Page 50 of Wicked Proposal
“Any news on Brad?”
“Alive and kicking, unfortunately,” Maks replies. “And kicking up a storm with the NYPD. He’s demanding the perps be found.”
Good luck with that.I’ve been on their tail for two decades and turned up jack shit. If Brad actually manages to get anything done, I’ll send him a fucking fruit basket in gratitude.
But he won’t. I know it in my gut: No one else will bring down my enemies.
That duty belongs tome.
Gunfire. Spilled wine on the floor. Blood, mixing with it. At some point, I stop being able to tell them apart.
There’s a girl next to me under the table. A girl I’ve known all my life. A girl it never crossed my mind to marry—we were friends. Too good friends to ruin it.
But my enemies don’t know that.
“Stay down,” I growl. “Keep close to me, Kira. Don’t let them?—”
Then her body slumps forward.
“Kira?!” My hand shakes her shoulder. “KIRA!”
But it’s too late.
I shake my head and pick up the pace. Those images never do me any good. I don’t need my wrath to be fueled—I need it to be sated. I need vengeance.
And fucking hell, I need to find Nikita.
Last time, it was too late to save my family. Too late to save Kira.
I won’t let it be too late again.
“We’re stopping?” Maks asks hopefully, more than a little out of breath.
“No.” I take a swig of my water. “Why? Tired already?”
“Just eager to preserve my neck from all these damned potholes.”
“Or maybe you’ve been behind a steering wheel too long.” I chug down the rest of the bottle, then crumple it in my hand. “Can’t remember how to work those legs.”
“Very funny,” Maks deadpans. “I’ll remember that next time I kick your ass on the ring.”
“Sure. In your dreams.”
“Speaking of dreams,” he pants, “why are we in this nightmare of a neighborhood anyway?”
As if on cue, I hear it.
Her voice.
I look up. From across the road, I can see her through the open kitchen window: in her pajamas, flipping pancakes, a big grin on her face.
I thought she looked gorgeous in the dress I gave her. Then I thought she looked gorgeous in her ratty scrubs. Now, I’m not surprised to realize she just might look gorgeous wearing anything.
Or nothing at all.
My cock twitches in my shorts. They’re wide enough to hide it, but not if it gets any more interested. And I know better than to get interested in an asset.
Because that’s what Mia is: an asset. A pawn. A means to an end, no matter the cost.
