Wildblood

Chapter 30

30

An off-kilter neon sign marked their destination on a busy downtown road. Eden managed to evoke class and trash all at once—the perfect joint for grunts like Timur.

Kai could feel the questions on the tip of Miya’s tongue after he’d stolen her release, but she wouldn’t ask—at least not yet—because the answer seemed obvious. He liked riling her up. Kruni? was right; he valued his independence more than anything, and Miya had him by the nuts. He was angry that she’d wrangled him into facing his crap, and the fact that she had every right to only intensified his ire. His grasp on his demons was slipping, and Miya blew the door off the cellar where he cured old wounds like salted meat. She made it impossible to look away, unmoored him as much as she grounded him, and this game of denial was the only way he knew to wrest back some modicum of control. He wanted to punish her, make her beg with need for him, and he wanted her to enjoy it.

Eden was a little fancier than their last stop, furnished with dark oak tables, burgundy faux-leather booths, and a stage for local bands and DJs. The bar was tucked in an adjacent room, providing some insulation from the noise. Timur could’ve been anywhere, but if he loved shots as much as Lidia claimed, he’d worm his way out of the crowd to fetch his booze at some point. They posted up at the bar with another round of drinks, hoping Timur would crawl out soon enough.

With time to kill, Kai coiled an arm around Miya’s waist, drawing her close. “You surviving?”

“Surviving, yes.” She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto a stool. “Though I’m still annoyed we have to be here at all.”

“Consider it a date,” he said, watching her step out of reach.

“A date?” She scoffed. “I’m about to watch you threaten a man’s life.”

Kai flashed her a fiendish grin. “We’re doing it for love.”

“Not sure I’d qualify Lidia’s scheme as loving .” She stirred her drink, still standing several feet away.

Grated by the distance, Kai curled his finger in a come-hither motion. “Blizhe.”

Closer.

With a playful eye roll, Miya indulged his command, and Kai hauled her into his lap before she could grab the seat next to him. Her spine straightened as his erection pressed against her backside, and she peeked over her shoulder at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He casually spun the stool so they faced the counter, his hand running up the inside of her thigh.

“Aren’t you just torturing yourself?” she asked.

“Not as much as I’m torturing you.” His fingers brushed over her pelvic bone, tracing the seam that ran directly over the parts of her he’d teased.

Miya held her breath, fighting not to squirm. His hand smoothed over her thigh when she tried crossing her legs, and he pulled them apart under the counter. Her hand slid over his, but she didn’t stop him. His touch moved lower, and Miya tried to scoot forward, reaching behind her to either grab or punch him. He wasn’t sure which. Kai tapped her hand away, his lips grazing her neck. “Think I don’t know how wet you are?”

Her hips inched closer to greet his touch as he stroked through her jeans, and she clasped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. “Are you trying to make me come in public?”

“Not yet.”

She forced a harsh breath from her nose, then turned to nip at his jawline. He caught her lips, his tongue dancing across hers as he smothered her whimper. The more she craved release, the more he wanted to deny it, if only to prolong their game.

Miya swore against his mouth, and Kai felt the tension in her core mount. When her pulse grew frantic, plucking at the predator in him, he withdrew his hand and drowned her dissent with a fiery kiss. She fisted his shirt, pressing him for more. A touch, a stroke—anything to slake the hunger.

Her eyes floated past his shoulder. “People are watching.”

He knew that already, and he reveled in the greedy eyes drinking them up. Swiveling the stool, he trained his gaze on a group of gawking douchebags that’d sidled up to the bar. One in particular caught his attention.

Timur.

Kai’s smile was vicious as he tipped his chin up. “Take a picture; it’ll last longer.”

Timur fixed a half-drunk stare on Kai, his coifed-as-fuck comb-over so rigid it looked like a block of cement. “Maybe I will.”

He slanted himself against the bar and steadied his phone, his friends laughing shrilly at the display. His bronzed skin looked a few shades too orange, his pale blue dress shirt and faded jeans too form-fitting to be comfortable. Timur flashed Miya an alarmingly white smile, his smarmy eyes passing over her. “How many drinks will it take for me to find out if the carpet matches the drapes?”

