My knife is already in my grip. “Animals kill for survival,” I murmur. “This isn’t survival. This is judgment.”

  I drag the blade across his torso once. Sokolov sucks in a wet, startled breath as blood blooms fast, spilling over the edge of the cut and soaking into his shirt. I watch the red spread across the fabric, tracing the exact line I made. The blood is hot, steaming slightly in the cold basement air.

  “You think this changes anything?” he tries, but his breathing is jagged now. “Sergei owns.”

  I touch the blade to the same line, not cutting yet. His pulse jumps under my fingers. “You don’t speak unless I ask you to.” Lowering my mouth to his ear, I press the point in. “When you held me down and when you helped Sergei break me, did you think about what this moment would feel like?”

  He swallows hard and his throat is working fast under my grip. His skin is clammy, the sweat of a man who knows his clock has run out. “This moment where revenge would find you? This moment where your prince would find you and cut you open, watching you bleed to death?”

  “Viktor.”

  “No. You’ve wasted your final words. Now you’ll die with mine branded in your skull.” I hook my knuckles deeper into his hair and yank his head back until his eyes meet mine.

  “Please.” His breath shakes against my fingers.

  “You betrayed my father. You betrayed me. You will pay for it with your death. I’ll see you in hell, dog.”

  Then I slit his throat. Hot blood surges over my palm in a sudden, wet heat. The spray hits my chest, warm and metallic. He gurgles once, trying to swallow the life spilling out of him. I watch as his fingers strain uselessly against the ties and his legs kick once before the strength leaves him. I keep my eyes on his until they go flat. I want the last thing he sees to be the man he tried to ruin. I want him to take the image of my face to the grave.

  His muscles go limp against the ropes. His gaze clings to mine until the light disappears. I keep hold of his head until the pulse under my fingers stops. Only then do I let him fall.

  The chair tilts and his body slumps sideways as the dead weight hits the concrete with a dull, final sound. His eyes stay open while they stare at nothing. Lev steps forward and checks the neck before he wipes his palms on a rag. “We’re done.”

  I nod while I am still looking at Sokolov’s open eyes. The man who helped Sergei keep me weak is just a corpse on a basement floor now. He died begging, and the world is better for it. We turn toward the stairs and the cold air hits the blood on my hand, turning it tacky.

  By the time we step into the alley, the dark streaks are drying across my skin as if they belong there. I’m a dead man who has found his way back to the living and the blood on my hands is the only proof I need that the war has finally begun.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  VIKTOR

  Jonah is still awake when I return home. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with a book closed on his lap and a blanket pulled around his legs. His head lifts the moment the door clicks. The sight of him there is the first thing that actually makes the adrenaline from the basement start to level out.

  “Viktor.” His eyes go straight to the blood on my face. “Are you okay?”

  I shut the door behind me. Today was a good day. We took three men out in total. Soon news of Sokolov’s death will move through the streets and Sergei will know his nephew didn't just escape. He’s claiming his throne back.

  “It’s past one. You should’ve been asleep,” I tell him.

  “I tried, but you didn't come back.”

  I walk closer, taking in his eyes as they track every movement. He doesn't shrink from the blood and doesn't flinch when I stop in front of him. I can still smell the iron scent of the basement on my skin. I bet he can too. I’m still covered in the reality of what I just did, and he’s sitting there in the middle of my bed like I am a man worth waiting for.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Is Sokolov dead?”

  “Yes.”

  He swallows. I see his fingers twitch like he’s stopping himself from reaching for me. Then he does that thing with his hair I like too much, dragging his palm through it to push the strands back and putting that gorgeous face on display. It lights a hunger in me and my pent-up anger shifts fast into something visceral.

  “Come shower with me.” Sliding my jacket off, I pull my shirt over my head. Jonah’s gaze flicks over my chest, and his tongue licks his lips before he can stop himself.

  “You shouldn't.”

  “I should. Now.”

