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Becca smiled at him as she raised her head. She wiped her mouth, and stroked her fingers through the wiry tuft of dark hair that curled around the base of his cock. “You know what? You were right,” she said, in a tone of discovery.
He cleared his throat. “About what?” he asked cautiously.
“This color,” she said, lifting his cock to the side to show him the smears of lipstick she’d left on it. “Slut red. It does look good on you.”
He started to laugh, helplessly. The laughter dissolved almost instantly into something else. Something that he was afraid to face.
All he could do was just grab her again, hide his face in her hair.
Her slender arms slid around his ribs and gripped him. Holding him as tightly as he needed to be held. They strained, fighting to pull the other closer, hold the other tighter.
Muscles shaking with the effort of becoming a single being.
The Vor was intensely irritated.
He jerked his chin in the direction of his coffee cup, but it took Kristoff ten seconds to catch on, and then the man fumbled, slopping coffee dangerously close to Zhoglo’s snowy cuff. If the coffee had spattered one centimeter closer, Kristoff would be dead.
Or perhaps not. His ranks of useful and experienced men had been decimated by Solokov’s bloody spree on Frakes Island. He could not afford to kill any more out of pique. Too much work to be done, now that the thrill-junkie surgeon was creating extra work.
Idiot, to involve his half-witted mistress in his business schemes.
He stared at the weekly schedule laid out on his laptop. The secret clinic was now fully operational, the doctors comfortably settled into their new homes, ready and waiting for the call. Each one of them was firmly in his grip, pinned by a complicated web of threats and promises. Fear and greed, the great motivators of humankind.
He should have brought more men, he fretted. Perhaps he should contract out the anesthesiologist’s demise. They were being watched from God knew which angles and directions. Anyone who left the house would be seen, and followed.
Then again, it would be a very easy hit. The woman lived alone, in a single home surrounded by foliage. If Mathes was correct, she should be in a drugged sleep. No intelligence was required for this.
He cast an appraising eye on Pavel, and dismissed him out of hand. Pavel would have to be put down soon. Until that moment, he required close watching. But it seemed a shame not to delay the mercy blow until Pavel’s punishment reached its grand climax. Zhoglo was always curious to see how people came apart in extremis. It was like watching a scientific experiment. This chemical, plus that, created such and such a reaction. Add heat, add pressure…ah, fascinating.
It had destroyed Pavel. His haggard face was dull, vacant.
Zhoglo stirred more cream into his freshened coffee, and toyed for a moment with the thought of lifting the sword that hung over the man’s neck. Letting little Sasha live. He could be merciful. Theoretically.
Then he thought of the bodies Solokov had left behind on the island, and hardened his resolve. Going back on his word would undermine his authority with the other men. Besides, Mathes had found profitable homes for everything Sasha’s scrawny little body had to offer, right down to the boy’s corneas. It satisfied Zhoglo’s penchant for thriftiness. And the fees added up to a handsome total.
He could hardly wait to observe the debut harvest, scheduled for tomorrow night. Sergei’s girl. Finally. It would be fascinating to watch.
But back to business. Kristoff, no. Too stupid. Perhaps he should kill the man after all, just so he wouldn’t have to look at him. Mikhail, perhaps. Zhoglo observed the new man, Mikhail, who had done the hacking for him. He had a scholarly look, but beneath it, an air of chill competence. “Mikhail, have you been observing the activity outside?”
“A worker from a utility company up the telephone pole at five AM,” Mikhail said promptly. “And two new vehicles are parked on the block, none of the license plates corresponding to residences on this street. I assume cameras are trained on the house, but unless I approach them to sweep for radio signals, I cannot confirm—”
“And have them know we are aware of their presence?” Zhoglo snapped. “Of course not. Don’t be thick.”
Mikhail subsided, mouth tightening.
“We have that meeting with Dahler on Monday,” Pavel said dully. “We cannot go forward with that meeting with this security breach.”
Zhoglo turned unbelieving eyes on the man. After all this, the fool dared to criticize Vor’s judgment. The look pierced even Pavel’s apathy. His eyes dropped to the carpet.
“Ironic, to hear you voice concern about security, Pavel, since your incompetence was what caused this necessity. We will relocate soon. When the trap is baited.”
“Vor, it is dangerous to—”
“I must have Solokov.” Zhoglo’s voice smashed down on the other man’s words like a club. “I want to crush his beating heart in my hand.”
Pavel shut up, and turned to stare out the window.
Zhoglo clicked on his mouse, and activated the monitor mounted on the wall. Several windows were open, each showing a different location. One showed a flicker of movement.
