Page 64 of Violent Possession

Alexei shakes his hand, and he doesthat smileagain. But this one isn’t for me.

“We’ll have all that for you,” he promises.

“Vania,”Alexei says. “Accompany Mr. Petrov to the car. Make sure his security team has no problems on the way out. It’s crucial that our partners feel the level of our hospitality and protection.”

Vania straightens up, his chest puffed out with importance. “Of course, Lyosha. Leave it to me.” He gives me one last warning look, a silent message of“I’m still watching you”, and then leaves, proud, alongside the other men.

They—investors—leave satisfied. Vania had no intention of leaving me alone with his cousin, and his camaraderie with me was only forged in front of others, but, with a mission from Alexei, he is inspired with a sense of importance. I already got it. He thinks he’s the strongest in the room.

The door closes.

It’s just the two of us—Alexei and I. He wanted to be alone with me, made a point of dispatching Vania.

Alexei turns to me. Satisfied with his own manipulation.

“Griffin, we need to?—“

I don’t let him finish.

Fuck the plan. Fuck the patience. Fuck the game. I need to do something real after this performance.

I pull him by the shirt towards me and kiss him.

For a second, he tenses. But then his mouth responds to mine, one hand goes up to hold my waist. The same firmness from inside the car. I allow myself, this time, to melt into the warmth. I lean towards him, press my body against his until we’re against the wall.

The kiss is deep. This time, it tastes of whiskey.

But, as quickly as it began, it ends.

Alexei pulls away, just enough for our breaths to mingle. There’s a half-smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkle with an amusement that drives me crazy.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

But the fight, the men in suits, the fake smiles, his hand guiding me like a puppet... I think about all that shit.

“I hate this,” I whisper.

His hand, which was on my waist, slowly rises to my face. His thumb traces with unexpected lightness a cut on my lower lip—memories of a punch from today’s fight. The touch is soft, almost...careful.

“What?” he asks, softly.

There it is again. The warmth. A warm sensation rising up my neck, making my heart race.

I pull away. I take his hand from my face. He looks like mylover. It’s not supposed to be like this.

“All this shit,” I say. “You need to start warning me about things, Alexei. Suddenly, your killer cousin is in front of me and I’m the main attraction of a scheme I didn’t even know was happening. And I hate being sold like a piece of meat. What’s the next part of the propaganda? An inspiring story of the one-armed fighter whoovercame difficulties?I’m not—I’m notthat arm.”

He sighs. He watches me. The way he does it disarms me.

“Your reaction to anger is to kiss me?”

I feel my face contort. “Shut up.”

I go to the counter. The terrace has a beautiful bar in marble and brushed metal. There are two half-empty bottles of whiskey, but I don’t want that. I look for the cheapest-looking vodka on the shelves behind the glass panels, even though even that seems to cost a fortune. I need something that burns, that reminds me of who I am.

He stops in front of the counter. I hear his footsteps, feel his scent.

“Story sells, Griffin,” he says, calmly. “To them, you’ll always be the one-armed fighter. The survivor. It’s a powerful narrative.”