Page 22 of Bound By Ruin

Walking through the city almost felt like burning, too, with my eyes stinging from the sunlight. Hours later, in the relative calm of the club’s waking hours, my skin still pricks with the memory of it.

I drown out all feeling left in my body with the weed.

Rage is talking to Celia at his golden throne, a black leather monstrosity that he insists adds class to the club’s atmosphere, when all it does is make him look like a kinky asshole. Behind them sits the shining golden cage he had installed after Celia ran away—quarter-thick bars tower ten feet high, where they’re cut off by a paneled ceiling. You could easily install hooks to hang ropes or a swing inside, but Rage was never one for theatrics. The only item inside that cage is a silken pillow for Celia to kneel on.

Not that she ever will.

Even from a distance, I can see the anger burning in her eyes as they argue about the cage. Their voices raise high enough that club members are giving them a wide berth—even Fox, the red-headed VIP whose cherry red Ferrari Rebel took for a joy ride, keeps her distance. Tonight, she has two of her toys on leashes, parading both men around like pets.

I imagine that’s how Rage wants Celia to behave. Like his pet. The heart-shaped pendant lying across Celia’s throat gleams in the light as she turns her head away from Rage to scan the crowd.

I wonder if she’s looking for me.

Thanatos walks over to me, slipping out of the shadows much like how I usually do. He’s covered head-to-toe in the riot gear he picked up from the Dolohov job, minus the helmet. I take in his appearance, but so do a handful of thirsty passerby, a few of them bold enough to consider approaching before they realize that I’m standing next to him. Once they see me, they scamper away like vermin.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Than tells me, frowning as I bring the joint to my lips. “It’ll slow your reaction time.”

I ignore him, focusing instead on Celia. She’s slipped down the stairs from Rage’s throned stage to approach Fox, the two girls now engaged in conversation. They hug, like they’re suddenly best friends, and travel to the bar together.

Hmm. Celia is playing her part as bait well. The rhinestones on her sheer top sparkle like diamonds, the black bralette covering her breasts hardly modest, more like a bikini. Her tits spill over the top, like it’s a few sizes too small, and I picture the tight band digging into her soft skin. When she undresses in a few hours, she’ll have red bands covering her ribs like halos, and my brothers will no doubt want to smooth them out with their fingertips. They always find ways to touch her.

But she always finds ways to touchme.

I’m not sure that I enjoyed her touch at first. It was foreign and warm, sending flickers of heat and tension rippling through my muscles. But the sensations were new, sparking a curiosity not only in how I was feeling—but how she reacted to my touch.

“Krosotkahas always been responsive,” I murmur, putting out the joint on my thigh and slipping it into my pocket.

Thanatos follows my gaze across the room, his expression hardening once he realizes who has my focus. “We’re not here to fuck, Ruin.”

I nod toward all the guests in the room thinking the opposite. “They are.”

“We’re not them.”

Although I’ve never been close to Thanatos, there has always been a part of me that understands him. Both of us are exceptional killers, one out of necessity and one out of fondness. Even now, this situation with Celia feels like it’s born from those same tendencies—my brothers and I are with her because we like her, whereas Thanatos is only here because we’ve required it of him.

“What will you do when this is over?” I flick my gaze to his, noting the way his eyes have clouded. He stares at Celia, his body as tense as a tripwire waiting to be triggered. He doesn’t want to be here, that much is clear. “We won’t keep you.” I push my gloved hands into my pockets and lean back against the cold wall. “If you want to go, you can go.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

Nodding, I hum to myself. It never is.

Things in our family have always been complicated and messy. I’m sure that in another life, Thanatos would be as far away from here as possible, leaving the city—hell, the country—to find some other purpose that doesn’t involve taking orders from powerful men. Then again, he and Ezra were always a dynamic duo, even before I was old enough to recognize it.

“How are things with you and Ezra?” I ask, curious.

Than blinks, turning away from Celia to face me. “Why?”

I hum again. WhyamI asking?

“He seems like a brother to you,” I finally surmise, tilting my head. They’re closer in age than I am to Thanatos, and surely Ezra doesn’t have as fucked up of a past as I do. I doubt he has as much baggage suffocating him in his sleep.

I bet Ezra Reinoff sleeps like the dead.

Then again, the few times my boss and I have spoken about my targets, he’s been a man of few words. Not guarded, exactly, but quiet. If Rage weren’t so volatile, I imagine that he and Ezra would be alike in their sense of duty to the bratva and itspakhan.As it stands, Ezra and Thanatos likely have the most in common out of the four of us.

Hence why Ezra is more suited to be Thanatos’s brother than me. The fact that Than and I share a bloodline doesn’t mean shit when our bloodline is laced with poison.

My gaze wanders over to Celia again, up her long legs to those tiny, pleather shorts she’s wearing. It’s warm in the club by design, making it easier for people to shed their inhibitions as they strip naked in front of strangers. Tonight, however, none of our regulars are wearing masks, and that includes Celia.

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