Page 94 of Filthy Lies


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Her nose was strong, and there was the tiniest of breaks at the bridge. Her brows were arched and they led to the faintest of widow’s peaks that sank into rich brown hair that was just a couple of shades lighter than mine.

Her body was strong. Compact. A weapon.

I didn’t want that to turn me on, but it did.

She was more than a weapon. She was a woman. She needed to be respected as such because, until now, that had been her worth—her ability to kill.

My body didn’t understand the nuance even if my mind did.

Three servants appeared out of the woodwork to disturb the awkward silence. They brought soup, but I thanked God that it wasn’t purple. Even starving, beet soup wasn’t my jam despite my Russian sisters-in-law trying to tempt us with it.

Give me a goddamn steak any day of the week.

Star tensed at the sight. What had offended her about cheesy soup, I didn’t know, but her fingers bled white around the spoon in her hand.

“French onion soup was her favorite dish,” Kuznetsov said demurely.

“You turned your daughter into a weapon,” was her flat response. “Don’t think I’m impressed that you remember her favorite foods.”

“I never asked for you to be impressed,” he countered, but his voice contained no ire.

From the corner of my eye, I studied them both, well aware that Star was still vibrating like I’d hooked her up to that prototype toy I was building for her and that Kuznetsov eyed her warily, as if she were about to strike.

His guards remained on red alert which also spoke louder than words…

But she stayed quiet.

Her spoon dipped into the gooey mass of bread and cheese and she placed it between her lips with a grace that came as a surprise.

Not that I figured she’d eat like a Viking or anything but there was a demureness about her actions that took me aback.

A quick glance at her lap showed me how her legs were pressed together, the toes of one foot neatly tucked behind the other ankle.

This wasn’t a brat who’d been raised on tour buses. This was—

“Did you attend a boarding school?”

Star arched a brow at the astonishment in my tone. “Why would that come as a surprise considering how rich my father was and how fucked up everything was after Mother died?”

Mother. Not Mom.

I winced for her hurt but still questioned, “Where?”

“Switzerland, of course. Only the best for Gerry Sullivan’s daughter who needed‘structure’to overcome her mother’s death.” Her sneer told me what she thought about that ‘structure’ before it morphed into a smug grin. “I got expelled before I could graduate though.” It was almost a relief to hear her sounding more like the woman I knew—cocky.

I’d take that over bitter.

“How long were you there?” Kuznetsov asked politely, but I got the feeling he already knew the answer.

“Four months.”

“What got you expelled?” I quipped.

Soup forgotten, I turned into her, my curiosity so absolute that it was easy to forget we were in the middle of a conspiracy with a previously unknown grandfather who was currently existing on tenterhooks just in case she tried to attack him again.

“I hacked into their database.” She winked at me, knowing full well I’d enjoy this story. Hackers loved sharing their wins with people they trusted, people who understood and appreciated their skills. “Found the good shit on the girls and sent it to a gossip rag in London.”

My mouth rounded. “They pinned it on you?”

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