His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  That sweet, slightly deep voice has my full attention again.

  Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she’ll make a good player.

  At the very least, she’s a good start.

  Chapter Four - Nadia

  One night, Jordan said. Just one night. I keep repeating the mantra over and over in my head as I concentrate on keeping my eyes closed.

  They walk away to get their drinks again, leaving me in the center of the room on my knees. I still have my stupid cape on and I’m beginning to sweat from the extra layer.

  Why am I doing this?

  Luck. I remind myself.

  But it’s more than that and it takes more resolve not to smile right now than it did to let Jordan control me.

  These asshole men think they’re so in control. So assertive, and aggressive, and appealing. And they think I am weak. So willing, and compliant, and obedient.

  We’ll see.

  They talk for a while after that. They settle on Bric’s couch. I can see them as I peek through my half-closed eyes, their legs open or propped up on one knee. They drink their stupid drinks and ignore me, still here in the middle of the floor, come drying on my dress.

  Some time later Jordan orders me to lie back and open my legs. I just keep my eyes shut and try to relax. Forget where I am, what they’re doing, and concentrate on the dance going on in my head. I choreograph an entire routine as they play at being men with power.

  Still, there’s the nagging doubt in my head.

  Do I really want to get involved like this again? I moved away. I’m making a new life for myself. I’m going places.

  “So what kind of pay does she get?” Bric asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  Are they talking about me? I wasn’t listening.

  “Who says she needs to get paid?” Jordan replies.

  “They always get paid. You know this. It’s in the contract. We all have to get something out of it—”

  “No,” Jordan says, cutting him off. “She’s here because she likes this.” Ah, they are discussing the details of some kind of contract with me. “Aren’t you, Nadia?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say out loud. But that’s not what I say in my head.

  “Why are you smiling, Nadia?” Jordan asks.

  “Because I’m a dirty whore and this is payment enough,” I reply in my demure submissive voice that I’ve curated over the past few weeks.

  “See?” Jordan says.

  “Well, fuck that,” Bric says. “I’m only playing if she gets paid. I like to keep it all professional.”

  “Whatever,” Jordan says. “So pay her.”

  “You’ll pay her too. You know how this works. Nadia,” Bric calls. “What do you need from us to play?”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Nadia,” he barks. It’s a loud bark. Loud enough to echo off the ceiling. “I’m not interested in your opinion on the payment. I’m interested in how much you think you’re worth.”

  How much do I think I’m worth? Is he fucking serious?

  “Answer him, Nadia,” Jordan says.

  “I’m worth more than you can afford,” I say, biting back my anger.

  They both laugh, like this is funny.

  “We’re very rich, Nadia,” Bric says in some calm, professional voice I haven’t heard from him before. “Trust me when I say we can afford you. Now tell us how much you think you’re worth.”

  How do you put a price on yourself?

  “I’m worth something dear to you,” I say. I’m still on my back, eyes closed, legs open. “So why don’t you tell me what’s dear to you and then I’ll tell you that’s what I want.”

  I can practically feel the eyebrows rising up on their stupid caveman foreheads.

  They laugh. For a good long time, too. They sip their drinks and chuckle some more.

  “Or not,” I say, opening my eyes, closing my legs, pointing my toes, and sitting up. I smile at them. “I can walk out, I guess.”

  “Nadia, shut the fuck up and lie back down,” Jordan says.

  But you know what? I don’t feel like shutting the fuck up and lying back down. I still want to win this game, which means I have to play. So I’m not going to be dramatic about this. But I want them to, at the very least, take me seriously.

  “No,” I tell Jordan, getting to my feet. “Your friend is right. We need a contract. And until we have one, I’m going home. I’m going to soak my aching feet, stretch my aching legs, and then give myself the orgasm the two of you were incapable of delivering. And tomorrow, I’m going to do some research. I’m going to figure out what it is you don’t want to lose, and then I’m going to ask for that as payment.”

  They stare at me, open-mouthed. Silent. Maybe stunned. Maybe pissed off. I don’t care. I straighten my dress, ignore the dried come down the front, and walk out the door.

  I walk home and I don’t even mind that my toes are bleeding in these stupid high heels. I’m used to it. I can take it. I hold my head high, do not limp like a lame horse with a missing shoe, and do what I do best. Manage.

  When I get home, I fill the tub with hot water, add in some bubbles, then take off the disgusting dress and throw it in the trash.

