Page 2 of Savage Lies

My training kicks in. Stay calm, maintain cover, extract gracefully and without drawing attention. His thumb moves slowly over my spine. My body reacts before I can stop it.

Heat coils low in my belly. My nipples tighten.

God, he’ll notice.

This is what he does to me, turning me into someone I don’t recognize. Someone who forgets her training and melts at the simplest contact.

I’ve had lovers before, carefully vetted partners approved by the FSB for physical release and cover maintenance. But none of them ever made me feel like my body belongs to someone else.

The worst part is that he knows. I see it in his mouth’s curve, the darkening of his eyes. He’s using his touch like a weapon.

“I think you’re dangerous.” I whisper probably the most honest thing I’ve said in a year.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Maybe I like danger.”

He pulls back to look at me, those green eyes searching my face for cracks in my mask. “Do you know what I think, little kitten?”

The pet name sends a shiver down my spine. He’s called me that three times in the past year. Always when we’re alone, always when he’s testing me.

“Tell me.”

“I think you’re not who you claim to be. I think you’re here for reasons that have nothing to do with art or culture or whatever other lies you’ve been telling yourself.”

My heart pounds against my ribs, but I keep my voice steady. “That’s quite an accusation.”

“Is it an accusation if it’s true?”

The music swells around us, and I realize we’ve stopped moving. Other couples continue their dance while we stand frozen in the center, staring at each other like we’re the only people in the room.

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask because what else is there to say?

His smile is slow and devastating. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Tonight, you’re still mine, Alexandra. Whatever comes tomorrow can wait.”

“We have an hour,” he adds, like he’s already decided how long I belong to him.

I open my mouth to respond, but the sound of screeching tires cuts through the elegant music. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a black sedan racing toward the building at an impossible speed.

“Get down!” Dmitri shouts, but there’s no time.

The car smashes through the gallery doors in an explosion of glass and twisted metal. Shockwaves hurl me backward. My skull cracks against marble with a sickening sound I both hear and feel.

Everything goes silent for a moment.

White.

Then the engine roars, and the real blast hits, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Fire rolls through the gallery. I’m already falling, my vision fracturing like broken glass. My head slams marble again, and my teeth rattle.

Blood seeps hot beneath me, spreading fast. I try to move. To think. But my brain is static. Everything’s slipping away.

Someone screams.

Multiple someones.