  I stalk to the bathroom without looking over my shoulder. When I hear him hurry after me, my lips curl. My dick perks up because I’m going to fuck Jonah until he can't think straight. Until he remembers who he belongs to. I’ve never been a man who wonders much about feelings because I never cared for them. Our inner circle was what mattered. But Jonah is different. He’s a gravity I haven't learned how to fight.

  My ribs twinge, a sharp reminder to tone the arrogance down. The room tilts for a second and then steadies. I take the rest of my clothes off and step under the hot spray.

  “Viktor?”

  “Step inside, krasavchik.”

  He does what I order, stepping in behind me and reaching for me.

  “Let me wash you.” He doesn't wait for my approval because he doesn't need to.

  I watch as he works the lube and gel into his palms, sliding his hands through the foam, over my pecs, down my sternum, and over my stomach. The sensation of his soap-slicked palms is a clean strike to my nerves, washing away the grit of the docks.

  “Touch it, Jonah.”

  He flushes and a small smile pulls at his lips, but he still hesitates. His skittishness is a fucking turn-on. Jonah traces a finger over my erection, toying with the slit, and I hiss while I brace a palm against the tile as need tightens low in my gut. His touch is tentative, a sharp contrast to the way I just held the knife.

  “I never thought of a dick as pretty,” he murmurs. His eyes stay focused on my cock as he tightens his grip and strokes me. His hand falters for a second when he looks up at me, then higher, to my hair. “You have blood in your hair. How did you kill him?”

  “I gave him the courtesy of choosing the knife.”

  Jonah flinches, but he still says, “Good. Let me take care of you. Let me wash your hair first.”

  I dip my head forward and give him access. I watch the water swirl red around my feet, the basement floor rinsing off me in a steady stream. I am washing away the grit of the docks, but the iron scent of the kill is already under my skin, and the way Jonah watches the red circle the drain tells me he’s stopped looking for a way to stay clean. He’s choosing the stain.

  “Feels good?” His fingers keep moving. “I’m glad.”

  He finishes and rinses my hair clean, pressing his thumb just behind my ear. Water slides past us, carrying the last few weeks down the drain, and for the first time in too long, I feel a little like myself again.

  “If you believe I’m a weak man, you’re wrong, krasavchik.”

  “I don't, Viktor. But that doesn't mean it can't be hard to kill a man you once considered a friend.”

  “A friend?” I bare my teeth at him. “A friend?”

  “I might come from a very different world, but I know what it’s like to be betrayed by people you care for. People you trust.”

  He isn't wrong. Sokolov was Father’s man and he betrayed him. I don't care what bullshit story he gave me because he helped Father into his grave and gave Sergei the throne. I trusted him. My palms reach out to touch Jonah, circling his delicate throat. I don't squeeze to hurt. I squeeze to feel the thrum of his life against my hand. I want to remind myself that while I just left a room full of corpses, he is here and he is warm.

  I increase the pressure just enough to make his breath hitch. Jonah’s eyes go wide and his blown pupils swallow the iris as he looks up at me. He doesn't pull away, but instead leans into the weight of my hand while his erratic pulse jumps against my thumb.

  “You once asked me if I’ve killed a man.” Leaning closer, I watch the way his throat moves as he tries to swallow against my grip. “Tonight I did. With my favorite knife. I heard him beg, then slit his throat. I watched him die at my feet. Give me one good reason why you’re not running from me, but washing blood out of my hair.”

  He fights against the lack of breath. Against his emotions. His tongue darts out and he swipes his bottom lip, eyes widening as he stares up at me. He doesn't stop me from squeezing his throat.

  “I think I u—understand,” he finally whispers, his voice rasping from the pressure.

  I click my tongue. “I don't think you do.”

  Releasing his throat only to turn him, I press him until his cheek meets the cold tile with a gasp. I keep one palm firmly on the back of his neck, pinning him there while the shower spray beats against our skin. The stone is freezing against his face while I'm still burning with the adrenaline of the basement.

