Page 115 of Lethal Torture

“Was it good, spending time with Darya?” I want to keep her talking, keep whatever precarious magic this is alive as long as I can.

“Unexpectedly good.” She looks up at me, half smiling. “I like her.” The faint surprise in her voice is revealing. “And you,” she says, clearly eager to change the subject, “was it good, seeing Mak and Roman?”

“Always.” I push my chair back, crossing one leg over the other. “Although they’re both such smug pricks, it’s a miracle I haven’t knocked either of them out before now. No idea how Dimitry puts up with them both.”

She gives the gurgle of laughter that I’m starting to ache to hear. “You’re friends, then? With Roman and Mak and Dimitry?”

“I guess so, yes.” I twist the stem of my glass, aware she’s watching me closely. “It was different when I was in the forces. Then, the people you work with are family, brothers. You don’t think about it much. It’s just there. Even now, I can still catch up with the boys from my old regiment for a beer, and within minutes we’re right back into the same banter. But the reality is that outside of the job, our lives are miles apart.”

Her eyes narrow curiously. “And you feel like with Mak and the others, your lives are more similar?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Not that you’d know. Mak plays his cards closer than any fucker I’ve ever known.”

She laughs again, and I lean over the table, filling her glass with the last of the bottle. One of her legs is drawn up on the chair, her arm resting on her knee, the glass dangling between her fingers. Her eyes on mine are the deep, sparkling sapphire I love, the color of her unguarded self.

“I think maybe it’s that we all see the world the same way,” I say slowly. “I don’t ever need to question if Mak is doing the right thing, and he never second-guesses my decisions. Same with Roman and Dimitry.”

Zin nods. “I think I know what you mean,” she says quietly. “I didn’t expect to have anything in common with Darya. She’s married. To Roman, of all people.” Her wry eye roll makes me laugh. “She’s got a house full of children, and it’s obvious they’re the center of her world and vice versa.”

“But you’re friends,” I say, echoing her own words.

“I think we actually might be.” She frowns. “It’s a bit like what you just said, about seeing the world the same way. Darya knows our life. She knows how... dark it can be.” Her eyes flicker to mine, then away again, and I see the shadow behind them that is always there, just waiting to be conjured up.

I want to hunt down every one of those shadows and cast them out forever, stand between her and whatever caused them until she forgets that she was ever lost to darkness.

“Roman told me some of what Darya went through.” I stand up and walk into the kitchen, then pour myself a whiskey and her a Disaronno. “I saw some of it myself when we went in for Roman’s daughters.” My hand tightens on the bottle as I remember the flat terror in Ofelia’s eyes, the ragged remains of her dress, and the wounds I doubt she will ever talk about but I knew damn well she had. I caught a glimpse of the thin lines of blood beneath her arms, saw the way she winced when she moved for weeks afterward. She always claimed Vilnus never actually used a blade on her, but I’ve lived too long with men who’ve endured torture to really believe that. And I think Roman chose to believe her simply because his mind couldn’t face the alternative.

I look up to find Zin watching me with dark, guarded eyes. I come back around to the table and put the drink down in front of her.

“You both survived the darkness,” I say quietly. “I’d imagine that’s a good basis for friendship.”

I take my seat again, turning the whiskey on the table.

She stares at me, and I hold her eyes, wondering what it is she wants to say.

“Darya told me I should sleep with you.” Her words send electricity through my body with the force of a fucking cattle prod.

“Oh?” I’m pretty impressed that I sound so calm.

I certainly don’t fucking feel it.

“Uh-huh.” She holds my eyes, the color slowly mounting on her cheeks. “In fact, her exact advice was that we should havesearingly hot sex.”

A slow pulse starts threading through my body. “You two really covered some ground.”

Her mouth curls. “I wasn’t sure whether or not I was going to take her advice.”

I lean back in my chair, eyeing her across the table. “That was never going to be an option, Zinaida.”

She quivers, then goes very still. Her nipples are starting to swell beneath the knit top, and my cock is pounding like a bastard.

“You know those sweats you’re wearing?”

She nods slowly, her eyes not leaving mine.

“They make your ass look fantastic.” I take a mouthful of whiskey. “But I think it’s time you took them off.”

She swallows, but doesn’t move.