“I’m sure.”
“If I hear a peep from you about what happened last night, aboutanything,you’ll pay for it.”
“With what?”
“Your arousal.” Valerian grunts low in my ear. “I’ll tie you to my bed and leave you there. In pain.” He skims over my chest. “I’ll make sure you’re right on the edge,printsessa.Your legs will be wide open, locked, just like your hands. Your poor pussy will be weeping by the end of it.” His eyes cut back into mine. “I suspect it already is now. I can tell by the color of your cheeks.” He grazes them for a moment. And then he steps back. “Behave, and I’ll reward you. Misbehave?” Valerian gives me a pointed look “Well… Let’s hope you don’t find out.”
He really doesn’t want anyone knowing about us.
“Enjoy the evening. Stay out of trouble.” Valerian pulls away. “I know you can do that for me. You’re enjoying being here more than you’re letting on.”
He winks, disappearing back into the crowds.
What an asshole.
I need a drink to forget about that entire conversation.
I pluck a champagne flute from the serving trays when they circle back around. I take a sip. And squint. It’s strong stuff. Valerian was right about that.
But I like the way it burns as it goes down my throat. This is what I need. Something to take the edge off.
I find the food tables, munching on some appetizers. It feels wrong eating them. They look more like art, all intricately shaped into hearts.
Interesting choice. I’m surprised they didn’t go for something more on brand, like little skulls or guns.
There’s definitely no love in this room tonight, even though a lot of people here are pretending there is.
Investors shake hands with members of the Bratvas. Employees take advantage of the open bar and drink the champagne like it’s water.
It’s easy to tell the Bratva members apart from everyone else. They’re bigger. More muscular. And they have tattoos and scars—both very definable. The scars vary from person-to-person, but the tattoos are all the same. All Sokolov members have one on their left wrist, another on the back of their neck. It’s the letter ‘S’ shaped into a snake.
I wash the food down with a second glass of champagne. It’s easy to get addicted… and carried away when you haven’t had a lick of alcohol since you were seventeen.
God, that was six years ago. Where the hell has the time gone?
Don’t go down that rabbit hole, Joy.
I finish my second glass. And just like magic, the server is back, doing another lap of the room.
“Something to drink?”
I know I shouldn’t.
But I also need some Dutch courage to pull off my plan.
“Sure,” I say, taking a third glass. “Thanks.”
I spend most of the evening standing on the sidelines, watching everyone else. Camera flashes fill the room as Valerian smiles, shaking hands with investors and some of his employees. Those will be going up on his website, that’s for damn sure.
But nobody in this city knows the truth.
I finish my third glass of champagne. There’s no burn in my throat anymore. It’s like I’m drinking juice.
I feel lightheaded. I grip the edge of the table for support, waiting for the feeling to pass. The clinking glasses and cheering all fades away. I even stop hearing the string quartet for a moment.
I blink myself back into the room, straightening my vision. I look out into the lobby and see little black dots walking around. Not men. I mean, they all look similar. They wear the same things, style their hair the same way. All carbon copies of Valerian.
The noise returns. I regain my vision, and my composure. I set the glass down on the table, dust myself off. Time to go in for the kill.