Kai felt Miya’s heart stop, then skitter back to life. “That’s him,” she whispered to Kai, scooting off him as he stood.

Kai reached over the counter and snatched a bottle of bourbon while the bartender was occupied.

The carroty chuckle-fuck stared at Kai. His snideness melted into confusion, then alarm, and finally, recognition. “Hey!” he bellowed as he stalked up to them. “I know you.”

Kai poured himself another drink as if he owned the bottle and the bar. His eyes flicked to Timur, and the edge of his mouth crept up. “Congratulations.”

“You fucked up my buddy,” came the accusation. “Last month at Wally’s.”

Miya quirked a brow, probably wondering who the hell named an establishment Wally’s .

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Kai winced after a gulp of bourbon.

Timur threw his arms up. “Come on, bro. He was the biggest guy there.”

A soft, threatening laugh slipped out as Kai was called bro. “A lot of big people left with fucked up faces. Wasn’t exactly easy to tell them apart.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Timur pitched forward, invading Kai’s personal space like a French monarch bellying up to a guillotine. “You know who I am?”

Miya turned an icy glare on him. “Someone very concerned with the coherence of carpets and drapes.”

Kai snatched the phone from Timur’s hand, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under his boot. The crunch was so satisfying, he considered that it may have sounded better than a broken nose.

“What the hell, man!”

Tequila breath washed over Kai, and he shoved the irritant back into a table. His friends caught him by the arms and helped him right himself. Then, he launched forward. Kai saw the blow coming like a bad plot twist, but he didn’t budge. Without lifting an arm to defend himself, he angled his head and let Timur’s fist glance off his jaw. Knuckles clipped his lip, an iron taste coating his tongue. His head swayed back, and he used the momentum to fling his torso forward like a pendulum.

He really, really wanted to know if he liked the sound of a breaking smartphone more than the crunch of bone.

Kai’s forehead connected with Timur’s nose, and he homed in on that gratifying snap.

It was a fucking tie.

Timur crashed into the table, his friends failing to catch him this time as they stood frozen in their stupor. Blood pooled around Kai’s brows, then dribbled down the bridge of his nose and over his mouth where he caught the stray drops with his tongue. Licking his lips clean, he grinned, menace lacing every word as he said, “Come on, then.”

The stampede was…almost funny. The next strike that hurtled toward his face was wide and sloppy, and he easily leaned out of its arcing path. A rush of air swept in from behind, and he side-stepped the buffoon who’d dove for him. Both men nose-dived to the floor, but one quickly rolled into a squat and charged. Bracing for impact, Kai lowered his center of gravity as the man slammed into him. He laced his fingers around the back of his attacker’s neck, then flung him aside like a ragdoll.

By now, a crowd had amassed to watch the fray, and a frazzled manager came barreling through the throng. He yelled over the ruckus, demanding that the fighting stop to no avail. Kai glimpsed another fist in his periphery but didn’t bother dodging. Using his elbow to bump the inside of the guy’s arm, Kai redirected the punch, then thrust a punishing uppercut into his kidney. The man crumpled, retching up overpriced nachos, and Kai finished the job with a light shove to the shoulder that sent him sprawling on the floor.

Kai peeked back at Miya to check on her. She stood by the bar, sipping her drink as she observed the bedlam. He shot her a roguish smile, and she beamed back. After Timur’s bullshit, she didn’t seem as bothered by Lidia’s plan.

As Timur’s lackies scattered, Kai clasped him by the back of the neck and drove a knee into his crotch. He keeled over, his shirt stretching over his back so tightly that Kai thought the seams would burst.

“You’ve got exactly fifteen seconds to tell me what Pyotr wants with the forgery, or I’ll tear your dick off and feed it to you like a mozzarella stick.”

Lidia’s idiot boyfriend cupped his broken nose, crimson rivulets welling over his fingers. “I don’t know shit about that—I’m just a driver!”

Kai tightened his grip on the back of Timur’s neck. “Keep that up. Ignorance always gets people out of dismemberment.”

Timur gargled on a curse, his eyes squeezed shut. “Look, I don’t know what the forgery is. All I know is that the boss wants it gone. Destroyed. Annihilated. Wiped from existence.”

