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She shoots me a glare. “We’re not buddies, Danil. Save your stupid jokes. I’m only here because you left me with absolutely no choice. Doesn’t say much for your game, hm? Forcing girls into submission?”
“As far as I remember, you were begging to takemefor a spin. And you did have a choice. You just happened to make the right one. Life, remember?” A grin tugs at my lips. “We can get to the submission thing later.”
She mutters something to herself in another language, and I’m sure it has zero to do with my wit and charm. Too bad I wasted it all on her during the car ride.
I park the car and push open my door before walking around to her side. She doesn’t wait for me to open the door. Instead, she shoves it open, forcing me to jump backward. But not far enough where I can avoid one of her bags nailing me in the balls when she flings it in my direction.
“Fuck.” I hunch over, a sharp, crippling pain shooting through me.
“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize you were standing there.” She says it in the fakest sweet voice I’ve ever heard. I’ve got a bitchy sister and equally bitchy sisters-in-law. I know fake shit when I hear it.
Jesus, did that bag have a fucking lead weight in it?
Daniela is asleep on her shoulder.
She is very lucky about that.
And once we’re upstairs and the baby is out of her arms, I’m going to make her very sorry for junk-punching me with her luggage as a weapon.
She stalks toward the elevator, lugging her two bags over one shoulder. Shifting the baby in her arms, she stares at the silver elevator doors, never once looking at me.
It pisses me off.
I want to grab her by the hair and look into those fiery eyes…the real ones that sparked with lust and need that night in Kiev, not the fake purple ones she hides behind. My cock twitches. Yeah, he remembers those eyes, too.
Once the elevator doors open, we step into the small enclosure and ride up to the tenth floor. A faint dinging sound trills as we sail past floor after floor, the heavy silence between us as constricting as a noose. The doors finally slide open. Larysa pushes past me into the foyer, taking a long look around at the black glass walls that surround us.
“What kind of art is that supposed to be?” She points at the canvases resting against the walls.
I hadn’t gotten a chance to put them up yet, and to be honest, I only bought them because the girl at the art gallery was hot as fuck. She said the artist is an up-and-comer for the Miami art scene, so I bought two pieces before taking her home and ravaging her for the next three hours.
“Contemporary.” I’m pretty sure that’s the word the girl used. Sounded good enough for me. But the more I stare at the clashing colors and bright red devil-looking face staring back at me in a sea of what can only be described as puke green, the more I think “contemporary” is just another way of saying overpriced crap.
She lifts a condescending eyebrow. “It’s garbage. You got robbed.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yeah?”
Larysa points at the canvas. “That is the face of the Devil. What’s beautiful about that?”
“It’s reality staring you in the face. There’s a lot of evil in the world. If you’re not constantly reminded of it, you’ll forget about it.”
“And keeping it top of mind does what, exactly?”
I slowly move closer, my heavy boots clunking along the tile floor. “Keeps you aware of the threats out there. When you’re ignorant, you’re vulnerable. Weak.” I pause, hovering over her. “Doomed.”
She backs deeper into the space. “I guess you’d be the expert in all things evil.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Larysa stares up at me.
“Take out your contact lenses.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see the real you, not the phony version you’re trying to pass off as Lola Andreev.”
“I took that stage name and disguised myself for my safety and Daniela’s. There were a lot of people threatening us after my father was killed. I needed anonymity.” Her voice hitches as she takes a few steps away from me.
