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My breath catches. My legs shake as a second orgasm threatens to explode through me.
Which is exactly when Deimos stops cold, drops his band, and steps away. I literally almost fall over, my legs are shaking so hard.
“Work starts promptly at eight tomorrow morning. Be on time.”
I blink, trying to focus on him as my head spins.
“I… Sorry, what?”
“Work, Dahlia.” He smiles thinly. “You didn’t think our arrangement wasonlygoing to be you getting finger-fucked in the comfort of my home, did you?”
I stare at him. “What work?”
“Your internship. Laconia Logistics.”
I wrinkle my brow. “That’s…that’s just a gag, isn’t it? A fake company?”
“Yes, I leased ten thousand square feet of prime office space in midtown fucking Manhattan for aprank.”
“Okay, but what am I supposed to do—”
“Whatever thefuckI tell you to. There’s the door. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
He points to the elevator.
Asshole.
I shoot him a glare, or at least, I try to. But it’s difficult when my entire body is on fire, and I’m so wet I can feel the slickness on my thighs as I wobble toward the elevator.
I turn to face him as the doors begin to shut between us.
…Which is exactly when he wraps his lips around one of his fingers and sucks it clean with a malevolent glint in his eye.
“Pleasant dreams,darling.”
11
DEIMOS
Six years ago:
When we were kids,before I’d perfected the art of not being caught, whenever one of my older brothers would catch me spying—either on them, or someone else—they’d call me a sneak.
I’m not really bothered by names or insults. But I never much liked that one:sneak.
Sneak has a negative connotation to it. It reminds me of snitch. It sounds like a pest you eradicate from your kitchen with traps and poison.
I amnota sneak.
I’m just good at spying on people. I’m good at hiding somewhere without being seen. Not because Ihave to, due to an inability to defend myself if caught, even though I won’t be. On the contrary, in the unlikely event that Iamcaught, I’m quite ready andverywilling to defend myself physically— something the mouse stealing cookies in your kitchen can’t do.
I don’t do what I do—skulking through the shadows, passing unnoticed, and seeing without being seen—because it’s something Ihaveto do. I do it because, quite simply, I enjoy it.
I really,reallyenjoy it.
Especially right now.
Steam fills the dorm bathroom Dahlia shares with three other girls. One is her roommate, the particularly cunty Amanda DiBella, of the DiBella mafia family out of Chicago. The other two roommates I have no issue with, because they keep away from Dahlia. Those are Yvonne Moreau, of the Marseille mafia, and Song Je Hwa, whose family I gather is connected to Jo-Pok, aka the Korean mafia.
