Page 100 of Vicious Addictions

“You don’t mean that,” I reply, dismissing her warning.

“Yes, I do. If you leave… then you’ve made your decision as far as I’m concerned.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mina. It’s not that black and white. You’re being irrational,” I reply a bit too harshly, losing patience with her ultimatum.

She lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh and states, “Women talk of love, and men call them irrational.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. And this is what I mean—you’ll have to choose between me or your incessant need to live up to some idealist notion of your birthright. Those are your choices, Jude. Love or power. Which one will you relinquish your soul to?”

I stand back, amazed she would phrase it in such a way.

When I don’t answer her fast enough, she wipes away another tear, her beautiful face hardening into stone.

“Very well. I see that your mind is made up. Like it’s always been when it comes to me.”

“Mina—”

“No!” She takes another step back. “You’ve made your decision. And now it’s time I make mine.”

She takes one last lingering look at me, the sparkle in her eyes gone. Then, without a word, she turns and walks away from the foyer and out of my life—forever.

Chapter 17

Jude

Five years later

I let out an exaggerated exhale, growing tired of the way the asshole in front of me refuses to give me any worthwhile intel. Tony wipes his sweaty brow before hitting the Russian soldier in the jaw one more time, but to our dismay, all the fucker does is spit out two of his front teeth and then maniacally smile at us as if it were a game to him.

“Boss?” Tony huffs out, looking worse for wear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was the one who had been tied to a chair, getting the shit kicked out of him for the past five hours.

I suck in my teeth and wave him away. Thankfully, Tony has the good sense to leave the basement before I set my frustration on him instead of our tight-lipped captive. I loosen my tie before taking off my Armani jacket, gaining a scoff from the Russian.

“Hmm, is that your way of telling me you don’t like my suit, Boris?” I taunt.

“Igor. My name is Igor, you, Sicilian scum.” He spits out a pool of blood toward my Italian shoes but thankfully misses its target.

“Boris, Igor. What’s the difference? You’re all the same to me,” I reply, unaffected, while making a show of putting my black leather gloves on.

Igor’s eyes never leave me as I pull up a chair, swing it around, and sit on it, my legs spread wide on each side.

“Here’s the thing,Boris.This little chat between us can only go two ways. Either you give me something I can work with, or you’ll force my hand. Do you understand what that means? Forcing my hand?” I hike up a taunting brow.

“Fuck you,” he retorts in mangled English.

“Tsk tsk, Igor. We can be friends. Don’t you want to be my friend?” I smile sinisterly at the bastard. “See, I can be a good friend to you. The best, even. All you have to do to win my friendship is tell me what I want to know.”

He looks away, his gaze fixed at a spot on the wall, his way of saying I can shove my so-called friendship where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Someone has been very busy lately, haven’t they,Boris?” I continue, not caring if he looks at me or not. “So busy, in fact, that they got sloppy. You see, my men found your precious container in our docks. The one you and your men tried to smuggle in. Hate to say it, but that was one hell of a bad move on your part.” I shake my head, pretending to look disappointed. “It was too damn easy tracking that container back to you. Too damn easy, in fact. You know what that told me? That you’re not the brains of the operation. No offense, but one look at you and it’s clear you’re just the muscle. So why don’t you give me the name of the man pulling your strings so you can be on your way?”

I smile when his gaze returns to me, his eyes darting up and down my face, trying to see what game I’m playing at.

My calm voice always does it to them—a trait I inherited from my father and was able to master over time. It leaves them wondering whether I’m being sincere or full of shit.

Right now, it’s definitely the latter.

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