Chapter 155 Chapter 155 Charges
Sergey is looking at me sideways, like he’s trying to figure out what the fuck kind of creature I am. I ignore him, picking at my cake like I didn’t just drop a bomb that blew everyones minds an hour ago.
We’re all sitting here with cake and mimosas after the game like this is normal.
Like any of this is normal.
Everyone knows now. No more hiding, no more careful separation of worlds. It’s out—our dynamic, the fucked-up, messy, complicated truth of me, Ivan, and Dimitri. And honestly? It feels… freeing. Terrifying, but freeing.
Gemma and I beat Ivan and Dimitri. Destroyed them. They didn’t stand a chance. We’re good—really good—and together we’re fucking unstoppable. They thought they were going to punish me for my little stunt earlier, sandwiching me between their bodies like I’d break or beg.
Yeah, real punishment.
Being crushed between two hot men, their heat pressing into me, their hands gripping my hips, my waist, my thighs—yeah, tragic. Someone call for help.
They kissed me after. One by one.
Deep.
Possessive.
Hands roaming, pulling me flush against them. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and leaves you dizzy. The kind that makes you forget where you are and who’s watching.
And people were watching.
That’s when Mason, Grant, Alek, and Sergey figured it out. Not subtle. Not quiet. Not deniable.
Grant looks amused, like he’s watching a show he didn’t know he needed. Alek? Not surprised. He knows me too well. Mason… Mason looks a little hurt, even if he’s trying to hide it behind that calm, neutral expression.
Sergey doesn’t bother hiding it.
He looks disgusted.
Flat-out.
Like I’ve personally offended his entire bloodline.
I stab my cake harder than necessary.
Ivan leans back in his chair beside me, his arm draped casually over the back of mine like he owns me. He’s stupidly pleased that I even touched his lemon cake, even if I made a face about it.
Dimitri is on my other side, focused on his burger like cake is beneath him. His knees are spread wide, brushing against my leg every so often keeping me grounded. Like if we were not touching, I would disapear.
We’re sitting at the back of the restaurant near the window, sunlight hitting the table, everything calm on the outside. Instead of the garden, we face the street, the parking lot. Nothing to see out there but overpriced cars.
Something about it is too calm.
Ivan shifts suddenly, muttering a curse under his breath. His hand comes up, brushing my cheek—soft, but urgent.
“Listen very carefully,” he says low, his tone shifting instantly. “I don’t have time. Take my gun from the back of my shorts and put it under your skirt. Between your legs.”
My stomach drops.
I don’t argue.
I reach behind him like it’s nothing, like this is just another fucked-up normal moment in my life now, and take it. The weight of it is real, solid, dangerous. I slide it where he told me to, hiding it between my thighs.
The cold metal makes me shiver with excitement.
Ivan stands, already emptying his pockets—phone, keys, some small box, wallet. He pulls the cash out, stuffs the wallet back in. His gold chain comes off, his pinky ring follows.
Dimitri takes all his things, quick, efficient, like he already knows what’s about to happen.
Ivan sits again.
“I love you,” he says, like he’s running out of time. “I didn’t think you’d ever give me another chance… or whatever the fuck this is. I am sorry, you will get the time you need.”
His eyes flick to the door.
I follow them.
Miguel.
And his partner.
Full uniform.
Talking to the hostess.
My chest tightens.
Before I can even process it, Ivan grabs my face and kisses me. Deep. Slow. His tongue pushes into my mouth like he’s claiming something, sealing something. His hand holds me steady, firm and warm.
I melt.
Of course I fucking melt.
I hate how much I love him.
I hate how easily I open for him again, knowing exactly what he’s capable of doing to me.
We pull apart.
“What did you do?” I whisper as the cops start walking toward us.
Ivan leans into my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
“Hand or tongue.” he grins.
My stomach flips.
That’s what I said to Dragon.
Oh, fuck.
Ivan stands, turning his back to them, hands already moving behind him like he’s prepared.
Like he expected this.
“Ivan Pavlov, you are under arrest for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon,” Miguel says, voice steady, professional—but his eyes flick to me.
He cuffs Ivan, asking routine questions about anything sharp or dangerous.
Like Ivan looks like a junkie.
He looks like a goddamn model in handcuffs. Like a healthy boy, mmMmm, very healthy.
I don’t move.
None of us do.
I’m frozen—not just from shock, but from the weight pressed between my thighs. The gun. The weapon.
And for some fucked-up reason, it makes heat curl low in my stomach.
What is wrong with me?
Is it the gun?
Or what he did with it?
Ivan looks even hotter like this. Cuffed. Controlled. Dangerous.
Miguel keeps talking—rights, procedures—but I don’t hear a word. Ivan’s eyes are locked on mine, something electric snapping between us.
The entire restaurant is silent, watching.
“Ivan, I love you,” I say, barely above a whisper—but it carries.
Of course it does.
Everything is too quiet.
He grins like an idiot, blows me a kiss, and winks.
I want to strangle him.
They drag him out.
I watch them shove him into the squad car, my chest tightening, anger and panic mixing into something ugly.
“I’m going to kill him,” I mutter, turning to Dimitri. “What did he do?”
Dimitri runs a hand through his curls, looking away.
“Let me rephrase,” I snap, grabbing his attention. “What did Ivan do to Dragon, and when?”
His eyes flick down—to my lap.
“We need to clean that mess.”
“I’ve got that,” I shoot back. “Don’t worry about it, it's gone. Call your dad. Get him out.”
Dimitri exhales slowly. “We might’ve run into Dragon last night. In the restaurant. Dragged him out to the alley.”
My grip tightens on the table.
“And?”
“Ivan beat the shit out of him,” he says. Then quieter, “But he had it coming. He said some things.”
“What things?”
“I’m not repeating that shit,” Dimitri snaps, jaw tightening. “He’s lucky he’s walking.”
“He shouldn’t be walking,” I fire back. “He should be fucking dead. Why didn’t you help Ivan clean it?”
I grab Dimitri by the shirt, pulling him closer, anger spilling out of me fast and hot.
“How could you let him do something that stupid? Stupid enough to get arrested, do you think that was worth it?”
Now I am going to take this damn gun apart and leave pieces of it across the globe, no one will find it. And and maybe just maybe Ivan won't get the book tossed at him because of who his father is.