In short—exactly what I needed.
At first, it was the location that caught my eye. I spotted it on Google Earth, ran drone footage around the property to assess security risks, then dug into a background search to find out exactly who I’d be dealing with. The final step was hiring a realtor to push the sale—I couldn’t risk handling it myself and exposing my anonymity.
The elderly couple resisted, of course. That changed when I offered them a mansion in Kent, close to their children and grandchildren. They’d still have their seaside dream. But this one is mine.
That’s what I do. If I want something, I make it happen, by whatever means necessary.
And I accomplished all of that while overseas through representatives. Although the process took a bit longer than I’d like. Several weeks, to be exact.
I did all of this just so I’d have a discreet, secure place to meet the motherfucker who dared toendit.
Not sure whatitis. Sex? Obsession? Whatever it is, he has no right to.
I shove the car door shut and step out into the storm. Rain pours down from a sky smothered in black, the night raging as waves slam against the cliff beneath the house, their roar nearly drowning out the downpour.
My shirt clings damp to my skin as I pull the key with the bullet key chain from my pocket—the same key I sent him yesterday, so he’d have it in time for the weekend.
The thought that he actually brought Kevin here nearly snaps my muscles as my vision turns red.
How dare he?
How fuckingdarehe?
A frown bunches my brows when I spot the bike parked on the side of the driveway, soaking with rain.
Don’t tell me the motherfucker had Kevin glued to him on that bike…?
My vision is entirely black as I unlock the door and step in.
Rain taps against the floor-to-ceiling windows, steady and unrelenting, the only sound against the weight of silence in the house.
I move through the entryway, my steps muffled by limestone tile, the soft glow of recessed lighting tracing clean lines along archways and wall paneling. Everything smells faintly of the woods and sea surrounding the place. The house is sharp, elegant, has symmetrical lines, and is decorated with dark walnut and marble.
My feet come to a halt.
Yulian stands halfway up the staircase, one hand locked around the banister, the other buried in the pocket of a battered leather jacket. His hair hangs damp in uneven strands across his forehead, his face mottled with mauve bruises from earlier. And still, the bastard grins widely when he sees me.
“Nice place,” he says, his voice thick with amusement.
I take the stairs two at a time, shoving past him and toward the bedroom, expecting to find a certain motherfucking Kevin lying in bed.
The main bedroom is empty, the sheets clean and untouched. I search the bathroom and the second room, then go back to the main bedroom, but there’s noblond-haired flirt I clearly threatened to kill the next time I see him touching Yulian.
Maybe he took that threat seriously and hid?—
A chin drops on my shoulder from behind, and I swallow when Yulian’s head-turning scent bathes me in an extremely weird sensation.
Yes, it’s desire, but there’s something else in there.
Anger. Let’s call it anger, because I’d rather it be that than something else.
I’d actually prefer to do the more sensible thing of bashing my head against a wall until I bleed out, instead of facing what thatsomethingelse is.
“What are we looking for?” The rough edge of his husky voice makes my mouth water.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Kevin,” I say coolly, at least sounding angry and not at all plagued by the feel of him against me.
