Page 29

“Then I pray I have many to come.”
The weight of his words settled in, the darkness he cast over me a familiar feeling.
“You don’t strike me as a believer.”
Bent over the couch, he neared me. “Even sinners can pray if it’s worth asking for.”
Instinctively, my head lifted, drawing close to his.
“And am I?” I rasped. “Worth asking for?” A stupid question. I knew my worth wasn’t something to be measured. It shouldn’t be.
His eyes studied me, seeing too much and revealing just enough.
“It’s me who’s unworthy.”
With a swift motion, he kicked the shoes aside, letting them fall to the floor. The seat beside me cleared before he claimed it.
“It won’t stop me from selfishly taking what I want.”
When my toes brushed the fabric of his dress pants, he effortlessly lifted both feet with one hand. With a slight pull, he placed them in his lap, keeping a firm grip on my ankle.
I let it happen.
Instead, I focused on the tattooed hand that held me. Letters in Cyrillic sprawled across his knuckles, spelling out words I long lost the meaning of.
There wasn’t a free spot to be seen on his skin. His entire chest, peeking from the hem of his shirt, was covered in ink. Some even stretched beyond, forming a permanent turtleneck of art.
His gaze never left my face. Like a sunbeam, the intensity of it burned a hole right through my skin.
I couldn’t quite place whether it was pure attraction reflected in his eyes, or if he was trying to decode me like a ticking bomb. Enzo mentioned Maxim had asked around, but I didn’t think he was interested. Not after he’d witnessed the exchange with Malek earlier.
Any sane man would stay away from me. Even across the street would be too close. If not for my reputation alone, then for my connections.
Locked in this endless battle of wills, we sized each other up. This close, his eyes were magnetic. I’d never seen a shade of green like that before.
Rare was the only word that came close to describing them. Even if you mixed the greenest grass with the deepest blues of the ocean, you still wouldn’t come close to the original. No mix of paints could do the shade justice.
He had that going for him. And so much more.
Like all these gangsters, he exuded the same level of confidence and self-assurance, but somehow, he made strength, raw power, look effortless.
I could tell he was tall, probably about 6’4”, with broad shoulders packed with muscle.
He was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt. The number of hits he’d carried out for the Bratva was up there with mine.
Maybe that’s what I was after. Someone on my level to keep up with. Even to compete against.
Sure, the shape of his body helped. And that unfiltered mouth.
Fuck.
We were so similar it was almost questionable. If we clashed, the world might never recover. Everybody knows the same side of the coin can’t coexist in one.
By this point, though, I was far too gone.
Blame the decision on the mood. The darkness of the night that would hide this sin, swallowing it among the others.
In a sea full of sinners, what’s one more drop?