Skullduggery Book Two {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWO

The side of my fist pounded against Georgiy Petroff's front door, leaving a blood stain along the wooden panel.

Somehow, I'd made it.

And Desirae was likely not far behind, probably with Artemisia on her heels, along with whichever gang-banger of the week who wanted her dead in tow.

And I sure as shit was not taking another stray bullet for her.

"George!" I pounded again. Searing pain tore through my shoulder as warm blood continued to seep past my fingers. The bullet wound was far from clotting on its own. A dizzying fog swept through my mind. "Open the fucking door."

His armed bald-headed guard dogs were oddly nowhere in sight. Normally, one would have intercepted me at the driveway before I'd ever reached the lavish landscaping. Upstairs, a light flicked on and a shadow behind the curtains moved. Seconds passed like minutes before I finally heard the metal rattle of the door handle.

"Took you fucking long enough, dedushka," I mouthed off as the door cracked open.

But instead of the silvery white brows of Georgiy Petroff behind the door, I was greeted with the dark eyes of a beautiful stranger.

Which was the last thing I needed right now.

"Who the fuck are you?" I groaned.

"Who the fuck am I?" she shot back in a proper accented English, eyeballing me head to toe. Golden interior light warmed the tawny brown tones of her cheeks. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Georgiy's business partner."

She looked me over again. "You're Mac?"

As I breathed out a soft laugh, another gush of blood trickled past my fingers and down my arm. I held out the hand that was least bloody. "And you are?"

She didn't move to shake it. "Georgiy's granddaughter."

Georgiy was an ethnocentric prick. All of his ex wives that I knew of were very Russian. And very white. She was neither. "His granddaughter?" I lowered my hand. "But you're..."

"And you're bleeding." As she moved my bloody hand away from my shoulder to peek at the wound, her face twisted into a grimace. "Oof. All right then, Mac." Her eyes darted around me through the darkness beyond. "In you go."

As she shut the door behind me, she punched in a code to re-arm the security system. I stumbled through the parlor and collapsed into a wooden chair beneath a stolen Caravaggio painting. Or what Georgiy believed to be an authentic stolen Caravaggio. Something looked a little off to me, but fuck were my eyes blurring. "Where's George?"

The woman disappeared down the hall, but returned quickly with a dishcloth and a bottle of Georgiy's private reserve vodka. "Holiday in Baku." She soaked the cloth and I braced myself for the inevitable sting.

"Fuuuck. Me." My knuckles went white, gripping the table. As she wiped my shoulder clean, I swiped the vodka from her and downed as much as I could bear. Not that it made me feel any better. She leaned in close and I tried not to inhale the jasmine perfume on her neck that reminded me of Desirae. I cleared my throat to try to clear her from my mind. "Are you uh, really his granddaughter? Or are you one of his..."

"Does that matter to you right now?"

"I uh, well, no. But I—"

Tugging me forward, she unzipped my dress from the back. Her fingertips pushed and pulled at my skin, examining my shoulder blade and neck. The cold sting of the cloth meeting my raw flesh cut through me again. I hadn't even thought to check for an exit wound. I hadn't really thought of anything after running from the palazzo other than get to Georgiy's. Get Artemisia her fucking money.