“Your girl’s clearly not satisfied with you. She’s chosen me. Accept it and leave like a man.”
That does it.
I’ll never fucking accept that Nina is not mine. But I will make sure this meathead knows the consequences of touching her.
“Okay.” My voice is ice cold. “But I thought I’d join you.”
The Irishman’s eyes flicker with interest. He must be drunk too, or he’d have detected the obvious danger in my tone. Maybe a lifetime of taking knocks to his head has killed his brain cells.
“You can watch,” he scoffs as we head into the room.
“Oh, I will.” You’re just not going to like what I’m watching, buddy.
My hands bunch into fists when I see what’s inside, where he was taking Nina. I have to hold back from leaping on him right there.
I could pummel him into this exposed concrete floor and leave it smeared with his blood.
But the plan that’s forming in my head will be so much more effective.
Nina doesn’t take her eyes off me as I follow them into the room, like she can sense exactly what’s brewing in my mind.
Dancing with some limp-dicked colleague is one thing. But getting in bed with Irish mob?
That’s a whole lot of story. She’s gonna learn a lesson from this, too.
The room is dark, chains lining the walls, a padded bed with restraints in the center.
Nina’s soft, amber eyes widen. Her paling face tells me that she definitely expected fewer whips and spikes to be involved.
“Nenoka?” I purr. She looks utterly confused at what’s happening. I gesture at the restraints on the bed. She pauses for a second, then pushes him onto the bed.
The Irishman is already unbuttoning his shirt.
Good.
Less bloodstains.
He turns his eyes to me. “You want to watch her ride me on this?”
I wait until Nina has strapped him into the last restraint before I strike. I pin him down to the bed with my elbow on his windpipe.
“Yes. I will watch. I will watch her use this on you,” I hiss.
Then I shove the handle of my silver hunting knife towards Nina. She raises her hands, as though signaling she doesn’t want to be involved.
Keane’s eyes widen until I think they’re about to pop out of his head.
I release his airway and he gasps for breath.
“No, you can’t. Please. Please. You crazy Bratva motherfucker. What are you going to do to me?” he sobs, each word more pathetic than the last.
“Don’t worry,” I smile at him. “She’s a doctor. She knows what she’s doing.”
I turn to Nina.
“You wanted to play with an Irishman, Nenoka? So play with him.”
Nina backs away until she’s against the door, looking horrified. She looks more sober now.
