Page 107 of Koroleva

I collected the bullets from inside the vehicle before taking the Bugatti for repairs. Nikita wanted to know who was behind the shooting, and I wasn't going to stop until I found the person who almost took her life.

"Let's grab some beers," murmured Aleksa. The Croatian-Colombian really got on my fucking nerves. He pushed me to the limit, and I didn't like that.

"I don't want to have anything with you," I responded gruffly.

"Great, then I'll drink for both of us, since all that discharge has left me dry."

I nearly cracked my jaw clenching it, because of the sexual connotation of his comment. I didn't take my eyes off the dark road, I couldn't, because what my body wanted was to take control of the vehicle, swerve and unleash.

He drove past the entrance to the housing estate, and with total audacity, told me he was going down to the AP-7 to go to Estepona. Did he care about my protests? No. Why would my opinion matter to him? As always, he was going to do whatever he felt like because he was driving and because, deep down, even though I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t think I could fall asleep yet, not after what happened against the tree.

What a fucking mess!

He reached for the radio power button and turned it on, glancing at me sideways.

"Any objections to me putting on some music now? Or do you also want to listen to the buzzing of twerking ladybugs?" he challenged.

"You're not going to provoke me. Play whatever the hell you want and leave me alone."

"How irritable! If I didn't know you a bit, I'd say you need to unload," he paused dramatically, earning my murderous gaze. "The bad temper, I mean."

"Drive and shut up. Whatever I do or say, you're going to ignore it."

"I see you're getting to know me, Russian. I like that, and my balls like you too." I snorted without missing his roguish smile.

Aleksa was a real nuisance, especially because he had the qualities that usually made me notice a man.

He was dark-haired, athletic, with the kind of class I lacked.

I was rougher and preferred sportswear to the damn suit I was doomed to wear and that had to be tailor-made because my back usually didn’t fit.

Plus, he had dark, bright eyes, like two pieces of burning coal, and although it didn’t seem like it, he was always relentlessly aware of what was happening around him.

If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t have been able to stick that needle in me.

The fact both annoyed and fascinated me equally; none of my men had the ability to make me let my guard down. Aleksa did.

When he found the song he liked, he stopped and nodded his head to the rhythm of the music.

"Don’t tell me there’s no other song!"

I protested. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, smiling.

"Don’t you like Måneskin? Or does the song's lyrics make you nervous?"

"Are you joking? Those lyrics are crap and I don’t like guys who paint their eyes with black eyeliner."

"Well, I think they have their charm. I’ve been told on occasion that the band's singer and I look alike."

"Well, unless it’s at the tip of the..."

"I haven't seen it, so I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that it makes you nervous because it makes you think about you and me."

"You're out of your mind!"

I grumbled. And then he started singing it, with a deep, raspy voice and that look full of intentions, which every now and then he took off the road to draw a straight line between my eyes and my groin.

I want to be your slave.

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