“Then crack it,” I growl. “Sergei’s patterns haven't changed in twenty years. He’s arrogant and he thinks no one is smart enough to listen in. He treats his security like a game he's already won.”

  “I’m working on it,” Nikolai mutters while his fingers fly over the keys. “But if I miss a single character, the whole relay self-destructs. I need the master key from the encrypted relay to spoof the signal.”

  “Work it out. I’ll decide the when, but once we have that code, we use my voice to bring the dog somewhere we can collar it.”

  Lev claps his palms once, sharp. “Alright. Then let’s get to it. I’m heading out with the boys to check the harbor for collections.”

  Nikolai’s already hunched over a computer. “I’ll let you know when I’ve cracked that code.”

  “Great.” Sliding a palm over the wood of my desk, I feel the hum of the house. Fuck, it feels good to be back. Even better with a plan for blood. Revenge begins today.

  We’re on our third coffee when Jonah steps inside. “I brought you food.”

  Nikolai lets out a whistle. “Damn, Pakhan. I wish I had a nurse like that.”

  “Yeah, I bet you did.” My dick perks up at the way Jonah’s face flushes. I crook his finger. “Come here.”

  He crosses the room fast and sets the tray on the corner of my desk with shaking fingers. The guys were just talking about you. They’re jealous, you know? Pulling Jonah into my lap, I grin when he yelps in surprise.

  I feel Jonah’s fingers dig into my skin as he registers the brand I’ve just put on him. I’m not just protecting him because I’m making it clear to the only men I have left that he is off-limits. I don't want the rest of the world when I can have the one who watched me bleed and didn't look away. A name is a claim of ownership and I am making sure everyone knows he belongs to me from now on, whether he likes it or not.

  Burying my nose in his hair, I murmur, “He’s wondering what it takes to get you on your knees. Should I show him?”

  Jonah’s body goes rigid before a shiver rolls through him. He grips my forearms until his knuckles turn white. His head falls back against my shoulder. “Viktor, no,” he gasps, but the sound is ruined by the way his hips stutter against mine. “He’s, he’s right there.”

  “I know he is,” I growl into the shell of his ear. “Watch how he looks away when I claim what’s mine.”

  Nikolai pretends to focus on the computer, but he fails. I feel his eyes all over us. Good. Let him watch. Snaking an arm around Jonah’s neck, I pull him in. He smells like coffee and heat, and he opens so easily for me. I know I’ll never get enough. Nibbling on his bottom lip, I lick inside his mouth. He wiggles on top of me while he pants. I blindly grab a piece of fruit from the tray and then rest my free palm on his thigh. Heat jumps under my skin as Jonah inhales too sharply.

  “Eat.” I bring the strawberry to his lips. He bites into the fruit and fresh juice leaks down his mouth. I catch it with my tongue, licking it up while he swallows.

  “More.”

  He takes another bite and lets me suckle the juice from his lips. Behind us, Nikolai clears his throat. Jonah’s pupils are blown and his face is flushed. The tremble in his wrist gets worse every time my thumb drags slow circles on the inside of his thigh, tracing the heat near his groin. He manages a handful of strawberries before I stop thinking and just decide to take him.

  Drifting my fingers inward, I shove down his sweatpants while making sure to turn us so Nikolai can't see a single inch of Jonah’s skin. He shrieks when his cock springs free and into my palm. “Hm. You’re already wet for me.”

  A sharp, choked sound escapes him. “V, Vik,”

  “Keep eating.”

  “I—I…” His face goes red. “C—can't concentrate.”

  “I know,” I murmur while I stroke faster. The plate clatters to the floor. “Look away, Nikolai. Stand up for me, krasavchik.”

  Jonah rises shaky, steps out of the bunched fabric at his ankles. Sliding my palm under his sweatshirt, I push it up and watch every muscle jump under the cold air. “Arms up.”

  He lifts them. I pull the sweatshirt off in one motion and toss it to the desk. Jonah stands there half-naked in front of another man, flushed and shaking. He is pale and vulnerable against the dark wood of my desk, his body shivering as I strip him bare. Another man who would've never looked his way when I tell him not to. Jonah doesn't look at him either because he only looks at me.

