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Because now, every time I walk through the garage, I think of her.
I glance at the smudged print Piper left behind on the shimmery, silver surface. My body tenses with the memory of how perfectly she fit into my hands.
When I think about it, I can still hear Piper panting. I can feel her warm hand wrapped around my length, stroking and pulling with a toe-curling pressure. She was on the brink of orgasm without me even touching her.
You don’t have to do anything,she panted.This is enough.
Twice now, I’ve almost grabbed a rag and some cleaner to wipe the smears away, then put it right back up. I can’t bring myself to clean it. Not yet.
That imprint might be the only proof I have that it happened. Because I sure as hell shouldn’t be stupid enough to let it happen again.
Too much is at stake.
The women Timofey loves have a bad habit of turning up dead.The echo of Rodion’s voice in my head is grating, but his words still ring with an unfortunate truth.
My mother.
Emily.
Now, Piper’s name threatens to join the list.
I can’t afford to let that happen. She needs to last until Benjamin belongs to me. After that, I don’t give a damn what happens to her.
Or so I tell myself.
I climb out of my car and slam the door closed. As I pass my motorcycle, I swat her helmet off the back of the seat. It smacks against the cement floor with a satisfying thud. I barely resist the urge to kick the entire bike over.
I haven’t spoken to her since the night with Rodion. It’s been two days of burying myself in Viktorov Industries board meetings, Bratva business, and legal paperwork.
All so I can stop thinking about burying myself in her.
As I walk to the door that leads into the house, I’m determined to keep my eyes straight ahead. I’m not going to look at the evidence of what we did. I’m not going to think about Piper’s perfectly tapered waist and long legs. I’m not going to think about the smell of vanilla in her hair and the way her pulse felt under my fingers.
I look over. But to my credit, I don’t think about any of those things.
Only because, instead of the outline of Piper, I see an envelope sitting on the hood.
“Who the fuck was in my garage?” I growl.
I swipe the envelope off the hood. Inside are three photos. One of Piper standing at her desk in the CPS office. She’s wearing the outfit I saw her leave in yesterday, a pair of navy blue trousers and a pink sweater. A coffee cup sits on her overflowing desk, and she’s smiling at the male coworker sitting next to her. I have no clue who he is, but I want to pluck his tiny head from his shapeless body and throw both out the window.
The second photo is of her walking into a rundown home with a manila folder tucked under her arm. It’s clearly a house visit, and she’s so focused on doing her job that she doesn’t notice she’s being followed.
The third photo is Piper wheeling her bike down the sidewalk. Akim told me she wanted to ride her bike to work this morning, and I allowed it.
Fuckingstupid.
The photos crease in my fist. They’re a warning, that much is clear. Or, at the very least, this is meant to look like a warning. For all I know, it could be a distraction.
“Rodion,” I breathe.
The son of a bitch might want me to spend more time watching Piper so he can attack me from another angle.
Benjamin.
“I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
I would have, too, if Piper hadn’t stopped me. Rodion mentioned Emily, and I was blind with rage. Piper is lucky I didn’t put the gun to her head for standing in my way.
