Chapter 12
NIKA
I’m dragged out of bed by Gabe’s men. They already have all my bags packed. One of them, a young Russian man named Pavel, seems shy about the whole thing. “I really am sorry, Mrs. Russo, but your husband gave us strict orders.”
I glare at them, still in my night clothes: designer sweats and a button-up pajama top. No bra, obviously, which isn’t that much of a problem, but I’m aware of it at least.
“Does my husband tell you to do annoying things all the time?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pavel’s trying not to smile. His partner is much more serious and probably ten years older. I get the feeling he doesn’t speak much English. Fine with me.
“Do you know why I have to change hotels at—“ I check the clock and let out a groan. “Midnight?! Where are we even going?”
“It’s for your protection. And we’re headed to the Ritz.”
“Wait. Seriously?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your new room is already prepared and waiting.”
I follow my two handlers out into the hall. They’re lugging all our suitcases, practically overburdened with them. I feel bad, but have to remind myself that none of this is my choice.
Typical of my husband. He can’t do anything normal.
There were a thousand chances to tell me about this scattered throughout the day.
A phone call, a text. Hell, an email would’ve worked.
Just a heads up that we’d have to move locations at some point.
Instead, I got a couple of well-meaning goons waking me up from a perfectly acceptable sleep.
All to drag me to another fancy hotel.
I’m annoyed by the time I’m unlocking the door to my new room. It’s another gorgeous suite and must cost a fortune per night. I don’t even want to know. I look around, grinding my teeth, refusing to imagine how much of my money Gabe’s spending without asking me—
Until I spot the black, bloody jacket tossed casually over the back of a chair.
I don’t move. It feels like the jacket is a promise. It’s some kind of sign that my life got more complicated, and I don’t even understand why. Pavel and his partner dump my bags in the foyer before quickly leaving me alone. I drift to the jacket, unable to look away.
There’s a hole in the chest like someone tore it with a blade.
A shiver runs down my spine. Fear strikes into my heart. Was Gabe wearing that? Is he hurt? But someone would’ve told me if he wasn’t okay, right?
I move deeper into the room and pause outside the bathroom.
I hear the shower running. Water splatters on the floor.
I pause, thinking I should crawl into bed and try to go back to sleep.
What do I care if Gabe’s been wounded? He’s a big boy.
I’m sure he was out doing something supremely stupid and deserved it.
I can curl up, close my eyes, and go back to blissfully ignoring all this.
Instead, I push inside.
Steam hits me first. It fogs the mirrors. The bathroom is beautiful. Lots of marble and white tile. The shower itself is massive, glassed-in, one of those places with a tub inside it too.
Gabe stands under the stream. Water runs red down his chest. I gape, mouth hanging open, heart pounding in my ears, as my mind goes blank.
His back is to me. His body is sculpted.
His spine is muscular and firm. His arms look like they were built to break bones.
His shoulders are hunched forward and he’s got one hand against the wall, leaning on it.
Blood sloughs off his skin, rolling down into the drain, turning the floor at his feet pink.
His skin’s covered in more blood, the red mixing with black tattoos.
Spiders, knives, a full moon. More symbols I don’t recognize swirling along his spine, mingling with puckered flesh. Scars, dozens of them.
But what scares me the most is his other hand.
It’s wrapped around his cock. I keep catching glimpses of it. He’s stroking himself, his eyes shut. His hand pumps along his thick shaft, and his mouth opens.
“Veronika.”
I almost scream.
He keeps going and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I take a step back. He’s covered in blood and jerking off his massive cock and he’s saying my name.
“Fuck, Nika,” he breathes, going faster. “Fuck, Nika, you feel so fucking good—“
I get the hell out of there as he releases the lowest, most toe-curling moan I’ve ever heard.
I’m breathing hard in the other room. Holy freaking shit. I saw my blood-drenched husband stroking his gorgeous dick and moaning my name. And the worst part is, right now I hate the guy, but a part of me wants to throw myself at his feet and beg him to fuck me into sweet oblivion.
My head’s spinning as I pace around the room.
Eventually I stop and find a stack of papers on the nightstand tucked into a folder.
Desperate for something to do, I pull several out and skim them, not really thinking about what I’m looking at until the numbers start to cohere into some kind of sense.
