“Okay, Valeria!” I yell, hoping she can hear me from whatever room she’s in. “I’m ready to guess how big penis number one is!”
Silence.
Then I hear footsteps, too heavy to be Valeria’s, echoing in the quiet room. Trepidation sinks into my bones.
“If you wanted to stroke a cock,lyubimaya, all you had to do was ask.”
Shrieking, I reflexively fling the dildo as far as I can. “Crap, Alexei, you scared me!”
“And you thought hitting me with a rubber dick was an appropriate punishment?”
From his tone, I can’t tell if he’s annoyed, amused, turned on, or all three. “This was all your sister’s idea, I swear.”
I reach up to remove the blindfold, but Alexei stays my hand. “Leave it.”
The throaty way he utters the direction answers my internal question.
Definitely turned on.
And now, so am I. “Um…where’s your sister?”
“Valeria left.” Alexei’s thumb strokes my lower lip. “Why don’t you try measuring the real thing?”
Need pulses between my thighs.
I think I’m going to like this game a lot better.
Chapter 33
Alexei
The front of Reznik Select Cuts gleams under fluorescent lights like a clean, bright lie. Behind the pristine glass counter, cuts of meat sandwiched between sheets of butcher paper are arranged with artistic precision. Hooks hanging behind the counter display a variety of link sausages. A chalkboard on the back wall shares the daily specials. The customers never see what happens in the back. The blood, the bones, the guts.
Just like my business. Pretty storefronts mask ugly realities.
But none of it touches me today. Not after that incredible night Aurora and I shared.
I need to invite my sister over more often.
I nod at the stocky bald man in the white apron behind the counter, and he gestures toward the back without a word. He knows who I am and why I’m here. While we’re not close to the Reznik Bratva that runs this butcher shop, our Pakhans have a working relationship. That’s why I rarely venture into this part of town.
When I do, I carry extra weapons.
As I push through the swinging door, a blast of cold, dry air, heavy with the coppery tang of blood and the astringent burn of bleach, hits me.
Leaning against a massive steel table and wearing a thick black apron, Ilya Reznik is the epitome of nonchalance. “Alexei.” His pale brown hair might be called blond if it weren’t buzzed short. “Been a while.”
I keep my distance while scanning the room for threats. “Not long enough.”
His laugh bounces off the silver surfaces. “Still the charmer. Congratulations on the engagement, by the way. Surprised everyone. The girl must be something special.”
I ignore the bait. “You know why I’m here.”
“Benny. Yeah, he came to us. Said MJ was onto something.” He shrugs like we’re discussing the weather instead of my dead brother. “Wanted to sell his information.”
“What information?” I keep my voice flat, though my hands itch to close around this fucker’s throat.
“Intel about your family’s past.” Ilya offers a lazy half wave. Though the man exudes sloth and ineffectiveness, he’s always on top of things. “He said we could use it against you.”