  “Turn around.”

  He obeys. His palms brace on the desk and his breath fogs the polished surface. Pulling his pants and briefs down just far enough, I feel the air hit him. He jerks and his thighs tremble. Nikolai clears his throat. “Pakhan⁠—”

  Ignoring him, I spit on Jonah’s rim and slick my fingers. Then I press and enter his hole. Jonah pushes back helplessly, already opening for me. “Good boy, krasavchik moy.”

  He makes a sound that isn't a word and his knees bend. Guiding my cock to him, I ease in, feeling him stretch around me. Jonah whimpers while his fingers dig into the desk. “Vikt, ah, ah,”

  “Ssh.”

  “I need—I need…”

  “I know, and I’m going to give it to you.”

  Jonah’s breath shatters while his lower body shakes under the effort. I push deeper and feel the heat and tightness clamp around me. Then I pull Jonah back onto me, gripping him firmly by his hips. The desk creaks and the sound spurs me, driving me crazy with the need to own him completely. His forehead drops onto his arm and his breath breaks against the wood. “Slower⁠—”

  “Yes, you can,” I grunt while I thrust deeper.

  His cry breaks against the desk, muffled by the wood. I grip his body tighter and pound into him, each thrust rough enough to shake through both of us. His breath catches every time I hit that spot that makes his thighs tremble. Papers slide across the desk. Jonah’s fingers claw for purchase but find nothing but polished lacquer.

  “Vik—Vik, please…”

  Jonah’s body tightens around me, fluttering and pulling at me. His cock drags against the desk, leaving a wet streak every time my thrusts rock him forward. “Fuck,” he gasps. His spine arches in a sharp, helpless bow.

  I slam into him again, deeper and harder. His whole body jolts. “You can,” I growl. “You take me so well, krasavchik. Look at you.”

  He whimpers. One more thrust and he almost sobs. “Come.”

  His breath fractures, a broken sound torn from his chest as his body locks. I hold him there, pressed close, feeling every shudder as he comes undone. He breaks instantly, shouting as his cock shoots across the desk. His whole body seizes and squeezes so tight my rhythm hitches for a fraction of a second. I keep fucking him, pounding into the heat of him.

  He chokes on a half sob. “Viktor, wait, I can’t⁠—”

  “You can take it.”

  He shudders as I push deeper, dragging him back onto my cock with a low growl. “Don’t hide from it. Let him hear you.”

  Jonah lets out a broken moan. Reaching around, I take his cock in my palm. It jumps, oversensitive in the air. “N, no, Vik, Please,”

  Stroking him slow and firm, I watch him shake. His knees buckle and his whole frame quakes. “Viktor, oh god, I’m—I’m gonna…”

  “You give it to me. Right now.”

  His body locks all at once. Then he screams into the desk as he comes a second time, a violent, convulsive release. His thighs shake so hard I have to hold him up. His orgasm paints the desk again. I fuck him through every pulse of it, deeper and slower, giving him nowhere to run.

  “Jonah,” I murmur, my voice dropping an octave as I feel my own control finally fraying. “Take it for me.”

  A weak sound slips out of him, his head lolling against his arm. “Vik, please…”

  I give him a slow roll of my pelvis, a brutal, grounding friction that forces a sharp cry from his throat. Gripping his hips, I start fucking him with deep, heavy thrusts that make his whole body jolt against the mahogany. The friction is heavy, the heat between us absolute. I don't care that Nikolai is standing five feet away, or that the house is full of men; in this square of light, Jonah is the only thing that exists.

  “You take me. Always.”

  I slam into him once more, buried to the hilt. Heat tears through me, wave after wave, spilling deep inside him as his body milks everything from me. I growl into his skin, the sound vibrating through both of us as I spend myself in the heat of him.

  Easing out of him once the last pulse fades, I catch him as he nearly collapses. “Vot tak, that’s it. I’ve got you.”

  Jonah trembles, boneless, his face tucked into my neck. He's a mess of salt and slick and Morozov power. He's dazed, his eyes flickering toward the doorway where Nikolai is finally turning away, a sharp reminder that we weren't alone.

