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“One more thing, Jennings.” I keep both of them in my sights as I ask the most important question. “Did she say anything else about me?”
He shrugs. “Just that you used to work for her father. Oh, and that you’re name’s not Garrison Franko. It’s Niko Gaheris.”
“Thank you, Jennings. You’ve been very helpful.” The smile doesn’t fully form on his face before I pull the trigger. The bullet tears through his skull, spraying the walls and Ava in his blood before he hits the floor.
I know Ava’s in shock because she’s not moving. She’s staring at his dead body like she’s caught in another one of her nightmares. She’s not far off.
I’m across the room before she opens her mouth. Grabbing her arm, I drag her toward the front door while she stares over her shoulder at the bloody mess. I keep my eyes focused in front of me, unable to stand seeing the blood splatter across her face.
“He didn’t do anything, Niko! He just tried to help me.”
I jerk her forward, and she tumbles out the door. “Then I guess it’s your fault he’s dead, isn’t it?”
Ava doesn’t say another word the whole walk back to the car, which is fine with me. There’s nothing I have to say right now she’ll want to hear.
Shoving her in the passenger’s seat, I buckle her in and press my lips against her ear. Jerking on the strap, I growl, “Don’t even think about jumping out of this car.”
* * *
Mikhail jumpsoff the couch when I kick the door open. Pointing my gun at him, I swing it toward the open exit. “Get out.”
He doesn’t hesitate, glaring at Ava as he passes her on his way out.
Once we’re alone, Ava holds one hand in front of her and backs up. “Niko, please, let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you betrayed me again? That you revealed my identity to a stranger?”
“You don’t understand,” she begs. “I had no choice. I have to get back.”
“To who? Ethan?” The name pours like acid from my lips.
“What? No! I mean, yes, but not like…” Her voice trails off as I press the barrel of my gun against her forehead. Immediately, her breathing becomes heavy, and her eyes grow dark.
Keeping the gun against her head, I pull out my knife and pop the blade. “Where were you going, pchelka? Back to the pole? Back to taking your clothes off for other men? Do you need a fucking reminder of who you belong to now? What do I have to do, Ava? Carve my initials into your goddamn skin?”
She licks her lips, her eyes on the blade. “Yes.”
“What?” Rearing back, I stare at her, noticing how fast her eyes dilated.
“Do it,” she whispers.
Her words throw gasoline on an already lit fire. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Ava.”
Ava steps forward as if there’s not a loaded Glock pressed against her skull. Holding my eye, she tilts her head and runs her tongue down the flat end of the knife.
And I come unhinged.
Roaring, I lunge until she’s backed against the kitchen table. Dropping the gun, I wrap a hand around her throat and push her down until her back is flat against it. Pulling the huge T-shirt up, I shred it with my knife, and it falls to each side, opening her like a prize. Her heart is beating so fast I can see it. Part of me wants to carve my initials in the damn thing, but I settle on the beautiful mounds above it.
Fleshy. Soft. Perfect.
“Tell me to stop.” It’s her last chance. She either takes it or suffers the consequences of her words. Instead of taking the out I’ve given her, she shakes her head and closes her eyes.
I see black. It’s like I’m locked behind a wall, and all I can hear are my own curses and Ava’s screams. When the darkness subsides, the first thing I feel is warmth.
Looking down, I trail a finger through the blood as it drips down her ribcage. I follow it up to her once perfect breasts. I trace the N carved into the right one, then move to the left and trace the jagged G.
Branded. Marked. Owned.
