Evie pokes Brooklyn with a finger. “Comeon! What’s the huge secret!?”
Brooklyn rolls her eyes. “Okay! Fine. If youmustknow…”
Evie grins, leaning close for the big reveal.
“Our big plans involve Kir bending me over the kitchen table and railing the shit out of me.”
I snort, laughing uproariously as poor Evie’s face turnscrimson. Her jaw drops, eyes bulging wide as Brooklyn tosses her head back and howls with laughter.
“Isaidyou didn’t want to know!” she giggles, throwing her arms around Evelina. “Sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean to scar you for life.”
Evie’s face is still bright red as she pulls back and tries to…well, I think it’s meant to be a nonchalant shrug, but it looks like she’s trying to stop herself from having a seizure.
“You didn’tscar me.” She does another super-awkward “casual” shrug as she turns back to the painting. “Just…caught me off-guard.”
Brooklyn glances at me and rolls her eyes.
The three of us spend the next fifteen minutes or so hanging out, talking about ballet and listening to music. Then I find myself clearing my throat as the intrusive thoughts in my head win and the question I’ve been trying not to ask tumbles out.
“Hey, so, uh…” I glance at Brooklyn. “Kir sits at the Iron Table, right?”
She nods, her brows knitting. “Yeah?”
The Iron Table is a collective of some of the most powerful bratva families in the world. I’ve heard it described as like the United Nations of the Russian mafia.
Kir sits on it.
…And I know Bane’sfather does, too.
“Does he…I mean, do youboth…ever hang out socially with the other table members and their families?”
Brooklyn smirks. “Like the Antonovs?” she says dryly. “For example?”
My face heats. “Sure.”
Brooklyn smiles at me. “Look, I don’t know the full situation with you and Bane. If there’s stuff you want to talk about?—”
“Nope,” I blurt, a little too quickly. “I’m good. I’m just…” I frown and look down. “Do you know much about him?”
Because I don’t. Not really. My recollections of him are blurry and vague at best. Isort ofremember him being Lark’s moody boyfriend. I’m sure he came to the house on a semi-frequent basis. Beyond that, my memories of the man I’m marrying begin at Lark’s funeral.
With him walking up to me, leveling a vicious, cold stare right into my soul, and saying, “This is your fault. You did this.”
Brooklyn smiles wryly. “Not a lot, honestly. But I’ve spentsometime with him, and…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Look, I don’t know your relationship with him. But Bane’s a good guy. Quiet, a little broody, but one of the good ones.”
“He’s one of Roman’s best friends,” Evie chimes in. “I wouldn’t say I know him that well…I don’t know if many people do—okay, maybe Roman. But I agree. He can be quiet, and he’s kind of intense. But he’s a good guy. I mean, Roman’s had him drive me home alone plenty of times, and you know how overprotective my big brother is. He’dneverlet Bane do that if he didn’t trust him completely.”
It would be a more ringing endorsement if my mind wasn’t actively replaying the memory of that “good guy” pinning me down in my sleep the other night and roughly finger-fucking me to a screaming orgasm—myfirst—while telling me my slutty hole was making a mess of his fingers.
I mean…Jesus fuck.
Eventually, Brooklyn has to go.
Wouldn’t want to be late for the kitchen table railing, I suppose. Although, I have eyes and I'vemetKir…so I can’t really say I blame her.
When she’s gone, Evie turns to me. “If you’ve got stuff to do, I can?—”
“Wanna stay over?” I blurt.
