Page 125 of The Harbinger

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and a slight bead of sweat pebbled on her hairline. She was nervous… as she should be.

“Care to elaborate?” She hesitated as if the harsh tone slipped carelessly from between her lips. “I wasn’t going to run away or anything,” she said, her tone softer and quiet. “I just wanted to go out to the store with Katya like a normal person.”

“Come here, Mia.” I leaned against the folded console and motioned her forward, my eyes never leaving hers as she leaned in, her gaze flicking wildly around. “You’re not a normal person,” I continued as I touched her hair, “and to act like it would only be insulting to the real you.”

A simple smile pulled at her lips, leaving me stiffening in my pants as I imagined her lips wrapped around me, her moans striking my ears. But after tonight, those thoughts maystayin my head.

I wrapped my hand around her throat in a firm grip and tugged her to me, my lips pressing against hers. She tasted of sweetness with a hint of bitter rebellion. Her tongue swirled with mine, her teeth biting at me with an eagerness that caught me off guard. Did she not hear how I’d planned on hurting her?

The car stopped, but her hands gripped my suit jacket, desperately trying to keep me close to her. I slid my hand to the back of her neck and pressed my mouth hard against hers, my teeth biting into my lips.

I could swing her leg over my lap and slip inside of her. Make her come with my name on her lips before she cursed it later. I could get one more taste of her before she hated me for good.

Sliding my hand down her back, I tucked the tips of my fingers into her waistband and pulled on her shirt.

“We’re here,” Dmitri said, staunching Mia’s eagerness.

She pulled away, her eyes searching our surroundings as her tongue slipped over her lips. “Where are we?”

I sighed, shooting a dark glare at Dmitri through the rearview mirror before smoothing out my suit. “I’ll show you,”

Dmitri’s gaze wandered away as he got out of the vehicle and then held open my door as I exited. I held my hand out for her, and she slipped hers into mine.

“I’m scared, Sacha.”

Dmitri, Grigoriy, and Yuri followed close behind, their heads turning around, taking in any possible threat.

“Don’t be. I’m here with you.”

At first glance, one could mistake it for just another abandoned building, but it was far from ordinary. Its exterior was a façade of decay and neglect, with brick walls chipped and cracked, revealing the dull gray concrete underneath. Years of dust and grime had fogged over the windows—some were boarded up with rough plywood. The heavy steel slab door was covered in rust and grime, and chipped paint flaked off at its edges. Ivy grew wild around the corners of the building, threatening to overtake the structure entirely.

Despite the worn exterior, this building was unlike any other. It was a mirage, a deception—a Berlioz on the outside, but a Tchaikovsky on the inside—a masterpiece.

Grigoriy pushed open the heavy steel door, and we stepped into a world of darkened chaos.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing a gothic club alive with the energy of stomping feet and flashing laser lights. The dancers wore wild outfits, a kaleidoscope of blacks and purple leathers. Their bodies swayed in harmony to an unheard beat, only audible to them through their headphones. The bartenders worked with expertise, easily crafting drinks and sliding them across the counter.

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat, a heady mixture that added to the thrilling ambiance.

“What is this place?” Mia said, glancing around, her eyes wide as if she had taken in every detail.

“It’s a place where people can come to be themselves.”

I interlaced our fingers and pulled her through the throng of people high on the drugs Ruslan insisted we needed—the reason I traveled to the United States—the reason I have her.

Dmitri moved ahead of us, pushing open the metal door at the far end of the club, and held it open as we walked through. He shut the door with a resounding thud and stationed himself beside it while Grigoriy or Yuri took up positions outside, standing guard.

Mikhail, a man I’d known since exiting the gulag, stood up from behind his granite desk. “Alexander Ruslanovich. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“We need a cold brand with my signature.”

“What are you saying?” Mia said, interrupting my instruction. “Why can’t you speak English around me?”

I squeezed her hand, and she winced, silencing her as I continued in Russian. Mikhail didn’t know English, not that it mattered, he only needed to understand what I wished of him. “I need it now.”

“Now?”

“Da.”

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