Page 47 of 10 Days to Ruin

Lora and I both stare at her blankly. She rolls her eyes. “That’s Russian for— You know what? Never mind. My humor is wasted on this audience. My point is, dominance games are universal. So it’s play to win or play to lose—but you’re playing either way. Whether you like it or not.”

I stare at my latte art—a collapsing tulip. Meanwhile, my mind starts playing movies for me. I imagine Sasha’s scarred fingers drumming on a desk. The graveled hitch in his voice as the elevators closed.

“What if he… retaliates?” I ask timidly.

Gina scoffs. “Please. Bad boy or not, he’s got a boardroom full of goons to look tough in front of. Worst case? He hauls you into a supply closet and eats you out ‘til the cows come home. Best case?” She wiggles her brows. “He calls your dad and says, ‘Sorry, sir, your daughter’s a hazard to my productivity.’”

Lora folds her napkin into nervous origami. “It does sound a little… risqué…”

Risqué.That’s a word for it.

Suicidalis another.

But Gina is right: Sasha is the one who set up the stakes of this game. I’m just the one stuck playing it.

So if he wants to take it this far?

Fine.

I can fight dirty, too.

16

SASHA

“What’s that smell?”

Feliks, who’s currently occupying himself by flicking his lighter on and off, on and off, again and a-fucking-gain because he knows it drives me batshit, shrugs his shoulders without looking at me.

Flick. “Dunno.”Flick.

“You were supposed to get the cleaning crew in here,” I growl.

“I did.”Flick. “Twice.”Flick.

“Then why does it still smell like blood?”

I glance at the seats across from my desk, the last place that Brian Fenner ever sat. To my eye, under the glare of the fluorescent lights in my office, it looks pristine. No gore, no stains, no signs that anything violent ever occurred there. It just looks like what it is: a damn chair.

But when I sniff, it smells like blood.

Flick.

“Put that fucking thing away before I shove it down your throat.”

Feliks pockets the lighter with a smirk. “You’re in a mood today.”

My jaw clenches. Of course I’m in a fuckingmood. I barely slept. Like it’s done since the second those elevator doors closed, last night keeps replaying in my head: Ariel’s feathers fluttering over my bedroom carpet. The tiny little gasps slipping through her lips. The soft edge of her panties when I?—

For fuck’s sake, get it together, man.

“Tell me about the cleanup,” I bark. “Did anyone see anything?”

“Nah. Brian’s body’s already ash, and Peter…” Feliks stretches his legs out and yawns. “Let’s just say the East River’s got one more secret to keep.”

I drum my fingers on the desk. The ring on my right hand catches the light—the same hand that touched her bare shoulder last night. That slid down her?—

I’m gonna fucking lose it.

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