Page 2 of Sweet Animosity

After I pulled it free from the confines of my bag, I flicked it open while grasping its ridiculous pink handle. With the somewhat dull edge wedged between the rusted panel and the wall, I pried the access door open.

With an anxious glance over my shoulder, I crawled into the dusty vent. The tight space allowed me to barely twist and close the panel door.

Every movie I had ever seen was a freaking lie.

Air ducts were not shiny shafts of slippery metal.

They were dark, dusty, cobweb-filled portals to hell.

This was, without a doubt, one of the dumbest things I had ever done. I should have taken my chances on the second floor, or raced back to the loading dock and acted clueless if caught, or I don’t know… maybe called the police.

It wasn’t like the police would find out what I’d done.

They’d be too busy focusing on the sinister, heavily tattooed, gun-wielding hit squad to be worried about my crime. Especially since, technically, I wasn’t the one committing the crime. I was merely providing a service.

No one blames the manufacturer when someone gets in a car crash.

Oh, wait. Crap, they do.

The analogy sucked, but my point was the same.

I wasn’t the criminal; I was more… criminal adjacent.

And it wasn’t my fault. A girl’s gotta eat—and buy expensive designer purses.

My fingers fluttered over my lips as I wiped yet another cobweb away.

Seeing the spider from these webs would end my fear of being murdered. Because I would let out such a bloodcurdling scream, the whole damn building would come down around my ears.

My shoulders hitched up and tensed as the rubber sole of my boots squeaked against the metal. After a brief pause, I resumed my agonizingly slow crawl along the vent, hoping to reach the opening to a space where there was no shouting or guns.

My fingertips brushed something in the dark.

Something with fur.

I was now terrified of something other than spiders.

Forgetting all about the scary men, the guns, and the money I was owed, I let out a horrified cry and scrambled along the air duct, which rumbled and thundered with my every movement, as if I were a storm cloud chasing the gloom.

And that was when it happened.

CHAPTER 2

VARLAAM

With a luscious body built for sin and her come-fuck-me green eyes, this was no angel who had just fallen into my arms.

Even with wisps of cobwebs clinging to her thick, black waves that practically begged a man to wrap his fist around them and pull, she was an absolute beauty.

Then she opened those gorgeous, crimson lips.

“Get your gorilla paws off me, you fucking bastard.”

Fuck. I loved a woman with a dirty mouth.

As she squirmed in my embrace, Mac cocked his head to the side. “Do gorillas have paws?”

Anton shook his head as he gripped the arm straps to his bulletproof vest. “I don’t think so. They have creepy human hands.”

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