Page 22 of Bratva Baby

I tremble, staring at him. “Your enemy.”

“My favorite problem for the night.” His fingers glide down my neck.

The car turns, gliding over cobblestones. He doesn’t look away from me once.

“We’re going somewhere,” I say, as if it matters. It doesn’t. The car might as well be hovering outside time.

His hand slides into my hair, fisting it gently but firmly, tugging my head back. He kisses my throat, leaves a hot lick over the point of my pulse. “You bruise here and I’ll know. I’ll picture it while I’m working, while I’m hunting Maks, while I’m thinking about the ways to keep you breathing.”

I stiffen. “You’re hunting him?”

He smiles. “Among other things. Now tell me what you want.”

The fact that Anton is hunting my cousin is interesting enough for a saner time, but I’m not in the place where I can process that right now. “You,” I gasp. “All of you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sitting in your car in Prague after running for my life. What do you think?”

“I think you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he says quietly. “And I think you’re about to find out how it feels to have Reznikov worship on his knees.”

Heat floods me. “Is this how Reznikov men show mercy?”

“I don’t have any,” he says, eyes devouring me. “But I have skill. I have hunger. I have obsession.” His mouth curves in a wicked grin. “And I have you.”

I let out a ragged breath. “Show me.”

He shifts, easing me down until my back meets the leather, hand firm on my shoulder. “Consider this the point of no return,” he murmurs. “Say my name once more, you’ll learn what it feels like to be worshiped by your worst mistake.”

I can barely breathe. “Anton.”

He smiles then. “That’s my girl.”

6

SOFIYA

The sedan noses up to what I presume is Anton’s hotel. Anton’s hand stays wrapped around mine as we climb out. The concierge takes one look at him and vanishes into the shadows.

At the north end of a wide lobby is an elevator. The doors glide open and Anton ushers me in and punches a code. No floor number registers.

His gaze stays pinned to me during the silent ride upward. The elevator stops. A private corridor, framed by low yellow lighting and loaded with surveillance, stretches ahead. He leads me to the suite at the end.

Another code, a low click, and we’re inside. He locks the door and gestures to the window from where Prague is spread out like a jewel box. “Take in the view?”

“I came for you.”

He walks me backward until my spine hits the tall window. The glass is cold, the city dizzy behind me. He plants his palms on either side of my head, caging me in. “No more distractions.”

His eyes skim over my top, hunger sharpening every line of his face. “That high neck makes me want to tear it open with my teeth.”

I part my mouth slightly. “Then do it.”

He chuckles, dark and low. “You just want to hear me praise you.”

I tip my chin. “Then praise me, Reznikov.”

His answer is a kiss that steals all air from my lungs. I melt against the window, arms locking around his neck. His tongue is hot and sure as he bites my bottom lip, swallows my hiss, and drags the sound into his mouth. The city might as well not exist.