Page 18 of Savage Kingdom

My cold hand made him flinch. I ran my finger over the sharp edge of his jaw and under his chin. I kneeled in front of him, and his eyes grew with fear. He was more alert than the others who were with him. He had a pretty face that looked carved from stone, and eyes that seemed plucked from emeralds.

“Give us a room,” I told the guard that was protecting the merchandise. He looked at me and nodded. I felt eyes boring into my back, but I ignored them.

I waited as the guard produced a key attached with a metal parchment that contained the room number. He then unchained the pet and gave me the leash. I felt nothing as I touched the metal chains that dehumanized the man below me.

“Let’s go,” I commanded. Making my way to the back rooms, I pulled the leash with more force than necessary. A statement needed to be made, and I had no qualms about making it.

The heels tapped against the marbled floor, and with my head held high, I walked with a man kneeling at my feet.

When the door to the room I had requested opened, I pulled the chain on my pet to signal him to go in.

“Adrik.” I called the guy’s name, and his eyes closed in fear or perhaps relief. He had been someone I somewhat trusted. He didn’t deserve the end he was getting, not when he had joined Sekten, but that was the world we lived in today—a back must never be turned.

I kneeled at the man who was a shell of whom he had been. I cupped his cheeks and wiped the tears that fell with my fingertips. He knew his end was near.

Slowly I gave him a kiss. His mouth parted, and I slid the small blade into his willing mouth.

“You will be avenged,” I vowed.

He knew I couldn’t take him out of here without arousing suspicion. He wouldn’t be the same man if I did. Instead, I offered him to die with a little dignity. He would die, but not before killing who had hurt him the most.

Now that my work here was done, I needed to leave.

The man didn’t look at me anymore, and I wished I could say I felt remorse when I pulled open the door. My heart was just an organ, incapable of feeling. As soon as I was out, I was slammed back into the wall as a man passed in a blur.

I bit the insides of my cheeks, pissed off. I might be here on official business for the Sekt, but I also had a debt I had to pay.

“Sorry” was shouted, the words getting lost in the evolving chaos.

I straightened myself and used the distraction the man had provided and walked out of the bar.

Curiosity always got the best of me, so once outside, I ran, trying to find the man who had slammed me. When I cleared the alley, I saw him. He wore all black too, from his leather jacket to combat boots. He grabbed a helmet and got on a Fatboy.

Shaking my head of unwanted thoughts, I raised my hand and hailed a cab. I made my way to the house, where I should have been twenty minutes ago. Any other time I would pay, but since the Sekt came first, there was nothing Yorovich could do about it.

Yoro was the head of the bratva here in Chicago. He was fifteen years my senior, and he was also the one who’d wagered a deal with my father and owned parts of me. Everything in the world had a price, and so did a daughter.

The ride was smooth. The driver ignored me as I started to change in the back of his car, my commando clothes gone and replaced by an Yves Saint Laurent silk dress. The color was pink because Yoro liked to pretend I was a lady and not a paid whore. Someone who was docile and not a weapon. Someone who wanted him and was not fucking him since she was sixteen because he paid for it.

The car came to the entrance of Southernwoods, and my heart accelerated. This was the playground of the rich, and once you came in, what happened behind the gold doors stayed inside. The outside world was forgotten.

The mansions varied in size the deeper you got into the Southernwoods maze. The car stopped at the gated entrance to Yoro’s house.

I lowered the window, feeling the cool Chicago air on my skin.

“It’s me, I have arrived.” I forced my voice to hold back my usual sarcasm, and the bile, when I spoke to him.

“You’re late.”

He didn’t say more, and neither did I. The gates opened for me, and I leaned back, already counting the hours before I could leave this hellhole.

The car came to a stop, and I slid my black Amex on the card reader. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clothes and stepped one heeled boot out, then the other.

The mansion was big, with a fountain in the middle of a circular driveway. It had a set of stairs, and at the top was the master of the house. Yorovich Morozov, bratva leader in Chicago, and he was one of the most powerful men in Moscow too.

Power was dangerous to men; it made them feel invincible, untouchable, and they forgot they were still mortal.

I never forgot that every single person could bleed.

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