Page 4 of Sweet Animosity

Any woman who found herself in a situation where she was forced to crawl through an air vent definitely was not leading a boring life.

There was nothing unique about a beautiful woman who got a rise out of my cock.

The world was full of beautiful women.

But a woman who piqued my curiosity? Who made me wonder if she liked to nibble on something sweet in bed after making love and the name of her perfume—the one with warm tones of jasmine and amber that currently clung to her undoubtedly soft skin?

That was rare.

That was something to capture in your fist and never let go.

Mac tapped the tip of his finger against his lips. “Uh huh. Yup. Definitely need to learn about that, but I was more referring to?—”

A piercing scream rent the air.

I crossed my arms over my chest as I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Dammit. The bodies.”

“The bodies,” repeated Mac sagely.

Lowering my head, I rubbed my fingers over my eyes.

I’d forgotten about the bodies.

It was bad enough that we’d walked into an active crime scene with Abakar and his bodyguards shot dead, but only after being gruesomely tortured. The entire inner office was a mess.

Most people did not understand.

Murder was easy.

It was the cleanup that was a real bitch.

Serg had already arranged for a cleaner to come to the scene. Although we would have preferred to not take on the responsibility, there were too many strings that led back to our private gambling club, the Four Monks.

While we had countless high-ranking police officers in our back pocket, it would be difficult for even them to sweep the death of an international dictator and his security detail under the carpet.

It was better for all concerned that everyone just assumed Abakar had returned to his country as planned and never made it. Being a dictator was a dangerous profession. They had a way of disappearing all the time. Under those circumstances, there wouldn’t be any questions.

And more important, nothing that implicated the Four Monks and our operation.

But a witness to the murders on Chicago soil, and worse, one who could put us at the scene, definitely complicated things.

Anton adjusted his stance as he let out a long breath. “My friends, we have a problem.”

Mac shook his head. “Well, we can’t kill her. Obviously.”

“Can’t just let her stroll out of here, knowing what she knows.”

I pulled my bulletproof vest off and handed it to Mac. After checking the magazine to my Glock, I tucked it into my waistband behind my back, before reaching for my cuff.

As I rolled up my sleeve, I stormed toward the inner office door and called over my shoulder, “Leave her to me.”

CHAPTER 3

VIVIAN

So. Much. Blood.

I would have thought spending countless Saturday afternoons on the sofa watching true crime dramas would have desensitized me to it, but nope, not even a teeny, tiny, little bit.

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