Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

I certainly can’t fucking sleep.

One, it was distracting when she hugged me in her sleep and even threw her leg over mine in some sort of territorial ownership.

My Sasha might seem naïve, but there’s an animal inside her, too—like in all of us—and that animal needs to stake a claim.

I might have marked her skin red and left bruises and hickeys all over her tits, stomach, and inner thighs, but she left her own marks. They’re invisible and lurk beneath the skin, but they’re so powerful in their softness, so…irritably persistent.

Sasha didn’t have to physically cockblock me for these past months, but my cock still refused to touch any other woman but her.

That’s probably why I nearly broke her earlier. I had to remind myself that she was kidnapped and nearly assaulted yesterday. My negotiating skills with my cock’s beastly side came to a staggering halt when she submitted to everything I dished out to her.

I warned her that I wasn’t going to hold back, but she stood there, looking at me with the same desire that twisted my guts.

It doesn’t matter how much I try to stay away from her, if she gives me that look, all my resolve vanishes.

I stroke my fingers through her hair, then pause.

What the fuck am I doing?

There’s always this need to touch her, whether during or outside of sex, and I’m not the type who does any sentimental shit. I fuck, and only to satisfy a physical need. I don’t get off on wooing women or landing a pussy, but all of those principles have changed drastically since this particular woman came into my life.

Not only do I want to keep her, but I also have this urge to pursue her.

I don’t even know what the fuck that means.

Courting women doesn’t happen in our world. Most of our marriages are arranged for an alliance or some strategic shit, and the union has to be approved by the Pakhan himself.

The real question is, why do I want to pursue Sasha when I already have her?

Due to the fact that she’s not yours and might leave.

That fucked-up demon in my head is right.

Yes, Sasha hugged me to sleep, her lips parted in a small smile, and her arms and legs enveloped me as if she was scared to let me go, but she’s also not one hundred percent here.

She has roots in some other place, and unless I completely weed those out, she’ll never be mine.

I release her hair and peel her arm and leg from around me. Sasha nuzzles her face in my chest, refusing to let me go even in her sleep, but I gently push her until she’s lying on the pillow.

Fucking her was the most logical—or illogical—solution to my dick’s unresolved issues, but it’s not the best one.

Especially after the one-on-one talks I’ve had with the Pakhan. He knows of the problems we’re encountering with Juan’s shipment and the attack that happened, probably due to intel from Vladimir. Since I’m no closer to resolving it or bringing the perpetrator’s head to Juan as a form of peace offering, the Pakhan is taking matters into his own hands and will talk to Juan leader-to-leader.

I don’t like that idea. In fact, I dislike it enough that I considered getting Adrian involved in this issue, but I soon voted against it. Not only would I be giving him incentive against me, but I might lose the one thing that’s keeping me strong on my way to the throne.

And I will get there one day.

Once Sergei is out, I’ll be the next Pakhan. No doubt about it. I just need to think of a way to do it without sacrificing Sasha’s identity, considering that Rai knows about it now.

I wash up in the bathroom. Once I’m done, my immediate course of action is decided. I text Viktor with instructions about what to do while I go to the Bratva’s meeting.

After I get his confirmation, I step into the closet and put on a suit. I’m in the middle of doing my cuffs when a soft moan reaches my ear.

I head to the bed and stop at the sight before me. A deep frown creases Sasha’s face, and sweat beads on her upper lip and forehead. Her delicate features are caught in a symphony of pain as she thrashes. Her legs kick away the blanket, and her nails scratch the sheets. The shirt she threw on after the shower we had—my shirt—crumples and rides up her thighs.

She whispers intelligible words in Russian, so I silently inch closer. I’m not the sentimental type, but seeing Sasha in pain is no different than being shot. I’ve been there, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

Once I’m near, I opt not to wake her up.

Considering how closed off she is about her life, this may well be the only way to find out more. So I crouch beside her head and listen carefully.

“Mama…please…Papa…no…it’s not…Mishka…I don’t…can’t…Babushka, please…no…no…I don’t want to die…no…Mama! Anton…Anton…I…miss…you…please come back…”

Without my realizing it, my hand has already balled into a fist, and I have to release it before I do something I’ll regret.

Who the fuck is Anton, and why does she miss him?

She has parents and a grandmother, and a Mishka, who I assume is her brother, considering she gave him the endearment of a little bear.

And this fucking Anton.

Was he the one who was beside her that day on the cliff? The lover because of whom she shot the phone so I wouldn’t be able to find him?