Page 15 of Twisted Fate

In my business, the difference between living and dying can depend on spotting a lie. I’m very good at it. And Alina is not lying. She’s terrified for her brother and she honestly believes she can get him out of this.

“Markus is more resourceful than you think he is,” I say. “This is a good challenge for him. It’s only a million dollars.”

She scoffs. “You’re out of touch with reality. You don’t think a million is a lot? It is. It’s the kind of money that can change lives.”

“Or destroy them,” I add.

“You get off on this, don’t you? Walking around in your ten-thousand-dollar suit, flashing your offensively expensive watch, being driven around in your shiny black sedan. Luring victims into your little trap for your own amusement. It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

“Be careful what you say to me, Alina.”

“Or what?” The words are a challenge, but her tone is a breathy whisper.

I close the distance between us, threading her golden hair between my fingers, wrapping it around my wrist, giving a little tug. Not tight enough to hurt—not yet—but more than tight enough to get her attention. She inhales sharply, her chest expands, and her breasts press against the thin material of her shirt. Her nipples are hard pebbles.

“Or what?” I repeat, my mouth close to hers.

She’s panting, her breath fanning my lips.

And I’ve had enough of this game. With a growl, I claim her mouth, hard and insistent, my tongue tasting her, twining with hers. She freezes, not moving, not breathing. Then she makes a delicious sound of submission, of need, and she melts against me as I take what I want.

Fuck, she’s hot. So damn hot.

I pull on her hair, making her head tip back, giving me access to her pale throat. I run my tongue down the line of muscle, then close my teeth on her skin, marking her.

From the second I saw her, I had the urge to possess her.

What the fuck is it about this woman?

The primitive beast inside me roars, mine.

7

Alina

I feel the sting of Damian’s teeth on my throat, then the soft swipe of his tongue, soothing the hurt. My head spins. My pulse pounds. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. And just from a kiss. A single feral, forbidden kiss.

I twine my fingers through his dark hair as his mouth finds mine again. God, he can kiss. Hot and deep and hungry.

I hear the sound of the front door closing. Who—?

The thugs. Vito. Joe. Were they standing there watching us?

Through my lust induced fog, sanity claws its way forward.

What the hell am I thinking? I’m already the queen of dumb-ass choices. But fucking Damian Russo an hour after he takes me prisoner would make me the empress of idiocy.

With a groan, I try to pull away. He still has my hair wrapped around his fist, his other arm a solid band around my waist, holding me up. My legs are like rubber.

His lips are on mine, insistent, demanding, and I almost give in, almost sink into the heat and power and need.

No. No. Stop, I tell myself. I’m stronger than this. Smarter than this. No more bad boys for me. Ever.

“No.” I manage to force that single word out.

And to my surprise, he stills instantly, rearing back to look down at me.

One dark brow lifts. “You fucking loved every second of that,” he says.

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