10 Days to Ruin

y doesn'

that he doesn't do "this" as in gaze down at the woman he's about to fuck like she might be the death of the self-control that defines him. He doesn't do "this" as in show that there is anything access

n't do

her

e, and we both do somethi

ever last that long. And besides, I'm skittering in and out of awareness, too overwhe

rror glass times every thrust. I moan, broken, h

"Spread those fucking thig

n and my throat is raw from the effort of holding back the kinds of moans that would draw attention from

't have the brain cells left to give a damn. Even as our mouths clash and our breath mingles and he keeps murmuring filthy noth

m. More broken syllables fall out o

does. He drags me down onto his cock, crushing my waist betw

ost

ost

o

xt. Light fractures in my vision as the orgasm cleaves me in two. A few st

s. Time reclaims us. Co

float back down is, Tha

countertop is. How what I just did-fucking a stranger while literally on the job-was so unbelievably rash that I should probably tender my resignation at t

as if he's pulling up the drawbridge and locking down the castle gates behind his eyes. Those glimpses of soul I saw swimming in the

o

ue

cil

the silence is gonna swallow me whole if I don't. Should I ask his name? Should I gi

ats me to

nched brutally tight. "Enjoy the gala," he says in that ta

and lonely on a sink counter, wonde

A

pity I'll never

bathroom behind me-not looking back, not ever looking back, becau

mean I don't

ps echo off the ceiling like a pulsing, thudding h

ar i

er, ever

ese days. Yakov Ozerov's ghost has been especially loud lately, ever since this arrangement with the Greeks started t

ldren and fools

ge is secured," he says in Russian when I answer.

snooping around an Ozerov warehouse

," I reply. "I

bites through my suit jacket, but I barely feel it. St. Petersbu

what I left in my wake just now. Soft skin under my han

tness was. Ripe summer peaches, sweet ones, the kind that leave juice dri

ows. She's nothing. A distraction. Remember what hap

fact, Father,

n my back r

ind the wheel. He doesn't speak as I slide into

knows when I

ed restaurant where Feliks is holding our guest. Ten minutes to get my head in order. Ten minutes t

how easily little birds lik

'd overheard my conversation on the phone with Feliks. A quick twist of the neck and it would'v

be the fi

be the

me what she truly was. Not a threat, not

done: played with my food. I ga

for myself before I hurl the last of my humanity into the gapi

ok my childhood. And now

from this little errand, I'm going

s of social torture sessions stuff my inbox on the regular. Everybody-civilian and criminal alike-wants Sasha Ozerov to darken the door of their little soirees. I'm a c

themselves. Don't get t

ormally, that threat is enou