Page 7 of Devious Truth (Vicious Sinners #3)

A nother shot rings out and I get my feet to move, throwing open my apartment door and hurrying inside.

Ivan stands at the window, watching the street.

“Stay there.” He points a long finger at me. “It’s just an idiot firing off a gun in the air. Stay away from the window.”

“If it’s not safe, why are you standing in the window?” I tilt my head, waiting for him to see the hypocrisy.

He drops the curtain and flashes a grin at me. “Worried about me?”

“About you? No.” I shut the front door but then realize he should be leaving, not staying, and I open it again.

“Are gunshots in the middle of the night a regular occurrence around here?”

His question has to be rhetorical.

There isn’t a part of this city that the Volkov family doesn’t have some sort of business dealings.

The guys on the street corner could be one of his, or the men in the backroom at the bar could be one of his underlings blowing off steam.

If there’s a way to make money, legal or otherwise, one of the Volkovs aren’t too far away.

“Actually, no. Sometimes there’s a fight that flows out from the bar onto the street, but it’s pretty rare for guns to be used.”

He cocks his head. “But it happens enough you knew what that sound was when you heard it.”

“Says the man carrying a gun beneath his high-priced tailored suit jacket.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this conversation.

He doesn’t just work for the mafia; his family sits at the head of the Russian mafia’s table. Yet he stands in my little apartment making judgments on the danger of living in this part of town.

“Thanks for the ride, but it’s late so…” I swing around and head to the door.

But instead of making his way to the door, he stalks to the narrow table that separates the living room from the kitchen area.

Before he even gets there, I realize what he’s up to.

I was sorting through bills earlier and had left the pile of them on the table.

His laser focused attention to the stack is telling.

“Did you go through my things?” I accuse as he picks up the bill on top of the pile.

“This car payment is for a car that’s not yours.”

I stare at the statement in his hand. The remaining balance on the car loan screams at me from his fist.

“How do you know it’s not mine?” I snatch the paper from him and throw it back on the table with the dozen other bills.

I should just switch to paperless. Then I could pretend none of this exists, and I wouldn’t get a reminder of what a shit show my financial life is every month when they all show up in my mailbox.

“Do you have this car stashed away in a garage around here?” He lifts a brow, cocking his head toward the bill. “That car is only three years old and is an SUV. Your car is a two-door sedan with rust eating away the paint around the tire well.”

I sigh, looking down at the bill. I’m a month behind on this one. Other than tanking my credit score even more, not paying it isn’t going to ruin me. It’s not like they can repossess it.

“And these other bills.” He waves a hand over the pile. “What’s going on, Vivienne?”

“Nothing. The car loan is for what was my car.”

Well, more or less. Derek and I shared everything. There was no his and hers. At least that’s how he played it. Turned out he had things that weren’t mine– until he wasn’t around to take care of it. Then it all became mine.

“What do you mean was?”

“The car was totaled in an accident. You know how they say a car loses a bunch of value as soon as it drives off the lot? Well, it’s completely true.

Apparently, even when the insurance pays out the totaled value, you still have to pay off the rest of the loan.

So yeah, it was my car. It’s not anymore, but the debt is still mine. ”

“And the rest of these bills?” He waves his hand over the credit card bills, the payday loan statement, and the personal loan.

“Are none of your business.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I appreciate the drive home, really, I do, but this is all my mess. My life. Not yours. So don’t worry about it.”

“I see this place, I see this, and you want me to just forget about it?” He makes it sound like that’s not an option, but isn’t it the only one?

“Yes. Because I am your employee!” I jam my hand through my hair. “Do you know what sort of bills Caroline has? Or Meredith? Or any of the other people who work for you?”

He steps closer. The air between us turns heavy.

“No. I don’t know anything out them.” His expression hardens. “And I don’t care. You’re different.”

“Why?” It’s almost a whine, the way it comes out.

It can’t be helped. I’m drowning here watching him in my home, taking up so much room.

And it has nothing to do with the shortage of space in my apartment.

It’s the way he holds himself, confident and dominant.

Like he owns the whole building. It’s his eyes when they hit mine, how his stare sucks the breath right from my lungs.

Tingles dart through me, getting more intense the longer my question goes unanswered.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with all these bills?” His tone steady in his resolve.

His stare gets more intense, or maybe that’s only how it feels because my heart keeps slamming into my ribcage. My skin feels electric when he looks at me like this, when he’s this close and his voice does that deep dive thing.

