Deep

by Skye Warren

  “Consider that your down payment,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  I DREAMED OF Philip that night, of his large body looming over mine, of his murmured promise. Consider that your down payment. I wanted to hate him for that. It was cruel to make me pay with sex while my brother’s life was on the line.

  He may as well have put a gun to my head.

  A man of opportunity.

  I didn’t see him the next morning—not over coffee with Adrian or in any of the rooms when I went searching. It was as if he’d left the house. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I needed him.

  And I supposed there was one upside to my down payment. It meant we had sealed our agreement. And Philip may be a lot of things, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would back out on a deal.

  By midafternoon I was determined to find him. Adrian bustled around the kitchen wearing a paisley apron of navy blue and maroon. The spice of chili filled the air. My stomach grumbled.

  Adrian glanced over, grinning. “Grab a bowl.”

  “I’m looking for Philip. Do you know where he is?”

  That earned me a silent laugh. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Come on, you must know where I can find him.”

  “What I know is that he’ll be found when he wants to be.”

  “Fine, be that way.”

  I spent another hour searching before I found his office, not spacious like the study with the little wire machines. This was tucked away, small, dark. I had to find the fake door from the workout room to get there.

  After all that, of course it was empty.

  This house was almost as large as his primary home, though with a more contemporary style. More straight lines and glossy surfaces. The office was no different, a granite slab for a desk and a pale cream leather wingback chair. Shelves were set deep into the wall, lit by an unseen light source above each one.

  The plush carpet was impossibly soft beneath my feet. I circled the room and paused beside a framed picture. It was a close-up, an artistic piece half in shadow. I could only see half of a face and the curve of an arm, but I knew who it must be.

  Rose, again. She had been a ballerina then with the city corps de ballet.

  She’d had a rough childhood, but an old ballerina who taught at the YMCA had seen promise in her—and she had danced with all the discipline and power and grace that Philip brought to his criminal dealings. Excellence was a family trait.

  “Looking for me?” The low voice came from behind me, and I whirled.

  “Yes,” I said with a small smile. That was all I could manage with my heart pounding. I gestured to the picture. “Does she still dance?”

  “Not professionally.” He strolled into the room, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He didn’t seem angry. In fact, he seemed almost…pleased. The way a lion would be pleased to find a mouse in its den.

  My throat was dry. “Oh. Does she miss it?”

  “I imagine so.”

  That distracted me from my fear. “You haven’t asked her?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her in six months.”

  “Why?”

  He sat down in the cream leather chair and leaned back. “She’s not my biggest fan right now.”

  “Hmm.” I remembered how close they had been. If I’d had any doubts, her framed picture here would have proven it. Across the room there was another artistic close-up—a child’s chubby cheek next to a grown-up’s scruff-covered jaw. Colin and his daughter, Bailey, I would have guessed. He’d adopted her once he’d married her mother, and love was plain on his face.

  Family.

  His expression was droll. “Do you have an opinion on that? Of course you do.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what I think.” If we were friends, I might have been worried about Philip. He seemed so isolated. But we weren’t friends. He required sex as payment during the darkest moments of my life—first from Shelly, now from me. Not exactly a strong foundation for a friendship. “What does your brother think?”

  He scowled. “Digging again? I haven’t spoken to Colin in a while either.”

  I tried not to care. “They left you?”

  “Maybe I pushed them away,” he said. “For their own good. For their protection.”

  “Or for yours.” Philip thought the worst of himself—and he wasn’t entirely wrong. But everyone needed family. Even knowing that my parents didn’t really love me, I couldn’t break those ties. Maybe that made me pathetic or desperate, but I couldn’t think Philip’s forced distance was any better.

  “Be careful with that shovel,” he said drily. “You might hurt someone.”

  That drew a smile from me, a real one. “Hey, it’s because of you that I’m not in class right now. You may as well give me some practical experience.”

  He leaned back, the motion slight but somehow suggestive. “If you want practical experience, all you have to do is ask.”

  Dirty images flashed through my mind—me in a pencil skirt, kneeling underneath that desk. Him on a conference call, trying not to make a sound. “We call that avoidance.”

  “Fine.” He leaned forward. “Dig into this. I did protect Colin and Rose. For so many years that was the only purpose in my goddamned life. First from our bastard of a father, then from hunger, starvation, from crackheads—from the court system who tried to take them away, put them in foster homes. I protected them, and now they have lives of their own, families of their own. My job is done.”

  So where did that leave him? Alone. My heart clenched. These were slippery rocks, loose pebbles underfoot. I could slide here. I could fall. “I’m sure if you told them you missed them—”

  He made a dismissive sound. “They’re better off without me.”

  He actually believed that. “No,” I managed to say. “They love you.”

  “I’m toxic. They know it. I know it. It’s time you learned it too.” His dark gaze swept over me, from the loose brown hair around bare shoulders, to a tank top with a little more room in the bust than my small breasts could use, to the bare feet peeking out from underneath soft jeans. “Come here, kitten.”

  God, I hated that my body responded to that pet name. And I secretly loved the thrill it gave me. “I already paid the down payment.”

