Page 56 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

He’d been warning me. They were dangerous, and I was moving in this weekend.

The part of me that should have been frightened by that, the sensible, self-preserving part of me that had kept me safe and unattached and perfectly fine on my own for years, was quiet.

I picked up my phone and read Leo’s message one more time.

Then I responded.

Good thing the door locks from the inside.

I hit send and dropped my phone onto the desk.

Yep. I had it bad. Not only did Elena’s warning not run me off, but it also made me more curious than ever.

22

VIKTOR

Peyton was trouble. I’d known it for a while, but her text proved my point once and for all.

It might have taken her a minute to respond but when she did, it left me with a hard-on I had every intention of making better.

Later. She meant that text for Leo, but we all knew we were welcome.

Right this minute, we sat in her car, rolling down the street toward her house. I examined every house we passed, evaluating them for danger. Peyton apparently lived in one of the blandest neighborhoods ever.

And I thanked God for that.

Peyton clicked on the blinker and turned right onto a side street. “That’s me.” Her chin bobbled toward a small house to my right.

It was so inherently Peyton that I smiled. Sunshine yellow shutters framed small windows along the front of the house. A perfectly manicured sidewalk led to an orange door, and flowers covered just about everything.

Her entire neighborhood was residential and tree-lined, the kind of street that looked the same in every direction and probably smelled like cut grass in the evening. Which was a tough feat in New York.

She parked and turned off the engine. “I won’t be long.” Pushing the door open, she glanced back at me. “You don’t have to come in.”

“Oh, I’m coming in.” I was out the door and around the hood before she had a chance to recover.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She jingled her keys in her hand, then shoved the key into the door.

I patted her shoulder. “But you didn’t warn me.”

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open.

The inside of her house was exactly what I expected and yet nothing like I imagined. A small living room gave way to a small kitchen bathed in warm light. Stacks of books took up spots along the front of an overflowing bookcase, and a colorful blanket lay draped over the arm of the couch.

A coffee mug on the kitchen counter with a stain ring underneath gave way to a spotless counter, which showed her attention to detail but slight predilection to distraction.

She dropped her bag onto the couch and disappeared down a dark hall without turning on any lights, navigating her own home in the near-dark.

I stayed in the living room, turning around in slow circles. The books were organized by author, but the stacks on the floor seemed to be completely random.

I’d almost expected them to be organized using that new color trend, but I should have known better.

A framed photograph sat on the shelf, sandwiched between two authors she must like since she had at least a dozen of each of their books. I picked up the frame and studied the photo.

A younger Peyton stood in the middle of a group, a woman with the same eyes beside a man with the same jaw, all three of them squinting into the sunlight. Several others that were combinations of the two older people fanned out on either side. Her family.

The sound of drawers opening and closing drifted from the hallway.