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But he won’t let my words get to him, as if he’s refusing to feel any better.
“I manipulated you because it put me in a position of power. I could have just reached out after Joseph’s disappearance, offered you a deal. But I wanted you to be desperate. People appreciate the things they fight for the most. And I wanted you to be completely and utterly dependent on me.”
His hands travel up my back, one large palm cupping the back of my head.
“I know your independence is what you value most, wild flame, and I can only hope that everything else I give you will one day make up for losing it.” He’s holding me so close now that I can hardly breathe. “You’re a disease I never want to be cured of. I want you to burn my soul in all the places where my skin was once burned, and I’ll fucking come for it.”
He looks down at my face like he wants to burn the sight of me into his memory.
“You are a woman who creates dangerous passions, Sirenna,” he purrs, his lips hovering over mine. “And my passion is the most dangerous of all.”
“Then let your heart be my cage,” I whisper.
His tongue invades me like the tidal wave of an ocean, his scent of freshness and citrus forming a cloud of sensation around me. Our hands wander desperately over each other’s bodies, eager to consume, our hearts wanting to melt into each other.
I couldn’t care less about Mariana hearing us. She’s heard us before, and now she knows Zayne and I are much more than just a convenient fuck to each other. She probably suspects we’re in love, too.
The more our kiss deepens, the harder it becomes to breathe, so I wedge my hands between us, pushing his chest gently. He won’t budge, so I push harder until he gets the message and peels his lips off of mine.
“All this,” I pant, shamelessly spreading my palms over his chest, my fingers sliding though the dusting of hair, “it doesn’t make everything all right, you know? Your kidnapping Joseph and all. You have to let him go, you can’t just–” It hits me that I’m assuming he intends to kill my ex. I swallow back the word and, instead, I say, “do whatever you want to do to him.”
“Go ahead and say it, wild flame. You think I’m going to kill him.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
“Not easily, no. I planned on doing what I do with all scumbags like him.”
“Namely?”
He looks down at my hands, slowly wrapping his around my wrists.
“You said you wanted to see. And indeed, some things are better shown than told. ” His eyes snap up to mine. “Laredo Cordoba and Boris Petrenko. I gather you’ve heard of them before.”
“Of course. Boris is the third member of the Blood Fist Triad. Together he, Jax and Joseph ran the entire New York underground.”
“Yes, well, they’re also the two biggest wolves coming after you. The men who delivered the porn show you so much enjoyed at the hotel bar, they are Cordoba and Petrenko’s underlings. They took the message that you were now under my protection to their big bosses, but they’re merely waiting for the right time to come after you again. The first chance they get...” He trails off, his lips thinning as if he’s keeping back words that might manifest something terrible.
“They will keep watching for a moment to strike, and they will strike,” he says, “unless we take care of them.” He grips my chin between two fingers, a deadly promise in his eyes. “I’ll make sure they bow at your feet, and understand that’s where they belong.” A cold shiver runs down my back at the tone in his voice. The corners of Zayne’s mouth curl up into the smirk of a devil. “And I promise they’ll deliver a show you remember.”
***
Zayne
THAT’S THE THING ABOUT the shits ruling the New York underground–they’re predictable as fuck, and I always know exactly where to find them.
I hoped I’d never have to bring my wild flame to such a place, yet here we are, her silk-gloved hand looped around my suit-clad elbow as we step into the low lights of the underground club. Once a prohibition bar where gentlemen indulged in the forbidden pleasures of alcohol, this location is one of the city’s best-kept secrets.
It’s not like Sirenna hasn’t seen wicked places before. In the car on our way here, she told me about the time when she monitored Jax Vaughn’s wife in a nightclub where she used to dance in a cage. While the club wasn’t a brothel, she witnessed her fair share of questionable behavior long before The Rite. Obsessed as I’ve been with her since The Rite, I did already know some of the stuff she did as an undercover source for journalist Mia Rogers, but it was good to hear the whole extent of her undercover activities from her. I enjoy it when she shares herself with me like that.
In exchange for a fat tip, the concierge assigns us to the booth closest to Boris’. Laredo is already on the dimly lit stage, his face pushed between a dancer’s legs while she holds on to the pole behind her. You can’t miss his steroids-inflated bulk, or the washed-out tattoos crawling all over his body up to his shaved skull. He’s completely naked, his ass sticking out, a second woman in a leather harness crawling on all fours as she licks his asshole. Even in the dim light I can see her drooping eyes. She’s far out on some drug that keeps her compliant.
While Laredo challenges the stereotypical macho man image he’s made for himself on the streets, which would almost endear him to me if I didn’t know exactly how verminous he is on the inside, Boris mostly ends up killing the men and women he uses when he grows sick of them. Right now he’s seated on a half-moon, red-cushioned sofa overlooking the low stage where his friend is putting on a show, rubbing his dick between the pointy asscheeks of a skinny man with an iron cage around his penis, while one of the girls is feeding the man.
The oily grin on Boris’ face speaks volumes. He enjoys humiliating the guy. His cock rubbing against the man’s asscrack is a reminder that he could push inside the moment he stopped swallowing whatever the woman is giving him, which is too much, too fast, and which the skinny man obviously has trouble coping with. He’s obviously terrified of being fucked in the ass by a lantern-jawed ex-Soviet intelligence officer, while his penis is trapped in an iron cage. An erection would hurt like hell, which I expect is what Boris is counting on.
Completely taken with the craze of fuckery, neither of the men notices me watching like a hawk from only a booth away. I keep my eyes on the two filthy bastards, yet every inch of my body is aware of Sirenna next to me.
“Men who watch too much porn usually end up like this,” I say quietly, signaling the server to walk further with the complimentary bottle of wine he intended to place on our table. “Their sexuality gets so skewed that they can only find pleasure in the sickest things.”
