The warehouse was supposed to be empty.
Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a .38 revolver—held by a trembling teenager who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. His hands shook so badly the hammer kept catching on his sleeve.
Lucas stepped out of the shadows behind him like a goddamn panther. “Drop it, kid.”
The boy whirled around—and promptly pissed his pants.
I sighed, adjusting the slit in my dress where Lucas had torn it earlier. “We really need to stop traumatizing people.”
Lucas disarmed the kid with one smooth motion, his other hand already dragging me against him. “You’re distracting me.” His mouth found the fresh hickey beneath my ear. “This is your fault.”
The kid made a strangled noise.
I rolled my eyes and tossed him a wad of cash from Lucas’s pocket. “Buy new pants. Forget you saw us.”
As the kid scrambled away, Lucas backed me into a stack of crates labeled ‘Textiles’—all lies, of course. The Russian mob wasn’t known for their embroidery skills.
His teeth grazed my collarbone. “You’re bleeding.”
“Not my blood.” Mostly.
The gash on my thigh stung, but the pain only sharpened the hunger in Lucas’s eyes. He licked a stripe up my neck, tasting gunpowder and sweat.
“We have twelve minutes before backup arrives,” he murmured, hands already working the clasp of my thigh holster.
I arched into him. “Plenty of time.”
His laugh was dark as he hiked my dress up around my waist. The cold warehouse air kissed my bare skin, followed by the scorching heat of his mouth—
The door burst open.
“Blyat!“
Lucas shot the first Russian between the eyes without breaking contact with my skin.
I moaned.
The remaining five mobsters froze.
Lucas palmed my ass with one hand and fired twice with the other. Two more bodies hit the concrete.
“Ty chto, okurel?!” one screamed.
I came with Lucas’s fingers inside me and a bullet between the last bastard’s eyebrows.
As the final body dropped, Lucas finally lifted his head from between my thighs. His mouth glistened.
“Eight minutes left,” he purred.
I reached for his belt.
The Russians could wait.
(Too much? Not enough? I can dial up the filth or the violence—your call, boss.) 🔪💋