Page 93 of Ruthless

Luka's cock pressed against my hip through our suits, just as hard as mine. He ground against me slightly, just enough to make me whimper into his mouth. The sound seemed to inflame him further. The kiss turned savage, claiming, his teeth catching my bottom lip.

When he finally released me, I stood panting.

Todd's expression had morphed from concern to revulsion. "Jesus Christ, Vincent. At a funeral? I thought you had some decency."

Luka laughed, dark and amused. "You wouldn't know decent if it bit you in the ass."

"Excuse me?" Todd stepped forward, fists clenched.

Instead of meeting the challenge, Luka looked him up and down dismissively. "There's nothing decent about the way he screams my name every night, Todd."

The words hit like lightning. I stood frozen, arousal and mortification warring in my chest as Todd sputtered. But under the embarrassment, something darker unfurled. The possessive claim, the public marking... It did things to me I'd never experienced.

I wanted more. Wanted Luka to keep going, to make Todd run, to claim me so thoroughly everyone here would know exactly who I belonged to.

"Gentlemen," Lo materialized between them like smoke, "as delicious as this testosterone display is, we are at a funeral. Save the dick measuring for later?"

Todd's face flushed deeper. "I don't know what's happened to you, Vincent, but this isn't you. When you're ready to act like an adult, call me." He glanced at Luka with disgust. "Enjoy your... phase."

As he stalked away, Lo leaned close. "While that was both horrifying and hot as hell, Rhadamanthys is watching. He seems quite entertained by your little display."

Reality crashed back. The kiss aftershocks still rolled through me, but I forced myself to focus.

"I need to say goodbye to Michael first," I said.

Luka's expression softened. His hand stayed possessively on my lower back as I purchased a white rose from the elderly vendor, carrying it to Michael's casket.

Standing there, I felt the divide in me sharpen. Dr. Vincent Matthews would be horrified by that display, by the arousal still pulsing through me at a patient's funeral. But this new Vincent, the one Luka was creating? He wanted to be claimed again, harder, where everyone could see.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," I whispered to the casket. "But I promise your death won't be meaningless."

When I looked up, Luka watched me, his eyes revealing layers of emotion too tangled to name. Possession, yes, but also understanding. Maybe even admiration.

"I've never hated anyone before," I said quietly as we turned to leave. "But I hate Prometheus. For what he did to Michael. For what he's done to you. For everything."

"We'll make him pay," Luka promised, guiding me toward the path.

Through our earpieces, Diego reported success. Tracking devices placed, signals transmitting. We finally had a way to find Prometheus, to follow him home.

We were nearly at the parking area when a cultured voice called out.

"Dr. Matthews?"

My blood turned to ice. A silver-haired man in an expensive suit approached us, his presence commanding instant attention. But it wasn't his immaculate appearance that stopped my breath. It was his eyes. Cold, calculating, familiar.

Prometheus.

And beside him walked a woman whose beauty was as striking as it was familiar. Midnight hair framed high cheekbones and full lips. But it was her eyes that made my heart stutter. Crystalline blue, so pale they seemed almost colorless. Identical to Luka's.

Beside me, Luka went absolutely still. Not tense. Still. Like a corpse. The color drained from his face so rapidly I thought he might faint. A tremor started in his hands, traveling up his arms until his entire body vibrated with microscopic trembling only I could feel where our shoulders touched. His breath caught audibly, followed by a strangled sound so quiet only I could hear it.

"I wanted to offer my condolences," Prometheus said, extending a manicured hand as if we were strangers. "Lincoln Mercer. I worked with Michael on several investments. Such a tragic loss."

Lincoln Mercer. Prometheus was giving us his real name.

I stared at the offered hand, my mind racing. He was pretending we'd never met. Playing some sick game. My fingers curled into fists, wanting to strike that practiced smile off his face.

"Mr. Mercer," I managed, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached. I stared at his outstretched hand, imagining crushing each manicured finger until they snapped like twigs. I kept my hands at my sides.

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