It’s not fair, being this attracted to someone completely off limits. I almost laugh at my own thought. It’s not like there’s been anything resembling fair in the last three years of my life. Why would I think things would change now?

“I owe money. It’s credit card debt mostly.” Tension tightens the muscles in my back.

“How did you get into so much debt?”

The vice grip of grief clenches my chest.

“I had unexpected expenses a few years ago, and things just got out of hand.” He still hasn’t answered my question.

To be honest, I’m not sure I want the answer anymore. He won’t be able to take it back if he says it, and I’ll probably have to quit my job. I make good money at Obsidian. I’ll have to take two jobs to make up for money loss.

“You have secrets.” He lifts a hand to my face, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind my ear.

Lighting strikes. It was just his fingertip, but my body is entirely charged as though a lightning bolt has lodged itself into my chest. What would it be like if he really touched me? Or kissed?

“They’re mine to keep.” My voice cracks and I have to clear my throat before I try again. “I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” He moves even closer.

“You’re thinking it. I can tell.” I lift my chin.

I don’t need his judgment. I’ve had enough of other people’s opinions about my choices to last a lifetime. I won’t tolerate it from him.

No matter how incredibly hot he is, or how wet he’s making my panties with this dark stare of his right now.

I tighten my jaw. I need to keep my mind away from what he’s making my body feel, and remember he’s my boss. But even more than that, I know nothing that starts with him will end in a happily ever after. I had that chance once, it’s not coming around for a second try.

He leans toward me. “If you knew what I was thinking right now, you wouldn’t be standing here with all this attitude.”

“Oh? What would I be doing?”

The left side of his mouth kicks up into one of the most devastatingly hot grins I’ve ever seen on a man. A perfect crease forms in his cheek and his eyes melt into a pool of brown lava.

“If you were being a good girl, you’d be stripping out of those clothes.”

My throat dries, and I have to swallow in order to get out my words.

“And if I wasn’t being a good girl?”

His eyes darken even more and that wicked grin of his deepens. “You’d learn why being a good girl is a better choice.”

His hand moves to his waist, hooking his thumb into the thick leather belt around his waist. Heat rushes up my chest and covers my face.

This is my fault. I walked right into this conversation. Blame it on the three years of nothing other than battery-operated intimacy.

“It’s late,” I say when my brain circuits come back online. “You should go.”

“You’ll need a ride into work tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”

“No.” I pause, taking a second to reconnect my manners to my mouth. “Thanks, but I can get in on my own.”

“Your shift starts at five; I’ll be here at four.”

“It’s the modern age. You need to learn to take no for an answer.” It would probably more effective if my stare would move away from his lips.

And it would be easier if I could stop wondering how good those lips would feel pressed against mine. Just a brief kiss. Something that would prove I’m still alive.

As though he can read my thoughts, because of course he can, he leans into me. I wet my lips in anticipation as he continues to move in.

His cheek brushes against mine as he continues past my lips until his mouth is a breath away from my ear.

“Why would I take no for an answer when I didn’t ask a question?”

I choose to believe the shiver of excitement running from the top of my head to the very tip of my toes has everything to do with the time of night and not the sound of his voice. Or the words he’s uttered. Or the way his breath washes across the shell of my ear just before his tongue does.

It’s such a soft touch, so brief I almost question if it even happened.

But when he pulls back, the arrogant grin pulling at his lips tells me I wasn’t imagining things.

“Ivan,” I breathe his name, unsure if I’m pleading for him to stay or begging him to leave.

“I’ll be here at four to pick you up.” He trails the back his knuckles along my jawline and slides his hand behind my neck, gripping me tightly.

There’s a strange sensation in my chest. Like a knot being untied.

And then he kisses me.

His lips are soft and hard at the same time. Like he’s trying to hold back and not crush me. It’s overwhelming. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip just before he takes it between his teeth.

“Four o’clock.” He brushes his mouth across mine once more in a barely-there kiss.

Before I can get my thoughts into any sort of logical order, he turns on his heel and walks out through the door.

“Lock the door, Vivienne,” he says as he pulls the door shut.

I slide the deadbolt into place and recheck the handle to ensure it’s still locked, then lean back against the door, trying to sort out the last ten minutes.

Lightly, I touch my lips, wondering if they are as hot on the outside as I am on the inside.

I wanted proof I was still alive, and now I have it.

And the guilt of it will crush me.