Page 7 of Owned By The Bratva King

I gulp like a fish on dry land, trying to swallow my feelings even as his proximity engulfs my senses. He’s so physically overwhelming, yet his hand caresses me, his thumb moving over the tendon.

Roman’s cell phone starts ringing. He hisses through his teeth and releases me to answer it.

“Dobryy utro, Leon. ETA? Great. See you then.” He hangs up and glances at me. “Get some rest, rusalka. Everything will be fine.”

Then I’m alone in the room, breathless and reeling from the intensity of those few moments.

Calm down. He’s gone.

I hear the shower starting up in the bathroom, and I close the bedroom door. Despite it all, my mind is crowded by the image of Roman naked and wet, soaping his corded muscles, the water running over that beautiful inked skin and down to his?—

You’re insane, Quinn, my inner voice says. She’s never liked me much, and try as I might to ignore her, she always has my ear.

You’re nobody. He’s just toying with you.

5

Roman

Irun the water hot enough that it’s almost scalding. Spilling my own blood pisses me off royally, and it’s been a while since I saw it last.

How dare some jumped-up fuck come at me? He was a kid I didn’t know, a youngster with a task far too big for him. Someone must have put him up to it, but what kind of asshole sends a boy to do a man’s job?

Dumb question. It could have been anyone or even just a wildcard. Leon might know; he’s not my second in command for nothing.

I didn’t choose the shower gel, but this suite is five thousand dollars a night, so it’s decent. I scrub it through my hair and swipe the suds over my body, washing away every spatter of red. My stitches throb, and I turn my chest into the spray, letting the water run over my face.

I have so much going on but can’t drag my thoughts away from Quinn. In theory, I took her with me because she was a witness, and I needed to scare her into keeping her pretty mouth shut. I like to sweeten my threats with generous bribes, too, because then people think I’m doing them a favor.

It was different with her. Within half a minute of meeting her, I could tell; she wouldn’t tell a soul what had happened. She had nothing to threaten me with and no leverage of any kind. So why did I steal her?

Because I can’t walk out of her life without ensuring she’s in a better place. I found her teetering on a precipice, with nowhere to go but down.

She’s so docile, so gentle. I couldn’t leave her to the mercy of the worst this city has to offer. Innocence is worth nothing on the street. Bad people would find her.

I allow myself a wry laugh. Bad people? Yeah, right. And what am I, exactly?

Quinn’s every detail is already carved into my memory; that juicy ass, her rounded tits, the adorable swell of her stomach. Thick thighs, skin glowing in the low light. Smooth caramel-colored hair bundled into an unruly ponytail. Hazel eyes flecked with gold, framed by dark lashes. Broad forehead and a mouth that would feel so good wrapped around my cock.

I think of her lips sliding over me, her saliva lubricating my length as I shove deep into her throat. My cock swells in response, the blood rushing so rapidly that I’m momentarily dizzy, and I brace my arm against the cool tile.

Quinn is fucking beautiful. So what?

It’s not just that, and I damn well know it. Quinn’s yielding gentleness makes her an almost divine presence, a fallen angel. She has no place in my life, my world, where I have to wade through dirt daily to stay alive and on top of my game. She’s gotta be fifteen years my junior, a treasure made for far cleaner hands than mine.

I’d better get my head on straight. Leon will be on time; he’s that type of annoying asshole who thinks punctuality is essential. I keep telling him he’d be late more often if he had anything important to do, but we both know that’s bullshit—the man is always busy as hell, so I don’t have to be.

I get out of the shower and dress, scraping my wet hair away from my face.

Time to handle business.

“So Blake got rid of the dead guy already?” Leon asks, pouring the whiskey. “Where’d he take him?”

“City morgue. Marked him as a John Doe. You’re free to go and take a look at him, but he had sense enough not to carry an ID.”

“Smart.” He pauses to sip his drink. “I’ll find out who he was and take it from there. Any hunches?”

“No.” I swill the amber liquid, the ice cubes clinking. “But if I have to, I’ll scare the everloving shit out of every asshole who I so much as suspect of knowing something about it.”

---