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Silent Lies: Chapter 17

Sienna

I awake to blissful warmth and, for a moment, wonder if extra blankets are covering me. Then, I realize the warmth is seeping from the big body cocooning mine. My eyelids lift, feeling light despite the lack of uninterrupted rest.

He let me stay.

I don’t dare move and risk waking Drago. Maybe he fell asleep and forgot to take me back to my room? I’m not missing this chance and will enjoy being in his arms for as long as possible.

The hold around my waist tightens as Drago pulls me closer to his body.

“You know, I’ve been wondering something from the start,” Drago’s voice drifts from above my head. “Why don’t you dye your hair crazy colors, as well?”

I smile and turn around to face him. It’s not easy, considering that he’s basically keeping me glued to his front. Somehow, I end up with my face plastered to his chest. Untangling one of my legs from his, I throw it over his waist and climb on top of him. I cross my arms over his chest and rest my chin on my hands.

“Brown works best with my wardrobe,” I say, looking into his eyes. “I can’t have pink hair and wear orange. What would people say?”

“If they are wise, they’d keep their mouths shut.”

“Oh? And if they’re not wise?”

He takes one strand of my hair and twists it around his finger. “Then, I would . . . send my pet assassin to shut them up. Indefinitely.”

“Why would you bother? It’s only a little old me. I doubt what people say is worth so much trouble.”

“There are always consequences for what people say. Many have been crucified or died because of loose tongues.”

“The guilty, or the innocent?”

“Death doesn’t discriminate. I do.”

I lightly brush his cheek near the cut with the tips of my fingers. “Will I end up nailed to a wall, too?”

Drago releases his hold on my hair and trails his knuckle along my jaw. “You will definitely end up pinned to the wall. Many times, mila moya.”

“But no nails?” I smirk.

He leans forward and places a kiss on my lips. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Drago,” I whisper into his mouth, then remember he can’t hear it. Leaning away, I make sure he can see my lips and say it again. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I didn’t share anything important with the don, I swear.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “It just didn’t feel right.”

“Because?”

“Because I like it here. I like Keva, the girls, your men . . .”

Drago’s jaw clenches. He grabs the back of my neck and squeezes.

“You are not allowed to like my men, Sienna,” he bites out. “Nor any other man. Just me.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not exactly likable, Drago,” I say and press my lips together, trying to subdue the urge to laugh. The dark look on his face is hilarious. “I mean, I could try to like you if you’d stop glowering all the time. Or stop waking me up at six thirty to run with you.”

He narrows his eyes at me but says nothing, so I continue, “Maybe you could try spoiling me with presents. But not guns! Think shoes, or maybe a nice neon-colored jacket. Or more of those pretty crystal pebbles. Green would work great as sea glass rocks in my fish tank.”

His hold on my neck loosens, and his hand slowly glides down my back and over my ass, all the way to my pussy. I suck in a breath when his finger teases my entrance.

“Flowers would help, too. As well as—” I gasp when his finger slips inside.

“Please continue, I’m taking notes.”

“Notes?” I moan and press my face to his chest. My breaths leave me in short bursts.

“Yes. On courting my wife,” he says as he slides in another finger. “But maybe I should try something else now since there aren’t any shoes or jackets close by.”

Suddenly, his finger withdraws. Drago grabs my waist and pulls me up until I’m crouching just above his head, my pussy weeping over his wicked mouth. One long, leisurely lick, and I’m grabbing onto the headboard and pressing my forehead on my hands. His tongue strokes me—slowly, methodically. Each move is deliberate but bears more pressure, making the throbbing in my core increasingly intense. I’m barely keeping it together when he squeezes my ass cheeks and sucks my clit.

I scream. Tremors rack my body, making my limbs shake as he sucks harder and harder. My eyes roll into the back of my head, and, with another loud cry, I come all over his face.

Yes, this is definitely better than flowers.

 

* * *

 

“Where is the gun I gave you?”

I slowly lift my tired lids and watch Drago as he buttons his shirt and reaches for the holster on the recliner. He looks mouthwatering in an all-black outfit.

“In the nightstand drawer,” I say when his gaze switches to me. “In my room.”

“There is no ‘your room,’ Sienna.”

“Oh? Well, I might be sleeping here, but all my stuff is there. You exiled me, in case you forgot.”

Drago grinds his teeth and scoops me into his arms. “I exiled your three tons of clothes,” he says in a gruff voice.

“Yeah, right.” I laugh and bury my hand in his hair. “Say you’re sorry, and we’re even.”

His hold on me tightens, but he stays silent, glaring at me.

“Okay, I’ll help you. Repeat after me. Sienna, I’m sorry for throwing you out. And your pretty clothes.”

“I’m not sorry for banishing your clothes,” he mumbles.

“And me?”

Squinty eyes sear through me, and he crushes his mouth to mine. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my lips.

“There. It wasn’t that hard.”

“And your clothes are back here.”

“What?” I wriggle until he lowers me to the floor and rush toward the closet. When I open it, I see all of my things returned to neat order on shelves and hangers. Drago’s stuff is all tucked away, relegated to a measly two cubbies and a handful of spots on the rod.

“I had Jelena and a couple of other girls bring them here while you were still sleeping. It took me an hour to put it all inside,” he says and wraps his arm around my waist. “I envy your kind.”

I tilt my head so he can see me speak and raise an eyebrow. “My kind?”

“The kind that could sleep through an earthquake and nuclear disaster combined. An alien invasion, too, probably.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be one of those. If the house is attacked when I’m asleep”—I laugh—“I’ll end up dead before I realize what is happening.”

