Page 23 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

Of Konstantin Martynov owning me?

Of owing him tens of thousands of dollars?

The morning drags by, and I manage to fall into a lull after a night of not sleeping well. Drifting off, head literally nodding, I’m brought back by the buzz of my phone.

It’s Chrissy:You alright? Out again today?

Yeah,I type back, guilt making me answer quickly.Can you talk sometime today? Maybe stop by later?

I imagine what the office is like: Chrissy, Jeannette, Grace, and Duscha will all be settling in. The printers humming; computers blinking on. The guys from Operations, in their dark suits with multiple phones hidden in their pockets, already whispering in other languages as they check in on their territories.

And Konstantin…

Sprawled out in that chair, in his office, where he bent me over the desk. Where he knelt in front of me and almost had me begging.

If I do this, agree to his terms, it releases me from my debt.

If I do this I’m safe. From Sal, at least—who’s to say how long Konstantin will put up with my fresh mouth?

Or what he’ll do with it once I give him the reins?

Taking a deep breath, I confirm with Chrissy that she can swing by for lunch and drop off soup from our favorite café. Then, I dial another number cryptically saved in my phone under Black Echo.

It rings once, and then a voice answers, cold, calculated.

“Operator.”

“My name is Audrey Wolfe, Head Accountant Number 5. Please connect me to Marty.” It’s an inside joke, because the last thing Konstantin is, is a martyr.

Thisis the test.

If Konstantin is serious about his offer, I’ll be transferred through—to his direct line. As far as I know, no one has access to his direct line except for his seconds-in-command.

“One moment.”

There’s a click, and the line goes silent for so long that I think they’ve hung up. A flush of embarrassment erupts on my cheeks, hot and tingling, making me hide my face in the blanket.

I’m just about to hang up when the line clicks again. There’s breathing on the other end; slow, steady, like a predator waiting in a dark cave.

And I’m the prey willingly walking into the shadows.

“Konstantin?”

“Malen'kiy volk.”

My nose scrunches, but now isn’t the time to ask what the strange nickname means. I could just google it, but I’m half-afraid to.

“I… I’ve thought about your offer. I have some terms of my own.”

There’s a harsh laugh, different from the throaty, sexy chuckle he’s let loose a few times—only when he has me mindless, knees spread.

Thislaugh reminds me of who he really is, a murderer who killed his way to the top of the ladder. Who has no problem being drenched in blood or wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

When he doesn’t speak, I swallow and continue: “I’ll be your surrogate. And I… understand your preference for how we… go about the task.” That earns me an appreciative hum, one I imagine him making between my legs someday. I squirm on the couch, trying to focus.

This is life or death. For me, at least.

“Marriage is off the table.”