My palm meeting the soft skin of her ass, and her fucking loving it.
How it felt to shove myself past those pretty little lips and fucking her until they were swollen and she swallowed my cum.
Having her submit to me.
I step out of the shower and look at myself in the mirror.
Outwardly, I haven’t changed. But inside, I’m a raging inferno with no end in sight. A destructive force that will burn down the whole fucking world to ensure my empire grows into the most powerful there is.
I dress quickly in the dark pre-dawn hours. The house is silent and still around me as I head downstairs I have one stop to make before heading to the docks to check my shipment. Now that we have the guns we need, we should have no problem defending it.
But first … Igor needs to pay for the attack on my warehouse.
That poor soldier whose face was burned deserves revenge. And someone is going to pay me for those lost supplies, and that someone is a Russian Don.
Walking toward the front door of the bathhouse, I’m joined by Claudio.
“Are the men ready?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies, his head held high like he’s ready to draw guns any moment.
“Let’s get this day over with,” I mutter as we step out of the house and climb into the armored car.
We head to the bathhouse because it’s where Igor can be found early in the morning. The man is stupid for having such a predictable routine. But it makes it easy for me to end him and his men.
I’m checking my emails when Claudio says, “Fuck, look.”
My head snaps up and I look at where he’s pointing.
We’ve come to a stop in front of the building where I met with Igor a week and a half ago.
It’s empty.
Gone are the signs declaring it a Russian bathhouse open to the public. The sidewalk in front of it is dirty and trash-strewn as if it has been unoccupied for a long time.
What the fuck?
It’s like no one was ever even here.
There’s not a single trace of human existence to tie Igor and his Bratva to this place.
The unease builds. I turn my attention to Claudio, who gives me a look filled with apprehension. “This is not good,” he says.
I don’t bother to answer. Of course, this isn’t fucking good. Igor vanishing and scrubbing this place clear of his ever having been here is not a good sign. When people in my business vanish, they’re either dead … or they are about to come fuck up your world. And it’s definitely the latter, seeing as the fucker torched my warehouse.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath. Then as the anger surges through me, I find myself roaring it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“How do you want to handle this?” Claudio asks.
I close my eyes and rub my temple, then take a deep, slow breath before I respond. C
“Put out the call,” I order. “Find out where the fucker is hiding.”
Claudio nods and begins to make calls.
Soon, we get the call from Ricardo that the ship has docked. We need to be in position within the hour so we head over to the docks.
During the drive, I think of Harper, of those bright eyes flashing with fire in equal parts of submission and defiance.
I long to see her. Because even right now … even here, on the brink of all hell breaking loose …
I miss her.
“Boss?” says our driver. “We’re here.”
I look out the window at the docks. Cranes groan into action with warehouses ready to be filled and men milling about like worker ants. In the distance, the waves lap against the cold concrete. .
“Park right there,” I instruct. I jab a finger toward a shadowy corner with direct street access. If something happens, I want to know there’s an escape route waiting. “Don’t turn the engine off. Stay in the car.”
“Yes, sir.” He pulls over where I directed and brings the car to a stop.
As I get out of the vehicle, Giovanni and Marcus comes toward us.
“Morning, boss,” Giovanni says, rubbing his hands together from the chill hanging in the air. “Big day, eh?”
“Yes. Let’s get everything done,” I mutter. My eyes search the distance, like they always do like I was trained to do. But my thoughts are far from here.
“Is everyone ready?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” Giovanni assures me.” “Got all the weak points assessed already; you ain’t gotta worry about a thing.”
I follow him as we do a circuit of the dock where our ship will soon be off-loaded. Giovanni points out each of the three-men crews he’s dispersed to various strategic locations.
When we’ve finished and are near the car again, I spot a sign: Dock 47. I frown.
“This is Dock 47,” I say, pointing at the placard.
Giovanni looks and shrugs. “Yeah?”