Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(139)

I walk out of the tiny cell and close the door. A second later, I hear a prolonged scream forming from the door that Konstantin is behind.

When my cousin comes out, he’s wiping his bloody knuckles with a damp towel. Judging by the resigned look on his face, he hasn’t been successful, either.

“Well?” he asks.

“He’s not talking yet.”

“These are stubborn fuckers,” he complains. “They’re not going to crack easy.”

“Then we pit them against one another. We’ll see if that doesn’t do the trick.”

“Do you really think it’ll work?”

“No,” I admit. “But it’s been nice to punch something. I needed the release.”

Paige refused to let me burn off steam with her earlier tonight. I can still feel her thighs in my hands. I can taste her salty sweetness on my tongue.

I clench my fists and shove the images away. Paige isn’t an option. Which is why I’m down in the dungeon pounding on flesh and bone instead of doing what I really want: burying myself inside of her and forgetting the rest of the world.

Konstantin raises his eyebrows at my dark expression. “Therapy might be more effective.”

“No therapist on earth would survive.”

He smiles thinly. “I can hold down the fort, you know. You don’t have to be here.”

“Where else would I be?” I use his towel to clean my hands and then gesture at the door I just left.

“I’m going back in. Let me know if you get anything out of yours.”

The cell smells like piss when I walk back in. The man has wet himself since I left, but his jaw is set and his chin is raised.

“So what’s it gonna be?” I ask. “Are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?”

His nostrils flare and he growls at me as blood and spit dribble down his chin.

I sigh. “The hard way it is.”

I have a feeling it’ll be the same with Paige.





107

PAIGE

It’s been hours since Misha left my office, and yet energy still zings under my skin, an unstoppable current.

Well, not unstoppable. I know exactly what could stop it. Probably the same thing that started it.

Misha’s hands on my skin… His breath in my ear…

Whatever hormones are coursing through me are powerful. Yesterday, I wanted nothing but cheese puffs and barbeque. Now, I want nothing but Misha.

His lips, his hands, his…

I blink, realizing I’ve been panting like a dog in heat while stretching my calf against the wall for an inordinately long amount of time. I straighten up and look around to make sure no one saw me lapse into fantasy.

As soon as I’m sure I’m alone, a door I didn’t even realize was there opens next to me.

I jolt back, a scream poised on my lips, and see Misha appear from out of the middle of the wall.

I’m so curious that I forget for a moment that I need to get the hell away from him as fast as I can.

“You have a secret door! What the—Where does that lead?”

He seems as surprised to see me as I am to see him. “To the basement,” he says. “It’s not very pleasant down there.”

“I’ll take you at your word.” I don’t want to imagine what Misha’s idea of “unpleasant” is. I’m about to turn away from him when I notice the blood drying on his hand.

“Oh my God! Are you hurt?” I gasp, grabbing his wrist without thinking.

“It’s nothing. I just nicked myself earlier.”

His skin is warm and slightly sweaty, like he’s been doing push-ups or something down there. I glance up at those silver eyes, and I realize I’m still holding his hand.

I drop it abruptly, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks. “Um, anyway… I’m going for a run.”

He frowns, eying the phone strapped to my arm. “You take your cell phone for a run around the grounds?”

“I take my cell phone because I like to run outside the property. Around the neighborhood.”

He scowls. “No. You are not leaving this property by yourself.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You have no right to tell me—”

“I have every right to tell you whatever I want. I’m your fucking husband.”

Suddenly, we’re chest to chest and my heartbeat is dangerously out of control. So much for a run—

fighting with Misha is much better cardio.

Come to think of it, doing a lot of things with Misha might be better cardio.

“And I’m your fucking wife,” I fire back. “As you insist on reminding me again and again. But that doesn’t give me the right to tell you where to go and what to do. So why do you have that right?”

“Because life is unfair.”

I narrow my eyes and push myself up to my fullest height. “I’ll be your worst nightmare if you try to order me around, Misha Orlov. You do not own me. No matter what you may think.”

His eyes spark with fury, but there’s something else underneath the fire. Is it possible he’s… enjoying himself?

“Ahem!”

We look up in unison to find Cyrille standing in the hallway, observing both of us with raised eyebrows.