Page 37 of Bloody Savage God
“Come now, Mikhail.”
And he does. As my own orgasm fades, his cock jerks inside of me, setting off a few more ripples of my muscles, leaving me sated and just for a moment free of any worries.
Free of any thoughts at all.
Then I get up and that momentary distraction is over.
I leave Mikhail tied up downstairs, though I remove the needles from under his fingernails and the soiled condom from his dick before I retreat upstairs to think about what this means.
I pick up my phone and open my messages with Mia. Of all the people in my contacts list, she is the one I trust most beside Eric, and when it comes to the Russians, she is more likely to be able to help me figure this shit out.
Can you meet me at a cottage? It’s about an hour outside town if traffic is good.
Mia’s response comes immediately.
Which it never is.
I don’t roll my eyes, which is only possible because I have perfected that level of self-control.
Can you come? Wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.
Again, it only takes seconds before Mia’s reply pops up.
I know. I’ll head out in ten.
I let out a sigh. I’m not a fan of relying on anyone else to help me figure this out, but just about nothing is the way it should be, and Mia has a clear head, which can’t be said about me at the moment. Not when I still feel the stretch in my pussy from fucking the guy I tortured earlier.
In the two hours it takes Mia to get here, I make a list of problems I now need to deal with.
The first problem is the fact that I have no leads on who killed my father, now that I know it wasn’t the Bratva. The second problem is that I inadvertently started a war with the Russians by kidnapping and torturing their main enforcer. And last, I need to ensure my position as head of the family, but I have no idea whom I can trust in my own organization, which in turn makes ensuring support for my leadership rather difficult.
I haven’t come up with any suitable solutions when a knock sounds at the door.
Pulling the cinnamon rolls I made out of the oven, I quickly cross the room and check the camera that tells me my best friend is standing outside with a frown.
When I open the door, Mia grumbles, “This better be worth that drive. I swear I was bumper to bumper for an hour and I didn’t think to bring any snacks.”
“Then I hope cinnamon rolls will cheer you up.” I offer, pointing at the kitchen counter where the offered goods are cooling.
The sight, or maybe the smell, transforms Mia’s face into a smile. “Thank god. I didn’t want to stop to get anything since this seemed urgent, but I can handle listening and eating at the same time.”
Without wincing, she picks one of the cinnamon rolls up and takes a hardy bite, swiping her chin-length brown hair out of the way. “So good,” she groans as she shoves another bite into her mouth.
That is enough to put a grin on my face. Having grown up with Mellie, cooking and baking isn’t a strong suit of mine. She would have been happy to let me help in the kitchen, of course, but I always preferred to go out for shooting practice, or something similar, before returning home to a steaming batch of whatever she baked that day. What Mia is currently devouring are nothing more than warmed up, prepackaged rolls I picked up in the dairy aisle of the grocer two towns over.
“So what’s up? This isn’t what we usually do.”
And isn’t that the truth? Mia is nothing but straightforward, which is why I want to get her opinion on what’s going on, even though it breaks our unspoken rule of not talking shop.
“I found out that the person I thought killed my father didn’t do it.”
Mia keeps chewing but nods, which is another reminder that this life isn’t new to her.
“The problem is, I thought it was Mikhail Tsepov.”
That has my bestie’s eyes widening in recognition. It’s a bit difficult to remember that Mike is the guy that is known to torture people in his father’s name. That the same guy who enjoyed the hell out of my slapping him while I fucked his brains out also enjoys cutting out people’s eyeballs.
“Okay,” Mia prompts. “So it wasn’t Tsepov. Isn’t that good? I would figure you’d want to avoid any conflict with the Russians while things settle withla familiaafter your father’s death.”
