“He’s about to. Sent a message yesterday to his handler in MI5 stating he’s about to call on you guys. It looks like he’s got something set in motion. He told the bossman you guys shot him, and so far from his communications, Aram seems to believe it.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Don’t know. He doesn’t go into any detail, but I’m sure he’ll tell you when he calls. The thing we need to sort out here is what we can do to help. If Stamatis cuts off their shipping lanes, by talking to some very influential friends of his, that’s a start. It doesn’t help you immediately, but it will overall. It weakens the Armenians. It also lets them know they need to behave if they want them back. Stamatis isn’t happy to find they’ve been bringing forced labor in through Greece. Ultimately, though? Stamatis doesn’t control the whole fucking ocean, and there’s other ways they can send their merchandise. If this fucker is determined to make trouble, he’s going to make trouble, whether we make it more difficult or not. We can also supply you with men if you need them. Arms, I expect you have this covered. Mainly, though, I can keep getting you intel.”
“I appreciate the help on this. Your intel is worth its weight in gold, and Stamatis blocking the shipping lanes will distract Aram enough that the fucker won’t be on his A-game when he comes for us.”
“That’s the idea,” Damen says. “Then with Marcus setting him up, it’s like a pincer movement. Trapped on all sides. Allyov is in hiding, I hear, but you’ve got Andrius, and he’s the best weapon Allyov ever purchased, so the odds are as good as they’re going to get.”
The women walk back toward us, and for now, we stop talking about business. There’ll be plenty of chances in the days ahead.
Chapter Thirteen
Cassie
I stare at Konstantin, perplexed. I know I pissed him off earlier, but then we seemed to have a nice evening. Now, though? He’s pissed again.
We’re in his room, where he says I have to sleep too, and he’s given me an order.
“I don’t understand,” I say, standing by the door where he told me to stay when we entered the room. Like I’m a dog.
“Take off your clothes, leave your underwear on, and come over here. On your hands and knees,” he repeats.
My heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the same as the riding crop. This feels different. Wrong.
He’s angry at me still. Hurt.
“No,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
His brows draw together as his jaw tightens.
“No,” I enunciate more clearly.
“Get on your fucking knees and crawl,” he demands.
“No.” I jut my chin and stare him down, holding his gaze.
I see him thinking. Fuck me, but I think he’s contemplating forcing me to do it.
“Why not?” he asks with exaggerated patience.
“Because all the other times you’ve ordered me to do something, it’s either been to make me feel good, or to make you feel good. This is neither. You only want me to feel bad.”
“You don’t know what the fuck is going on in my head, and you don’t get to question me.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine, leave, there’s a spare room two doors down. Shut the door behind you.”
“No,” I say again. My heart is going so fast, I’m convinced I’ll need medical attention if it keeps it up.
“Cassie, get the fuck out.”
“No. Why do you want me to crawl for you?”
“Because it would have been mildly amusing and hot, and now I’m bored of you and your histrionics, so you can leave.”
“You’re a coward,” I say.
He glowers at me, and I can see the violence simmering under his skin. I want to harness that violence and get him to use it for both our pleasures, but not while he’s in such a dark place.
“You don’t want me to crawl only for amusement; you want me to do it to make me lesser.”
I call him out on his shit, and from his expression, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. I know that’s why his order felt so wrong and why I couldn’t do it. The moment I articulated it, we both knew that’s why he wanted me to do it.
Why would he do that? I only want him to be more.
I see the moment he accepts what I’m saying as some of the fight goes out of him. His big shoulders relax a notch, his jaw unclenches, and