a distance, under the flashing club lights, he looks lethal.
Who would’ve thought that seven months ago, when I first walked into this club to kill one of his underbosses, I’d be here again—as his wife?
"Damn, Luna, you look so fucking hot I could just lick you," Amani blurts out.
"As long as I get a taste too," Raven chimes in.
I mean, they’re not wrong.
We look hot as hell tonight.
We decided to coordinate in white, because why the fuck not?
Amani is in a sparkly two-piece skirt set, the top barely covering her tits, tying around her neck and back. Her natural wavy hair is flowing, resting on her shoulders, and she’s rocking four-inch white LV heels, making her legs look miles long.
Raven? A white leather cowboy-chic jumpsuit that ties at the neck with just enough cutouts to show off her curves, paired with matching heeled cowboy boots. Her long black hair cascades down her back, sleek and effortless.
And me?
A corset top with sheer mesh below my breasts and a skimpy satin wrap skirt that ties at my hip—meaning if I bend over, my ass is fully out.
I paired it with chalk-colored Tom Ford padlock pointy naked heels, my golden ankle bracelets glinting under the club lights.
And the best part?
Our backs are fully exposed.
Our red Phoenix tattoos—bold, sharp, and undeniably recognizable—are on full display.
Something about getting absolutely wrecked by NYC’s most dangerous crime boss has me walking like a sin and feeling fucking invincible.
"Threesome later? If you two don’t get lucky?" I tease.
"I don’t think the Bratva King would be too happy to hear you say that," Raven laughs.
"Let’s run up your man’s tab first," Amani smirks, grabbing our hands and pulling us toward the bar.
As we walk, I can feel it.
The stares.
Hungry, predatory gazes from men.
Curious, intrigued looks from women.
By the time we reach the bar, I swear half the club is watching us.
Amani grins at the bartender. "Three rounds of Apple Crown Royal shots on Mr. Petrov’s tab."
The bartender nods and proceeds to make our drinks.
We clink our glasses together.
"To the Phoenix," we say in unison.
Then we down them.
We repeat that.
Two more times.
With alcohol buzzing in my system and the pulse of the music vibrating in my bones, I lose myself in the moment.
The three of us are moving together, hands grazing, hips rolling, drawing a crowd of onlookers.
And then?—
We feel it.
That shift in the air.
Amani and Raven tense, but we keep moving, pretending to be oblivious.
Slowly, I lift my gaze to the VIP section.
And there he is.
My husband.
His eyes are locked on me like a predator who has just spotted his prey.
Next to him, Konstantin and Dimitri—both watching with expressions that range from amused to holy shit, we’re about to witness a murder.
"I think we’ve been caught," Amani murmurs.
"Yeah, no shit," Raven replies, not daring to look away.
I don’t either.
Instead, I hold Vladimir’s gaze, my lips curling into a slow, wicked smile.
Then, to seal my fate?—
I blow him a kiss.
His grip on the ledge tightens.
The way his knuckles go white, the way his jaw flexes, the pure, unfiltered possession in his expression?
Yeah.
I’m definitely getting fucked into oblivion tonight.
And the throbbing between my legs is achingly eager for it.
But before he can make his way down to me, an unexpected problem arises.
A man—early thirties, expensive suit, reeking of cheap cologne and entitlement—steps into my space. "Hey, gorgeous," he says smoothly, flashing a cocky grin. "Been watching you dance. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?"
I arch a brow, unimpressed. "No.”
He chuckles, undeterred. "Aw, come on, don’t be like that. A beautiful woman like you deserves a man who appreciates her."
Before I can tell him to fuck off, a heavy, familiar presence settles behind me.
A strong arm wraps around my waist, yanking me back against a solid chest.
A growl rumbles in my ear, dark and dangerous. "Step away from my wife."
The man stiffens, his face paling as Vladimir steps fully into view. His icy blue eyes burn with barely restrained violence.
"Shit, man, I didn’t know?—"
Vladimir tilts his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "And yet, here you are, talking to her. Still."
The guy stumbles back, hands up in surrender. "No disrespect, I was just?—"
“Dead.” Vladimir’s voice is final, a death sentence wrapped in a single word.
The man practically trips over himself, trying to get away.
Vladimir watches him disappear into the crowd before shifting his attention to me, his grip tightening. "You think you’re cute, don’t you, Lisichka?"
A shiver races down my spine.
Busted.
I bite my lip, tilting my head slightly. "Took you long enough."
Vladimir chuckles, but it’s low, menacing—like he’s about to devour me whole. "You wanted my attention? Congratulations, you have it."
His other hand slides down, gripping the bare skin of my thigh, dangerously close to the hem of my tiny skirt.
I gasp, my body instinctively pressing closer.
His fingers tighten. "That little stunt you pulled? Blowing me a kiss? Dancing like this for every bastard in this club?"
He tugs me roughly against him, making sure I can feel every hard inch of what I just awakened in him. "You’re going to pay for that, Luna."
I grin, tilting my head to look at him over my shoulder. "Promise?"
His eyes darken, and suddenly, I’m off the dance floor.
He grabs my wrist, pulling me through the crowd, moving with deadly precision.
People part like the Red Sea for him.
Pussies.
Konstantin and Dimitri? They just watch in amusement, making no attempt to intervene.
"See you in the morning, Luna!" Amani calls out.
Raven snickers. "If she can walk by then."
Vladimir shoves the door open to his office, dragging me inside.
The door slams shut, and then?
I’m pinned.
His hands cage me against the wall, his body crowding me.
He tilts his head, studying me like a predator, contemplating how to devour its prey.
His voice is dangerously soft. "You’ve been a very bad girl tonight, Lisichka."
I smirk, pushing back against his chest, feeling the hard ridges of muscle beneath his shirt.
"And what exactly will you do about it, husband?"
His grip tightens.
"Would you like a list?"
I lick my lips, my stomach twisting in wicked anticipation.
"I’d prefer a demonstration."
His eyes flare, and in the blink of an eye, he’s lifting me up, wrapping my legs around his waist.
His mouth crushes against mine, claiming, punishing, devouring.
His tongue slides in, and I moan into his mouth, gripping his hair and pulling him closer.
He growls, his hands grabbing my ass, grinding me against him.
I can feel how hard he is.
How badly he wants to ruin me.
I break the kiss, gasping. "Vladimir?—"
"You wanted my attention?" he rasps. "You have it. Now, let’s see if you can handle it."
And if the fire in his eyes is any indication?
I’m not leaving this room until he’s had his fill of me.
Gods help my poor, wrecked pussy.