Page 42 of Ruin

“You know what I find funny?” I laugh the words.

Continuing to step into her, forcing her feet to move until the crown of her skull is thudding against the wall at her back, a small oomph of breath forced from her lungs at the impact. My hands plant on the wall either side of her head, I drop my chin, our lips almost brushing, her nostrils flare but she doesn’t speak as I look into her eyes.

“I’ll tell you shall I,Lala?” I smile, letting my lashes shutter my eyes before refocusing on her. “It’s thatyou,”I murmur over her mouth.

One of my hands lifting from the wall, slowly reaching toward her, a large curling scar cutting across her pretty heart shaped face, disappearing up into her hairline. My fingers brushing down the white crease of it, twirling a strand of loose hair around my finger, I hold the end of it between my thumb and forefinger.

“You,” I sigh again, “think it’s everyone else who’s trying to hurt him,” my eyes glide between hers, unblinking, her lips pursing. “When in reality,Lala,” I smirk, dropping my gaze for a moment, roving my eyes down the sliver of space between our bodies. “It is onlyyouthat hurts him,” I say sharply, my eyes snapping up onto hers. “You hurt him more thanIever have.”

Her breasts brush my chest as her own heaves, her hands balling into trembling fists at her sides. I tuck the curled lock of her hair behind her pierced ear, untwisting it from around my finger. Resting the pad of my thumb on the dimple of her chin, my forefinger stroking the hollow underside, tilting her head back gently until it bumps the wall once again.

Face hovering just above hers, mouth slanted over her lips, I suck in a short, sharp breath, tasting her breath on my tongue. I lick my lips, catching her pout with the tip of my tongue.

“Three husbands still not enough dick for you, Lala?” I whisper over her mouth. “You still needmyboy’s, too?”

A smirk pulls at the corner of my lips as she pulls in a sudden breath. My eyes dropping to her parted lips, listening to her heart hammer in her chest, my own heartbeat calm and solid. The tips of my fingers flex against the wall beside her head, digging into the plaster.

“I think it’syouthat should be staying away from him,” I whisper, plucking her lips with my own with every spoken word. “I think it’syouthat’s infecting my boy,” I chuckle as she throws her head forward, barely missing my chin as I jerk back out of her way.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she spits, her entire body trembling with rage.

I take a few steps away from her, casually sliding my hands into my pockets, I shrug my shoulders, scuff the toe of my shined shoe across the pattern in the carpet.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I say quietly, my chin still dipped, eyes flicking up beneath my lashes.

She sneers at me, “What?”

“The truth,” I shrug again as she steps forward.

“You fucki-” she starts but she doesn’t get to finish, her name being called calmly from the other end of the corridor.

Her husband with the black hair stares between the two of us, his shoulders tight beneath his black t-shirt. He takes a couple steps closer, her eyes only on him.

“You ready?” Maddox Swallow asks calmly, his bright turquoise gaze flicking between the two of us.

His pale, tattooed forearms tensing as he rolls his wrists, the bones popping as he does so. His booted feet bring him closer, his eyes only on hers now, she doesn’t look at me as she steps into him. One of his thick arms draping over her shoulders, he draws her tightly into his side. Big tattooed hand curling over her shoulder cap. He moves them towards the other end of the hallway, taking them back towards the meeting room, and with her attention firmly on the space in front of her, Maddox turns his head back over his shoulder.

Eyes sharp, they pinch, narrowing in on me, a crease forming between his brows, “Later, Ivanov,” he calls, before steering them through a door.

The heavy, swinging thud of it closing behind them, echoing throughout the hall.

I stare into the empty dark space, hands fisting and uncurling at my sides, vision blurring as I stare unseeingly into the darkness. Thinking about Charlie.

Always thinking about Charlie fucking Swallow.

The boy is hooked beneath my skin, rotting inside my bone marrow.

But I can’t quit him. I can’t get him off my mind. I don’t want to.

Want.

That’s what he said.

‘Want means nothing, Kazimir.’

What the fuck does that mean?

“Pakhan?” Dima’s voice has me blinking hard, blurred vision dissipating, I clear my throat, turning back to face my most trusted soldier. “Shall we leave, Sir?”

---