A raven, just like that day.
But this one is carved from gleaming obsidian, shot through with veins of gold. Black diamonds for eyes, glittering with malice.
And behind it, boring into me with laser focus… is a pair of familiar eyes gleaming brown in the dim light.
Oh, fuck.
I forget how to breathe.
It can’t be.
But… It’s him.
Mr. Big Dick Energy.
And he’s looking right at me.
twenty
Clara
Fuck me.
I nearly swallow the vial under my tongue. Wouldn’t that be a headline?
“Assassin Kills Herself with Her Own Poison, Chokes on Glass at Secret High Society Party.”
But now… I can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t do anything but stare at the man who haunts my nightmares. The man who destroyed my life.
He cocks his head slightly, eyes raking over me. Down to my tits, my hips, my legs. Back up to meet my gaze. Assessing. Penetrating.
No… this is not happening.
Mr. Big Dick Energy is Leonid Kuznetsov?
Leonid Kuznetsov. ThePakhanof the Bratva. The man I’m supposed to kill tonight.
The stranger from the masquerade club all those years ago. The one who saved my life.
Fuck. This complicates things.
But something feels wrong. The man I remember from fourteen years ago doesn’t seem like the same person standing before me now. There was something different in his eyes back then. – Evil. Pure Evil. But no, that’s impossible. Maybe it’s just the years of trauma clouding my memories. Or maybe I’m trying to rationalize things because this isthe Raven.The man who—
I’m piecing it all together when a jerk rams into me, snapping me right out of my thoughts.
“As-salaam-alaikum– Hello– Mr. Kuznetsov!” A booming voice shatters the moment. I flinch, tearing my eyes away from Kuznetsov.
A man in flowing white robes breezes past, too focused on whatever’s ahead to notice the mere mortal he just bulldozed—yours truly. His mask is a dazzling sunburst of diamonds. He clasps Leonid Kuznetsov’s shoulder, grinning broadly.
Kuznetsov nods in greeting, but his eyes never leave mine. Studying me. Trying to place me.
Does he recognize me? Remember that day, the sex?
But there’s no spark of recognition. No flicker of guilt or remorse. He looks at me like I’m a mildly interesting insect. Something to be studied and then squashed.
