Page 64 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

ALEKS

She looks fucking phenomenal.

The dress is tight around her bust, pressing her cleavage higher. The neckline swoops low, revealing acres of flawless skin.

That all suits me just fine. But I can tell Olivia is self-conscious. She’s nervous to lean in and her movements are stiff. I don’t understand why. The dress simply wisps over her curves, accentuating and highlighting her curves without cheapening them.

The women in my world would cut off a finger to have half of her innocence. But her? She wears it without regard for just how precious it is.

I steeple my fingers and lean in towards her. “If you only learn one thing about me, Olivia, learn this: I take what I want. I don’t waste time thinking about petty consequences. So I took you, and if I left damage in my wake, so be it. The women I fuck disappear from my life soon after. We certainly don’t end up having a conversation over dinner.”

She frowns in dismay. “They disappear from your life? Like, they leave., or…?”

I laugh, but her frown only deepens. “Do you really believe I’d fuck a woman just to kill her after?”

“Am I supposed to know what gets you off?”

This night is supposed to be about extracting whatever information I can about her brother. But for some reason, that feels like an unwanted inconvenience I have to get through.

The questions I’m more interested in asking have a much different purpose.

“You’ve never fucked a stranger before, have you?” I guess.

She blushes, which confirms my suspicions immediately. “I like to have a connection with someone before I sleep with them.”

“Ah, yes. We were rather connected.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You were a glaring exception.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You had a rule that you broke for me. Surely that makes me special?”

“It wasn’t a rule, I just—” she sighs. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Oh, it was for you, then?” I suggest with amusement. “Like a treat?”

She glares at me. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop twisting my words. Stop trying to confuse me.”

“I’m just talking here. Don’t be afraid of a little conversation, Olivia.”

“I should have known not to trust you from the beginning,” she hisses. “You were too…”

She trails off. We both know there’s no ending to that sentence that doesn’t bury her further in her own words. That doesn’t betray her own deepest desires that much more.

“Too what?” I press.

“Smooth,” she finishes. “Polished. Practiced.”

“I wasn’t aware that was a bad thing.”

“‘Never trust a man who always knows exactly what to say,’” she murmurs as though she’s talking to herself.

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