  Cutting him off by nipping at his neck, I press my teeth in just enough to leave another mark. He shudders under me when I lick the sting away and nudge his legs apart with my thigh. “I’m going to fuck you, krasavchik, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Keeping my lips to his skin, I press a palm on the curve of his ass. Jonah arches his back and bares his throat. I nip at the skin, humming when he mewls. This is how I ground myself. Using his body to erase the scent of Sokolov's fear. Moving to the corner of his mouth, I lick his puffy lips and demand entry. He opens for me with a moan as my tongue curls around his. Grabbing his hips, I pull him closer until our bodies touch, then I press my cock between his cheeks and rub it over his rim while my hand searches for the lube.

  He kisses me deeper. Water runs down our faces and our lips are sliding. Moving my hand from his hip back to his throat, I keep my palm flat against his windpipe. Leaning into him, I use my weight to pin him against the tile and restrict his breathing. The air in the shower is already thick with heat, and my hand makes it vanish entirely. “This is what danger feels like,” I murmur against his mouth.

  Jonah’s eyes flutter. His fingers claw at my shoulders, not to push me away, but to find an anchor as his lungs labor for air. The lack of oxygen makes his body go pliant, opening for me in a way he never does when he’s thinking straight. I slide a slicked finger in. Jonah bucks his hips, rocking against me. I don't give him time to adjust, sliding in a second finger and feeling the rhythmic pulse of him.

  “Such a good boy,” I whisper against his ear. “That’s it. Relax for me. Let me in.”

  Jonah moans, a long, low sound that vibrates against the tile. “F—fuck, Viktor.”

  “I know what you need. We’re nearly there.”

  I scissor him open, taking my time with the feeling of his hole sucking in my fingers. His muscles clench around me.

  “Need you.” Jonah’s cheek is pressed to the tile as he lifts his gaze to mine. He looks wrecked already and I’ve barely started. His heart beats fast enough that I feel the vibration through the marble, a frantic rhythm that matches my own.

  “I know, krasavchik.”

  Pulling my fingers free, I slide them into my mouth, moaning as I lick them clean.

  Jonah’s lips wobble. “You taste fucking divine.”

  My grip on his throat tightens and the pressure cuts off his speech, but leaves enough room for him to gasp. I want him focused on the air and I want him focused on me. Leaning my weight into him, I pin his neck against the wall.

  “You take everything I give you. You open for me and you listen because you’re so good for me.”

  His face flushes a deeper red as his breath hitches. He claws at my forearm and his nails leave white lines in my skin. It isn't a fight, it's a plea. He’s chasing the high of the restriction. I watch his throat work as he tries to draw in a lungful of steam and water.

  “Tell me,” I murmur, leaning my mouth to his ear while my other hand guides my cock to his entrance. “Tell me who you belong to while you still have the breath to say it.”

  Jonah’s head thrashes against the tile. “You,” he wheezes.

  He lets me pull him from the wall and turn him until his back hits the tile. Warm water cascades over us. Hoisting him up, I spread his legs around my waist and guide my cock to his opened hole. After a final drop of lube, I guide the flared tip inside. Jonah’s muscles tighten as he watches my cock disappear into him. The hot water acts as a second lubricant, washing over the joining as I seat myself to the hilt.

  “That’s it. Look at that pretty hole swallowing me.” Shifting my grip, I slide my hand up until my thumb and forefinger catch the hinges of his jaw. I squeeze, forcing his mouth to hang open while the rest of my palm stays heavy against his windpipe. I don't let him look away. The roar of the spray drowns out the world, leaving nothing but the friction of our wet skin and the heat where I'm buried inside him.

  I tip his chin higher and part his lips further with the pressure of my palm, spitting onto his tongue. “Show me.”

