How had she passed out? I didn’t think I’d pressed hard enough to knock her out, but I had to be careful with my surprisingly fragile kitten.
Holding back wasn’t in my nature, so maybe I’d squeezed too hard?
No. I’d squeezed women’s throats harder when I was fucking them, and they hadn’t passed out. There was something else going on.
As I stared at her, I noticed a small lump in her pocket.
Now what did we have here?
After picking up a tweezer, I carefully clenched the metal arms and drew it out of her pocket.
A vial with a microscopic needle attached.
Naughty little kitten.
“You just couldn’t submit to me could you?” I whispered into her unhearing ear.
She moaned, and I felt it go straight to my dick.
I carefully placed the vial in a hard plastic container. I pocketed it as the door slowly clicked open.
Wide eyes greeted me as Alisa’s friend stumbled back from the door frame.
“I, um, came to check on Alisa,” she said.
She ran a hand through her hair, her eyes warring between fear and attraction.
I ignored her, and left the room after one final glance at sleeping beauty.
Chapter five
Alisa
“I brought Trader Joe’s wine,” Gemma announced.
My best friend swished into my crappy apartment like she was walking into a ritzy club instead of a studio with a permanently broken heater.
“Burgers with extra cheddar and no pickles,” I said, gesturing at the greasy fast food bag sitting on a scratched coffee table I’d found on the sidewalk. “I still can’t believe you don’t like pickles.”
Gemma smiled mischievously. “Oh trust me, Ilovepickles. Just not in my mouth.”
I snorted and handed her a chipped wine glass.
The moment she joined me on the ripped blue sofa it felt like I was breathing for the first time in weeks. Gemma was my only friend outside of the Bratva. When it was just the two of us, my brain wasn’t on high alert checking for microexpressions that hinted the interaction was about to turn deadly. I could let the stress I wore like a second skin slip away.
I was just me.
“How’s the new job?” I asked while she dug into her cheeseburger.
“Good tips. Although I’d prefer to wear something else to work.” Gemma gestured down at the midriff grazing top and leather miniskirt she was wearing.
I completely understood. I tailored my outfits to the fetishes and preferences of the marks I was forced to kill. Absently, I ran my fingers through my hair. It felt nice not to have to wear an itchy wig or fake tanner all over my skin during my downtime.
Not that Gemma knew anything about that. She thought I had a perfectly boring low-paying job.
“Wait, what are these?” Gemma said. She picked up the red bottomed shoes lying on my listless rug.
Shit, I’d forgotten to put those away. I tried to lock away any reminders of the Bratva when Gemma came over.
