Page 77 of Lust and Honor

His black sweater is still damp. He wraps his arms around me and gently strokes my wet hair.

“That night, I memorized every face, every name. A few months later, I stepped out of my room and saw one of them lying on a bed. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stabbed him. First in the neck, so he couldn’t scream, then everywhere else. I didn’t care that killing a made man meant death. I kept stabbing until I was sure he was gone.”

I pull back slightly and take his hand. “What did you do next?”

“I took his pack of cigarettes and went into the forest. With my face and hands covered in that bastard’s blood, I lit one and smoked it calmly. I knew I didn’t have much time left in this world. That’s when I heard Carlo’s voice from the woods.”

I hang on every word. My heart pounds with anticipation. Maxim stares ahead, a faint smile crossing his lips.

“He was also an eight-year-old kid, who’d just lost his mother. I’d seen him wandering alone in the woods before, but we’d never spoken. He asked who I’d killed, and I told him. He asked what their crime was, and I explained. Then he asked for a cigarette, and I gave him one. We stood in the woods, smoking through the whole pack. Then he headed to the cabin and ordered me to follow. He told me to take a shower, and I did. When I got dressed, he had poured the fuel they kept stored for winter all over the place.

As we stepped outside, he held out a match to me and asked, ‘Do you swear to be loyal to me until death?’ And I swore it. He gave me the match and said, ‘Then I swear to help you get your revenge.’”

He shifts and pulls off his black sweater, pointing to the dates tattooed on his chest, cryptic to me until now. “Each date marks a life. The lives of the bastards who killed my mother. I rebuilt this cabin with my own hands. Hunted every single one of them down. I brought some of them here, tortured them in the most savage ways, and killed them.”

I run my hand over his damp skin, his warmth seeping into my fingertips. “What about your father?”

He smirks darkly. “I had a special plan for him. I got him locked up for fifteen years. He got out a few months ago. I went after him, cut off his cock, and made sure he’d live. To suffer. To cower in some dark hole, dreading the day I come to collect his soul.”

His words are like water dousing a fire. It’s as if Nico, my father, met this fate. I lean forward, kissing the tattooed dates. “You did the right thing.”

He brushes his finger across my cheek. “I’d have done the same to your father. If I’d caught him alive, I’d have made him pay for what he did to you and your mother.”

I place my hands on his shoulders, pulling myself up to straddle his lap. There’s a lump in my throat that makes my voice weak and shattered. “He should’ve suffered.”

He fists my hair and tilts my head back. “He’s dead, and that’s what matters in the end. You have a long, happy life ahead, and he can’t touch you anymore. You’re alive, Ava, and he’s not. Don’t let that bastard steal another second of your life.”

Warm, heavy tears roll down my cheeks. In his eyes, I see a restlessness I’ve never noticed before.

He twirls a lock of my hair between his thumb and finger, then gives me a bitter smile. “He hated red hair.”

I don’t ask who, just hold his gaze as he continues. “Leo. He always treated the red-haired slaves worse than the others.”

It’s like curtains parting, revealing what’s been hidden behind them. “Is that why you’re drawn to redheads?”

With that same restless look, he murmurs, “I wanted to be the exact opposite of Leo. The opposite of that motherfucker.”

I shake my head. “I never met him, but I know you’re nothing like him.”

A flicker of something dark flashes in his eyes as his muscles tense. His voice drops into something rough and primal, all the softness from moments ago gone.

“I want to fuck you.”

The fire in his eyes burns hotter than the flames in the fireplace. I say nothing, just press my forehead to his. He squeezes my ass with one hand and grips the back of my neck with the other. Then he kisses me deeply, softly, full of possession and heat. I return his kiss, pressing myself closer, rocking against his body.

His fingers slither under my sweater like a snake, pushing my bra aside to grasp my breast. I moan into his mouth and tilt my head to let him take more of my mouth. Both hands tug my sweater off, and then he lays me down on the wooden floor.

The cold surface prickles my skin with goosebumps. He looms over me, his eyes wild and piercing. He unclasps my bra, tossing it beside the sweater. Our heavy breaths mingle with the crackle of burning wood and the roar of the rain. He braces his hands on either side of my head, dominating me completely.

“You sure about this?” he growls.

I run my palm over his bare chest, tracing the story I just heard in the ink beneath my touch. “What do you mean?”

“If you give yourself to me, there’s no going back. I’ll never let you go. You’re mine, Ava. For as long as you live, whether you like it or not.”

“And if I don’t give myself to you, will you let me go?”

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his chest flexing under my hands. “No. I’ll still make you mine. One way or another.”