THE DEVIL AND HIS ASSASSIN

Chapter 12

The ache between my thighs was a f*****g traitor.

A dull, insistent throb that refused to be ignored, like someone tapping a knife against the inside of my skull just to remind me of what I’d done. Of what he had done. It had been my unwanted companion for two long, humiliating days. Two days of trying not to think about him and failing with spectacular consistency.

Every shift against the ridiculously soft silk sheets sent a fresh ripple of soreness through me. A subtle reminder of everything I wanted to forget and everything my body refused to let go of. My mind, equally treacherous, replayed everything in an unforgiving detail.

The weight of his body pressing me into this very mattress. The bruising grip of his hands on my hips, claiming, controlling, making sure I felt who I belonged to at that moment. The low, primal sounds he made when he was buried so deep inside me that I wasn't entirely sure where he ended and where I began.

And worst of all, how I’d responded.

Like I’d been waiting my whole life for someone like him to break me open and crawl into the spaces no one was ever supposed to touch. I’d screamed for him. Like some starstruck, s*x-drunk i***t experiencing her first real taste of pleasure. Because I had been. And that just pissed me off more.

I curled tighter into myself, pulling the sheets up even though I was alone. The cool pillowcase did absolutely nothing to soothe the heat flaming across my cheeks. My nails dug into my arms, carving half-moon crescents into my skin. I wanted to feel a little pain, to ground myself. Or maybe to punish myself. It was getting hard to tell the difference anymore.

The reality of what happened was like a knife to my ribs every time I pictured it; me, on my hands and knees, willingly giving the one man I was supposed to destroy the one thing I’d sworn no one would ever have. My f*****g virginity. The vaginal one, at least. The other… well, that was a currency I’d learned to spend out of necessity a long time ago. It didn’t mean anything back then. But this felt like it meant everything.

And for what? Two days of absolute, deafening silence. Two days of staring at this opulent, gilded f*****g ceiling, waiting for an order, a call or a goddamn smoke signal. Anything. He’d taken what he wanted and just vanished, leaving me here to marinate in my own pathetic longing and simmering rage. The rage was familiar, an old, comfortable friend. The longing? That was new. And I despised it with every fiber of my being.

My eyes wandered up to the ceiling taking in the ornate molding, gold leaf accents, and some kind of Renaissance painting that probably cost more than my entire childhood neighborhood. It was meant to look luxurious. But it looked like a cage. A pretty, polished, well-funded cage I'd been locked in.

I’d paced it a dozen times. Tested the windows. Counted the vents. Checked for hidden cameras—not that it would matter. If Dominic wanted to watch me, he had better ways than cameras.

Though if he did have cameras on me, then he’d already seen the little show I’d given him a few hours ago. The reason I was butt naked in the middle of the goddamn afternoon, sprawled across his massive bed. The reason my skin still felt like it had been stamped. The reason the ache between my legs had set up camp and refused to leave.

If he watched it, he’d probably be smirking somewhere. Or worse, completely expressionless. Like it didn’t affect him at all. And if there was one thing more infuriating than Dominic watching me touch myself, it was the idea of him not giving a single s**t while watching me. The idea of him not getting affected at all.

Which, of course, was exactly the kind of f****d-up s**t he’d pull. Because why wouldn’t he be unaffected now? He’d been so fixated on "disvirgining" me that the second he got what he wanted, the interest must have evaporated like the selfish, cold bastard he was.

And honestly, at this point, the shame was just another f*****g item on the ever-expanding list of things I’d deal with after I killed him.

I cursed under my breath and rolled onto my back, crossing my arms over my chest like I could physically squeeze the memory out of me. But the ache between my legs pulsed on; stubborn, relentless, f*****g cruel. A metronome of regret. A reminder of my own stupidity on an endless loop.

A reminder of him.

A sharp rap on the door shattered the heavy, suffocating quiet.

I jolted upright, instinctively yanking the sheet up to my chin like some blushing f*****g maiden in a Regency novel.

For half a heartbeat, I thought—hoped? dreaded?—that it was him.

That he’d finally come back.

Which was f*****g pathetic. So I shoved that want down into the same dark drawer where I kept all my other pointless feelings and slammed it shut.

The door swung open before I could even think about granting permission. A clear reminder that my permission meant less than nothing here. It was the stone-faced sentinel, the one who’d originally collected me from the Lust & Lace club. The one I’d privately dubbed 'Stoneface.' He was the only one, besides Dominic, allowed past this threshold.

His cold gaze swept over me. It lingered for a fraction of a second on the sheet clutched to my chest before snapping back to a neutral point on the wall behind my head. He had discipline, I’d give him that. Not like that fucker Ivan.

"The Boss says you’re starting at the club tonight." His voice was flat, utterly devoid of emotion. Like a robot delivering a message.

"The club," I repeated, my voice raspy from two days of disuse. My mind instantly began cataloging the implications. A shift in my security profile. A change in the game. An opportunity to carve myself into the Devil's kingdom before I toppled it from the inside out.

He nodded once. "He’ll have you working the main floor. He said it’s time."

It was time.

Time to be displayed. Time to be ogled. Time to play the part of one more pretty, pliant thing in Dominic Sokolov’s arsenal. Time to pretend to be the compliant little w***e everyone assumed I was meant to be.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around me. My bare feet hit the icy chill of the marble floor, a shock that went straight up my spine. I stood, letting the sheet dip dangerously low, knowing exactly what the movement revealed.

"You know, you never did tell me your name. I’ve just been calling you Stoneface in my head. Or did your boss order you not to share? Or are you just shy?" I asked, layering my tone with a feigned, innocent curiosity.

He hesitated, his jaw working. A tiny crack in the stone façade. Then, "I'm Dmitri."

"Well, Dmitri," I said, taking a small, deliberate step closer. The marble was freezing under my soles. "I’ll need to stop by my apartment first. I have to get some things. You know, girl things. Put a few personal affairs in order before my big debut."

Personal affairs meaning the burner phone under my bathroom sink, a hidden blade taped under my dresser and a quick call to Olek to get my stuff from Lust & Lace. Including the gun I'd stashed there.

And maybe a chance to breathe air not recycled through Dominic’s kingdom for five minutes.

Dmitri's expression didn't change, but a new stiffness entered his posture. "I am not sure if that is possible."

"Oh, I’m sure," I countered, taking another step closer. Close enough to smell detergent and metal from his holster. Close enough for him to know I wasn’t intimidated. "I’m just not sure if I asked for your permission."

His nostrils flared.

"The trip is quick. Ten minutes, tops. It’s not like I’m going to run away," I added a soft laugh. "Honestly, where would I even go? I’m assuming your boss implanted a GPS tracker in my ass along with everything else."

His eyes flicked down. Just for a second.

"So," I said sweetly, "you can be a dear and drive me. Or you can explain to your boss why his brand new, very expensive club attraction is… unprepared. All because his head of security decided to play hall monitor. Your call, really."

I watched the war play out behind his dark eyes. Annoyance, duty, a flicker of something that might have been pity, and a much stronger desire to wring my neck. He finally let out a short, sharp breath through his nose, a barely audible sigh of defeat.

"I will have to clear it with the boss."

"Of course you will," I said, waving a dismissive hand as I turned away from him, giving him my back. "You should call him quickly. I’m sure the mighty Dominic Sokolov is terribly busy being terrifying somewhere else. Wouldn’t want to bother him for too long."

The door clicked shut behind him with a sound of finality, and the silence rushed back in.

I didn't move for a count of ten.

Then I let the sheet fall.