  He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for minutes. “The relay is live. Cracked Babushka’s birthdate. Arrogant bastard used her as the salt.” He taps the screen, his eyes tracking the mess on the desk with a jagged grin. “I’m gonna go find some air before I get any more details I can't scrub from my brain. Tell the nurse I'll send him the GPS for his trailer.”

  I don't shift Jonah from my lap. I just reach for a clean napkin and wipe the juice from his chin, my fingers lingering on his jaw. “The bar?” I ask, my voice returning to the cold rasp of the Pakhan.

  “A place outside the city. Quiet. I’ll tell the boys to get the black SUV ready.”

  I ignore him. Jonah is all I see. “You’re alright,” I murmur, dragging my palm down his spine. “Dyshi, solnyshko.”

  He nods weakly, his breath shaky. Behind us, the door clicks shut, leaving the office in a heavy, loaded silence.

  Revenge is a cold game, but for the first time, I’ve got something warm to come home to when the blood is dry.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  VIKTOR

  “He’s already inside,” Nikolai says as we get out of the car. “The manager reported him coming in with two of his men.”

  I don't answer him right away. The winter air at the harbor is a jagged knife against my skin, cutting through the lingering heat from the office. Less than an hour ago, I had Jonah shaking in my lap, his skin slick and his breath hot against my neck. Now, my hands are empty and cold. The transition is a familiar one, a hardening of the blood that happens every time I step out of the light and back into the shadow of the Morozov name.

  “You’re quiet, Vitya,” Nikolai notes, leaning against the Maserati’s hood. He lights a cigarette, the orange glow catching the sharp line of his jaw. “Still thinking about the office?”

  “Shut up, Niko,” I mutter, though I don’t look at him.

  Lev laughs from the other side of the car, checking his weapon one last time. “He’s definitely still in the office. Look at his hands. They’re practically twitching. Our big brother has gone soft for a nurse.”

  “I am anything but soft,” I growl, finally meeting Lev’s eyes. “And if you want to keep that tongue in your mouth, you’ll stop talking about what happens in my office.”

  Nikolai whistles, blowing a cloud of smoke into the freezing air. “See? There he is. The Pakhan is back. For a second there, I thought we were going to have to do this job while you daydreamed about strawberries and sweat.”

  “The strawberries were for him. And the only thing I’m daydreaming about is how loud Sokolov is going to scream.”

  “Now that’s the spirit,” Lev chimes in, stepping away from the car. He looks toward the harbor bar, his expression shifting into something colder. “Sergei’s lapdog has been comfortable for too long. He thinks he’s safe because he’s got Sergei’s checkbook in his pocket.”

  “He isn’t safe,” I remind him. “He never was.”

  “Better hope your aim is better than your mood,” Nikolai jokes, though he’s already dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “Sasha reports the back entrance is clear. Let's go before the Maserati attracts any more low-lifes. I don't want to spend tomorrow scrubbing grease off the door handles.”

  “You’re the one who told me to drive it,” I point out, straightening my jacket.

  “I told you to drive it because it makes people look at the car instead of the men getting out of it,” Nikolai retorts. “Distraction is a tactical advantage. Though, in your case, it just makes you look like a prick with a fast car.”

  “It’s a good car,” Lev adds, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ll take it for a spin when the blood is dry.”

  “Over my dead body,” I snap.

  “Careful, Vitya,” Nikolai warns, his eyes narrowing as he looks toward the entrance of the bar. “Don't let the car distract you from the fact that the man in that basement is the reason you were bleeding out a week ago.”

  The reminder hits me like a bucket of ice water. The humor vanishes, replaced by the familiar, heavy burn of revenge. My hands stop twitching. I’m not the man who was just feeding Jonah fruit. I am the man who came back from the dead to finish a job.

  Sokolov thought he was meeting Sergei. I eye my Maserati, the paint gleaming even in this shithole harbor. The car is too clean for a place like this, a loud reminder that I’m back in control of my own property. I can still smell Jonah on my wrists, a soft scent of soap and sweat that doesn't belong near the diesel and salt of the docks. I shove my hands into my pockets, burying the memory. I have a debt to collect.

