Page 19

Sean

The minute the chopper landed this afternoon, I met Jace at the helipad on the other end of the island and brought him back in the ancient utility vehicle. We went straight to the rooftop, sinking into the two chairs next to each other. The roof and playpen are the only places in this dimension of hell where cameras aren’t found. The camera in the playpen doesn’t even work, despite the fake recorder I’ve got set up in the corner. Major Thompson insisted we disable it so there’s no proof of the depravity that exists here, though I elected not to tell any of the guys on base that it doesn’t work outside of Jace.

Sounds of the violent, angry waves crashing against the cliffs below us and seagulls cawing in the distance mostly drown out our voices, but we keep them low, nonetheless.

“Have you looked at it?” I ask him, flipping through the file in my hands.

“I skimmed a few parts, but it doesn’t seem like much is there. Mercer Koskinen is your run-of-the-mill assassin. Nothing special.”

Five years ago, I would’ve scoffed at how casually he talks about an assassin. “What are the odds that both brother and sister are international criminals? ”

He shrugs. “I’d say pretty good, considering how high up their father was in the Bratva.”

I arch an eyebrow. “The Russian mafia?”

“One and the same. Makes you wonder what their family dinners were like. Seems like Lou and Mercer kept the family business alive after their parents died.” He touches his cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag and letting it out as gray smoke clouds the space between us.

“The family business of murder ?”

“Yup.”

This is getting too sticky for my taste, but as I turn the next page, I ask, “What’s his kill count?”

Tipping his head back, he closes his eyes as he soaks up the rays of the late afternoon sun. “The file says 108, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You think it’s less?”

He lifts his head and stares at me flatly, as if I might be the stupidest fucker on planet earth. “No, shithead, I think it’s way, way more.”

“Why?”

“Flip to page eight,” he instructs before settling back into his previous position to stare at the cloudless sky.

I’m beginning to think he did more reading than skimming , but I follow his instructions. The second I turn to the aforementioned page, I’m hit with a list of photos of various victims, as well as a list of some of his reported methods of execution that range from basic stabbings to poison and everything in between.

There’s a photo of a middle-aged woman clad in red lingerie, whose skin has a bluish tint to it and vomit pooling around her mouth. The caption below the picture names her as Judy Calperson, a Congresswoman from Pennsylvania, found dead from tetrodotoxin poisoning.

At the bottom of the page, there’s yet another image depicting a man lying in the snow, a hole in the center of his forehead. The description names him as James Vunga?rd, a businessman with ties to the Bratva, found with a .223 round embedded in his brain.

The next page boasts a picture of a dead man in his mid-thirties, naked and bound on a bed, covered in blood with his dick grotesquely cut off and lying next to him. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE THIS is printed on a piece of paper and stapled to his detached member.

Mercer has one hell of a dark sense of humor. That must run in the family, too.

The pages of victims go on and on, but I don’t need to see them all to understand the depravity that Mercer obviously possesses. There’s seemingly no rhyme or reason to his kills and no job he won’t accept.

“Do you think he knows anything about his sister’s little act of terrorism?” I voice aloud.

“I have no idea, but according to that file, he lives in London and wasn’t in Boston when Lou planted or attempted to detonate those explosives. Did we ever learn why she chose the Federal Reserve?”

“They were moving a large sum of money that day—we’re talking billions of dollars—but robbery doesn’t seem to fit with her modus operandi.”

Jace chuckles. “I love it when you talk fancy to me, Digs.”

I snort, rolling my eyes, though he’s still not looking at me as he adds, “Sounds like we may need to get to know Lou a little better.”

“Uh, about that…” My throat feels tight as I force myself to breathe through the apprehension of my impeding confession.

Eyebrows raised, he rolls his head toward me then, waiting for me to continue, but I avert my gaze, staring out at the vast blue ocean.

“She sort of sucked my dick yesterday. ”

He laughs out loud, a full belly laugh. I’m glaring at him by the time he regains his composure, and I snap, “Why is that funny?”

Of all the reactions I thought I’d get from Jace—censure, disappointment, disgust—amusement didn’t make the list. If I’m honest with myself, I’m not nearly as ashamed as I probably should be, and I’m not the least bit remorseful. If anything, I’m tempted to do it again.

I know it was wrong, but that didn’t diminish how good it felt.

“It’s not, but I definitely saw that coming. I’m jealous. Lou’s fucking hot and I bet she sucks cock like a pro.”

She does, but for some reason, I don’t want to affirm that fact. Jace and I have shared women before—more than a few times—and we work well together since we understand each other’s preferences and less-than-savory tastes . But when it comes to Lou, I want to keep her to myself.

Louhi

Hours later, I’m still struggling to comprehend what-the-bloody-fuck happened with Digs. He’s a puzzle I can’t assemble, the shapes of the pieces constantly evolving and morphing into an entirely different picture. I locked down my feelings the second I came, throwing up that external mask so that I could sort through my own thoughts. The last thing I need is to be vulnerable.

