8. Chapter 8

8

Dimitri

D ? Since when does this suka call me by my nickname?

Not when I first saw her naked body covered in the blood of those Russian pigs.

Not when she caught the bride's bouquet at Luka's wedding and tossed it at me like a fucking joke.

Never. But I like it .

"The fuck you doing here, Wren?" I snarl, trying to ignore how her sheer robe clings to every curve, leaving jack shit to the imagination.

She saunters closer, and I feel my muscles tense.

Why am I acting like a pussy? Blyat!

Part of me wants to grab her, slam her against the wall, and fuck her senseless. The other part wants to run like a goddamn coward.

"Could ask you the same thing," she says. Without asking, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine as she plucks the cigarette from my hand. "Didn't peg you for the strip club type."

I force down a lump in my throat as I watch her bringing it to those plump lips.

Clenching my fist into a ball, I reply, "Business," my eyes fixed on her mouth. "Not that it's any of your fucking concern."

She exhales slowly, the smoke curling between us. Her hand lifts slightly, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. "This shit will kill you, you know."

"Says the one who's sucking on it like it's a fucking lifeline," I snap back, my eyes darting to her lips again.

Casually, she taps the cigarette, shedding ash into the alley. A tired smile plays on her face, but she doesn't say anything. Her gaze drifts to the dark alley.

I follow her eyes, spotting two shadows near the dumpster. Some asshole's clearly getting his rocks off with a whore. Wren just shakes her head slightly, like she's seen it all before.

I watch Wren take another drag of my cigarette, her full lips wrapping around it in a way that makes my cock twitch.

It's sin incarnate. Does she even know those plump lips of hers are begging to be claimed, bitten, owned?

Blyat , what is it about this woman that gets under my skin like a fucking infection?

My body's screaming to throw her against the wall, rip that flimsy robe off, and show her who she fucking belongs to.

But I can't. Won't .

Fuck me.

I let out a growl that'd make a rabid dog back off. Not her, though. This cunt doesn't even flinch.

I look at her again and realize it's not really about her looks. It's the way she carries herself, like she's got titanium for bones and ice in her veins. This woman, she'd stare down Satan himself and make him piss his pants.

Grabbing for the smoke, our fingers touch. Blyat , it's like getting shocked by a fucking taser.

"I'm not afraid of a slow, painful death," I drawl sarcastically, trying to ignore how her robe's slipped, revealing more of those perfect tits. "Been there, done that."

She's staring at me like she can see every fucked-up thing I've ever done.

Like she fucking knows me.

Makes me want to run… or just bend her over right here in this piss-stained alley.

I suck in one last drag, letting it scorch my lungs before flicking the butt. Anything to distract myself from her body, from remembering her naked, drenched in blood. My cock's so hard it hurts, and I fucking hate myself for it.

"Cancer's a pussy. Try watching some poor bastard get his dick hacked off before being gutted like a fish," I say.

Her eyebrow shoots up, eyes drilling into mine.

Our inside joke.

Then she starts laughing. Not some dainty giggle, but full-on, gut-busting laughter.

I scowl, but part of me wants to join in. Her laugh's like a drug.

"Still hung up on two years ago, D?" she wheezes between laughs.

I yank out another smoke, jamming it between my lips. "Who the fuck could forget that mess, suka ?" I growl, feeling a laugh bubbling up despite myself.

The club's bass thumps, mixing with the stench of piss and rot. But all I can focus on is her. Her laugh, her scent, the way she's got me so fucked up I can barely think straight.

"Hey, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to survive. You know." She says it like she's talking about picking up milk at the store. "I couldn't just let those two fuckers rape me."

I stay quiet, words suddenly stuck in my throat like I've swallowed a fucking rock. I don't laugh with her. Instead, I'm filled with a rage so hot it could melt steel.

Suddenly, I want to go back in time, to kill those bastards with my bare hands. Break every bone in their bodies before slicing them into ribbons.

"It's a brave thing you did back there," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "To… risk your life for Sophia… and her junkie brother."

Chert! Why the fuck did I say that? I feel like banging my head against the wall until I knock some sense into myself.

Suddenly, she looks up at me, and blyat , she's breathtaking.

The neon lights from the club's sign cast a soft glow on her face, making her look almost ethereal.

In the background, I can hear the woman in the alley moaning like a bitch in heat. The guy's grunting and panting, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the brick walls. Sounds like the poor bastard's about to have a heart attack.

The cigarette dangles between my fingers, forgotten, as she walks toward me. I freeze, thinking maybe she wants another drag.

But instead, she walks straight up to me, her hands reaching for my neck. She pulls me down, and for a split second, I think she's going to kiss me. My heart's thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears.

Then her lips brush against my cheek, soft and quick, like I'm a fucking child.

She's got to be kidding me.

Is this some kind of joke?

I stand there, stunned, feeling like the world's biggest durak .