  “Have someone guard the damn car because there are too many eyes on it.”

  We walk in through the back. Lev and a guard move ahead of me while Nikolai is by my side and Sasha brings up the rear. The five of us cut through the narrow hallway without a word. The place looks like the kind of port bar where no one looks up unless they’re paid to, and tonight, everyone’s already been paid. The manager freezes when he sees us, his spine snapping straight and his eyes dropping to my shoes.

  Nikolai steps into his space and his presence is looming. “Where are they?”

  “Already d-downstairs, sir.”

  “Good.”

  We take the stairs and Lev goes first. I can’t wait to fucking end this man’s life. This man who still believes he owns any part of me. Every step down the narrow stairwell is a reminder of the basement where they held me. This time, I’m the one holding the keys.

  The basement smells like damp concrete and stale copper. A single bulb hangs overhead and throws a sick yellow circle across the room. One guy is slumped into a chair with his eyes wide and glassy, and blood is dripping from a single gunshot wound split open on his forehead. Another lies crumpled on the floor. Sokolov sits in the middle of it with his wrists tied behind the chair and his ankles bound to the legs. He’s the only one still alive. When he sees me approaching, he lifts his head and gives me a crooked smirk.

  “Privet, prince.”

  “Prince, huh? If that’s who I am to you, you sure have a way of showing it.”

  He shrugs, though his eyes are tracking my every move. “You know how it is. I was following orders.”

  “Nah, I don’t.” I kick a dead body aside and the corpse makes a heavy, wet thud against the concrete. Pulling a chair to face him, I sit and lean back with a casualness that clearly unnerves him. “See, I don’t follow orders because I give them. And you know what I ordered for today?”

  Sokolov blinks, his cruel smile twitching at the edges.

  “I can see on your face that you know exactly what I mean. Clever man. But…” I glance at Nikolai. “I’m a fair man, right?”

  “Da.” Nikolai’s grin is as sharp as a razor.

  “That means you get to choose, my dear Sokolov. Isn’t that generous of me?” Opening my jacket, I draw a small, serrated blade. I let the yellow light catch the steel. “This one is for a slow death. It’s personal and it lingers.”

  Sokolov flinches and his throat is jumping as he swallows hard. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

  “You tell me.” I let the knife linger in the air between us. “Are you?”

  He clicks his tongue, trying to find his bravado. “Your father was a good man. I served him for years, but he never truly appreciated my value.”

  “No?” I lift a brow. “That so?”

  Sokolov shakes his head. For a moment, his voice goes soft and almost distant. “I did everything for him. Every job. I was loyal. Always. And the one time I needed him—the only time—he wouldn’t help. My daughter needed surgery. I begged, but he refused.” His jaw clenches with twenty years of kept fury. “Sergei didn’t. Sergei gave me the money. I saved her life and I paid for it with mine.”

  “You did.” Leaning in until we’re mere inches apart, I take in the stale copper of the room and his sweat. The son of a bitch reeks of fear. It’s sharp, sour and disgusting. It won’t change his fate. “Only you’re not paying Sergei anymore. You’re paying me. And after tonight, your debt is settled. So. Which way do you want to go?”

  He presses his lips into a fine line while he stares me down.

  “Stubborn,” Lev comments from the shadows.

  “That, he is. But that’s fine because I’ll decide for him.” Reaching into my jacket again, I pull out the curved finka. “This is for men who don’t deserve a quick death.”

  Sokolov’s shoulders twitch in a small recoil he tries to hide. His gaze lifts with stubborn spite as he leans back as far as the ropes allow. “You were easier to break than your father. Sergei said you’d try to reclaim your place. Said he’d let you. Said you were already his.”

  He barely has time to inhale before my fingers are fisting in his hair. I jerk his head back hard enough that the chair legs scrape against the concrete. His breath catches and his eyes are flaring with real fear now. I feel his pulse through my palm, the fast thud of a man who knows he's out of time. I want him to know that no matter what Sergei promised him, I am the one who decides if he breathes.

  “There he is,” he whispers. “The animal.”