Page 151 of Sexting the Boss

There’s a flash, and a glint of something metal. Before I can intervene, Lev stabs Oleg in the abdomen. Lev stumbles back, blood smudging his face, a maniacal glint on his face.

“Oleg, fuck!” I shout as I run over to him, assessing his wound.

Blood is soaking through his shirt, and he gasps, clutching at the wound, eyes wide in pain.

Lev darts forward again, but this time I’m ready.

I let Oleg drop gently to the ground and slam into Lev, fists flying. He grunts as I drive a punch into his ribs, but he’s fast, landing a brutal hook to my side.

We crash into the charred remnants of a metal table, both of us going down in a tangle of ash and steel.

“I warned you,” Lev snarls, grappling for the knife again. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

“I still can,” I growl, shoving him back with everything I’ve got.

We break apart for half a second. Just long enough for me to see the flash of something in his eyes. Not rage. Not even hatred.

Obsession.

He wants me to suffer.

This isn’t about revenge anymore. This is aboutbreakingme.

And he’s going to keep trying until I put him in the ground.

Oleg groans behind me, coughing up blood.

I whip around, shouting for Maksim, for anyone still standing, but Lev’s gone. Vanished back into the smoke like he was never there.

“Stay with me,” I mutter, dropping to Oleg’s side, pressing down on the wound as best I can.

“I’m—fine,” he lies, teeth gritted, face gray. “Didn’t think—he’d actually show…”

“He did,” I say grimly. “And this time, I’m ending it.”

25

SASHA

I’m sittingcross-legged in bed with a pizza box balanced on my lap, feeling like a complete brat and loving every second of it.

It’s pepperoni, basil, and some fancy smoked cheese I can’t pronounce—because apparently, Damien’s in-house chef doesn’t just make foie gras and little edible flower salads. He also makes pizza. On demand. With truffle oil, no less.

Honestly, I should be ashamed of myself. I’m in a mansion, possibly under lock and key depending on who you ask, and I’m devouring luxury pizza in Damien’s bed like a gremlin.

I swipe the last bit of crust through the leftover sauce and pop it into my mouth, chewing happily.

Damien still hasn’t come back. He left with Roman and Oleg hours ago, and I’m trying not to be an anxious mess about it.

So far, distraction methods include:

Watching half an episode of a historical drama I can’t follow

Googling “can you get Stockholm Syndrome from someone hot”

Eating approximately my body weight in pizza

I burp quietly, pat my stomach, and reach for my water glass. That’s when I feel it.

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