  He laughed, low and threatening, like the dark roil of an incoming storm. “It’s a start.”

  “How much will this end up costing me?” He wanted to scare me, that was all.

  He didn’t plan to keep me. No one really did.

  His dark eyes burned with an almost savage intensity. It was something close to hate, close to love. Possession. “There isn’t a part of you I’m not going to touch, isn’t a wall I’m not going to break down. Understand? You want to know how much you’ll pay? Everything, kitten. Every damn thing.”

  My breath shuddered out of me. “Philip.”

  “Starting right now. You’re going to take off those clothes for me, just like you did years ago. Do you remember that?”

  I could never have forgotten. “Philip, please. Wait.”

  “And then you’re going to make yourself come. The whole time, I’ll be watching. Does your skin get flushed when you finger yourself? Do your nipples get tight? I can’t wait to find out.”

  Arousal held my body in a tight clench. How could he do this to me with only his words? “Wait. I only came to talk about…to talk about my brother.”

  “I’ve made inquiries,” he said, his tone dismissive. That was already considered, already planned. “I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about how you make yourself come. Is it fast and focused? Or do you play with yourself, draw it out?”

  My cheeks burned hot. I wasn’t even sure of the answer. Which one did I do? Probably fast and focused most of the time. But sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep late at night, I would think about Philip and draw it out. That only made me blush harder.

  His mouth tilted in a predatory sm
ile. “Lovely,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “Last time you didn’t like what you saw.” My voice shook, my whole body tense and hot as if I were already baring myself, already naked. “You said I embarrassed myself.”

  A shadow crossed his eyes. “Last time you were a broken little girl who’d just gotten roughed up by ten dickheads in a penthouse suite.”

  I flinched at the cold description of me. “I’m still scared.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re definitely a woman. You’re also brave and smart and kind.” His expression turned wry. “And yet I still like you.”

  I fought a smile, flushing at his praise. “If you like me so well, then why make me do this?”

  That made his eyebrows rise. “Because I like you. I want you. I’m not in the habit of denying myself. And I’ve already waited long enough. Your clothes. Take them off.”

  The authority in his voice turned my will liquid. I felt like I was supposed to fight him, like a strong woman would fight him. Except my brother’s life may hang in the balance.

  And in the deep, secret part of my heart, I didn’t want to fight him. I wanted to be with him—that had been true since I was a broken little girl. Now that I was a woman, I wanted more than that. I wanted to submit to him, to be owned by him. I had dark dreams about being used by him in ways that should have been degrading. They were degrading, but also incredibly, painfully arousing. At least they were in my dreams. I hadn’t been sure reality would work as well.

  With a deep breath I grasped the hem of my tank top and pulled it off. Trembling fingers worked on the zipper of my jeans, and then I was shoving them down too. There was no finesse in my actions, no sensual grace. I felt disturbingly similar to the way I had all those years ago, exactly the same.

  Broken little girl.

  I held my breath, waiting for the harsh words, the rejection.

  Except I couldn’t deny that Philip’s response was different. Then he had been distant, almost angry. He’d pushed me away—hard. Now his onyx eyes burned with black fire, with dark promise. And the rise in his slacks told me exactly how his body reacted to the sight of me, no matter how ungraceful my little strip show had been.

  “Touch yourself,” he said roughly.

  I put one hand between my legs, cupping myself, more because it covered me than being in a rush to obey. I was shamefully wet, and he hadn’t even touched me. Was this normal? It didn’t feel normal. It felt wrong—and incredibly hot.

  There was a light dusting of dark hair covering my mound. I kept myself trimmed but not bare. I imagined that the women he’d been with had fancy Brazilian waxes.

  “Touch your clit,” he said. “Circle it with your finger until it’s good and hard. Imagine it’s my tongue. Because believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now than tasting you.”

  Oh. His dirty words alleviated some of my fears about my body. Although if there was nothing he would rather be doing, then why wasn’t he…

  He laughed silently. “Impatient, aren’t you? And demanding. I can’t wait to see that side of you. I can’t wait to get you worked up and begging me. But for now I’m not going to touch you. Not with my tongue. Not with my hands. I’m only going to watch.”

  My forefinger slicked over my clit, and my whole body shuddered where I stood. I drew the circles just like he said, imagining it was his finger, his tongue. That was all it took, and my body hovered at the precipice, ready to go over. My hips rocked into my hand, begging silently for release.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Already? I knew you’d be hot, but this is fucking incredible. I could make you come five times with just my hand, and then another five with my mouth. You’d be begging me to stop, wouldn’t you?”

  My mouth opened on a silent cry. Oh God. “Please, please.”

  I was begging, but he didn’t stop. “Your body would feel raw, too sensitive, but I’d keep touching you, keep probing you, keep fucking you everywhere—and you couldn’t stop me. Your hands would be tied up. Maybe I’d have something in your mouth. My tie? Your panties? Your voice would be muffled. I’d have no idea what you were asking for, really. To stop or to keep going, so I’d just keep fucking you until tears were streaming down those pretty cheeks.”

