Page 33 of Merciless Queen

You don’t know he’s out to attack you.

Instincts deem it though, so I basically do. He hid the fact he knows who I am all while sleeping with me. Heplannedthis for reasons that I doubt have anything to do with pleasure.

Zasranets. Asshole.

Zeno takes another step in my direction and my spine tingles in awareness. How did I not see it before? Staring at me across the club. Answering precisely how I wanted him to. Some massive premeditated plan to get close to me—for whatever reason a supposed tourist would want to. The truth is in hisdesolate stare boring down on me now. There’s a coldness there, that’s almost downright hatred.

It’s a quick movement; one he distracts me with a step forward but Dimitri’s training is superior and probably the reason I catch it at all. His arm subtly slides to the side, and his hand curls after retrieving whatever he does from his back pocket.

“Who are you?” My tone is firm, a threat in itself, as I inch to the side, closer to my gun.

“Told you. Name’s Zeno.” Another step from him.

“So that’s the truth?” I keep him talking, hoping to distract him.

“Sì.”

“How do you know who I am?”Please be some massive crazy coincidence.

His lips pull into the same kind of smirk that had me practically melting earlier tonight. What an idiot I am for falling for his charms. “Vanessa Volkov, Pakhan of the Russian Bratva.”

Shit.Well, that’s decided.

I lunge toward my nightstand at the same time Zeno reacts, throwing himself across the bed. He lands on my floor with a loud thump, just barely missing me. His body skims mine but I’m able to get to the drawer and pull out my Glock, quickly cocking it and pointing down toward the floor, where he’s just slowly getting up onto his knees, hands held up. One palm is open and toward me, and the other clenched around a knife.

“Drop it.” I jerk my chin toward that hand.

He surprisingly does, but it likely means he’s armed with more. If I were sneaking into a mafia leader’s stronghold, I’d heavily equip myself…but that’s just me.

“Good. Now, you’re going to answer a few questions or you die.” I reposition my legs into a shooter’s stance, aware I’m stillnaked from what should have been an ideal ending to my Friday night.

Zeno ticks his head to the side, his blistering stare studying every inch of me before suddenly saying, “Merciless Queen. That’s what your soldiers call you, no? Why would I tell you anything all to die regardless because you never show mercy?”

He knows all, right down to the nickname. I try to keep an impassive expression, to avoid revealing my true thoughts when lifting the gun to his forehead. “You have two more seconds to tell me why you’re here before my staff will end up having to scrub your blood off my window.”

“I only need one.”

Then, suddenly, he lunges from his kneeling position. It’s so quick, he manages to wrap an arm around my legs and topple me to the side, my hold on the gun faltering until it drops to the floor, landing a couple feet away from where I do.

Hand on the floor, I push to my feet and dive toward Zeno, landing a hard punch to his nose before he’s righted himself. It unfortunately doesn’t have enough power behind it to affect him in any visible way, but I cock my arm back to do it again. Zeno ducks low, aiming for my legs again, but this time I see him coming and skip to the side, away from the wall and closer to my gun.

He's slow getting to his feet, so maybe my punch did do something useful. I glance toward my gun; a quick peek so he doesn’t realize my plan.

“You’re playing with death,” I taunt, hoping it distracts him.

I move at the same time he does, both of us heading for the weapon. He beats me by milliseconds and blocks my path, pushing me entirely in the opposite direction toward the window. The glass pane catches me, the chill of it numbing my bare ass.

Zeno’s on me before my next breath rather than retrieving my weapon. His strength overpowers my resistance and he grabs my wrists in one palm and forces me around, shoving my front to the glass, the biting cold on my nipples making me hiss.

He steps into me, his body reminding me of a better time. His jeans, covering the cock that did so well pleasing me earlier, rub against me. The memory of him on my bed, in my bindings, shoots red hot fury down my spine. It was all some game to him.

“Get the fuck off me,zasranets!” I buck against his unyielding hold, using my feet and body to make his grip difficult to maintain.

“Did you know,” he murmurs in my ear, a soft tone so opposite from what the situation calls for, “that your accent gets so strong when you speak your language? It’s sexy.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew what I said.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s something indicating how pissed off you are because you’re not used to losing.”

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