Page 55 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

Since I took her to that sex club, everything between us has shifted. Deeper, darker, hotter. In the best fucking way.

Yeah, she was right about me holding back in the bedroom. And that was because I didn’t want to scare her away. Turns out, I underestimated her. Badly. Laurel is just as unhinged as I am in the bedroom.

Every time I introduce something new, I brace myself, thinking this will be the moment she pulls back. Instead, she meets me there, and then begs for more.

I thought I was corrupting her. Turns out she’s been waiting for someone to finally let her be as unhinged as she is inside.

As we reach the line of parked cars, Igor clears his throat beside me. “So,” he says casually, “a little birdie told me you attended the new club opening with a plus one. That’s new. Would that plus one happen to be Alexei’s teacher, the one you went to Paris with?”

My hand pauses on the car door handle. “Are you keeping tabs on me now?” I grunt.

Igor lifts his hands in surrender. “Relax. It’s my club, remember? I went through the guest list after the party. Besides, we’ve always kept tabs on each other. That’s how we’ve survived. Don’t pretend you don’t keep tabs on me too.”

He’s not wrong. Since our parents died, watching each other’s dealings has been second nature. I know his daily dealings, every woman he’s ever touched, even the ones that lasted a single night. I know their backgrounds, in case they pose any risks.

“So, things serious with her?” he asks, still keeping his distance like he isn’t sure if I might take a swing at his jaw.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

He hums. “Never seen you do serious before. Does she know what we do?”

“No,” I say flatly. “And it’s going to stay that way.”

That shuts him up.

He studies me for a long moment, clearly weighing whether to push further. Whatever he sees on my face makes him think better of it. Igor lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “If you say so.”

I turn back to my car, unlocking it. The door swings open, and I get in. Laurel doesn’t belong in my world, not the violence that follows me everywhere I go.

She’s light. Untouched by the things that stain men like me.

But I can’t bring myself to tell her. I know I can’t hide it forever, and I don’t know how much longer this can go on. So for now, I’ll steal every day she gives me and hope it lasts.

I wasn’t born into this life. It found me.

Twenty-Five Years Ago

It was slowly drizzling. The streetlights blurred into hazy halos on the wet pavement as evening settled in, the air cold enough to sting my lungs every time I breathed.

I pressed myself into the shadowed corner of the restaurant wall, keeping still, watching.

The man in the fancy suit stepped out of the restaurant, coat perfectly tailored, shoes polished so clean they reflected the lights. This type always carried a fat wallet. This type never noticed boys like me until it was too late.

I already told Igor to hide behind the bins at the back. Once I got the wallet, maybe the watch too, if luck was on my side. I’d meet him there, and we’d run—fast—before the man realized what was missing.

Igor had been crying all day because he was hungry. The five dollars I managed to scrape together last night barely lasted till this morning. There was only so much you could stretch that kind of money. I could handle going days without food. Igor couldn’t.

Ever since our parents died three years before, he’d been my responsibility. My little brother. My whole world. I hate the sound of his crying more than the cold, more than the hunger, more than the fear.

The man in the coat lifts his phone to his ear, pacing slightly as he talks. That’s when I notice the two huge men as they step into view behind him.

My stomach drops. I didn’t see them earlier. They’re built like walls, faces hard, eyes scanning the street like predators. Bodyguards. Definitely a problem.

I should back out, but I can’t. Igor needs food.

I moved fast, bumping into the man hard enough to make him stagger half a step. “Sorry,” I blurted, lowering my head like a clumsy kid who wasn’t watching where he was going.

Strong hands grab me instantly. The bodyguards haul me back, their grips like iron clamps around my tiny arms. But my fingers had already done their job—the wallet was in my pocket.