Drago turns me around to face him, his green eyes staring me down. “If there’s an attack on the house, you can keep on sleeping, mila moya,” he bites out, “because I’ll make sure the bastards are dead well before they even think about getting close to you.”

I bite my lower lip while keeping his gaze. He really means it. “Okay.”

“But I still want you to carry the gun when you leave the house. We have some shit going down tomorrow night, and I need to know that you’re safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I will, but it won’t do any good.”

“Why not? From what I saw, you’re an excellent shot.”

I smile. “When aiming at jugs and range targets, sure. But I could never shoot a person, Drago.”

“You would if your life depends on it.”

I take his chin between my fingers and tilt his head to the side. His cheek is still swollen and bruised, but it looks a little less raw today.

“I’ve never even killed a spider. I just let them be.” Rising onto my toes, I place a kiss on his chin. “You won’t ever see me point a gun and fire at a man.”

Drago’s hold on my waist tightens, and my feet lift off the ground. He slowly raises me until our faces align.

“If it comes down to you or him, Sienna, you’re going to shoot him,” he says through gritted teeth. “In the head or in his heart. And as many times as needed. Nod.”

“Drago—”

“Nod, Sienna!”

I sigh and nod, even though I know I would never be able to kill a human being. Even if that means my death.

 

Drago

 

I cock my head and stare at the thing on a shelf before me. It looks like an ugly child born to high-heeled boots and sandals. I can’t believe that sort of thing exists, not to mention, it’s violet and made of leather-like material. My phone vibrates with an arriving text while I’m trying to decide where someone would wear footwear like that.

11:08 Iliya: We have Bogdan’s logistic guy. I’m bringing him to Naos.

I type a quick reply, ordering Iliya to take the Romanian to the basement, and reach for the violet oddity.

“These, as well,” I say to the store attendant who’s standing a few paces behind me, holding another two pairs of extremely ugly shoes.

Leaving the store, I send a quick message to Keva to find out what my wife is doing. I don’t like the idea of leaving her in the house if I’m not there, but it’s not like I can bring her to a torture session with me. I’ll just have to make it a quick one.

The reply from Keva arrives and I stop midstep when I look at the screen. It’s a photo of my wife crouching on the grass in front of Zeus. She’s tying a big red bow around his neck. The other two dogs are sitting on either side of Zeus, wearing the same getup.

11:16 Drago: Tell her to take that crap off my dogs. Right now.

11:18 Keva: Why? They’re cute.

11:18 Drago: Those dogs are trained for fucking combat. They’re not poodles.

11:20 Keva: They don’t seem to mind. But if you do, feel free to tell her yourself.

11:21 Drago: I’m telling you to do it.

11:23 Keva: Because you can’t say “no” to your wife?

I curse and put the phone back into my pocket.

 

* * *

 

Mircea, the Romanians’ logistics guy, is sitting on the floor behind the wine crates in the basement. Iliya is standing guard close by, his gun pointed at the man’s head.

“Untie his hands and bring him over here.” I nod toward the table in the corner. I’ve got a map spread out on top of it.

The Romanian thrashes about as Iliya drags him across the room. When they reach the table, Iliya pushes him onto a chair and cuts the zip tie binding his wrists.

“Right or left-handed?” I ask.

The guy blinks at me stupidly, then looks around, probably searching for a potential escape route.

“Well, it seems I’ll have to guess.” I take the knife Iliya holds out.

Grabbing the man’s left wrist, I slam his palm onto the table and plunge the blade through the back of his hand, anchoring him to the wooden surface. He screams, staring at the blood pooling around the knife. Ignoring his wailing, I set the permanent marker before him on the table.

“I need you to indicate the exact truck route, final destination, and locations of any planned stops before the shipment gets there. I want the times, too.”

When he doesn’t reply, I yank him back by pulling his hair and get in his face. “You gonna start losing a finger for every second you remain silent. I’m a busy man, Mircea. All I can spare is five for you. I don’t think you want to find out what happens when time runs out, but I can guarantee you’ll be holding that pen in your fucking mouth, and I will still get what I need from you.”

The Romanian nods and grabs the marker with shaking fingers and draws two wobbly X’s on the map.

“What’s this?” I ask, pointing at the first mark.

“Plates exchange before they hit the weigh station.”

I take out my phone and check the location on the map. It’s a big truck stop with a gas station and a restaurant. Too busy for an attack.

“What’s this place?” I point at the destination location. It’s not one of the two places provided by the guy we caught at our warehouse.

“An abandoned paper factory,” he chokes out.

“Security?”

“Four people. Armed. Two more at the gate.”

“Your men or contacted personnel?”

“Mercenaries.”

I nod and look up at Iliya. “Call Filip and tell him there’s been a change of plans. We’ll wait until the truck reaches the destination and hit them there.”

“How many people do you need?”

“I’m going to head over and have a look at the building. I’ll let you know once I have a better idea. Have someone get the body we stashed in the fridge and bring it over there tomorrow.”

When Iliya takes out his phone to make the call, I turn back to Mircea, who’s staring at his bloody hand with wide eyes.

“Where’s your boss hiding?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.” He whimpers.

“Too bad.” I take out my gun. “Head or heart?”

The man’s eyes flare, nearly bugging out of their sockets, and, for a few seconds, he simply gapes at me. Then, he jumps off his chair and starts pulling the lodged knife out of his hand.

“Head it is.” I cock the gun, butt it against his temple, and pull the trigger. Mircea jerks and then his body slumps forward.

“That’s for our driver.”


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