Page 135 of SINS & Riley
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ZVER
Dominic cracks open the door. “Am I interrupting?”
“No. Come on in.” I toss down the branding iron, strip off the thick rubber gloves, and grab a bottle of water. “I need a break.”
I left Pom asleep in the guest room last night. I should be out cold myself—dead to the world, wrecked and hollowed by my little Zapretnaya.
But having her this close only makes it more real.
How much I have to lose.
And how much my life with Riley is a ticking time bomb.
So I’ve been taking my frustrations out on Emilio.
Not that there’s much left of him. All his fingernails are gone. Toenails too. Most of his teeth are rattling in a bloody pile. And still, the bastard somehow croaks out a fuck you every time he opens his eyes.
Yes, he has both eyes. I don’t touch those. That’s Enzo’s area.
Dominic steps inside, an envelope pinched between his fingers. “This arrived by messenger. Poor bastard was shaking so hard I thought he was going to piss himself.”
The envelope is embossed with raised letters. Zver.
Literally an engraved invitation. My asshole uncle’s trademark.
The messenger was probably his lowest lackey. If he survives the delivery, he’ll crawl one rung up the chain. Not by much.
I tear it open.
Elena was a gesture of good faith.
Deliver Riley Mullvain in two weeks.
My place.
Midnight.
Of course. A reminder.
A ball of lead sinks to the bottom of my gut. Goddamnit, I know he’s up to something.
I should let Pom go. Shove her out of this house, out of this world, for good.
But I already tried that once. And look where it got me. Wrapped around her little fucking finger and professing undying devotion to her.
Wild horses couldn’t drag me from her now.
That’s not cocky.
That’s me knowing my girl—stubborn to the bone, reckless enough to throw herself on the tracks if she thinks I’m in danger.
Which leaves me on this perpetually fucked-up hamster wheel, torn between spanking her or kissing her.
Which is why I regularly do both.
And the truth?