They’re invoices for refrigerators. Obscenely expensive, wildly priced refrigerators.
A million dollars’ worth of them, actually, plus invoices for the hotel we just left paid up for a few more nights, plus more for this hotel, paid through the week.
It’s a trail of money, a staggering amount, and my mouth goes dry as I look through it all.
“I was going to talk to you about all that tomorrow morning.”
I yelp and turn around. Gabe’s in the bathroom door, his lower half wrapped in a towel, his top half still damp and bare. His muscular chest glistens. I see him pumping his cock and saying my name. Veronika. I’m going to have wet dreams about that moment for the rest of my life, I’m pretty sure.
“What is all this?” I hold up the folder with a shaking hand.
“You wanted itemized receipts for your approval.” He gestures casually and walks over to the closet. He finds underwear, sweats, and a t-shirt. “You can go ahead and sign.”
I’m about to tell him he can go ahead and lick my ass, except he drops the towel and starts to get dressed.
“Jesus Christ, warn me next time.”
“You don’t like watching?” He sounds surprised and amused.
“Uh, you can’t just strip in front of me, okay?”
“Strange, here I was thinking you didn’t mind looking at my naked body.”
Heat flushes into my cheeks.
Ahhhhh, shit.
“Look, I’m sorry, that was a mistake. I saw the jacket and wanted to check on you.”
“So you stood there and watched?”
“I didn’t know you were—“ I choke on the next words.
“Pleasuring myself? Thinking about fucking my wife?”
“Stop it.”
“Don’t act so embarrassed. You liked it.” He pulls open a minifridge and takes out a beer before collapsing into a chair with a sigh. The can cracks loudly and he takes his time drinking.
I take a second to gather myself. I’m pretty damn mortified, but I have to focus. The dick-stroking isn’t important right now. Hot, but I still have the moral high ground. I turn to him and wave the pages.
“You have to ask first, before you spend my money. This isn’t some ask forgiveness later bullshit.”
He cocks his head. “I don’t always have the luxury of time.”
“Oh, good word, speaking of luxury—“ I gesture around us. “Do we really need to stay in high end hotels like this?”
His eyebrows raise. “I thought you liked it.”
“I did, when it was your money.”
The smile he gives me boils my damn blood. “I see, so you’d prefer something else?”
“Yes, asshole. These rooms are ridiculously overpriced.”
“Alright. That can be arranged.”
“Why did we move, anyway?”
“I tried to kill Aslan tonight. It didn’t go to plan. This move is a safety precaution.”
I cut my eyes to the door toward the jacket and back to the bathroom. “Is that why you’re all bloody?”
“Taking the Dragon seat is an ugly business.”
“Are you… okay?”
He shrugs, fingers pressing at his chest, approximately where that jacket has a hole. “I’ll be fine. Worried about me?”
“Pretty sure if you die, I’m screwed, so yeah.”
His grin is enormous. He takes a long drink and exhales. “Now you’re getting it. We’re in this together, baby.”
“Stop calling me that.” I slam the invoices back down on the nightstand. “Refrigerators? Really?”
“I can’t exactly put mercenaries, guns, and grenades in writing.”
“Okay, that’s a good point.”
“If it helps, the operation went okay. We got half their leadership and one of the traitors.” His expression hardens as he looks away. “But Marat escaped.”
My stomach twists. I remember that old Russian dickhead from the meeting. “He was a traitor?”
“That’s the only reason I didn’t rip out his fucking tongue for speaking disrespectfully about you. I needed him alive. He led us to Aslan.”
I sink down onto the bed, chewing on my lip. “This is complicated.”
“It’s fun.”
“Not my idea of it.” I pull back the covers and curl up. “I’ll sign in the morning, but don’t do this again. I want approval first, okay?”
“Whatever you want.” I hear him stand and the lights flick out. I expect him to leave the room, but instead, I feel him climb in beside me.
I don’t move. I keep seeing him gripping his dick. My name moaned from his lips echoes down my spine. God, I hate this man, and I want him too.
I make myself small and try not to breathe. Gabe’s warmth spreads across the bed. I should tell him to go sleep somewhere else.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
For all my fake confidence, I’m still pathetic in the end.