Page 77 of Lord of Debauchery

“I’d say you were wrong. I think you’re pretty good at it.”

I nipped her ear before kissing the side of her neck. “We’re all good at several things in our lives, even if that can hurt others.”

“What are you getting at?” Her body was even stiffer than before.

“Just that usually blood is thicker than water.”

“Not always, Beckham.”

“An interesting statement. Rasskazhi mne o svoyem ottse i brate.” Hearing Russian flowing from my mouth caused another harsh breath to escape from hers. I figured demanding she tell me about her father and brother would be an excellent icebreaker.

“You know Russian.”

“Yes, I do. Does that surprise you?”

“You are a man of many talents.” Her voice was now stilted.

“And I would imagine you’re a woman of many as well. That begs a question. How much of your native language do you remember?”

The further stiffening of her body was enough to confirm what I feared.

I instantly wrapped one hand around her throat, jerking her head back authoritatively.

“Beckham. You’re hurting me.”

“Not my intention, my little fighter. Why would anyone want to hurt you, Kenya? I do so adore your name by the way, although I must admit I also love your given name of Anastasia. Anastasia Pokolov, daughter of Boris and sister to Dimitri, both brutal enforcers and considered second tier inside the Death Squad. Master protectors of my uncle and his prodigal son. Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Don’t expose the truth or are you begging me not to break your long, lovely neck, Anastasia?”

“I don’t go by that name any longer.”

“Yes, you’re using your mother’s maiden name, which isn’t particularly clever if you’re attempting to hide your identity from anyone. Including me.” I squeezed with enough force she coughed. I lowered my head, pressing my cheek against hers. “Now, it really doesn’t need to be difficult between us. I simply want to learn the truth.”

“What truths, Beckham? That I loathe my father and brother and want nothing to do with them? That I was forced to witness my father’s brutality as a child, the man laughing as he stood over their lifeless bodies, their wife and children forced to watch? That I knew early on the only use he thought I had was selling my virgin body off to the highest bidder but in his mind, I was too ugly to garner him any real money? Or perhaps you’d like me to confirm how right you are about the man eating his young if he thought it would garner him power?”

“How dramatic.”

“No, Beckham. How real and something I was forced to endure every day of my life. Why do you think I changed my name? I never, ever want to be associated with that fucking son of a bitch again.”

“Is that why you are very skilled at weaponry and fighting?”

She continued hissing, refusing to back down. Something else I admired about her. “If you had my past checked out so thoroughly then you know I wasn’t lying about being in the military. That was my escape, the only way I could get away from being married off to some goddamn oligarch who wanted me as his fucking sex slave. The only man who’d have me, my glorious dad had said.”

There was extreme angst in her voice as well as hatred. That was an emotion that couldn’t be faked. And it struck me how possessive and angry I felt right beside her. While I understood some fathers of powerful organizations such as my family’s believed in arranged marriages, it should never be to some ancient pig.

Besides, my mother had taught me that taking a wife was an act of love, not vengeance. I kissed her cheek, taking a few moments to grind my thick groin against her bottom. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, sweet one. Would you?”

“I have no reason to lie. I hate the man. I ran as far away from him as I could.”

“But oh, so close in New York.”

“Because I refused to back down to him.”

“Yet you ended up in Maine.”

She laughed and I couldn’t help myself. The need was too great. I rubbed the flat of my hand down her back to her bottom, curling the material of her dress into my fingers. I also wasn’t in the mood for any pretense, sliding my finger under the elastic of her thong and snapping it off her body. I brought it to my nose, inhaling the sweet scent of her arousal. Perhaps the thought of what I might do to her was a powerful aphrodisiac.

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