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Thankfully, the cameras in Sergei’s mansion caught nothing about that night’s kidnapping. I watched them myself, pretending I’d lost my card, but that part was completely cut off from the footage. The last thing it showed was Yan ushering Lia inside my car before she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in with her.
I watched the footage from the opposite cameras, then paused and zoomed in to see the faces of the attackers, but they both wore masks. The driver had a hat on and he never raised his head enough for me to get a glimpse at his face.
The other one wasn’t so careful, and that makes sense since I assume he’s the one we found at the bottom of the cliff. He was a Spetsnaz turned assassin. A mercenary through and through, without any actual alliances, and like most professional Spetsnaz, it’s impossible to track how he got in contact with his clients.
I was—and still am—more interested in the motherfucker who hid his face the entire time, because he seemed like he held the reins of this entire operation. I watched all the footage from the parking lot that day and even took a week’s worth with me. He didn’t appear on the camera. At all. Which means he knew all about them and made sure to go in their blind spots.
He also knew how to shoot Yan in a way that wouldn’t be caught on camera, then used roads that have no surveillance.
Now, that’s the part that makes zero fucking sense. Why did he go through all that trouble just to let them go? He could’ve inflicted more damage on me if he’d threatened me with Lia’s life.
If Yan isn’t part of this, and I’m ninety nine percent sure he isn’t, he could’ve simply killed my guard.
Why the fuck did he release them both?
Unless his goal was never about capturing them.
Yan said that he was unconscious most of the car ride and couldn’t recall much. He’s lying. I can tell when Yan lies. But I still can’t figure out why he’s lying, so I told him that his livelihood depends on whether or not he remembers what happened in that fucking car.
Kolya gave me a dirty look before he realized he shouldn’t be glaring at me. My second-in-command is softhearted as fuck when it comes to Yan, so much so that even he was fooled by his performance. He only sees his pain, but I see way past that.
I see into the bond he’s formed with Lia over the time he’s been watching her—as much as I hate it. I see how his loyalty to me is no longer absolute. It’s split between me and her and that will only hurt him in the long run.
I close the bedroom door behind me. When Ogla and Kolya said that Lia openly defied my order to stay away from Yan, I was coming here bent on punishing her, but that was before I saw this view.
Lia sits at her dresser, brushing her hair over her slender, delicate shoulder. She’s wearing a blue satin nightgown that matches the color of her sparkling eyes.
Its strap falls off the creamy curve of her shoulder and she doesn’t bother holding it up. Her attention is on the mirror as she slowly brushes the shiny strands of her dark hair.
I abandon my jacket on the chair as my feet breeze toward her. I don’t have a choice in wanting to be near her. It’s engraved in the very marrow of my bones without an option to purge it.
The scent of roses fills my nostrils when I’m within touching distance. As if finally feeling my presence, Lia’s fingers pause on the brush and she meets my gaze through the mirror, mouth parting.
Her lips are painted in a dark red lipstick that I want to glide my tongue over and smear on her rosy cheeks.
“You’re back,” she murmurs.
“I’m back,” I speak quietly as I place my hands on her shoulders. Instead of lifting up the strap, I push the other one down her arm. The material slips, uncovering her pale tits and her soft pink nipples.
I release one of her shoulders and grab a breast in my palm. It fits so perfectly, like it was made for my hand. My thumb strokes her nipple and she sucks in a deep breath as both her hands rest on her lap.
“Candles?” I ask nonchalantly as if I’m not, in fact, thinking about fucking her on the floor right now. She looks so tantalizing, like my most screwed-up fantasy coming to reality.
I’m talking to distract the animal in me from acting on those carnal desires and to somehow calm my raging hard-on.
That strategy is failing as we speak.
“They smell nice.” Her voice is breathy, erotic as fuck, and it’s not helping my mission. “Don’t you think?”
“They do.” I flick strands of her hair and lift it to my nose, inhaling it deeply. “But no more than you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Like roses and fucking addictions.”
