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I reach down to pick it up—
And freeze in horror.
Ruslan’s name is lighting up my screen.
And the call is active.
The reality of what is happening clicks in my gut immediately, but it takes a few delayed moments before my head comes to terms with it.
For seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, I’ve been on a call with Ruslan Oryolov.
For seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, I’ve been masturbating to the absolute filthiest fantasy I’ve ever had,starring Ruslan Oryolov.
For seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, my phone has been recording every last moan and gasp and breath and twitch I made while I begged for his mercy and pleaded for him to make me come.
Did Ruslan hear the whole damn thing?
4
RUSLAN
“Nosebleeds?”
“Minor blip. Nothing to worry about. We had a few bleeders in every trial.” My lead chemist drags his feet over to the pristine white lab table where sets of test tubes sit in neat arrays, each brimming with a white liquid. He hems and haws, flipping through his notebooks like the answers to my irritation will be found in there.
Fucking scientists. They’re brilliant.
They’re also a pain in my goddamn ass.
I clear my throat. “Sergey, humor me here. What is Venera?”
His hooded eyes blink in confusion. He knows I know the answer, because Venera is the billion-dollar bet that will secure the future of the Oryolov Bratva; what he doesn’t know iswhyI’m asking.
“It’s, uh…it’s an aphrodisiac with mildly hallucinogenic properties.”
“Good job pretending I’m stupid. Keep it up. An aphrodisiac would be…?”
His blinks get faster and faster until I’m starting to worry he might malfunction. “I-it’s an erotic st-stimulant. Designed to induce st-strong s-sexual urges.”
“Excellent. Now, do nosebleeds strike you as particularly erotic, Sergey?”
He glances at his three labcoat-wearing proteges. They’re standing in a neat line, inadvertently mimicking the test tube samples of Venera.
“No, sir.”
“‘No’ is correct,” I snarl. “Nosebleeds arenoterotic. Therefore, it’s not a ‘minor blip.’ It’s a fucking problem. What I want to know is,Is it fixable?”
He gulps loud enough for me to hear him over the dull thunder of the lab equipment churning all around us. “I will try, sir.”
I fix him with the infamous Oryolov glare that makes grown men want to piss their pants when they try to meet it. “Don’t try.Do it.”
Sergey has a mind for science, but he doesn’t see the bigger picture. That’s also by design—because if he had any inkling of how much is riding on this drug launch, he’d curl up into the fetal position and never come out.
I’ve spread out billions of dollars in research and development, in bribes to cops and sign-on salaries to new drug dealers, in territory negotiations and raw material suppliers and this, that, and the other, all to pave the way for Venera to hit the streets and take over this city like a fucking storm.
Venera is my future.
Venera is my legacy.
