Page 57 of Violent Pawn

One down. One less Elite. One more person closer to being able to lay out all my sins to Zeno and pray he sees these kills, these offerings, as an apology.

Maybe then, the monster on my back will fuck off, and sobriety will conquer.

Now, I need a fucking drink.

Ifind her instantly. My little ballerina angel-turned-sinful siren.

She’s in the centre of the dance floor, only twenty minutes to midnight, surrounded by Vanessa and Zeno. Despite the crowd of flashing colours and sparkling outfits, she’s easily the brightest star—the single person in the entire room whose attention is a beacon for me.

It’s been days since the mistletoe incident, where I lost my mind in a bottle of vodka and needed sobriety by her hands. Fuck me, I needed her that night, and the only thing that would have stopped me was her telling me no.

But she didn’t. She let me inside her room. Let me kiss her, hold her, touch her, and then sleep beside her. I wanted everything and more—which is what woke me at five a.m. to escape. After making up some excuse to Zeno, I hid in the gym and then later work, only returning in the evening, well after the plane flew them back to Russia.

I felt more in our kiss than anything else ever with another woman. What went from a game to determinedly earning her trust might be the very thing I lose if I’m not careful.

Standing inside the club, disregarding the swell of bodies, she’s impossible to ignore. After the recent murder, she’s my north star, guiding me into a new direction, a better life.

I’m four steps into the arduous journey before Zeno intercepts me, redirecting me through the thick New Year’s Eve crowd towards the bar. He slams his hand into my shoulder, shoving me against the bar top. The bartender throws a dismayed look our way but ignores us.

“Tell me the truth. Where did you actually go, because I don’t believe the bullshit you spewed.”

I straighten, forcing him back a step. “Told you. Errand in Ana’s name. It’s not a crime to get someone a gift.”

His gaze drops to my hands. “Show me.”

Vanessa pops up beside him, earning herself the best damned wedding present for distracting him with her glassy gaze and unstable balance. “Hey.” The word is dragged out to levels I never knew a Y-sound could make. “Finally, you’re here. She looks great, huh?”

She doesn’t need a name for me to know who it is. She has been on my damn mind every day since Christmas.

Her lips against mine. Her warmth. Her curves. Her little moans as she gave me a taste of heaven only to make me a starving man once more. In that second, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol anywhere on this planet that’d give me a fix better than her taste.

She’s wearing a black dress infused with sparkles or some feminine shit that complements the roving lights. It wraps her neck and frame in some Grecian-style thing I wish I knew the proper title for. Her hair is bound up, baring the neck that gets me so hard.

I’m not the only one who notices.

Jealousy isn’t something I’m used to. My tense nerves, the way I’m envisioning dragging every man here away and locking them in a basement until forgetting about them and they die wasting away.

Fuck, I won’t survive tonight. Hell, I won’t survive her—ever. Because so far, I’ve been doing such a splendid job at it—sarcasm.

I gesture to the bartender for a shot. Standing beside a Volkov certainly helps the influence she carries everywhere.

Zeno’s gaze remains sharp. He’ll be the sober one of us all by the end of the night, probably to protect Vanessa being so open in public—despite her guards positioned by the entranceway.

He won’t let tonight go, and there will be only so much time to keep him off my case, which means finding the rest of the ex-Elite members soon and ending this before he realizes I’ve been disobeying him.

After downing the shot, I wink at the couple before heading to the dance floor. She’s lost to the music, and I push between sweaty, gyrating bodies. It’s the same yet so different from the last time we were in a club together. So much has changed between the games I played then and the race I’m running now.

Men hover, most rushing away at my glare, until there’s space for me to sidle up behind her. As I press into her back, a sparkling gaze meets mine over her shoulder, and her lips curl up, confirming one thing: she’s drunk. Sober Ana isn’t this thrilled to see me, regardless of the kiss.

“There you are. I assumed it’d only be a matter of time before you came along.”

“Is that why I found you luring men to their deaths?”

She scoffs before winding her arms around my neck and twisting in my hold. “Does it matter what I do? If you’re jealous, don’t leave me next time.”

It’s not only a test but with the underlying proof that makes me feel like scum. Actually, no—I am scum. I’d also be dumb to ignore the communication she’s gifting me.

Addressing my Christmas errors isn’t something for the club, so I push reality aside for her sweet scent and trace my nose up the back of her neck and around her ear. “That sounds like you want me to be jealous. Why should I be when I’ve already won?”