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It’s an orgasm like none I’ve ever known.
Because I’ve never cum from how goddamn much I love someone.
25
SABRINA
I’ve been shopping at GUM, which is the main department store in Moscow. It’s really more like a mall, with a lovely glass dome roof, high-end boutiques, and fancy eateries. It faces Red Square, which is currently not red but white, blanketed with the first snow of the year.
That’s why I had to shop—to get warmer clothes.
I model my new outfit for Adrik—bright orange fleece joggers, a white hoodie, and a pair of Stan Smiths that are probably counterfeit, but an excellent fake. They even have the little green tabs on the tongue with Stan’s portrait.
“Orange looks amazing with your skin.” Adrik gives me an appreciative up and down. “You have good style—it’s fuckin’ sexy.”
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, posing for him.
“What’s this for?” he says, tugging at a little stretchy string on the butt.
The joggers have several pockets and zips with no apparent purpose.
“I dunno,” I say. “Don’t pull on it.”
“I think your pants are on backwards.”
“No, they’re not! Knock it off!”
Ignoring me, Adrik pulls the strings out about a foot. “That’s the drawstring! They’re definitely on backwards.”
I twist around, trying to look at my own ass.
“Goddammit.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you did that.”
“I won’t tell anyone you thought I looked stylish as fuck!”
“Watch it,” he growls, seizing me and pulling me close.
He’s trying to put his hands down my pants and up my shirt simultaneously. I smack him away.
“I don’t have time for that—I have to meet Zigor.”
I throw that at him like an accusation, because it’s his fault that I’m going on this stupid errand. This is my third time tagging along with Jasper for a supply run, and each adventure has been worse than the last. Not because of Jasper, surprisingly—because Zigor Zakharov really is a fucking moron. His only genius seems to be finding new and creative ways to annoy us.
He brings his two favorite goons along with him everywhere he goes. Jasper and I call them the Bookends, because they look exactly alike, and they flank Zigor like he’s the president, instead of a two-bit gangster so incompetent that his father only uses him for babysitting.
I’d much rather be at the lab with Hakim. I’m almost finished the third formulation, the one for concerts.
When I head down to the kitchen, I tell Hakim, “Don’t work on the new pill without me.”
“I can’t work on shit,” he says. “We’re out of supplies.”
“I know—Jasper and I are picking up a double order today.”
We’ve been continually increasing our orders from Lev Zakharov, but it’s not even close to enough to keep up with demand. Now that we’re selling in Veniamin’s nightclubs, we’ve had to scramble to keep up with production. We’ve got Andrei pressing pills and Vlad delivering orders to our dealers. Adrik’s making agreements to supply my sex drugEliksirto all the brothels.
Chief is probably working hardest of all—he’s got to handle the money and balance the books, an increasingly impossible feat. Adrik is intent on expanding as quickly as possible. We’re operating on miniscule margins, taking all the cash we make and rolling it into bigger and bigger purchases of raw materials.
