Page 3 of One Dark Kiss (Grimm Bargains #2)

THREE

Alexei

I slip out of my hiding place in the vast laundry room and strike with the shank, instantly stabbing into Anton Lebetev s neck from the side.

I slide away and allow the blood to spurt on the overlarge washing machine—away from me.

Kicking him in the back of his knees, I take him down flat.

His hands claw the rough cement before his body convulses several times.

Blood glides gracefully away from him to pool near the drain.

Death has its own whisper.

Two seconds ago, he was the most powerful member of the Russian Bratva in this prison, and he tried to kill me several times.

He failed.

I did not.

His second in command already has agreed to follow me, should I regain control of not only Hologrid Hub but the local Russian mafia. I plan to do both.

I toss the homemade shank into a bucket of bleach I have waiting and then turn, walking nonchalantly out of the laundry facility and down to the cafeteria, my way blissfully unguarded. Oddly enough, the cameras are experiencing a momentary glitch as well.

My allies in this place have a long reach.

Just in time to line up and return to my cell, I keep my gaze ahead of me, my arms loose, and my senses on full guard.

An alarm blares, and we re ordered into our cells immediately, the doors clanging shut nearly in unison. Apparently, Lebetev s body has been found. We remain in lockdown for nearly an hour, but no trace of the killer will be found.

I doubt very much that anybody cares enough about Lebetev to truly investigate his death.

Near lunchtime, I find myself leaning against the wall in my six by eight cell, with my roommate sitting on the top bunk.

Urbano Reyes is one of the most dangerous men in north block, and we became uneasy allies my first day when a member of the local Russian Bratva, no longer following me, had made a move to slice my jugular.

Reyes had jumped in to help me. I hold no illusions that he did it out of friendship or kindness, because the leader of the Twenty-One Purple gang wouldn t know kindness if it bit him on his tatted ass.

It sounds like you succeeded, he notes.

I give a short nod. Yes. He made the kill possible, and for that, I owe him another favor.

You really think you re getting out?

That s what the guards told me. Apparently, my lawyer got my conviction overturned, I say, my body relaxed but my gaze missing nothing. We have a deal, but I still won t be surprised if he tries to kill me before I get out. Many people want me dead, and money talks.

A smile widens his already round face. I ain t going to kill you. Prison tats cover his head down his neck and along both arms, confirming a life of danger and crime.

Don t think you are, I reply easily, still waiting for him to make a move. Ending my time in prison by murdering him will cause issues for me, but I m ready, just in case.

We have a deal, he says quietly.

I nod. We do have a deal. When I arrived at the prison, he offered protection from my former followers in the form of his gang, and many of his members fill the desolate cages in every direction.

Of course, nothing is free. He knows I m wealthy.

At least outside of these walls I am—once I unfreeze my funds. Inside, my financial resources are dry.

The only person who has deposited money into my account has been Garik, my ex-business partner.

No family, no girlfriends, no friends at all, had tried to ease the life of prison.

I never forget a debt, and I ll make sure Garik is set for life.

I have it on good authority that these last seven years, he s been trying to prove me innocent and find who set me up, but he s reached nothing but dead ends.

Our partnership was an uneasy one, but in the end, he s proven to be a friend, unlike Urbano.

His interest in me has been mercurial from the beginning.

Once he told me that a rich guy like me wouldn t stay in prison long—that somebody would get me out.

He was wrong. Seven years is a long time, but he was correct that it looks like I m going free.

For now anyway, until I m convicted again since, apparently, I now get a new trial. I have no intention of letting that happen, no matter what I have to do.

So you got yourself a new lawyer? he asks.

I shrug, unwilling to discuss the beauty of the woman. The old one died.

Huh? No shit. His smile widens again.

Yeah, I owe him for that one as well. His death was ruled an accident.

Urbano s eyes glitter. You remember my code?

I do. He ll send me a coded list once I m on the outside. A list of people I ve agreed to kill for him—for his gang. A deal is a deal. I ve now agreed to five kills, and that s what he ll get from me. I appreciate that he s too paranoid to give me the names now—I ve learned caution from him.

And don t forget the money. He still looks casual sitting on the too-thin mattress.

He s a beefy guy, slightly claustrophobic, and needs to be on the top bunk.

He and his followers kept me from being killed.

Oh, I can fight, and I know the exits of every room as well as any object that can be used as a weapon, but prison is prison, and in here I m greatly outnumbered.

At least I was until I made the deal with Satan.

It wasn t my first time, and it won t be my last. The key, I ve learned, is to become more dangerous than the devil.

Footsteps sound outside our cell, and then a voice barks for us to get against the wall. Reyes jumps down, his heavy feet hitting hard, and then goes to the wall. I turn around, but I keep every sense in tune to him, just to make sure.

Before I know it, the door opens, the guard comes in, and I m handcuffed with ankle chains as well.

Have fun at R and R, Reyes mutters. I ll be in touch.

I know, I answer, shuffling from the cell.

I ll fulfill my part of the bargain, and then we re done.

I ve played my part for seven years and accepted protection from his gang in exchange for promises to be fulfilled once I m free.

He doesn t know me. Doesn t know I ve already killed for him while within these walls.

For myself, actually. A couple of his lieutenants had accepted contracts to end me, so they died.

Their bloody deaths had been blamed on a rival gang, and Reyes has had no clue of the killer sleeping in the bunk beneath his.

My time in prison has unleashed the real me. The one that had lurked beneath wealth, duty, and the pursuit of power as a rich kid in a bad family.