  I was close to tears already, my body shaking, holding back the orgasm. He hadn’t said I had to wait for him, but I knew. It was instinctive, the way my body followed his lead.

  “Stop,” he said softly. He sounded almost sympathetic. But firm. “Stop touching yourself.”

  My eyes widened. No. He couldn’t make me. I couldn’t stop now. “I’m so close.”

  “Now.” His voice cracked across me like a whip. “Don’t make me punish you this early. Hands by your side.”

  It was almost a physical pain to obey him. My hands jerked to my side. My chest heaved with restraint.

  He smiled, a little rueful. “Put your clothes on. Have dinner. We’re going out tonight. There’s someone who might have information we need.”

  “You can’t just leave me like this.” My voice trembled. I had known he was cruel, but this was a new form of torture—a sensual ache so acute it felt like pain.

  “You aren’t allowed to touch yourself.” He swept a hungry gaze over my naked body. “Actually, you are. You just aren’t allowed to make yourself come.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE FIRST THING I noticed was the bass that seemed to reverberate from beneath the streets, shaking the car even while it was in motion. I felt each throb of the beat through my entire body, matching the pulse between my legs. My arousal hadn’t gone away since this afternoon. When Philip opened the door, I saw the true source of the sound—a club with a crowd of people clamoring outside.

  There was no sign above a metal door, but I recognized the place. It was the place of my darkest memories, my nightmares. The Meat Market. The metal door opened, revealing a haze of smoke and flashing lights, before closing again. This was a shady underground club in a shady underground part of town.

  Philip stepped out of the car. “Wait here.”

  What? “Why bring me here if you’re going to make me wait in the car?”

  I was still pissed off about earlier. Pissed off and painfully turned on.

  He sent me a knowing look. “If I left you at the safe house, would you have stayed put?” Without waiting for an answer, he spoke to Adrian in the front seat. “Don’t let her leave.”

  Then he shut the door.

  “Really?” I said to no one in particular, falling back against the seat.

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Adrian said. “He wants to keep you safe.”

  I knew that, but all I heard was: he wants to keep you. Locked up. That was the only way he knew how to interact with people, his own personal form of caring. His brother, his lover, his sister—and one by one, they’d all broken the chains. I felt sympathy for Philip even while I understood why they left.

  It hurt to be locked up, even in a warm leather interior that probably cost a fortune. It hurt to watch the world through tinted windows and droplets of rain. It hurt even worse for someone who had been held down, grabbed, groped—knowing this wasn’t all that different.

  And some dark part of me wanted those chains. Family.

  Across the street, the line of people persisted despite the drizzle, music and smoke bursting from the door at regular intervals.

  I studied a group of girls in trendy halter tops and miniskirts. The door opened, releasing another spill of light and sound, admitting more people. A line remained, people shivering in skintight clothes and shielding their phones from the rain.

  The door opened again, and a light strobed across two new arrivals as they walked inside—a couple of men, though one looked more like a teenager. More like the child I’d been when I came here.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Tyler.

  The profile of my brother was unmistakable. But how could that be him? He was supposed to be held hostage right now.
Chained to the pipes in the bathroom, used by a bunch of drunk men in suits. I didn’t want that for him, but this didn’t make sense.

  It was impossible.

  But I had to check. What if it was him? And once my brain started on this track, I couldn’t stop. What if he had simply left? I wasn’t sure my mother had actually talked about armed men invading the home, dragging him away at gunpoint like they’d done with me and the club. She had just said there was no ransom note.

  What if he had simply run away?

  My parents would never have believed it of their golden boy. I didn’t love that idea much more than the idea of him being kidnapped, but it would change things. Drastically. And if by some chance that was him, I could talk to him, convince him to go home.

  It was a long shot, but it was all I had—especially with Philip disappeared into the night.

  I looked down at my tank top and jeans. Not exactly club wear. It would have to do.

  Without pause, I bolted from the car and crossed the street. I heard Adrian’s shout behind me, but I didn’t slow down.

  I made it to the door and went directly up to the bouncer, cutting in line. Breathless, amid angry cries from the other people waiting, I told the bouncer, “Please, someone is bothering me. Can you keep him out?”

  The bouncer’s cold eyes studied me, then flicked behind me to where Adrian must be crossing the street to catch me. A short nod. Then he opened the door.

  I blinked into the miasma of flashing lights and shadowy bodies. Adrian would kill me. If Philip didn’t kill me first. Maybe there was still some spark of the rebellious teenager inside me, after all—because I stepped inside.

  The door closed behind me. I knew without looking that the bouncer wouldn’t let Adrian in.

  The inside of the club was a shock to my senses, lights and sounds assaulting me from the ground up. It seemed to vibrate through my legs, throbbing by the time it reached my heart. I didn’t see my brother or the guy he was with—but I hadn’t gotten a good look at him.

  I circled the crowd of grinding bodies and passed through a seating area made sweet with pot. No sign of them yet, but it was hard to tell if I was simply missing them. Too many people.