Page 9 of Devotion

“It’s not that bad!” I chuckle, gasping. “Besides, we always win!”

“Yes, win. If that is what you call the twisted things you do when you fight. You are like nightmare clown.”

“Hey! I amnota clown. I just need a haircut!”

“It is a bit like Bozo, yes?” Matvey coughs out a laugh, limping the last few feet to the gate. We turn, looking back at the mass of screaming men charging down the walk.

“Hm. I think we could take ’em.”

“Fuck you!” Mat snorts, shoving me through the open pedestrian gate and hobbling after me.

The guards slam the gate behind us, firing off several shots into the air, or possibly the crowd still rushing the other side. They immediately reverse course, seeking shelter.

We made it.

“I bid you farewell, gentlemen.L’chaim! To life, and never seeing any of your fucking faces again!” I open my arms wide, shouting at the gate.

The only reply is the barrel of a guard’s rifle out a window. Mat and I hustle along down the road as quickly as we can, not even looking back. Good riddance.

It’s a half mile to the “parking lot.”

By the time we reach the small gravel plain, Mat is sweating, hopping on one foot. The bullet must have been a small caliber, lodged in his calf. Fired out of a makeshift gun. Car antenna probably. Like in the old greaser movies.

Won’t kill him but hurts like hell.

“Look at these two sad sacks of shit.” A deep, resonant voice snorts, stepping out of one of two black SUVs parked at the end of the dirt road.

“Fyodor,” Matvey grumbles, letting me go and trying to stand.

“You’d recognize a sack of shit when you see one. I mean, assuming you look at yourself in the mirror from time to time.” I should really keep my trap shut. But that Dolph Lundgren looking mother fucker sure does know how to make me instantly pissed off.

“Ciro!” Mat snaps quietly, giving me a look.

“Ah. The jester.” Fyodor sneers.

“That’s it? No comeback?” I honestly must look shocked.

“No need. I will come to break your back soon enough.”

“That was…actually not bad.” I nod, smirking.

An expression that is immediately replaced by an open-mouthed silent shout of pain as someone kicks the back of my knee out, driving me to the ground.

“Mind your tongue, initiate.” The woman’s voice is dark, sultry. Frigid.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. Raven black hair. Crystal blue eyes. Hips like a goddess.

“My tongue is completely at your service?—”

The boot takes me in the jaw, knocking me clean out.

* * *

A faint,alluring scent fills my nostrils.

Spices, sweet honey. Shivers up my spine.

Instantly, I’m rolling up to a seated position, groaning slightly but mostly just wondering what the hell has my cock as rigid as a prison cell bar in my pants. Memory cartwheels through my addled brain, smashing me back to reality.

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