Page 56 of Trapping His Assassin

Without warning, Roman thrust a bag into my hands. With eager anticipation, I quickly began sifting through the contents of it, my excitement mounting with each discovery. It was a feeling that had been bubbling beneath the surface without me even realizing it.

“No panties?” Heat shot through my core as our eyes met.

“You think they’d last long in my presence?” His gravelly voice still gave me shivers.

It was unlike any sound I’d ever experienced, and I couldn’t get enough. If it wouldn’t hurt him, I would beg Roman to speak to me every minute of every day, to hear his broken sound. It was a gift, yet I couldn’t help wondering what kind of trauma he lived through to receive such a deadly scar.

“No, I truly don’t,” I deadpanned.

His laughter rang in my ears, as I ran out of the room to get changed. He followed at a much slower pace watching me from the doorway. I struggled to put on the frumpy sweats and oversized crew shirt he had given me. My heart raced with anxiety, as I realized there was no bra in the bag, leaving my large, erect nipples exposed for all to see. I tried to will them away, but they stood defiantly, taunting me with their visibility.

I glanced at Roman and saw his gaze fixed on my chest. With a sigh, I folded my arms over them, if only to catch his attention.

“Where are we going?”

Roman’s eyes darkened with violence. “You’ll see.”

He held a hand out to me, and I only hesitated a second before placing mine in his. He bent over my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Morning, wife.”

My pussy clenched, excited by his words. I tried not to show how his words affected me, but from the bite of his teeth in his bottom lip, I hadn’t done a good job of hiding my lust.

Roman shook his head as if to clear it. He turned, and the bandage from the last time I shot him was peeking out of his shirt. Thankfully the gauze was clear, and not saturated with blood.

I didn’t care that I’d hurt him, but I think it would gut me if I killed him.

I followed Roman down the stairs from the bedroom, assuming we were going to leave for the car. But instead, he led me down another set of stairs. It was no surprise that his extravagant mansion had a daunting basement area, complete with flickering lights that added to the eerie atmosphere.

My eyes traveled up to the cracked, peeling ceiling in disbelief. Despite the Bratva’s immense wealth, they had opted for bare light bulbs suspended by frayed wires, that swayed slightly with each passing breeze. It was a stark contrast to the lavish furnishings and expensive artwork in the rest of the home.

The lighting cast shadows on the walls that made it seem like I was on a set of 48 Hours or something like that.

“Where are you taking me?” There wasn’t a guard in sight, so I wasn’t sure why I was whispering.

Seemed like the right vibe.

For a fleeting second, the idea crossed my mind that Roman might have led me down here to get rid of me. But before I could dwell on our reasons for being in this place, Roman halted in front of a prison cell.

He pulled a key out of his pocket, and motioned for me to head inside.

My gut told me that I could trust Roman, however, my brain was telling me to stab him and run far away. It didn’t matter how much he punished me in the bedroom, I’d tried to kill him.

There was no way he was letting that slide, and I was the stupidest fucking assassin on the face of the planet, for following him down here.

Before I could freak out further, a wet cough drew me into the cell. Hanging from the ceiling was Roman’s Great Uncle Benedikt, blood pouring down his face.

Benedikt’s head slowly rose, and he shot me a bloody smirk. “Good morning,so´lnyshka.”

Roman rushed in and punched Benedikt in the face with a snarl. “She’s not your fucking sunshine,podonok.”

As I stood there, frozen in shock, my brain raced to understand the scene before me. Benedikt looked surprised to hear words coming out of Roman’s mouth, but he spoke to me all the time. I’d seen him speaking to his men, right?

I couldn’t focus on those thoughts now, as Roman tortured his uncle right in front of me.

Roman’s hand was gripping his uncle’s shirt collar, pulling him closer as if in a fit of rage. But then he turned to me with an almost loving gaze, and I couldn’t make sense of it. “I know you have questions,” he said calmly. “Go ahead and ask.”

I nodded. “Okay, clearly you’re angry with your uncle, but you don’t have to kill him, do you? I’m sure you both could work it out, whatever it is.”

Roman grabbed Benedikt by the throat. “No, I have permission to punish him. I’m not going to kill him, but I will leave him maimed, so he will never fucking do it again.”

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