Kai snapped his mouth shut, molten rage scalding his throat. He swallowed it down. Pyotr wanted to kill Caelan. Her death had been brokered by a neutral party because Zverev’s employer had use for the girl—probably leverage—and to Pyotr, she was a liability. Something to be buried.

Kai released Timur only to snatch him by the hair. “Why? What’s so scary about this forgery?”

“I don’t know!” Timur clawed helplessly at Kai’s hand. “He doesn’t tell us shit!”

A firm yank, and several clumps came lose.

Timur’s yowl came out strangled as he waved for Kai to stop. “There’s a rumor that the forgery’s a threat to Pyotr’s kid. Don’t know why, don’t know how. It’s just something I’ve heard in my car!”

Sirens blared in the distance, though only Kai heard the far-off wail. They had ten minutes tops before cops swarmed the place.

“One last thing.” Kai hauled Timur upright, locking him in with a snarl that promised carnage. “You’re done with Bratva. Go home, pack your diapers, and leave. If you’re not out of the country by tomorrow night, I will know.”

Lip trembling, face blotched with tears and blood, Timur’s head jerked into a nod.

Kai dropped him like a sweaty gym bag.

In the chaos, Miya squeezed her way through several scrambling patrons and grabbed Kai’s hand before anyone else got stupid, dragging him toward the back of the club. She sharply rounded a corner and kicked her way into the restroom, Kai in tow. They tumbled into one of the stalls, and a woman’s heels rapidly clicked past them.

Kai would have cracked a joke about it, but Miya got to him first. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she wrenched him into a ferocious kiss. He grabbed her waist, marring her clothes in red as he pressed her to the wall. The blood from his cut lip smeared the corner of her mouth, the scent of iron and the sweet, earthy bite of liquor hanging between their ragged breaths. A moan caught in Miya’s throat, and her fingers pried past Kai’s belt at alarming speed. She actually got into his pants, and as her fingers closed around his cock, he seized her wrist and pinned her hand to the stall, the divider juddering. The sirens were closer now, ringing loud enough for human ears to pick up.

“How long are you going to keep this game up?” she demanded.

Kai choked back a laugh as stern voices flitted around the halls. “As long as I want to play.”

Exasperation etched her face. “Can’t be that fun blue balling yourself.”

He flattened his palm next to her head. “Do you really want to fuck in a bathroom stall during a police raid?”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“I would.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not here.”

The corner of Kai’s mouth tugged into a knowing smile, and he pulled her out of the stall.

When they reached the secluded park, all pretense of foreplay dissipated. Miya shoved Kai into a tree and clawed off his jacket, her body radiating pent-up lust. The straw-colored grass was still wet from the morning’s downpour, but neither of them cared. When she tried to push him again, he caught her wrists and took her down with him. Straddling her hips, he yanked her jacket and shirt off along with her bra. Her hands roamed up his abdomen, scraped over his ribs and around the now-healed bullet wound, her nails threatening to slice deeper until he removed his shirt. After satisfying her silent demand, Kai did away with her jeans and underwear, then unfastened his cargo pants and kicked them from his ankles.

Her legs curled around his waist, throwing him off balance as she drew him in. He barely caught himself, his hands landing on either side of her as his cock pressed against her middle.

“For fuck’s sake, Kai.” She raked her nails over his backside, pulling on his hips.

With a low growl, he thrust into her, and she jerked with a gratified yes . Her thighs clinched his sides, urging him closer, and for the first time that night, he obliged, driving into her with scant gentleness. Fisting the grass by her head, he fucked her as though they’d been apart for years, something inside him splintering as primal want and bone-deep need swirled into an incoherent mass of euphoria and fear—euphoria that he’d finally found something to fill the emptiness inside him, and fear that he could lose it all with one careless mistake.

Kai swore under his breath, hating how helpless he felt. The boundary between desperate longing and impotent rage melted away as he buried himself inside her. Between frantic pleas, Miya tried slipping a hand below her waist, but he intercepted it, pinning both her arms above her head. She wrenched savagely as he held her wrists, and when their eyes met, she gritted her teeth and shrieked in frustration, bucking against him.

