Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
His photoshoot didn’t last long. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself, and when he kissed me, his erection dug low against my belly.
“Pull your panties to the side,” he commanded, stepping back and pointing the phone at me. I darted my fingers to the crotch of my underwear and tugged it aside, and when he made a noise of approval, it sent a current of desire thrumming through me.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said. It wasn’t an act. The raw need in my voice was real.
“Do you?” he mocked. “Just a second and I will.” He looked down at the phone in his hand, scrolling through the screens. “I want to make sure Petrov gets this first.”
His words cast me into a pool of ice, and I strangled it out. “What?”
Vasilije’s expression was devious. “I’m in a giving mood.”
“You’re sending those pictures to Sergey Petrov?” I didn’t feel shame about most things, but even this was beyond my limit. The man was my father.
“No.” He said it like I was ridiculous. “They’re going to the other Petrov, Konstantine. The shithead who was staring at you, remember?”
“Ahuyet!” I reached for the phone to stop him. “You can’t.”
Vasilije drew back with surprise. “What do you care? You’ll never see him again.”
Panic was whirring so loud in my mind, it was deafening. “You can’t know that.”
When I scrambled for his phone a second time, he stepped away and distrust clouded in his eyes. “I do, because he’ll be dead by the end of the week.”
“What?”
“The Russians pushed my uncle too far. He gave the order last night. The Russians want to control us, but instead? They’re getting war.” Vasilije acted like he was talking about a simple thing. “I’ll give him a few dirty pics and send him out with a bang.”
I latched my hands onto his forearm, half needing him for support. I was shaking with fear for my brother as my mind raced. “No. Vasilije, no. Please.”
“What the hell?” Confusion ate at his expression.
I closed my eyes and dry swallowed, unable to see any other way out of my situation. “You have to stop this. You can’t kill Konstantine.”
“Why the fuck not? The Russians are—”
“He’s my brother.”
The statement hung, suspended in time while Vasilije processed it.
I felt a connection to him, stronger and more real than I thought possible. Did he feel any of it, or would he kill me now that I’d shattered the trust?
Finally, he gave me a dubious look. “I’ve seen Konstantine’s sister, and you aren’t her.”
I knew my next statement could be the nail in my coffin, but said it anyway. “Tatiana is my half-sister. Konstantine is my half-brother.”
Doubt washed away and left a hard look in its place. I could see him trying to put it together in his head. He was looking for a way to connect me to the family without going through my father, but I needed to get the whole truth out.
“When my mother died, I was sent to Sergey Petrov.” My voice cracked with stress. “My father.”
Had I broken him? Vasilije simply stared at me. He didn’t seem to be breathing.
The room grew colder than Siberian winter.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, but he was lying. I watched his gaze flit to the dresser drawer where we both knew his gun was stored, and pain stabbed at the hole where my heart was supposed to be. He was considering murdering me. “If Sergey had another daughter,” he said, “I’d know.”
I shook my head. “No one knows. It’d be an embarrassment to my family, especially my stepmother, if it got out. I’m sorry I lied to you, but—”
He sneered. “I don’t believe you.”
“—most of what I said is true. I hate my father. I’m not the enemy, Vasilije. I’m your ally.”
He moved so fast, it wasn’t until the sharp pain of his fingers dug into my waist that it registered he was touching me. He was right in my face. His eyes were dark and furious, and all I could see. They threatened to incinerate me. “I. Don’t. Believe. You.”
I gasped from the pain. Usually I liked it when he was rough, but this was different. It wasn’t sexual. He wasn’t doing it to bring on pleasure. This was pure, raw anger. Punishment.
“Please, just listen. We can help each other. I want to kill him,” I bit out. “But I don’t know how to and not end up dead.”
He picked me up and flung me down on the bed, so hard my teeth snapped together and I cried out. I scrambled backward on the mattress, and—
Oh, God. He stomped to the dresser, yanked the drawer open so hard it went off the slides, and withdrew his gun. “And what the fuck do you think I’m going to do now that I know you’re—” he visibly struggled to get it out, “—a fucking Petrov?”