CHAPTER Saleen strikhedonia (n.) the pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it.” Ronan ] sar 1N THE Liprary behind my desk, an unlit cigar in hand. I refrained from smoking it because my brother occupied the couch with a sleeping Kat. They were always welcome, uninvited or not, but I found myself irritated by the timing. Silence held steady in the room with his cool eyes on mine. I knew he had something to say, and I knew what it would be about, but still, I waited. “There’s a naked girl tied to your guest room bed.” My muscles tightened, revolting against the idea he saw her naked—an odd reaction considering I’d never minded sharing women before, not with my brother or anyone else. But I forced myself to lean back in my chair and say, “She’s my pet.” I assumed the uncomfortable feeling originated from the fact I was the one who caught Mila. I put all the work in. I didn’t want anyone else to see her misery. It was mine. “Your pet looks like a Mikhailov.” “That’s because she is.” “Her papa didn’t give in to your demands?” I trimmed the end of the cigar with my cutter. “He did.” He watched me with those inquisitive eyes. Christian—or rather, Kristian as I knew him—had always been able to see more than he should. It was annoying as fuck. “So why is she still tied to your bed?” My gaze narrowed. “She’s my pet.”