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Heat washes over me.
Ifeltthat.
I swallow hard as I remember the stranger dressed in black who persuaded me to let him take off my jeans and use that tongue to bring me to climax. But it wasn’t a stranger at all.
He’s sitting right in front of me, smelling like aftershave and looking like a loaded weapon.
I cross my legs and feel a telltale slipperiness at the apex of my thighs.
Shit. I’m wet.
You sick girl, Zenya. You let a masked stranger get his mouth on you, and now you’re all messed up because he turned out to be your uncle.
Uncle Kristian swallows, and even the way he swallows is entrancing, the muscles of his throat moving his Adam’s apple. I wonder how those muscles move when he’s breathing hard. When he tips his head back and groans. When he grips your hair hard and growls,Fuck yes, princess, just a little deeper.
Uncle Kristian notices me staring at him and smiles. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I suck in a breath and turn quickly to my laptop. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.” So defensive. So obviously flustered by the man sitting too close to me.
He laughs softly. “Liar.”
I type a few things into my spreadsheet, and then my fingers hover over the keys.
“The merchandise in the warehouse last night…” I begin.
“It’s secured. I took it over to the Silo early this morning. That was the last thing I did before coming here, after showering and changing my bloodstained clothes.”
The Silo is where we store all our black-market goods before they’re sold. We trade in anything people want but can’t have thanks to the laws of the United States of America. Absinthe, Cuban cigars, radar jammers and detectors, anabolic steroids and other prescription drugs, weapons tech and blueprints, unpasteurized French cheeses, and short-barrel shotguns.
People in my world want the finest things. The most exclusive things. The forbidden.
My gaze lingers on Uncle Kristian.
We just love what we shouldn’t have.
If the merchandise is safe that’s one good thing I can tell Dad. I shoot my uncle a curious look. If he’s been clearing up bodies and moving those goods then he must have been up all night. “Don’t you need to sleep?”
He shakes his head. “All I need is you and this cup of coffee. I have about a thousand questions about what you and the family have been up to in my absence.”
“Ask away.” I’m pleased at how nonchalant I sound. How professional. If he wants to be here, then I’ll keep him at arm’s length, as is appropriate for an uncle.
“How is Troian? I spoke to him last night, but how is he really?”
I flinch a little. Is he dying, is what Uncle Kristian means. Pressing my lips together, I wonder what to say. In front of Dad and the kids, I’m firm, almost fanatical, about Dad being fine, but I don’t know how to lie to Uncle Kristian. I don’t want to lie to Uncle Kristian. He was always the one person I could share the whole truth with without worrying I’m letting everyone down.
I take a deep breath. “He’s not great. We don’t know—the oncologist says—”
I turn away and press my hand over my mouth.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Uncle Kristian loops an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. Before I know what’s happening, I’m in his arms and his lips are against my temple.
“Hey,” he says softly, and that one syllable is filled with strength and comfort. “You know you don’t have to sugarcoat anything for me. Tell me what’s worrying you and I can share the weight of it with you.”
“I’m not weak,” I whisper fiercely. My eyes are wide open as he tucks me beneath his chin, and I stare determinedly at the silver chain around his neck that disappears inside his T-shirt. The barrels of the crossed gun tattoos on his chest.
