Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Not a good sign.
I gave her nipple a quick pinch.
She gasped as her small fingers wrapped around my wrist.
With that warning, I said, “I’ll be angrier if you don’t tell me.”
Vivian sighed. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
CHAPTER 29
VAR
“You did what?” I roared.
Springing from the bed, I ran my hand through my hair as I paced.
The deadly implications of what she just told me ran like nuclear fire over my brain.
She could have been killed, or worse.
It was all I could do to rein in my rage.
It didn’t help that my cock was still hard enough to pound nails.
She leaned up on her elbows as she yanked the rumpled bedcovers over her nakedness. “I told you, you would be angry.”
Inhaling through my nose as I clenched my hands into fists, I turned to her. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover what I am right now, baby girl.”
The very idea that she had returned to that bloody crime scene of a warehouse was bad enough. But to learn, almost a week later, that she had encountered a man who threatened her over the paintings that were in my possession, made my blood boil within my veins.
“The man was Russian. A fucking Russian, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
Holding the blanket over her breasts, she moved up to her knees as she gestured widely with her free arm. “Tell you? I was lying to you by pretending I’d go to the police if you didn’t hire me as your assistant. How was I supposed to tell you?” She tilted her head and raised the pitch of her voice. “Oh, by the way, the real reason I’m here is to snoop around your office looking for the paintings you don’t know I painted because I currently have too many domineering Russian men in my life making demands.”
Although rationally, I knew she was just doing it to make a point, I didn’t like her even hinting at having two men in her life, let alone two Russian men.
I was the only fucking man in her life. Period.
“Chert voz’mi, zhenshchina, ty svodish’ menya s uma! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
“Of course I do! Why do you think I risked coming into your lair in the first place? Do you think I’d willingly be at the infamous Four Monks if I didn’t have to be?”
“What is his name?”
“I don’t know it.”
“How do you contact him?”
“I don’t.”
“What do you mean, you don’t? I swear to fucking God, Vivian, if you are lying to me again…” I warned as I continued to pace like an enraged lion at the end of the bed.
“I’m not lying. He didn’t give me a way to contact him. He only said he’d be watching me.” She tilted her head and stared off over my shoulder. “So it makes sense that it was probably him who broke into my apartment.”
Pizdets. Since I had no intention of letting her leave my bed and return to her own apartment, finding out more about the break-in hadn’t been a huge priority.
Now it definitely fucking was.
I rubbed my eyes. “Tell me everything you know.”
I struggled to control my anger as she related all the details of the break-in.
“Are you telling me—you still went inside and searched the place—alone? You didn’t call me, or at least the police?”
It was entirely possible I would die from a burst blood vessel in my brain if I got any more pissed off.
Instead of it being her, I was the one who picked up a precious antique Russian enameled box and threw it against the wall. The moment it smashed and scattered to the floor in pieces brought only a modicum of relief to the pressure building in my head.
Vivian ducked behind the blanket as she raised it over her face. “What the hell, Var?”
“What the hell, Vivian! I’m losing track of all the ways you could have fucking died since I’ve met you.”
I ticked off on my fingers. “Tortured, shot, or worse by the Southside gang gunning for Abakar. Tortured, shot, or worse by this other Russian searching for the paintings. Again tortured, shot, or worse by the asshole who broke into your apartment. Attacked by the man at the club last night while you were incapacitated. Four fucking times in as many days. Goddammit, woman, you are a pain in my ass!”
She scooted her hips off the bed. “Fine! You’ve made your point.”
With a dramatic flair only she could pull off, she marched stark naked with her bottom still bearing the marks from my belt into my closet as if she were the queen in full regalia.
Whatever point she thought I’d been making, I would bet money she was wrong.
She emerged seconds later with a pair of my basketball shorts on as she buttoned one of my dress shirts that was infinitely too large for her much smaller frame. “You can just forget we ever met. Goodbye forever, Mr. Varlaam I-am-the-mafia Romanovich Rubashkin.”