The guards take me to Receiving and Release where they double-check who I am about ten times with pictures and my prison files, then I have to sign multiple documents. I don t read them because I don t care. I m getting out of here.

Finally, we move into another room, and a guard named Donnelly, who s a badass ex-Marine with no problem going hand to hand with murderers, hands me a bag. Someone sent you clothes.

I frown, not expecting to receive dress-outs. Who?

What the fuck do I know? Donnelly says. Go change.

Huh. I quickly change into a pair of definitely used black slacks, a white button-down shirt that scratches my skin, and brown loafers three sizes too small. Whoever sent the clothes doesn t know me.

Then the discharge officer delivers to me the twenty bucks cash that had been in my possession when I was arrested, as well as the two hundred dollars they give to every prisoner before being released.

Other than that, I have nothing. Many prisoners have boxes of legal work or books, but I ve given away everything I had to Reyes, and I learned a long time ago not to write down anything important.

I ve made good use of sketch books during my time, but I destroyed the drawings after doodling, not wanting to give insight to my enemies. I ve found that drawing relaxes me.

I climb into a minibus, still in handcuffs and chains, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There s no way I m actually getting out. The pretty lawyer whose image tortured me all night, forcing me to awaken sweaty and hornier than a lonely teenager, wouldn t succeed.

We drive out of the front gates of the prison, park, and Donnelly removes my chains. I stretch out of the van.

He nods. I m sure I ll see you again.

I face him directly. He s been fair but tough on everybody, and frankly, I figure in this world that he s a decent guy.

No, you won t, I say honestly, meaning it.

For the record, Salisbury is making a move on Libertine this week.

Contract. Salisbury is an asshole, but more importantly, Libertine is my mole in North block.

He s with the Russian mob, is seriously crazy, and enjoys the candy he can buy each week with the money I slip into his account.

Normally, I wouldn t snitch on anybody because I don t give a shit, but I need Libertine in place for now and not dead.

Donnelly stiffens, nods, and climbs back into the van.

I look around and note a champagne-colored SUV up ahead.

The door opens and Rosalie Mooncrest steps out, today dressed in a light-yellow skirt and jacket set, her long legs leading down to sensible blue kitten heels.

I like that they re blue. My dick hardens to rock and reminds me that I haven t fucked a woman in seven long years.

That one has legs that could wrap around a man and hold tight.

Then that mouth. Lush, red, perfect. I wonder how good she is with it.

I lope toward her, noticing her swallowing and looking around.

It was one thing to have a guard outside of the door, quite another to face me directly, and I m surprised she is here standing unprotected.

I don t want to like her and fully plan on using her like I do everybody else. What are you doing here?

She shrugs. I figure you don t have anybody to pick you up.

It is a kindness, and one I don t recognize. What does she want from me? I definitely know what I want from her, and I m more than amenable to an exchange. I glance at the vehicle. It s tough-looking and yet sleek. What is this?

It s a Volkswagen ID.4, she murmurs. Electric.

Huh. I ve heard about electric vehicles, but this is the first one I ve seen up close.

I glance at her, once again drawn by the violet hue of her eyes.

Would they change to a deeper blue in the throes of orgasm?

Is she a screamer? Does she like to be tied up?

Held down? You must be doing all right. These are expensive, correct?

She shakes her head, and little apple earrings dangle from her delicate ears.

No. The government forced car manufacturers to create a bunch of electric vehicles, even though we don t have the electrical grid for it, so you can get a great deal on a lease.

She pats the car as if she s proud of the beauty, and I note her slim fingers.

I d bet my entire fortune her skin is soft.

In fact, with a four-year lease, the cost is minimal.

So the girl is careful with money. This makes sense.

Her clothes are fitting and elegant, but definitely not high-end.

I don t know anything about her, and this sense of curiosity is new.

I figure the better I know her, the easier it ll be to get her into bed.

Or bent over a table. Right now, I don t very much care where. I move toward the driver s side door.

She holds up a hand, as if that will stop me. You re not driving my car.

If there s a car, I drive it, I say, curious how she ll react.

No. You don t even have a license right now. Do you honestly want to get a ticket when you re barely on probation?

That s a point, it s a good one, plus it s her car. I weigh my options and then decide to give in this time. My license probably is expired. Fine.

I walk around and enter the passenger side.

The leather interior smells like expensive indulgence.

I look up through the sunroof. The sky is so wide and blue, and I take a moment just to breathe as I roll down the window.

The sense of freedom has yet to hit me, but the familiar anger boiling in my gut keeps me stable.

She settles herself in the driver s side and fastens her seatbelt before turning those unreal eyes on me. Seatbelt.

No.

It s the law. She presses her lips together, making me want to kiss her and force them open.

What does she taste like? Sunshine and heaven?

Strawberries that match her lips? Put on your seatbelt, she repeats, reminding me of my tenth-grade English teacher.

I wanted to fuck her, too. The attraction had been mutual, and I learned quite a bit from Ms. Lemon. Now, please, Rosalie says briskly.

I ve been shackled enough in this life. I said no.

Fine. She starts the vehicle. If we get in a car accident and you go through the windshield, it s your own damn fault.

The woman sounds like she might hit a concrete barrier just to prove her point. Amusement ticks through me, shocking me. I haven t smiled genuinely in seven years—maybe longer. Now isn t the time to start. Fair enough.

She pulls out on to the quiet road. So where to?

That s the question, isn t it? I don t have anywhere to go.