Page 35 of Fallen Rook

She rolled her eyes. “It’s so weird that we’re having this conversation. You’re my fiancé, for crying out loud. Anyway, help me decide. I still need to do my hair and shave my legs.”

I pointed at the hanger in her right hand. “Red one. With the black choker and army boots. You’ll look hot in it.”

Katya was hot, no matter what she wore. So was the sun. I still had no desire to fuck either.

“All right. I’ll wear the red one. I’ll keep you posted on whether it worked or not.”

“Is this a date?” I tossed my Swiss Army knife in the air, bored and dissatisfied, my usual emptiness even more heightened, festering beneath my skin like maggots.

“Not exactly.” She sank her teeth into the corner of her bottom lip, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s kind of my…um, professor?”

Clocking this, I stopped tossing the knife, leveling her with a look. “And you’re okay with the power imbalance of it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not really. I wish he was more dominant in bed. Unfortunately, hookups don’t come with a manual.” Katya examined her coffin-shaped fingernails. “Really, though, I’m the temptress here.”

I barked out another laugh, kicking back as I hurled the knife to the ceiling again, then caught it. I should’ve known better than to doubt her. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking Vaughn Spencer?”

“No! Oh, God, what’s wrong with you? He’s happily married!” she scolded, her entire face turning red. “It’s another art professor. Professor Pope. Rafferty Pope. Super talented. Super hot. Super reclusive.” She waggled her brows.

“Sounds forbidden,” I mused. “I can see the appeal.”

Understatement of the decade.

“He’s only in his early thirties.” She plopped onto the bed in her dorm, blowing dark strands of hair from her bright blue eyes. “Ugh. I can’t believe you’re cheering me on to sleep with someone else. I wish you were attracted to me.”

My stomach bottomed out. I hated disappointing her. She was already self-conscious about Achilles dumping her into my hands when our father tried to marry her off to him.

I hated even more that instead of wanting Katya, all I seemed to crave was dick. And not just any dick. Oh, no. The particular dick I fantasized about was attached to a fucking fed. One who very much hated my guts.

“I’m attracted enough to fuck you nice and good if you ever need it.” I flashed my lopsided, lazy smirk.

She let out a snort, snatching a hair band from the bed and tossing it at the camera. “I don’t want your pity fucks.”

“I’d never pity you, Katya.”

“Speaking of our soon-to-be dysfunctional marriage, my brother tells me Luca wants us to marry in May?”

“Yeah.” I bristled. “Luca sai—Wait, which brother did you talk to?”

“Alex.” She tilted her head sideways, studying me. Alex was the oldest and the Bratva’s pakhan. He called the shots. “Why?”

“Because if it were Jeremie, I’d have asked you what the hell his problem is, running off with Luca’s wife like that.”

Katya tutted. “Maybe they’re in love? People do a lot of crazy things when they’re in love.”

I wouldn’t know, because I’d never been in love. I’d been faithful to the only woman I’d dated—Adriana—and I definitely developed deep, positive feelings toward her, but I never felt out of contro—

No.

That wasn’t true.

I did feel out of control when it came to Tom.

I sighed. “Hey, speaking of hookups…”

“Yeah?” She hopped from the bed, sliding off her oversize shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, just a small black lacy thong. Her perky breasts swung with her movements as she slipped into the red dress. My dick was softer than a plushie.

Dammit, dick, stop being such a snobbish prick.