Page 12 of Daddy Brigadier

She pauses, holding the stick in front of my face. “Brigadier, all you have to do is tell me where Petrov is, and I’ll drop you off at your loft.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“I don’t kill for fun,” she softly murmurs, her body stiffening, her eyes staring at me, but lost at the same time.

She lingers, expectant for my reply, but I remain silent, my face and shirt soaked, my breath uneven.

“I can keep this up all night long, Brigadier.”

“If you keep grinding against my cock, then I don’t mind, sweetheart.” With a playful smirk, I swallow hard, then flash a confident wink.

With a crazed laugh, she moves the stick across my stomach, this time holding it against my skin longer than before. The tingling sensation crawls beneath my skin, causing my muscles to spasm.

When she touches me for the third time, the shock is unbearable, and the pain in my chest intensifies, poundingrelentlessly. “Stop!” I gasp, my heart spiking to the point that a sharp ache radiates across my body.

She tosses the stick onto the ground, a puzzled expression crossing her face as she tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

“I just need a moment to breathe,” I say softly, leaning my forehead against her collarbone. The sweet scent of berries envelops me again as I nuzzle against the strand of hair that’s slipped free.

“Get out!” she commands, glaring at the other woman.

The woman stands her ground. “Lexi.”

Aww, that’s Krasotka’s name—Lexi.

“I said, leave!” Lexi insists, her voice rising. The sound of footsteps drifts away as the door softly closes.

Her eyes narrow with genuine concern, and it’s a moment I can seize. “Tell me, girl, how long have you been following me?”

She tilts my chin up to meet her gaze. “Last week, for your granddaughter’s birthday, you took her to Roses and More and bought her a little pink elephant.”

I flinch at the mention of my granddaughter, biting back the urge to snap at her. “Hmmm, you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?”

But something else has happened; the rope has loosened again.

“You spend most nights alone, sitting at your dining table with your dinner untouched as you choose to drink your Scotch instead. When it gets late, you turn off all the lights and retreat to your bedroom by yourself. Even when a girl is with you, you send her home right away, ending the evening the way you began it—alone.”

I can’t argue with her, but none of this has been my choice.

Since my wife passed away a year ago, my nights have become quieter and emptier. Yet, if I’m honest, there’s also been a strange sense of peace in that silence.

Her fingers run through my hair as she tilts back my head, her lips tracing a path along my throat from my chest to my chin before returning to mine. “I also know you purchased a private island off the coast of South America. Tell me, Brigadier—do you plan to retire? I can’t imagine a man like you trading being a Brigadier for lounging by the pool, sipping Mai Tais all day.”

I laugh. “I’ve already picked out my Speedos.”

She’s right. I do own a private island, prepared for a retirement that may never come. But in truth, Brigadiers don’t retire. We discuss it, fantasize about it, and even acquire private islands. Yet the reality is, we always die as Bratva men. The Bratva always comes first.

I lean in, biting her lower lip. “Now it’s my turn. I think Petrov did something to you.”

Her eyes flicker over me, not leering, but sharp, as though I’m peeling back the layers to see what she’s hiding. “He hurt my friend.”

I’ve taken lives before for hurting someone I loved, and this feels deeply personal. She is hurting, and I see it, sense it. “Maybe he did, but he hurt you, too.” I press on, wanting her to break. “What did he do to you?”

She’s silent, with tears shimmering in her gaze as she takes a deep breath, struggling to keep them at bay.

He must have hurt her in the most unimaginable way. My thoughts spiral, imagining him above her, his lips on hers, picturing her tears as he inflicts his cruelty upon her.

Has Petrov touched what I crave but haven’t yet tasted?