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Fifty-Two
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Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Three
MariaThe warmth near the windows grows unbearably hot in the late afternoon, even with the central air blasting, when I descend the spiral staircase. The heavy drapes are pulled across the windows to block out the sun.I know that two people on staff—their routine dictated by the sun—are tasked with monitoring the indoor climate to preserve Mikhail's collection. I know that Mikhail won't be home for hours based on the position of the drapes in the living room. A creature of habit, he leaves at midday and doesn't return until dark when the drapes are pulled back again.But the warmth isn't why my palms are sweaty.I wipe them down the front of my T-shirt before opening the office door. I know what Mikhail will think if he catches me, but I have no intention of sitting around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not anymore.While he's out causing chaos, I will find a phone to call my father.Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply to keep my hands from trembling when I grasp the doorknob.
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Four
MariaMy father stands beside a young Mikhail, and another man is beside him. From the looks of the photograph, they're out in the country somewhere. But unlike the familiar dour face I grew up with, my father is smiling here, practically laughing. His arm is slung around the other man like they're old friends."What the fuck?" I whisper. "Is this a sick joke?"It has to be a joke. A fake created with AI. It has to be! I turn it over, and the only word written on it is Poconos. What does that even mean? My father doesn't go to the Poconos. He doesn't camp. He despises sleeping outdoors. When I asked to go camping in the sixth grade, he set up a tent in the living room instead of letting me sleep outside in the backyard.And just who else is in the picture with him? Could it be Mikhail's dad? But how? How does my father know them? There has to be a logical explanation. I look at the photo one last time, ignore my pounding heart, and shove it away with the rest.The simplest explanation
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Five
MikhailWhen I return home, Maria lies across the couch on her stomach, reading a book on Matisse. Her bare feet stick up in the air from a ridiculous peacock-green dress.She doesn't wear dresses like that—dresses that make her look this sexy.It stops me from demanding to know why she's here, waiting for me again. She glances over at me but says nothing. Her chin is balanced on one hand as she turns another page. I loosen my tie, feeling the heat dissipate from my body. This time I didn't do the dirty work, letting Rurik dole out the lessons in his stoic, efficient style instead."What are you doing up?" I toss my tie onto the coffee table.Maria keeps her eyes on the book. "I lost track of time.""You should be asleep," I say severely.She ignores me and flips another page. Her delicate fingers glide over the glossy surface as she takes more interest in the colorful illustration than in me.I know she's still angry with me, and I'm glad we have nothing to say to one another. I don'
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Six
Mikhail"Don't turn this on me." Her tears are no longer from fear but anger. "You don't trust me. You never have, and you never will. I want to prove it to you. But you won't let me. You refuse to believe anything else—right or wrong." Maria's gaze locks on mine. "Don't push me away because you're afraid to be wrong, Mikhail."I freeze in place, staring at her. Afraid. The word stings, then ignites a fire that rips through me. I'm not afraid, am I? Yet I balance precariously between my desire for her and the fear of getting too close. Instead, I challenge her."Why should I trust you, Maria?" I whisper. "Because you're the innocent one?"Our gazes lock, and I see something in hers—a longing that reflects mine. That energy pulls us closer, and it takes every ounce of my control not to reach out and touch her.Her anger lessens as she leans against the door. "I'm not trying to trick you, Mikhail. I don't know how."My gaze consumes every detail of her face, the curve of her lips as she
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Seven
Maria"Do you want to come, Maria?" I nibble at her ear.She nods, her eyes squeezed shut."Beg for it."Maria lets out a whimper. "Please," she gasps. "Please make me come.""Not make." I stop my movements, but her hips continue to buck. "Let.""Please let me come," she pants immediately.I reward her obedience with pleasure, working my fingers in and out of her and moving them faster. I press my thumb against her clit and rub hard circles around the sensitive bump. She cries out, and I feel her pussy squeezing around my fingers as she comes. Her juices coat my hand, and I pull my fingers out.I pull her hair, so she has to turn and watch me lick each one clean. I hold onto Maria as she slowly returns to earth from her orgasm.I push up from the desk then press my hand against her back. Maria stays where she is, bent over the desk, her dress hiked up and her panties pulled aside. I unzip my pants and pull out my hard cock. The tight skin glistens as I give the tip—throbbing with pre-
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Eight
MikhailRurik, Anton, and I stand in the center of a secure warehouse in Port Newark. Anton's jumpy gaze scans the vast, cavernous space where a shipment recently left for Rotterdam. Rows of empty metal shelves line the concrete walls, stretching up to the high ceiling while the floor is covered with grimy dirt. The smell of damp concrete hangs in the stale air with a faint hint of oil. Trusted workers hose down the floor and aim the soapy gray water toward the drains.The security cameras' red lights blink rhythmically, but my gaze is on the man zip-tied to the metal folding chair. Rurik cracks his knuckles as he eyes the man hunched over in the chair while Anton stands at attention with his eyes on me. This isolated place is perfect for what we have planned.I took it easy on Maria. I let her beauty and innocence interfere with my head. I've allowed her to play me and given her too much freedom. I want to punish her for keeping secrets, but she's not here.This man will pay the pric
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Nine
Mikhail"Pakhan," Rurik speaks calmly. "Maybe he has a use. Alive."I ignore him at first. My chest heaves with rage. I feel the anger and adrenaline mixing into a lethal cocktail. I want to kill Bianchi because I don't have Zakhar in my grip. I want to make him suffer for daring to mention Desmier. I take a step toward Bianchi, my hand flipping the pliers to the pointed tip."Pakhan," Rurik repeats, this time more forcefully.I glare at Rurik as if he's next. "Chto?" I demand."He says he's a messenger," Rurik replies. "Then make him send a message."Anton motions toward two workers, and two men in coveralls rush over, scoop Bianchi and the chair upright, and then hurry away again."He's no good to us dead." Rurik's voice is soothing and steady. "But alive, there are things he can tell."The thought halts me, and I see Maria in my mind. Her body bent over my desk, moaning loudly as I push into her. Begging me to make her come, screaming for me to do it now. I shake the image out of m
Arranged To The Bravta King Sixty
MariaI pace the length of the living room, my fingers nervously tapping against my thigh. I can't keep still. I glance over at the setting sun for what feels like the hundredth time, waiting for Mikhail to return home. He called from the road to tell Dominika he was coming home early. The staff is in a frantic panic as they hurry to finish their work. Mikhail doesn't want to be disturbed, but I can't wait.Why was my father in that photo?We didn't talk about the photo last night. I was too scared to ask, and he was too angry to explain. My breath picks up as I think about what we did instead. I won't let it happen again until he talks to me. I'm bracing myself for the icy stare Mikhail will give me when I demand to know the truth from him.I fold my arms around my body and stop pacing. My thoughts are knotted into a tangle of chaos. My head spins with so many questions and doubts. I'm terrified to find out what's true and what isn't. My life is like a car wreck I can't stop staring
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