Page 21 of Delicious Prey

“Don’t worry, zaika, they won’t catch me.”

“How did you become a hitman? You never told me in your letters.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I remind her.

“Please,” she whispers, and I groan at the sound of it.

“Your begging is my weakness, little bunny.”

“Is one please really begging?”

“That’s a good point.” I raise a brow at her, waiting.

“Why the hell did I just say that?” she asks herself.

I smile and give her hair a soft tug. “Because deep down you really like begging me.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

When I still don’t answer her question, she sighs and says, “Please, oh please tell me how you became a scary hitman, Kirill.”

It’s entirely insincere and because of that, it does nothing for me, so I wait for her to do it the right way.

I know I’m in trouble when I see the mischievous glint in her eyes. She lifts her head enough to ghost her lips over my chest, letting me feel the heat of her breath and the soft skim of her lips along my skin.

“Please tell me, Kirill,” she purrs, positioning her body so I can feel her tits pressing against me.

I smile and thread my hand through her hair, fisting it tight enough to make her gasp. “Keep teasing me, sweetheart, and I’m going to roll you over and bury my head between your legs and fuck you with my tongue until you’re screaming my name.”

The look of pure raw lust on her face makes me smile even bigger. “All you have to do is ask, zaika. I’ll let you fuck my face any damn time you want.”

Her cheeks are bright red, and when she tries to get up, I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly against me. Before I start speaking, I kiss her forehead, and while I dance my fingers along her arm, I start to tell her my story.

“I killed my dad.”

Her body stiffens in my arms, but I knew it was coming, so I just keep stroking her arm, running my fingers along the delicate lines of her body.

“I told you that my dad died when I was around eighteen in one of my first letters to you. I just left out the details of how. He was a nasty bastard who liked to drink and hit my mom, and one day I’d had enough. By that time I was already working for the Teterev Bratva with a growing reputation for being able to make kills that no one else could, and one day I went to visit my mom. She opened the door to their apartment with a face so swollen I barely recognized her. I didn’t need to think about what to do. I just grabbed my knife and ended his pathetic life.”

Lydia lifts her head to look at me, studying my eyes like she’s hoping to find some spark of humanity. I don’t bother asking if she’s succeeded. She’s my humanity, Before her, I didn’t have any, and now that I have her, she’s all I need.

“What happened to your mom?” she whispers.

“She’s in Greece with more money than she’ll be able to spend in this lifetime. Happy and married to a nice Greek man who knows I will kill him very slowly if he ever dares to raise a hand to her.”

“How did you get involved with the Teterev Bratva?”

I run my knuckle along her cheek. “Always such a curious little bunny.”

She reaches a shaky finger out, tracing the scar that runs down my face. “How did you get that?”

“Ivan Teterev asked me to work for him after I brought him the head of his enemy. I was fifteen when I dropped the man’s head at his feet. This,” I say, tilting my face so she can see the vicious scar that mars my skin, “is from a man I was hired to kill. He was a damn good fighter.”

“You killed him?”

“Of course. I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

“Do you ever let anyone go?”

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