She lifted her head off the grass, venom caught between her teeth. “Fuck you.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “I’m the one doing the fucking,” he reminded her, then eased his grip on her wrists.

She flew upright the moment her arms came free. Her hand shot out, viper-like, and she struck him across the face. Hard.

Momentarily stunned, Kai reeled back and tongued the inside of his stinging cheek, his skin warm from the impact. His mouth curved into a smirk. He liked her like this.

They were still for a long moment, Kai on his knees and Miya sitting in front of him, the night entirely quiet save for their heavy breaths fogging the autumn air.

“Now what?” Kai asked, his eyes trained on her.

She met his gaze, unflinching, and after ripping up fistfuls of grass, she threw them at him with an exasperated huff. “At least finish what you started!”

A harsh laugh worked its way up Kai’s throat as she pelted him with wet lawn. Crawling forward, he helped her to her knees, then circled behind her. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed yellow fabric poking out of his jacket pocket—one of his caution tape wraps. He leaned over, snatched it free, then folded Miya’s arms behind her back and looped the strip around her knuckles and wrist.

Her breath halted. “I forgot I’d put those there.”

“What’s the saying? No good deed goes unpunished?” He grinned, all teeth and teasing, and bound her wrists together. Curling an arm around her midsection, he hauled her closer, her legs spreading as she straddled him. His mouth traced over her shoulder and up her neck before he clipped her earlobe with his teeth. She shuddered, her anticipation palpable as the curve of her ass ground against his hard length, and she careened forward. Kai caught the wrap woven around her wrists and dragged her back. Her gaze snapped to him, and she jolted when his forefinger pressed to her clit, her knees digging into the earth.

“You done being an asshole?” she asked over her shoulder, and he caught her lips, sparing more tenderness than he had all night.

“Maybe.” He rocked his hips forward. “You going to slap me again when I take this off?” He tapped the yellow cotton swathing her hands.

“You seemed to like that.”

Kai’s grip tightened as he gave the wrap a small tug. “I fucking loved it.”

He drew her flush against him, all patience bleeding away as he thrust into her. She gasped and craned her neck, inviting his lips and tongue to trace over every inch of her skin. Moving in pace with him, her head lolled back on his shoulder, her pulse thundering as he held her steady.

“Say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.

“Go fuck yourself.” She strained against his grasp, her limbs fighting to move freely while their constraint only made her wilder.

He’d wanted control—wanted her helpless against him—but he missed the bite of her nails on his skin, hungered for her abandon. Unable to resist, Kai unbound her and wrapped an arm around her midsection, securing her against his chest. Despite her objection, his name left her as a sharp cry, her cunt clenching around his cock as orgasm quaked through her like a torrent. Wreathed in caution tape from knuckles to forearm, she knotted her fingers in his hair, gripping and tugging roughly. He continued stroking her clit, wringing pleasure from her with every utterance of his name until he plummeted over the edge right after her, muffling his shout against her neck as he came. Pleasure flooded his core in brutal waves, and he clung to her as ferociously as she clung to him, the strength leaving him as his muscles turned into a useless heap.

Kai fell back, taking Miya with him as they both trembled, bodies slick with sweat. She slipped free, her knees, elbows, and backside streaked with grass. Kai eased himself down next to her. Lying on his back, he draped an arm over his stomach.

“Hey,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she managed as her breathing evened out.

“I fucked up.” This time, the words came readily. Regret spooled in his gut, spurring him to sit up. “Therapy sucks,” he finally answered her question honestly, slinging an arm over his knee. “But I guess that shows how much I need it.”

Miya’s silence needled him. She usually had something to say—thoughtful encouragement or even-handed reassurance. She shuffled behind him, her arms encircling his neck as she pressed herself to his back. Her warmth salved the curdling tumult between his ribs.

Loosely wound with yellow and black, her hand dangled at his chest, and he enveloped it with his own. “We should get back to the King of Spades,” he said.

Miya nodded, reluctant to let go, but Kai’s crumbling coping mechanisms could wait. They had a much bigger problem.

Caelan wasn’t a lost prize; she was prey.