Page 44 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

“Yeah… not exactly. I mean, I get it.” And I kind of do, now that I’m not trapped in the house. “If people knew we were seeing one another?—”

--that he’s fucking me into a mattress every night?—

“—it would probably be a big issue with investors, his managers, you know. Everyone who sees Konstantin as… cold, calculated.”

“A killer,” Chrissy deadpans.

“Yeah. That too.”

Leaning over the tiny table, she practically hisses, “Audrey, you’resleeping with a murderer.”

Not only that, I’m going to have his baby. My face heats up for the second time today at the thought of the things Konstantin does to me when we’re alone.

And how much I like it.

God, Ilike it.

Checking one of the two phones on the table, I take a sip of my drink to avoid responding to that. Chrissy catches the action; I’ve already explained the whole “having two phones” scenario.

“So, is he going to be mad that you’re out? If you guys had a date planned?”

Yeah, another little white lie; instead of telling her that he’s coming over to the luxurious, curated home he put me up in to debauch me and knock me up, I told Chrissy that Konstantin and Ihave a date.

As if he’s a totally normal guy, and not a Russian mafia leader.

“Mmm… he probably won’t be thrilled,” I admit, “but he’ll get over it.”

She shakes her head incredulously. The truth is, I know Konstantin will probably punish me for sneaking out. Am I mad about that? More annoyed than anything. Will I like it?

… yes.

Definitely.

“Come on,” I say, standing. “I want to go to The Dog Ear, I’m dying to get a new book.”

Half an hour later, Chrissy finally seems over the news. At least, she isn’t staring at me with disbelief whenever I glance over the bookshelves. My arms are already full of books; five to be exact, and I know I’ll have to slow down. But I also have Kashmere’s car, parked two streets over, so Icouldsplurge since I don’t have to carry these home…

“There you are.”

The voice is cold and familiar. A shiver goes up my spine, and I turn, pressing myself into the corner of the poetry section.

Sal is looking at me with a Cheshire cat smirk. I haven’t seen him in weeks—not since the cops were called on him—and he looks worse for wear. His hair is shaggy, he has a five-o-clock-shadow, and a wild, stressed look in his eyes.

“Sal—”

Before I can say anything else, two men linger near the end of the bookcases on either side of this section. We’re tucked far away from the register, in an area most people don’t frequent.

No one notices Sal and his men crowding me in.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?” He steps closer, his breath sour and warm on my neck. “I told you, your debt is doubled. I don’t care if you’re his.”

He moves closer, his thighs pressed against my pelvis, belt buckle digging into my stomach. “You were mine first.”

Where the hell is Chrissy?

No—I don’t want her to see this, to say anything to Sal and get tied up in this. Where’s the manager? An employee?

Anyone?