Page 40 of Pretty Little Assassin

Alphahole.

That’s the thing about Viktor Petrov. He doesn’t push. He puts something down where I can reach it, then waits and lets me do the work of deciding.

So I lean in.

I’m not going to pretend it was anything else. I lean in, in a parked sedan, making sure not to block his view of the hotel where, in two days on Valentine’s Day, I’ll be facing the man I put in jail. I lean toward a man with two million dollars riding on my heartbeat, and I get close enough to feel the heat coming off his mouth.

He goes very still. Not the stillness of a man waiting to be kissed. The other one. The one where every part of him is running numbers at once.

“If you do that,” he says, quietly, “I am going to stop being able to lie to you. And one of us is going to need the lying.”

“‘The most difficult thing in life is to live and not lie and—and not believe one's own lie,’” I say almost against his mouth.

I can feel his breath. His eyes are still on the hotel. He has not looked away.

But his breathing is ragged.

I stop.

I sit back against my door. My hands are steady, which is the infuriating part, because it means I can’t hand this to the adrenaline and walk away.

Out the windshield, a valet takes somebody’s keys.

“Noted,” I say.

“Noted,” he agrees.

I stare back at Viktor across the small space in the car that still separates us.

“Unsettles” is not exactly the word I would use right now.

But I am not going to use the real one. Not in this car. Not while he can smell me.

13

VIKTOR

The message is unambiguous.

Valentina’s response to it is visceral.

My response to her response is equally visceral. I want to pick her up and hold her down.

I know she’ll knife my balls if I do.

“You cannot walk in there and hope,” I say.

“Watch me,” she bites back, slamming her phone down on the table. “You saw the video message. What do you suggest I do, nothing?”

“I didn’t say to do nothing.”

I look down at the phone. The video message still shows the bastard’s face on the screen. Of all alphas to be your stepfather, Valentina got the short straw with this one.

“Let me see it again,” I say, motioning to the phone.

“You already saw it, Viktor,” she hisses impatiently. “What good does it do to keep watching the video? I need to do something.”

“Play the message again,” I repeat. “I am not going to watch you die in a hurry.”