Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Why not just put a bullet in the mudak and move on? There is nothing of real value on the flash drive. The only person associated with the bratva in that footage is Aleks, and he’s dead. The blowback might be a pain in the ass for us but certainly not something to worry about. Why bring the girl back—” He stops short, and his eyes widen before a mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Well, fuck me.”
“No thanks.”
“She’s a babe, isn’t she.”
“She’s insurance,” I correct him.
He stands.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I’ve got to see the woman who has made the great Lev Zarkov lose his common sense.”
“Sit down,” I command sharply.
He sighs as he sits. “You’re delaying the inevitable. I’m going to see her eventually.”
“Not if you keep pushing my buttons,” I warn.
He crosses his legs. “You’re so touchy. Perhaps someone needs to get laid again. When was the last time you let someone play with your pickle?”
I know exactly the last time. Brooke. And since that night, I’ve thought about her more than I would like to admit. The things we did. The way she writhed beneath me. Her moans. Those big eyes filled with so much heat as they rolled to the back of her head when she disappeared into one of the many orgasms she released around my cock.
I scowl. “If you ever call it a pickle again, I’ll shoot you.”
He waves off the threat. “All work and no play makes you a very sexually frustrated pakhan. Why don’t we hit one of the clubs? Find some pussy to worship for the night. You need to have some fun.”
I rarely have time for fun. Especially that kind.
Unlike my cousin, who is always up for a good time. Women. Men. He doesn’t have a preference.
“Or you could fuck her and send her on her merry way. Or is she proving to be immune to the old Zarkov charm?”
I’m silent, and Feliks reads that silence like a book.
“You fucked her already?” He grins proudly. “You horny old dog.”
“Enough with the old,” I mutter.
Fuck, why did I get into this conversation with him? It will only come back to kick me in the ass.
He grins. “Thank God that noose is gone.”
“What noose?”
“The no women noose you hung around your neck when you became pakhan. It’s made you a very dull boy indeed. So why her?”
“It was a momentary lapse of reason,” I say, downplaying the fact that I haven’t been able to get Brooke out of my head since our night together. “And one I have no intention of repeating.”
“So what are you going to do with her now?”
Good question.
I know what I’d like to do to her. I’d like to grab a fistful of that long silky hair of hers, yank her head back and kiss her until she sees fucking stars. Remembering her in those tiny bed shorts and tank top makes my cock throb, and I want to peel every item off those luscious curves of hers and spend the night buried deep inside her.
But that’s not an option.
“My interest in her is purely professional,” I lie. My interest in her is purely carnal, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit it to my cousin. He’d just get excited about it or something equally as annoying. “A second time is not an option.”
“But maybe you should, only this time fuck her out of your system and put this all behind you.”
If only it were that easy. I don’t know what it is about this woman that has me wanting to break my own no-women rule.
“No,” I say.
I wasn’t lying when I told Feliks my night with Brooke was a momentary lapse of reason. He’s right. I should’ve put a bullet in Wilson’s head for trying to blackmail me and be done with it.
But ever since that impulsive moment when I decided to get on the plane to New York with Brooke, I’ve fallen prey to a series of questionable decisions, all of which are my own doing because I can’t get those damn snow-bunny eyes out of my head.
“There is an upside to this, I suppose,” he says. “You could always kill two birds with one stone.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need a wife. It will heal the crack that’s formed since you stepped into the role of pakhan instead of your uncle.”
I give him a pointed look that tells him I’m not interested in having this conversation again. For weeks now, he’s been at me about finding a wife and producing an heir and listing all the reasons I need to.
But I can’t deny he has a point. The crack in the bratva comes in the form of my Uncle Vadim and his ongoing resentment of being passed over as the pakhan. But despite winning the confidence of most of the Zarkov Bratva members, there are still a few of the old-school vory who share his belief that I am too young and inexperienced to fill my father’s shoes. Even after twelve months of proving them wrong and making them all richer, the crack remains, and I feel the bratva growing restless. I’ve heard grumblings from them that I put profit over family. Over the bratva. Which goes against old values.