She’s still breathing heavily as she untangles herself from me, closing her eyes, refusing to acknowledge my presence. She’s hiding from me, probably filled with shame about what just happened.
My cock twitches, eager for its turn, but that’s not happening. Not tonight. Not ever.
I step back and release her from my grasp. Georgia turns to reach for her discarded robe. Tension ripples along her back, but she says nothing. Something has changed between us and I know she can feel it too.
I don’t comfort her. I don’t bother with any soothing words. It would just be false.
I turn and leave like smoke in the wind.
Chapter13
ANDREI
I take great pains to avoid Georgia for the next few days and it’s a goddamn relief. When I’m near her, the temptation to touch her, to possess her, is overwhelming. Not that staying away from her is doing much to quell my obsession.
When at home, I’m either sleeping, or cloistered in my office, working. I even eat in here, wanting to avoid a possible run-in. But try as I might to avoid her, she is constantly on my mind. After I lapped at her sweet pussy, there is no going back. She tasted like nectar from the gods, her flavor forever branded on my tongue.
I know I was harsh with her the night in the library, disappearing without a word, but I had to be. Tenderness would leave the door open for more to develop between us. Just because we have off the charts chemistry doesn’t mean we can act on it. We can’t.
But it’s a struggle.
Business should be my priority—end of story. As pakhan, I don’t get my hands dirty, not like I used to. Now it’s about directing an army and staying two steps—no, fuck that—a mile ahead of our competition. And competition is breathing down our neck. Everyone from the South American cartels to the Vietnamese mafia all want a piece of our street trade. We have most of Brooklyn and surrounding areas locked down, but for how long? Every day, a new threat comes out of hiding, and we have to put them back in their place. Not to mention the Antonov Bratva. They still have Brighton Beach, though not for long. They’re like a snake slithering in the grass—I can’t see them now, but they’ll rear up at any moment and we have to be ready.
“We’re here, boss.” Yulian says from the front-seat. As I step out of the car, I take in the industrial building on the outskirts of Brooklyn, where we conduct our less than savory business.
Bloody business.
Nothing good comes from being taken to this nondescript cement block on the wrong side of town. But those that we bring here deserve it.
Entering through the backdoor, I’m hit with the familiar sounds of machines whirring. A cacophony of sewing and fabric cutting equipment echoes off the walls. We operate a garment factory on the main floor of the building—a way to wash our money clean and distract from our other activities. The third floor, high above the ruckus of honest business, is where we get answers to all of our burning questions.
Grunt. As I turn the corner, the sound of a punch landing on soft human flesh fills my ears. I open the door to the interrogation room to find Daniil is holding our long-time accountant, Pavel Kalashnik, by his collar, as he lands a hard jab to his face. Blood sprays and spittle flies. Leaning into the doorframe, I watch the show as if it’s a boxing match that I paid top dollar to attend.
“Seems like everything is under control here,” I say cheerfully. Daniil’s eyes flick my way as he wipes down his bloody knuckles with an already soiled rag he flings back on the floor when done with.
“Turns out this half-wit has been on Antonov's payroll for months.”
Red flares in my vision. I knew we had a mole in our organization, but it’s a punch to the gut when you find the person who betrayed you so brazenly—and it’s particularly sickening when the traitor is one of your father’s oldest confidantes.
“Mr. Kalashnik was just about to tell us what information he leaked to Oleg.” Pavel is doubled up on the ground in the fetal position, the smell of piss wafting off him. The least loyal are also the easiest to break.
“Tell me what I want to know,” Daniil hisses, delivering a kick to Pavel’s stomach. He twists in pain on the floor. “You don’t walk out of here alive either way. But it’s up to you how painful your last hours will be. And trust me, I can make them very painful if I want to.”
When the moron stays silent. Daniil’s fist flies again, this time a blow to the face. A sickening crack as blood pours from Pavel’s nose. He coughs and sputters, moaning pitifully as he processes the pain.
But until Pavel talks, there is no mercy.
I remove my dress shirt and hang it over a chair in the corner. Daniil doesn’t get to have all the fun. Naked from the waist up, I crack my knuckles, deciding how to best motivate him.
I don’t like assholes who play me, especially not in the most important battle of my life. With all the pent-up sexual energy I am carrying around, there’s nothing more that I’d like to do than use this buffoon's face as a punching bag.
I lean down and whisper in the now sobbing man's ear. “Listen, you traitorous fucker. There is no hope for you, but if you want your precious wife and daughters to live another day, you better start talking.” Sometimes words are more savage than fists, especially for a coddled suit like Pavel. Violence is far from his stock in trade. This little pig just got greedy.
“I… I’m sorry.” First with the tears. Then more piss.
“Of course you are,” I say, my words dripping with mock understanding. I deliver another kick to his gut. “Get talking.”
“I didn’t want to, I swear it, but Oleg, he wanted information. That’s all. He threatened me, threatened my fam—”