Page 25 of Emerald

But also, inexplicably, horribly aroused.

It’s sheer madness. But I can’t help it.

I’ve spent years learning to suppress my emotions, to keep control of myself. I can’t be careless in my line of work, or impulsive. I can’t succumb to fear.

So, these days, it takes a lot to get a rise out of me.

Being tied naked to this chair, with this brutal, virile man looming over me . . . that’s doing it. That’s breaking down the barriers fast.

I have to get a hold of myself.

I look up at Ivan Petrov, forcing myself to meet his eye once more.

In my most saucy tone I say, “Well, that’s only fair. After all, I already saw you naked.”

I see a tug at the corner of his mouth, a sharp exhalation of breath that might almost be a snort of laughter.

I see the slightest tremble of his hand. Not the one holding the knife, the other one. I think he wants to reach out that hand to touch me . . .

But he stops himself. He scoops up my shoes, socks, the remnants of my clothes. He carries them out of the room and locks the door behind him.

I’m sure he’s going to search the pockets of my clothing, but he won’t find anything useful. It’s not like I carry around a driver’s license and a Rolodex.

For now, I’m left alone in the cell once more. It’s a lot chillier without my clothes. But somehow, my skin is still burning.

* * *

8

Ivan

Goddamn that girl.

I’m back up in my room, pacing the floor.

What the fuck am I doing?

I should just kill her and be done with it.

Either she really doesn’t know who hired her and she’s of no use to me, or she does know but she’s determined not to tell me. In which case, I’m going to have to get it out of her, using methods that turn my stomach just to think about.

In the end, the result will be the same—I have to kill her. Because what’s the alternative, just let her go?

She’d probably turn around and put a bullet in my head the next day. She’s a hitman! A hitwoman. I don’t know what the fuck you even call it, when it’s a girl so goddamned gorgeous that you can hardly look at her without throwing her down on the floor and fucking her.

I hear a soft knock on my door.

I know it must be my brother.

I don’t want to let him in right now—I’m too agitated. But I stride across the room and throw the door open, seeing Dominik’s expression of concern.

“Did you find out who put out the hit?” he says.

I clench my fists, not wanting to admit it to him.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Do you . . . want me to assign one of the other men to do it?”