Page 128 of Thorns of Lust
The video started playing again.Bang.I jumped out of my skin as if I heard the sound for the first time. My eyes darted to the screen. The woman’s dead eyes stared blankly. Blood seeped from her skull and onto the white rug, red spreading like obscene ink.
The same scene played on repeat, over and over again, but he no longer watched it. His eyes were on me, studying.
I blinked back the tears, taking another step backwards, never taking my eyes off his face. When the back of my knees hit the coffee table, I collapsed into the sitting position, the lacquer cool against my ass. I wrapped my other arm around my middle, while the other was still gripping the black sheet to my chest.
Illias sat up against the headboard, the black covers rumpled around his waist and looking like a god. Smooth, tanned skin stretched over the naked, sculpted planes of his shoulders and abs. Even just seeing that video, my thighs clenched and heat spread down my body.
The stupid butterflies took flight. But thankfully, my brain was still intact. Mostly.
He swung his long, muscular legs over the side of the bed and pulled on black sweatpants. When he stood to his full height, they hung low on his hips. There wasn’t a man on this Earth who wore sweats better.
Stop it,I scolded myself.Murderer. He’s a murderer.
“I have to go.” My voice shook.
“No.” His dark eyes burned and his chest heaved. “You’re not even going to ask?”’
My eyes flashed and my hands curled into fists. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want anything to do with you.” A sardonic breath left him. His expression shattered, before it changed into a hardened mask.
“That’s too bad,” he said in a dangerously calm voice. “Because you have me.” His forehead lowered toward mine, his unique and addictive scent filling my lungs. “I swear to God, Tatiana, there is no going back. You’re my end game.”
I swallowed. “Temporary,” I rasped. “This was just temporary.”
His palms cupped my cheeks, his darkness dominating me.
“I told you once, moya luna, we were never temporary.”
FORTY-ONE
KONSTANTIN
Tatiana wasn’t a fragile rose.
She held onto her thorns, like they were her life shield. But she didn’t know how determined I could get when I wanted something.
Tatiana opened her mouth, then closed it. Her expression widened and she stiffened at my touch. But she kept her mouth shut, although I knew she had plenty to say.
She remained still, her ice blue gaze on me. But her calmness didn’t fool me. Under her blue ice, the stubbornness stared back at me. Challenged me.
“I’m going to explain what you just saw there,” I grumbled, unused to explaining myself to anyone. But she wasn’t just anyone. “First, I have to make a call.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes blazed with sure determination. The question was what was going on in her head.
Bang.
That damning recording kept playing. Over and over again. When I got my hands on whoever was sending those recordings, I’d strangle them. I needed to contact Nico Morrelli immediately and he might be able to trace the digital IP address of the recording.
“Can I use the restroom?” Her voice was measured. Controlled. Soft.
But there was no meekness in it. My gut warned she was up to something, but as I studied her, she kept her expression blank.
I nodded.
She grabbed her discarded clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked and I wasted no time dialing up Nico Morrelli.
“You got another one?” Nico went straight to business.
“Yes, but this one keeps playing on repeat.” The worst fucking one to show Tatiana. Or God forbid, Isla. “It’s never done that before.”
