Page 6 of Sweet Animosity

CHAPTER 4

VIVIAN

The moment he placed me back on my feet, I bolted.

Straight into a towering bale of stacked cardboard boxes.

Dammit.

I flipped back to face the glowering man who was all murdered out in a black, long-sleeved thermal, black cargo pants, and black, lace-up military boots. The sinister tattoos and shoulder-length black hair accessorized the terrifying outfit nicely.

Shaking my head as I clutched my purse to my stomach, I blurted out, “I didn’t see a thing. I swear.”

His dark blue gaze moved over me, from the top of my head to the tip of my boots.

My arms tightened around my purse as I shifted it higher to cover my chest. An irrational fear that he could see through my oversized man’s shirt and lace bra took hold.

Still, he said nothing.

I scanned the cramped room. We must be just off the loading dock. There were stacks of folded cardboard boxes and reams of plastic wrap, as well as countless rolls of duct tape and box cutters tossed onto the dusty, dull metal surface of several crooked desks interspersed among the stacks.

The perfect murder room. All it was missing were the opaque plastic walls and creepy music from Dexter.

I licked my lips. “Please, whatever happened here tonight is none of my business. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

He stepped closer.

I backed up against the cardboard stack.

He followed, placing his forearm over my head, caging me in.

The air hissed through my teeth as I flinched the moment he raised his arm.

One raven’s wing eyebrow curved as he stared down at me as if in warning.

I stilled.

He moved his hand to cup my jaw, running his thumb over my lower lip. “The problem is… gorgeous lips like these are capable of ugly lies.”

The air seized inside my lungs.

Russian.

He was Russian.

Oh, my God, I was totally fucked.

Everyone knew never, ever to mess with fucking Russians.

They were as cold and rigid as the ice that enveloped their entire country.

Panic made my heart race. I shook my head. “No. I promise. I’m not lying. I won’t tell anyone about how you killed?—”

He pressed his thumb against my lips, quieting me. “Shhh, krasivaya. No more talk. Not until I make sure no one is listening.”

“What is crass if vaya? Is that Russian for victim or prey or something sadistic?”

He chuckled. “It means beautiful.”

---