Page 38 of Vicious Hearts

I nod. “Okay, got it. What’s the second thing?”

“Fyodor Pushkin doesn’t entirelytrustyou.” Leo stands up, looking out the door and along the corridor. “But you have a lot of information in your head. Every snitch, every slimeball thug on our payroll, every dirty politician or cop or judge. A lot of knowledge that you could decide to sell or trade.”

So the Bratva will protect me because they think I might sell them out if they don’t.

“Thanks a fucking bunch,” I say. “Why don’t they just take me out?”

Leo holds his hands in a supplicating gesture. “You’ve kept your hands clean since the whole thing with Pavel, and you got Hillard under the cosh, so you’re not on anyone’s shit list right now. Don’t take it too seriously. It’s nothing personal. You called me, I called Kal Antonov, and he told me to come down here and bail you out on his authority. He’s the Pushkin-Antonov Pakhan now, so—”

“You degenerate bastard Russians!”

Hillard appears in the doorway, apoplectic with rage. “I just got off the phone. Apparently, I have to let this fucker go!”

“Charming.” I get to my feet. “I thought you and I were friends.”

“That was before I found out I’d been fucking played like a fiddle by your criminal buddies,” Hillard snarls. “What good did you do anyway? It wasmewho caught The Dollmaker, not you. I’m better thanallof you bottom-feeding lowlives!”

Leo and I stare at him. He rolls his shoulders and sniffs, regaining his composure. “Anyway,” he says, his voice suddenly placid, “you got what you wanted, didn’t you? I have to look the other way and ignore the shit you get up to, including this unprovoked assault. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell Graham, but I guess I’ll think of something.”

He steps aside, letting Leo and I walk before him as we leave the holding area.

“I need a ride to get my car,” I say to Leo.

He nods. “You got it. What about Roxy?”

“I’m right here,” Roxy says.

I look up to see her sitting at a desk in the bullpen, her expression poisonous.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she asks me.

13

Roxy

Ben closed up like a trap as soon as he saw me. Not a word passed between us on the drive back to his apartment.

He’s washing his hands, ensuring no tiny slivers of glass are embedded in the cuts. He has new injuries to add to his collection—nicked and bruised knuckles from punching through glass, perfectly complimenting his dodgy shoulder and punctured thigh. And, of course, the bite marks I left on his other hand.

I suspect I've been getting the silent treatment so he can blow up at me in the privacy of his own home. What giveshimthe right to be mad? He’s the one who abandonedmein my time of need, only to go off and cause even more problems when he’s supposed to be helping me. He’d say he was protecting me, but it’s just territoriality. A toxic desire to assert himself and claim me as his.

As far as anyone knows, I have abandoned Simon Farraday. He will not be appealing his sentence. Does that mean I’m now safe?No, it doesn’t.Because serial killers aren’t ordinary people. They don’t think that way.

And besides, I still have to contend with Benedikt.

It’s not a coincidence that you can’t spellintoxicatingwithouttoxic.

Waiting for him to speak to me is terrifying, yet delicious. I’m pinned to the couch by my own fear, not daring to move or speak, yet my clit throbs, trying to get my attention.

Ben walks over and sits in the armchair opposite me, fixing me with a cold glare. His eyes seem almost as pale and icy as my own.

I wish he wasn’t so fucking sexy when he’s mad.

“That Graham guy said he fucked you, Rox. He called you a whore.”

My mouth falls open. Jesus. It doesn’t excuse what Ben did, but that’s more provocation than I expected.

“Ben, I—”

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