  My phone buzzes in the bedroom where I left it, just as I’m pulling the Band-Aids off my toes, but I ignore it. I step into the hot water. I hiss out the sting of pain when the half-healed blisters on my feet hit the heat. And then I sink under and let the world slip away.

  I let that phone buzz a voicemail notification over and over on the nightstand until the water cools and I get out. I dry off and go to my workout room. It’s a ballet room because this is a company apartment. I wonder if the principals have an apartment like this too? No, they will have something much nicer. Not that this place is shabby. It isn’t. It’s professionally decorated and has lots of high-end finishes like soapstone countertops and amazing hardwood floors. But come on. I might be somebody to a junior dancer like Chris, but to the stars of the Mountain Ballet I’m no one.

  I stand naked in front of the mirrors in the ballet room. They run the entire length of one wall.

  My body is typical ballerina. My breasts are not small, but they are not large either. Ample might be a bit too strong a word to describe them, but they are close. My legs are long. Like a baby racehorse’s. My face is sweet and pretty, my arms are willowy and graceful, and I am nothing but well-honed muscle. You don’t get far in this art if you don’t have the body for it. It’s genetic. Something you have or don’t. Not something you can shape yourself into with diet and exercise.

  I shift my feet and arms into fifth position, gather myself from my core, and go up on my toes. The hot water has soothed them, but they still hurt, even though I’m not actually on the tips.

  I am used to hurting.

  I hold my position, then begin to dance. I transition into different steps leftover from old performances to feel normal again.

  It’s holiday week at the school. And the company is off after a grueling Nutcracker schedule. I am bored there. The little girls are not enough to fill my desire for work. But after the New Year things will be back to normal. My days will be filled with dance, and pain, and mental stress.

  All the things that get me through.

  But for now, I’ll play with Jordan. It’s only a week. This stupid game they think they’re playing will only last one more week, I’ve decided. They will keep me busy during holiday week, I will get what I need, and I will win this game and leave them both behind.

  My phone buzzes again in the bedroom. Another notification. Another voicemail.

  I stop dancing and breathe hard, hands on hips, bending over as I crunch my feet and stretch them out.

  When I’m done I walk into the bedroom and check my voicemail.

  I smile into the phone as I listen.

  Fucking men.

  They are so predictable.

  Chapter Five - Bric

  “It’s like life, Nadia. What you get out of it is directly
impacted by what you put into it.”

  Jordan was pissed when she walked out. Left a very threatening voicemail on her phone after fuming around my apartment for thirty minutes. Which, if we want to play a game—and I’m not sure I’m on board yet, but I like to keep my options open—wasn’t going to cut it.

  So I made a call and left a voicemail as well.

  “Did you call Jordan back?” I ask while she thinks about what I just said.

  “No,” she says.

  Interesting. He’s the one who found her, yet she called me and not him.

  “Look,” she says, sighing into her phone. “Obviously, I’m getting something out of this… arrangement I have with Jordan. I’m just not sure I need to play two games at once.”

  This isn’t the first time she’s used the term “game” while we’ve been talking. And even though it is a game, it strikes me as unusual for her to be calling it that. So easily.

  “It’s just one game, darling,” I tell her back. “We’re all playing the same game.”

  “But a game with two men is not quite the same as a game with one.”

  I’m silently frustrated. But she’s a good enough distraction.

  Jordan even used that term earlier. She’s a good replacement for… them. Them, meaning Rochelle and Quin. And… Adley.

  “What do you want out of this?” I ask her, pushing away my depressing recent past. “Surely there’s something? Everyone has that little something that seems unattainable. Let us give it to you.”

  “In exchange for submission?”

  “I get it. Jordan told me a couple weeks ago. You’re not naturally submissive. You think you’re dominant.” I try to hold in my chuckle, but I don’t entirely succeed.

  “Is that funny, Mr. Bricman?”

  “A little bit, Nadia. Yes, it is. You’re what? Twenty years old? What do you know about being a top?”

  “Twenty-three,” she corrects me. “And I know enough to understand I like it.”

  “You like control, then? Not really controlling people?” I can almost feel her shrug. Like there is no difference. But there’s a big difference. “It’s not the same thing, Nadia. Do you fantasize about tying me up to a bed and having your way with me?”

  “Yes,” she says. “I’m imagining it right now. Putting a hood over your head, chaining you up like you did me last night. Making you wonder what’s coming next. Beatings, or slaps, or sucking your cock.”

  I do not hold in the laugh this time. Not at all. “Well, that’s never going to happen.”

  “So you say,” she retorts.

