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“I don’t think porn is to blame for their kinks,” she replies just as quietly. Her eyes don’t waver from Boris for a second, her body not even flinching at the muffled, delighted moans coming from the fleshy, tattooed Laredo as he’s eating a woman’s pussy while another woman is eating his ass. “I think experience is. Things they saw back when they were children.”
“And you know that because?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Kids go roaming, especially when they’re not supposed to. Boys more than girls, but even I remember catching people in, you know, certain situations.” She waves a hand as if it’s nothing.
“What people could you have possibly caught in situations like this?” I ask patiently.
She bites her lip, obviously embarrassed. “My parents, I guess, but I don’t really want to think about that.”
I drop the subject, especially because what fascinates me right now is how casually Sirenna is watching the fucked-up show unfolding in front of her. It’s an effort to drag my eyes away from her without losing them in her cleavage, a stylish V dipping down to her abdomen. The woman is exquisite, exuding so much class it’s enchanting. And when she sets her silk-gloved hand on my thigh, light but possessive, I have to shift in order to keep my hardening cock from tenting my slacks.
I’ve always been a hard guy to arouse, but Sirenna Miller is in a league on her own. My jaw tightens when I think about the fact that her last name is still Carter. She asked me to call her by her maiden name from the day we met, but that doesn’t feel right either. As my eyes land on Boris’ flushed face, his moves choppy and neurotic, I realize only one thing would feel right–if she becomes Mrs. Sirenna Thorngren.
“These people,” she whispers, her breath touching the skin on my neck and making it difficult to focus, “the perversions they pursue, they’re neurotically trying to satisfy a need deep inside that they can’t put their finger on. Somewhere along the way, they were so damaged that wires snapped. Maybe they were made to feel such shame that they dissociated from that part of themselves, and they don’t know what they really want, what truly satisfies them. So they try out all kinds of crazy stuff in a desperate and hopeless search for fulfillment.”
“I didn’t know they taught that level of psychology in business school,” I say with the ghost of a smile.
“No psychology to be had there. My therapist helped me discover the same thing about myself. I understand what these men are going through because, well, I’m the same.”
Heat crawls up my cock, making it impossible to keep my erection to a semi. The head engorges, pushing against my fly.
“You unlocked things inside me,” she continues, knowing full well she’s pouring fuel into the fire. “Things I didn’t even dare think about while I played with myself. I never came so hard in my life before I met you, Zayne.” Her hand slides closer over my lap with every word until it wraps around my cock through my slacks.
“If you make me fucking come in my pants right now,” I growl through my teeth, “These bastards won’t take me seriously when I make them kneel for you.”
She grips me harder at the root, my ass clenching. “Fuck,” I snarl, and Boris’ eyes fly over to us.
He pays well to keep this place obscure, the dim red lighting just enough to enhance his experience, but he thought he and Laredo would be the only ones enjoying themselves tonight. He recognizes me at a glance, of course.
“Mr. Petrenko,” I greet, my lips tilting up with the pleasure of a devil about to feast. “I wish I could say it was a surprise to find you here, but we both know that would be a lie.”
He freezes with his hands on the hips of the skinny guy with the caged-in penis who looks at us, too. The woman feeding him is so high, though, that she doesn’t stop shoving food into what she thinks is the man’s mouth, but the spoon hits his cheek, the food repeatedly landing on the floor.
Boris stares at me through strands of oily hair draped over his forehead, then pushes it back with jerky movements. He makes hasty work of tucking himself back in, a dozen men with rifles stepping into view from the shadows at this sign of his distress. Sirenna’s hand, which has been stroking me all through the first sentences I addressed the fucker, freezes on my cock. Changing my mind about what I said earlier, I close my fist around it, keeping it in place.
I always thought that being in love made a man weak. Love is an addiction, at least the form that I’m experiencing certainly is, and Priest was right about men like us not being allowed addictions. We were chosen for having been so deeply battered by life that nothing could affect us anymore. On the inside, we were damaged beyond repair. Some of the guys The Order crowded in that chamber when they recruited us were dead inside, you could see it in their eyes. But Priest and I, we had a fire that moved us relentlessly towards destruction. It’s how we made it so high within The Order. We were motivated by a pathological thirst that could never be truly satisfied, one that turned us into serial killers. I finally steadied mine by plunging into science–The Order found good use for my unusually quick wits. Priest has a fabulous criminal mind, but his way of centering himself is self-flagellation.
Laredo seems to be lost, moaning into one woman’s pussy while writhing against the other one’s face. Boris kicks him to draw his attention. His face snaps to us, his mouth slick with the woman’s arousal. His eyebrows look like overhangs over his small eyes as he blinks at us, finally understanding what’s happening. It takes a second kick for him to scramble around for his pants before he staggers to his feet, spitting out, “Shit, shit, shit!” Boris, on the other hand, gets a hold of himself pretty quickly.
“If you came here with no backup, handsome,” he says, “then you’re not as smart as they say you are.” He motions to the armed men in masks and black gear surrounding him. “You may be big and strong at the top of the city, in heaven, but this is hell, boy.” He spits out that last word as if he wants to slap me with it.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I tilt my head to the side like I’m curious. “How much of a difference a pair of pants can make for a man. One moment his mouth flaps like a fish’s out of water, and the next, he’s talking like he’s in any position to make threats.”
Laredo’s eyes flash into slits.
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” he grunts in his thick accent.
“Oh, I know exactly who I tracked down to this slum. The member of the Blood First Triad with the most to gain from Joseph Carter’s disappearance–Boris Perenko–and his trusted hound. The two limp dicks that tried to eliminate Carter’s only remaining heir, his wife.” I wrap an arm around Sirenna, pulling her into my side. She usually keeps her style low-key and somber, which is why she doesn’t usually stand out despite her great beauty, but she looks stunning tonight. The shock of seeing me here is the only reason why Boris and Laredo only become aware of her just now.
Their eyes dance between Sirenna and me for a moment, and I take the chance to position my heel on their necks.
“I trust that your boys Ricky and Lorenzo informed you that she is now under my protection.”
Laredo walks closer to Boris, opening his mouth to say something, but Boris slaps his sweaty chest with the heavily ringed back of his hand to shut him up.
“We got the message. And we left her alone for the time being. So why are you here?” At a gesture of his hand, two of the armed men step forward, grab the guy with the caged penis and the drugged woman and drag them away. Her food bowl falls to the ground, the porridge splashing over the crimson carpet.
Boris comes up to his feet, both he and Laredo walking closer, the armed men tightening their ranks behind them. Sienna tenses by my side. To her, it must look like Boris wasn’t wrong when he made his point–it’s just the two of us here, while he and Laredo have an army of masked mercenaries to back them up. But I wouldn’t have walked in here without a plan, and no one knows this better than Boris. I can tell from how his mean little eyes fix on me, expecting me to shoot snakes at him from under my sleeves.
