Page 21 of Inferno

CHARLOTTE

Ihammer my fist on Misha’s door, the sound loud enough to shake the frame.

“Evan!” I shout, banging harder.

We have cover names for this operation. Evan and Brittany. Brother and sister.

I shiver, just the thought of being related to this buffoon makes my skin crawl.

Stepping back, it creaks open, and there he is, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, water streaming down his skin, a white towel precariously covering his modesty.

He gives me a slow smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and leaning casually against the frame.

“Can I help?” he mumbles, and I frown.

“I was going to the grocery store to pick up stuff for my room. Want anything?”

“Evan! Get back here, tiger!” a squeaky female voice shouts over the noise of the shower.

“Oh.”

His creepy gaze rakes over my body. I slipped into a sleek, black bikini top and a flowing skirt earlier. I regret my decision.

His tongue darts out and licks his bottom lip.

“Condoms,” he replies.

“I meant water, food. You know, stuff we didn’t pack ourselves,” I spit back.

God, he’s vile.

And how the hell, in the matter of an hour, did he get a woman in his room?

Probably paid her.

As I turn, the rasp of his throat clearing stops me. A silent roll of my eyes is my only response.

“You know, you can always join if you’d like. Alice would be more than happy to service you too. So would I, gorgeous.”

Spinning to face him, I slam my foot down, the force rattling up my spine, fury pulsing through every vein like wildfire.

This motherfucker knows he can get away with it because I am Vlad’s property.

He knows I’m kept in line. That I can’t kill him, but holy shit, do I want to.

My fists clench tight, the pressure building in my forearms.

“We are here on a job, Misha. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. I. Am. Not. Fucking. Interested. Grow up before you get us killed.”

His laughter, a cruel booming sound, fills my face as he jeers.

“Such a stuck-up princess. I guess Vlad must be giving it to you good, for you to not stray,” he growls.

Disgusting.

Just mentioning it, I can feel my husband’s disgusting hands on me.

Before I erupt and blow our cover, I flip him off with a sarcastic grin and stomp down the hall, taking my anger out on the elevator call button.

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