After I sucked him off, his demeanor seemed to shapeshift into something…softer, dancing on the line of reverence. Sure, he was rough and dirty—he is who he is—but his touch was full of admiration. No one’s ever touched me that way before. I felt appreciated .

The skill with which he set my body alight was unmatched by any of my previous partners, even those who left me thoroughly and sufficiently satisfied. Those who didn’t aren’t around to disappoint anyone else.

I was wholly enjoying our session until he ruined it with more of his questions. When is the tosser going to learn to stop asking such stupid questions? I’m growing bored with his games. Fine, maybe not all of his games.

I told him the truth. He’s not on my list of people who could even begin to get me out of this situation. He can’t help me, and just because I think he’s hot and enjoy his company to some degree, doesn’t mean I want his assistance. But, fuck, is he attractive. I could feel the hard lines and planes of his face through his mask, and I’m certain he wouldn’t be disappointing to feast my eyes upon.

Like a cat, I stretch out on the floor of my damp, dark cell, planning to nap before they blast more music in a lame attempt to keep me awake. I’m just about to doze off when Digs’s words flit back on a mental cloud: I will crush you. I will crumble your soul, your spirit, your body. Do not underestimate me and absolutely never disrespect me. I scoff out loud before settling back in and closing my eyes.

Too bad for him that I will not bend; I will not break. I will not surrender; I will not shatter. Not for him. Not for anyone.

“Let’s fucking go, Koskinen,” the guard commands, jolting me from my peaceful slumber. I didn’t even hear him approach, but now that I’m conscious, the heavy bass of the music explains that.

At some point, exhaustion took over. I’ve adapted to falling asleep in defiance of the hammering metal music that’s blaring more often than not. It’s just like these arseholes to wake me when I was resting, and irritation has my lips twisting into a snarl as I glare at the wanker who dared to wake me, refusing to make any move to follow him. How long have I been asleep?

As he stands in the doorway of my cell, I recognize his eyes and build as one of the usual guards, but he’s different from the others. It’s nothing short of obvious that he carries a deep-seated hatred for me, but he wouldn’t be the first. I won’t pretend that I have a healthy outlet for dealing with those that aren’t fans of mine, but they usually fuck off before I’m forced to resort to more extreme measures.

Taking a steadying breath in order to tamp down the more appealing violent option of murdering him, I get to my feet, pinning him with a warning.

I saunter past him as I’m led down the hall to the usual torture spot. Damn, I must’ve really been out of it if I was able to sleep all night. It was probably the orgasm that Digs left me with that did the trick.

I’m made to stand in a similar position as last time, with my legs spread and restrained to the bolts in the floor. However, this time, my wrists are crossed behind my back and bound with rope.

After waiting for what feels like ages, eventually the door swings open, revealing Digs and… “Honey Eyes,” I exclaim, a bright smile popping onto my lips.

I’m choosing to believe that he smiles behind his mask and, even if he doesn’t, his voice is kind as he greets me in return. “Miss me, Lou?”

“You know I did,” I reply with a wink.

“Quit your fucking flirting,” the other man gripes, and I turn my attention to his formidable presence and say sweetly, “Aw, don’t be jealous, Digs.”

He rolls those pretty blue eyes of his before disappearing into what I’m starting to think is a storage closet when he reappears alone. I don’t know what happened to Honey Eyes, but he’s gone. Digs is only holding a folded uniform and a small bag of something else I can’t make out.

No toys? My mental state must be deteriorating because I think I might be a tad disappointed. Mercer needs to launch his rescue mission before I lose the plot entirely .

At least Digs has silently indicated that I’ll end up naked again, so I’m not surprised when he sets the uniform on the shelves with the tools. Pulling out his tactical knife, he proceeds to expose me completely to the room.

Does he truly think that getting me naked is the best way to get me to talk? Or is he simply looking to play? Why don’t I care?

Never one for embarrassment or shame, I’m not a blusher—I’m far more likely to make someone else blush—but the way he makes sheep’s eyes at me has my nipples tightening.

Digs stands before me, running a hand up my torso, over my tattoo, and palms my breast. I glance down, absorbing the alluring sight of his tanned hand exploring my body. When he flicks a thumb over the hardened point, I suck in a breath. He seems to study my reaction before circling me until his front is flush with my backside, gripping my hip with one hand and cupping my sex with the other. As I let out a soft moan, my eyelids flutter.

I don’t know what his goal is here, but what he’s doing feels good , even if I know that things are about to get painful, given Digs’s proclivities. My pussy clenches around air at the prospect. Why am I not more put off by his brand of pain?

Without warning, he slips a finger into me. A gratified groan floats in my mouth as my head falls back into his chest, and he stiffens before settling into my touch. Wanting to even the playing field, I run a palm over his crotch, feeling the swell of his hard length trapped beneath his trousers. I’m rewarded when his chest vibrates against my back, egging me on. My wrists may be bound, but I still have use of my hands to some extent, so I cup him this time, tugging on his balls.

A sound between a hum and a giggle rattles in my mouth before I quip, “Someone’s eager.”

“Since you’re in such a teasing mood, Lou, why don’t we play a little game, yeah?”