Page 49 of Brutal Unionn
She smirks. “I’ll make sure he apologies.”
Gwen turns, making her way deeper into the club, and my gaze drifts back across the room.
Bhon is still in the chair. Still watching me. Elbows resting on the arms, back straight now. Alert. He’s not pretending anymore. Our eyes lock. I give a short nod, then glance toward the hallway.
I push off the bar and start walking toward the hallway. My pace is steady, as I slide through the bodies as if I am not about to lock myself in a sound-proof room with the most ruthless killer I know. The guard watching the private rooms doesn’t stop me as I move through the curtains and look around the dimly lit hallway.
Door one makes me think of Nadia, the soft moans and sharp cracks of a whip roll through the closed door. Nadia probably wouldn’t moan if I took a whip to her creamy flesh. She would groan like an angel being released from the shackles of perfection, unleashing the devil inside. Or she would cuss me out, saying filthy shit to push me to the edge, because my Hime loves me on the edge.
Door two makes me jerk at the ear-splitting scream that echoes into the hallway, followed by the sexy purr of a woman saying “no” like a question. A soft whimper follows, and the woman taunts her by clicking her tongue and telling her to use her words. Fuck, Nadia is going to have a problem once I’m done with Bhon. I am going to have to fuck her raw for making me so distracted all the fucking time.
Three days ago I almost ate her out in front of her brothers because of the way she threatened Nikolai with her boot digging the knife into his shoulder.Fucking hell.I was hard as a rock. I want to feel her knife in me, as she forces me to pleasure her. Forces me to give her everything she needs, or not. It’s on my bucket list to make Nadia cry, a few hours of edging should do it.
I smirk making my way a little further down the hall to door three, a black door accompanied by a large number three illuminated by lights on the wall next to it. No sounds, but the door hangs open with just a thick, red velvet curtain, blocking the view of what’s inside. I slide my fingers along the gold trim and push it open.
Chains line the walls. Leather harnesses dangle from the ceiling like decadent nooses. There’s a Saint Andrew’s cross, polished black wood slick with old polish and fresh promise. A table with velvet ties. A mirror-topped stool with stirrups.
I step inside, inhaling the scent of sweat, leather, and orgasm. My cock twitches. Gwen needs to keep this room on permanent retainer for Nadia and me, after I become a part of the family of course. It’ll be a wedding present that never stops giving.
I stick my hand through the curtain, blindly grabbing the door handle to close the door behind me, but before I can, a hand shoots out and stops it.
I don’t turn, but I walk into the room, my hand gliding over the leather strings of a flogger.
“You don't know how fucked up it is for you to be in this room,” I murmur, “and not be my girl.”
The door creaks wider, and Bhon steps into the room, one hand digging deeper into his pockets. He tilts his head, eyeing the array of paddles on the wall, then me. “Funny,” he says. “I was about to say the same thing.”
I clear my throat and finally look at Bhon’s smug face. His long black hair is tied into a tight bun, with only a single strand out of place, and dangling in front of his right eye. His face is carved in stone—sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, skin like a polished pearl. There’s no softness to him. Just cold calculation behind those midnight eyes.
He closes the door and looks me up and down. “Where’s the girl?”
“Alive,” I snap. “No thanks to you.”
Bhon’s all lean, wiry muscle beneath a black mandarin-collared shirt that doesn’t wrinkle no matter how much he moves. Every inch of him is composed, from the way his arms fold across his chest to the slight tilt of his head.
A blade gleams at his hip—curved, elegant, old.
“Well,” Bhon says, his voice low and smooth, “I didn’t kill her only because you came to her rescue. Fifteen years of assassin work and I have never missed a target. Never needed to issue a refund, until now.”
I snort, moving the bottom left side of my button-up shirt, subtly showing him where my weapons are. “Why do I get the feeling you expect a thank you?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he shrugs, moving deeper into the room.
“So wouldn’t a bullet to the skull,” I counter, earning a deep chuckle from him.
Bhon lets the laugh linger for a second too long. He moves past me and nods toward the Saint Andrew’s cross, taking slow steps, running his fingers along the edge of the padded wood. “Was that a threat?”
“Only if you want it to be,” I mutter, leaning against the wall as I fold my arms.
Bhon grins, teeth barely visible behind his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of touching your girl. That would be suicide. Beautiful thing like that with a kill count? She's probably like heroin to you.”
“More like fentanyl,” I smile. “Maybe just a tab bit deadlier.”
He finally turns, his eyes narrowing. “This woman has changed you.”
“Maybe, but what’s changed you?.” I arch a brow. “You didn’t always care if you killed someone’s lover, friend, mother or brother so why do you care now?”
“Let’s just say…someone important to me would kill me for hurting you,” Bhon says simply, his voice steady.
