Page 14 of Black Ledger

And fuck me, I found him more attractive now.

He always had been attractive. I shouldn’t be surprised.

But the worst part was this: despite hating him, despite knowing he was responsible for all of my pain, despite knowing he sold me to a sadistic cult, my body still recognized him.

It still wanted him.

The Lethean Order had broken my body so many times it should have forgotten how to want.

It didn’t.

But as I glared at him, as I remembered how much I hated him, I also remembered his hands on my hips. His lips against the column of my throat.

Heat flooded my body and desire coiled, unwanted and alive.

I fucking hated it all.

I despised him, and I would kill him. Slowly. I’d make him suffer the way I had. Maybe I would keep him in my torture chamber for three years. Three years in a cell. Three years on his knees for me.

Begging.

Maybe I would fuck him for every time someone hurt me.

No. Stop. What the hell do you even mean?

That would only torture me. Not him.

I hated Severin Volkov.

Worse, I hated that I didn’t hate him enough. I hated that he still reminded me of love. That was the most unforgivable part.

I turned away and grabbed another glass of champagne. Fuck it. Who cared if I was tipsy? It wouldn’t change anything. I was still going to burn his world to the ground, a little drunk or not.

His betrayal had not been kind. His sin was biblical. Unforgivable. Unimaginable. Killing me would have been far more merciful. Instead, his betrayal had branded itself into my body and mind, every day, every moment someone else hurt me.

It was him scarring me.

Get rid of her.

Chapter Eight

Severin Volkov

Age 36

Cormac ushered us into a private study adjacent to the show floor. The room opened around a fireplace with armchairs, couches, and tables arranged along the walls. Mahogany paneling surrounded the fireplace, scalloped at the edges. Rusted, fairytale-like sconces laced the room.

The place—much like the whole club—felt like stepping into some long-ago Irish myths.

But my gaze lingered longest on the massive stained-glass window depicting three goddesses surrounded by smoke and crows.

It set an ominous, mystical tone—as if the deals made in here might have long-lasting consequences. Considering I was proposing an engagement, mine certainly would.

I walked to the cellarette, filled my glass with a square ice cube and top-shelf whiskey, then leaned against the fireplace where I had the best view of everyone in the room.

As I scanned the room, I noticed Cormac had brought only his immediate family, while I had all of the Morozovs, Maks, and Mikhail with me—my closest confidants.

“You remember my daughter, Neeve.” Cormac motioned to the ginger-haired beauty standing near one of the side tables.