Page 14 of SINS & Riley
Air. I need air. And I need to put my fucking sweatshirt back on.
Grabbing my hoodie, I shove to my feet, desperate for distance.
But the second I’m upright, dizziness slams into my skull like a free-swinging sledgehammer.
My vision splinters violently, forcing my eyes shut.
Helplessly, I pitch forward, crashing straight into the doctor’s chest.
Do I feel his hand gripping my ass as he steadies me?
Yeah, I fucking do.
Can I do a goddamn thing about it while the world’s spinning like the iceberg scene in Titanic?
Not a chance.
The ringing in my ears climbs as the door slamming open hits me like a bullet shattering glass.
And that low, familiar growl is both dangerous threat and twisted salvation.
Two deadly edges of the same Russian sword.
“Well, well, well. Not as attached to your hands as I thought, doc.”
5
ZVER
Dominic slides his blazer around Riley, shielding her from the doctor’s greedy eyes.
She’s pale, trembling, and quivering like a newborn colt.
But she won’t lean on him.
That’s my girl. Breathtaking in her defiance.
Dominic gives her exactly one second of indulging in her pride before sweeping her into his arms.
“Take her home,” I say darkly. Not that he needs the reminder—I’m no helicopter parent. But watching Dominic cradle my Zapretnaya away when it should be me doing the honors, especially in front of this prick, has me edgy as fuck.
Her eyes catch mine, holding for just a breath, but it’s enough. Enough to brand her ownership deeper into my bones. To remind me that two months might’ve passed, but Riley Mullvain is mine.
Maybe now more than she ever fucking was.
Then Dominic moves, sweeping her out of the room, and they’re gone.
I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. “Alone at last…” I pause to read the diploma on the wall, “Dr. Sterling.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting nervously as his gaze darts toward the ceiling behind me.
“Relax, Sterling. Your cameras won’t catch a thing.” Not that his security system is much of a challenge. They linked to a central hub so pathetic a toddler could crack it.
Sterling might have expensive taste in clothes, shoes, and watches, but he’s cheap as fuck where it counts.
“What are you going to do to me?” he demands, voice tight but trying hard for courage he doesn’t actually feel.
“I’m not going to do anything to you. I won’t need to. I’m pretty sure you’re going to stab yourself in the hand.”