  He sticks out his tongue. I groan and then dive in to devour his mouth, sliding the final inches inside him. From this close, I see how his eyes are flared and how water beads on his lashes. Tightening my grip under his thighs, I push him higher on the wall. His breath breaks. His knuckles clutch my shoulders and his nails dig in. I tip my forehead to mine while my breath crowds his mouth. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

  He shakes his head immediately. His heel digs into my back, pulling me in. I thrust once, and his moan slips out unfiltered.

  “Good.”

  Drawing back halfway, I drive in again. Heat clamps around me. He gasps and tries to breathe, but his chest stutters against mine. I keep my hand high on his throat, applying just enough pressure to keep his air thin. His forehead drops to mine and his lips tremble.

  “Viktor, please.”

  “Please what? What do you need?”

  “More.”

  “Good boy.”

  I set the angle and pull a sound from him every time my pelvis meets his. His fingers grip the back of my neck, his thighs shaking around my waist. His cock rubs my stomach with every thrust, leaking in small pulses. I hold him there, make him sit in it.

  “You feel that?”

  “Yes,” he gasps. I push deeper. The moment I hit his prostate, a broken sound tears out of him. His hips jolt against mine. “That one,” he whispers. “Vik… please… that one.”

  I keep the angle. His body is a map of heat and friction. My jaw locks. He tries to hide his face in my neck, but I catch his chin, forcing his eyes up. My palm stays heavy against his windpipe, making his pupils blow wide as he struggles for both air and release.

  “Look at me when you come.”

  He whimpers. “I’m close.”

  “I know. I can feel you pulsing.”

  His whole body tenses. His chest stutters. His throat vibrates under my palm when I wrap it around his neck. I squeeze, wanting to feel the moment his control snaps.

  “Say my name.”

  “Viktor.”

  “That’s it. I’ll give you everything.” I thrust harder. He cries out. His head falls back, his mouth open and his eyes half-lidded.

  “Viktor, I’m going to⁠—”

  “Come.” He shatters. His cock spills over my stomach in hot, messy pulses that are washed away instantly by the spray. His body locks around me, trembling with a violence that shakes us both. His fingers claw at my shoulders.

  “That’s how you take me.” I don't let him rest, pulling out just enough for him to gasp before slamming back in, buried to the hilt. I want him to feel the weight of me while he's coming undone, a permanent mark on his memory. Heat tears through me, wave after wave, spilling deep inside him as his body milks everything from me.

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

  Jonah trembles, boneless, his face tucked into my neck. I ignore the rest of the world. Jonah is all I see.

  “You’re alright,” I murmur, dragging my palm down his spine. “Breathe, Jonah.” He nods weakly, his breath shaky.

  When he finally lifts his head with glassy eyes, he whispers, stunned. “I feel like I’ve been run over. My heart won't slow down.”

  I grin at that. I reach down and trace the line of his throat where my hand just was. The skin is red where I held him, a brand I gave him in the steam. “That’s the adrenaline, krasavchik. It’s better than any drug Sergei ever gave me.”

  He blushes and hides his face in my chest again, his skin still damp and humming from the friction.

  I lift him from the shower, his wet skin clinging to mine. I towel him lightly, the cotton rough against his sensitive skin. His legs wobble, so I scoop him up again without a word. He melts against me. When I set him on the bed, he looks up at me with heavy eyes. I climb in beside him, and he pulls himself into my chest with the last of his strength. I hold him until his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. For a long moment, I let myself feel it too. The quiet. The warmth. Not Pakhan. Just Viktor.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  VIKTOR

  It’s been two days since Sokolov’s death, and the streets are buzzing. I’d kill that motherfucker again without blinking, but I don’t need to. Sergei already knows it was me. Now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me. Unless I find him first.

  “What are you thinking?” Nikolai asks from across the desk, eyes still on his computer. We’ve been working in my office for hours.

  “What my uncle’s next move will be.”

  “Well, while you were busy with those shipping contracts from Colombia, I got a message from Sasha. Sergei was seen at the harbor. He was kindly told to fuck off from our territory.”

  “And? Did he?”

  “Da.”