He leans over and touches his cheek to mine for a side-kiss. The kind where your lips kiss air but your faces touch. “I’m glad you made it out.”
For one hot second, the ground wobbles beneath my feet. He knows I have agoraphobia. But then I realize, he just means out to the show. Not out of the building.
“Of course,” I say as if I have an active social life. “I love to hear you play.”
“Hi, Flynn.” One of the fangirls interrupts.
He ignores her. “Hey, there’s a party afterward, if you want to hang out?”
“No,” Maykl growls beside me, and I want to kill him, even though I know I’d never be able to handle an after-party.
Flynn’s brows pop, and he looks Maykl’s way. “I’m sorry–are you guys together?” He holds his palms out. “I totally didn’t mean to–”
“No,” I say quickly. “He’s just my ride.”
“Well, I can ride you to the party.”
“Nobody’s riding her,” Maykl snarls.
“Back off, muscles. It’s a figure of speech.” Even though Flynn is slender to Maykl’s bulk, graceful where Maykl is jerky and hard, I suddenly believe Flynn wouldn’t back down if it came to a fight over me. The sharp look of irritation he sends Maykl carries more aggression than I’ve seen from him before.
“Easy, boys,” Maxim says smoothly, his relaxed posture remaining unchanged. To Maykl, he says, “Nadia’s okay.”
First time anyone’s said that in a long time.
It’s refreshing. Empowering, even. I toss my braid over my shoulder and give Flynn a genuine smile. “I can’t tonight, but ask me again?”
“Yeah. Totally.” He holds my gaze a moment with that pirate smile of his, and everything in me turns warm and sloshy.
“Flynn, where’s the party?” The pain-in-the-ass girl behind him tries again. I want to tell her to fuck off, but even if I did, there’d be five more behind her.
And that’s why even if I did learn to manage the agoraphobia, I can’t ever get my hopes up over Flynn.
He’s a total manwhore. A player. And the more popular The Storytellers get, the more groupies he has throwing their panties on the stage for him.
He’s the definition of heartbreak.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze and winks before he turns to address his harem, and I hide my blush by ducking down to rummage in my purse for my phone.
It’s fine. Flynn is a fantasy, and that’s the realm where he needs to stay. Getting any closer than we are would ruin it.
And right now, I need all the escapism I can get.
Adrian
I feed Kat another gummy and pull her panties on. I just made her orgasm twice–once with my tongue, once on my dick. She’s completely blissed out, but I’m sick to my stomach.
I can’t believe I’m doing the same thing those mudaks at the rave did to her. The same sordid shit that was done to Nadia. But it was the best way I could come up with for keeping her quiet while I get her on the ship.
I have a plan. It’s a damn flimsy one, but it’s the only one my conscience can accept. The one where I somehow make her halfway willing. And sadly, giving her the CBD gummies labeled for anxiety is part of that plan.
So is sex.
I move quickly, dressing Kat back in her tiny skirt, bra, and one of my t-shirts. She’s floppy and compliant as a rag doll. Her hands are still free–I let her sleep with the zip ties off–but that’s about to change.
“Okay, malyshka. It’s time to move. I need to put your zip ties back on–just for a while.”
“No,” she pouts, but there’s no fight behind the words. She’s all floppy-sulky. I pick up her wrists and kiss them before I roll her to her side and fasten her hands behind her back. This is the most dangerous part of my plan. The part where many things could go wrong. I can’t have her making any sound or getting free.
I fasten another zip tie around her ankles, and she gasps in exaggerated outrage. “What are you doing, Adrian?”
“I’m moving you,” I explain again. “If you’re good, I can cut these free when we get to our destination.”
“I won’t be good,” she threatens.
A rush of fondness surges, and when it mingles with my guilt, I’m tempted to abort the whole mission. But no. I can’t. I’m so damn close now. Besides, she knows everything about me. I stupidly, idiotically, gave her every detail, so her father could come after me and the Chicago Bratva. There’s no stopping now. Not until he’s dead.
“I know, dietka.” I stroke my thumb down the curve of her cheek. “But I can handle you.”
That’s what she likes. Being bad and getting gently punished. I’m using that kink against her– no, for her–fuck, I don’t even know anymore.
I’m using her kink to try to make this work for her.
Bozhe moi, I hope it does. Traumatizing her would be unforgivable.
I leave her on the bed and wheel the large crate Feodor delivered with the van over to the side of the bed. I brought it in last night while she slept. At the same time, I scrubbed the place of all traces of our fingerprints or DNA.
Her eyes fly wide now, and she shakes her head. “No, no, no, no.”
“It’s okay, malyshka.” I scoop her wiggling, protesting form up and pivot to gently lay her in the soft bed of shredded paper inside the crate. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to pretend I’m giving you a little cage time before your punishment.”
She stills for a moment, her blue gaze wide. “What?” she croaks. Her nipples bead up beneath my white shirt.
I lightly brush my thumb across one. “It’s a game, dietka. You’ve been a bad girl. I’m putting you in your cage to wait for your punishment.”
“N-no.” I can tell she’s tweaked by the suggestion. Her eyes dilate, lips part.