Page 89 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I take the steps slowly, heart starting to race again. The air grows cooler, damper. The grunts get louder, mixed with the wet sound of fists on flesh.

I reach the bottom, and stop dead.

The room is concrete, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. The guy from last night, the one with the receding hairline who touched me, is on his knees in the center, shirt torn, face unrecognizable under blood and swelling.

Two of Leonid’s men stand on either side, arms crossed, faces blank.

Leonid stands in front of him, gun in hand.

Before I can process what's going on, the gunshot cracks through the air, deafening in the enclosed space.

The man drops. Blood pools fast from the hole in his forehead, spreading dark across the concrete.

The coffee mug slips from my fingers and shatters. A scream rips out of me.

Leonid whips around, eyes locking on mine. “Fuck.”

I spin and bolt back up the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Laurel

I burst through the front door, bare feet slapping against the cold marble of the foyer, then the rough stone of the driveway. I don’t care that I’m barefoot, that I’m only in Leonid’s oversized shirt and nothing else. I just need to get away. As far and as fast as possible.

My lungs burn. My heart is a frantic hammer in my chest. I can still see it—the blood, the way the man’s body dropped like a sack of meat. Leonid didn’t even blink. Just raised the gun and ended a life like it was nothing.

The man I love is a murderer.

I make it maybe twenty steps down the long driveway before strong arms clamp around my waist from behind. I’m yanked off my feet, slammed back against a hard chest. I thrash—elbows, heels, nails—trying to break free.

“Laurel, calm down,” Leonid’s voice growls low against my ear, tight with strain.

“Let me go!” I scream, voice cracking. “Let me go, Leonid!”

He doesn’t. His grip only tightens, iron bands across my ribs, careful not to crush but impossible to escape. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, turns, and strides back inside. The door slams shut behind us. I keep fighting, kicking, sobbing, but he’s too strong. He carries me through the foyer, up the stairs, down the hallway, straight back to the bedroom.

He kicks the door closed and finally sets me down on the rug. The second my feet touch the floor I stumble back, putting space between us.

He raises both hands, palms out. “Please. Just breathe. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” My voice breaks on a hysterical laugh. “I just watched you kill someone! What the hell, Leonid? You shot him. In the head. Without even flinching!”

He takes a deep, slow breath, like he’s forcing himself to stay controlled. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“That’s not the point!” I shout, tears streaming hot down my face. “You killed him! You murdered him in cold blood!”

“He assaulted you.”

“That doesn’t mean he should die for it!”

Leonid pins me with a dark look. “He touched you. I can’t stand another man putting his hands on you. Ever.” He steps closer. I take an automatic step back. “I never meant for you to see it. But I’m not sorry he’s dead. He touched what’s mine. He had to pay for it.”

I stare at him, really stare. The calm in his voice. The lack of remorse in his eyes.

“That wasn’t your first time, was it?” My voice comes out small, trembling. “Killing someone.”

Silence stretches between us. My stomach drops. The pause is answer enough. I take another step back, hitting the edge of the dresser. My hands grip the wood behind me to keep from falling.