Page 59 of Lethal Torture

As a safeguard for my own sanity as much as for Zinaida’s privacy, only she can access the new cameras in the apartment. Unless one of the alarms is breached, of course, in which case I can see them all on my phone.

I genuinely don’t trust myself with a round-the-clock video stream of her private space.

Zinaida in the shower. Zinaida getting dressed. Zinaida lying in bed, doing whatever she does when she’s alone...

I cut that thought off before it can take an extremely predictable, if not very honorable, turn.

It’s bad enough that I watched her through the camera in Mayfair.

Even worse that you let her know you saw her.

I’m still wondering what devil was sitting on my shoulder that night in the limo. I could have pretended I never saw a thing. She’d never have known.

But I would.

And just as I had felt that morning when I confronted her, lying about it didn’t sit well with me.

Yeah, Luke. Sure. Just taking the high road again, huh?

She could have fired me then and been well within her rights. Let’s face it: she should have fired me the day I broke into Pigalle Mayfair.

But she didn’t.

Not then, and not after she realized I watched her ride to an orgasm so explosive it’s still haunting my dreams.

I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t been messing with my head ever since.

It would be easy to think this entire contract is just one big game to her. Except that instinct tells me it isn’t.

Instinct tells me Zinaida is not only truly frightened, but far more vulnerable than she lets on. To anyone.

Because something else I’m beginning to learn is that Zinaida is very much alone.

She doesn’t date, unless it’s for business. No late-night visitors, no one-night stands.

No friends.

Apart from her staff, who all clearly worship her, I haven’t seen her so much as meet a girlfriend for coffee.

From the moment she rises before dawn until the late-night hours when I drive her home, Zinaida is either working or alone.

I’ve never met someone so driven. Or so entirely separate.

Your job is to protect her, not fucking psychoanalyze her, Macarthur.

Christ.

I need a distraction.

I take out my phone and hit Paddy’s number. He arrived from Ireland the day after I called and got to work straight away.

“Luke,a chara.” Paddy sounds like he’s out of breath. “Your girl Charlie doesn’t mind a scrap, no?”

I grin. “Who’s odds-on favorite today, then?”

Charlie and Paddy formed a mutual love-hate relationship on first sight. They’ve been vying for supremacy in the ring ever since. Anatoly began using their bouts as training sessions for the new recruits, which resulted in a daily book being run on the outcome. The rest of the staff have started laying bets and bringing their lunch to the gym to watch, which both Paddy and Charlie love, though neither would admit it.

Anatoly, meanwhile, takes great pleasure in pointing out in voluble Russian where they’re both going wrong, although notably, he hasn’t stepped into the ring to correct either of them.