Page 102 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Good. They’re gone. For now, at least.

“Gavril …” Joy says nervously.

I soon see what she means: the Skull Kings are peeling around another street corner after us. We haven’t gotten rid of them yet.

“We’ll lose them,” is all I tell her.

There is no other option. I’m not letting them get close enough to even grin at Joy, let alone harm her. There is no other option.

All there is to do is execute hairpin turn after hairpin turn, until they miss one and hopefully, lose us.

The shitty visibility here on these streets, courtesy of the dark, looming buildings and burnt-out streetlights, is to our advantage.

I press the gas pedal down all the way and get turning. The next few minutes are like a nauseating, high-speed hallucination. We’re turning and Joy is hissing, “Still there!” and turning again. Until we’re who-the-fuck-knows where, flying down streets lined with garbage cans and empty lots.

But no Jeep, at least. At last.

* * *

We drive in silence back to the mansion, and when we pull up in front of it, the silence looms heavily. I should tell Ludmil what happened immediately, but I won’t. It can wait a bit.

We exit the car, enter the house. I look at Joy.

I can see she has questions. She can see I’m not going to give her answers. Not now, at least. There’s something more than that. Something unfinished from the parking garage roof. Something ignited. The adrenaline of the pursuit didn’t snuff it out. It just made that fire burn hotter.

“Come here,” I tell her.

She comes. I kiss her. We kiss our way through the house, all the way to bed. Clothes are ripped off and shed. Joy gets on top of me, riding me for the first time, totally into it.

Eyes blazing, she demands, “Kiss me.”

And I do.

“Fuck me harder.”

And I do.

“Make me come.”

And I do, as she groans, shivers, and shakes with it, still managing to groan out, “More.”

That’s my girl. My queen.

I give her more. I give her more from behind, slapping her ass. I give her more from the side, with our legs entwined. I give her more so much I can’t take it anymore. I lose it, blasting inside of her.

Afterwards, we’re in each other’s arms, Joy’s face nuzzled into my chest, her expression invisible. “That was messed up.”

She wants to talk about what happened, I know. I can sense the questions churning in her. But I don’t know how to explain things yet. How to tell her who I am, what I do, what I’ve done.

So instead, I just let my hand stroke along her scalp. “Thought you enjoyed it.”

I can feel her smile. “You know that’s not what I meant. Us, you and me, that felt … really good.”

“Good.”

She waits for more. I don’t give it to her. I could lie, easily. Make up something plausible. But I don’t want to. I just want to be here with her. Hold her in my arms.

Just when I think that’s it, she keeps talking. Her words make the muscles in her jaw move against my chest as she speaks. “It’s weird. All my life I never felt like I had any control. With anything, really. To improve my mom’s and my situation, to succeed much at work or school. And then, at the end, when things got really bad …” Her gaze suddenly flits to me. “I never told you how I ended up on the streets, did I?”

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