Page 20 of Darkest Deeds


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“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I do not like you.”

Am I supposed to be shocked here?

I cross my arms, mimicking his posture. “Should I return our best friends bracelets?”

I half expect him to throw me out. Instead, he just sits there glaring at me. “Even though I do not like you, I am going to give you some free advice.”

“Lay it on me, Dr. Phil.”

“Do you like your balls?”

“I can’t say they’re my favorite part of my anatomy. That top billing goes to my cock. It’s pretty impressive.” I smirk and gesture toward my lap. “Not that my balls aren’t, but they don’t violate noise ordinances if you get what I’m saying.”

“Mudak,” he mumbles as he takes a drink. “I mean do you like them still attached to your body. Because if you get them anywhere near her,” he tilts his glass toward the stage where Ava is bent over and staring at us from between her legs, “Sergei will cut them off and send them to your mother.”

I grit my teeth in an effort to remain in control. “And why is that?”

“Beyond the fact that you killed his step-son?” he asks, raising an eyebrow with a drunken smile. “He personally decides who touches her and who doesn’t.”

Not anymore.

“Yeah, well, I’ve always had somewhat of a soft spot for her too.”

“Ava might remember differently.” He laughs and refills both our glasses, splashing liquor onto the table. “I am surprised you have the nerve to show your face here.”

A dark haze coats my vision, but I manage to hold back the beast trying to claw its way free. “I’m in town on business, and Seven always did have the best girls.”

“Even better now that I manage it.”

My chest tightens. “I want to book a VIP room.”

He lifts his drink and pauses, holding it inches from his face. “With who?”

I point toward the stage. “Her.”

Dmitry nearly chokes on his drink, but I can’t really blame him. With one word, I pretty much whipped out my dick and pissed all over his warning. It’s risky—I hadn’t planned to tip my hand so early, but when the brass ring comes around you don’t just sit on your horse and watch it go by. Hell no. You shove every motherfucker out of your way and grab that son of a bitch.

And that redhead up on stage with a pussy full of dollar bills? She’s my brass ring. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to add her to my trophy case.

Dmitry waves me off. “I just told you she is not for sale.”

That’s where he’s wrong. Anything’s for sale if the offer’s worth the risk.

Reaching into my jacket, I pull out my leather wallet and count out ten crisp one hundred dollar bills before slamming them on the table. “Are you sure about that?”

He looks at me again. It’s just a flickering glance, but it tells me all I need to know. He hasn’t changed in eight years. His pockets still run deeper than his loyalty. Snaking a hand out, he slides the cash across the table and tucks it away. “Room four. And if you leave marks, I will tell Sergei history has repeated itself.”

“Dmitry,” I say, shoving my chair back, “maybe you haven’t heard—I really don’t give a shit.”

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