  “OK, am I wasting my time here? Just say so. I’ll hang up and never bother you again.”

  “I already told you what I wanted, Mr. Bricman.”

  “Something dear.” I sigh. “What’s that even mean?”

  “I haven’t done my research yet, so I’m not sure. But I’ll know. Eventually. And once I do, that’s my price.”

  “Maybe you’re really not worth it.”

  “Then hang up.”

  We’re silent for a few moments, both of us wondering what we should do. She’s not hanging up, that’s for sure. She’s getting something out of this conversation, I realize. Dominance over me. Not in the way one usually thinks of when you use the word dominance. But she definitely likes the control. She likes making me defensive.

  “How about a date?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “I don’t have time for dates.”

  “Well, then let’s just stop this now. What we do with the players—Jordan and I—is definitely dating.”

  “I’m not a loyal partner, Elias,” she says. Her choice to use my first name has the effect she was going for. It sets me back a second.

  “Perfect. You have two of us to choose from.”

  “I mean,” she says, stressing her words, “I won’t be faithful to you so dating is out of the question.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. “What?”

  “I’m playing several games right now, Mr. Bricman. Yours is not the only one. So I won’t be giving those up.”

  “Sexual games?” I ask, thoroughly intrigued at this point.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re new in town.”

  “So? I have connections. When I got this offer to dance at Mountain Ballet I called them up and set up a few… interactions.”

  “So you are a whore?”

  “If by that you mean I like to have a lot of sex, then yes. I’m a dirty fucking whore.”

  Hmmm.

  “Does that bother you?” she asks. Her filthy words from her sweet mouth are killing me right now.

  “No,” I say. “It actually turns me on.”

  “What?” she asks.

  Do I read confusion? Is this bitch playing me?

  “How do you manage the health check Jordan requires?” I ask.

  “I don’t fuck them, Elias. I do… other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hoods, and chains, and sucking cocks,” she says.

  “Are you fucking with me right now?” I ask.

  “I’m just being honest, Elias. If I was fucking with you, believe me, you’d know it.”

  I… I actually laugh. For real.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Nadia says. “You’re thinking… Why’s she doing this? Why’s she playing a game with Jordan? Why’s she submitting? But the question you should really be asking, Elias, is what am I getting out of this?”

  “Well?” I ask. “What are you getting out of this?”

  “Satisfaction.”

  Yeah. This one is batshit crazy. I mean, all these girls we play with have a certain degree of crazy in them. Even Chella, though it was a lot more benign than this one’s brand of psychosis. And Rochelle too, though I never really figured her out.

  “Do you want to play or not?” I finally ask, reaching the end of my patience.

  “I do if you do.”

  “Can you be serious for a moment? And stop acting like a child? I mean, I get it. You practically are a child, but let’s pretend you’re a grown-up for a few more minutes and see if we can’t work out a deal.”

  “I don’t respond to insults, Mr. Bricman. I can take anything you throw at me. Words”—she laughs—“words are useless weapons. They bounce off, Elias. So if that’s your game plan, you’ve already lost.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind about the words,” I say, letting out a sigh. “How about we take a night to cool off and think it over, hmmm? Have another go at it tomorrow.”

  “Fine with me,” she says. “Have a nice evening.” She ends the call and leaves me to stare at my phone.

  What the fuck just happened?

  I shake my head and laugh, answering my own question. “I have no clue.”

  I press the contact number for Jordan. He picks up on the second ring. “Did she call you back?”

  “She sure did,” I say. “That bitch is nuts.”

  “Right? She’s fucking perfect.”

  “Where did you find her?” I ask.

  “A directory online. A kink chat on the dark web. Why, you think she’s dangerous?”

  “She might be,” I say.

  “Too dangerous for you?” he laughs.

  “No,” I say.

  “Are you in or out?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. I think it’s up to her.”

  I think Jordan spits out a drink at that comment. “Since when?” he asks. “Since when do you let the women call the shots in the game?”

  But I have no answer for him. So I just say nothing.

  “Well, listen…” Jordan says. “I’ll make nice tomorrow like I always do and we’ll have dinner with her. Not at the Club. Somewhere else. You take care of that and then swing by my place and pick me up at seven. We’ll pick her up together after that. Sound good?”

  “Sure,” I say, ending the call.

  I am restless the entire evening. And I’m not tired, since I slept all day. So I lo
ok her up online. I get her last name from the ballet website. A blog post about her joining the company. Nadia Wolfe. From a smaller company in New York. No other personal details. After searching I get a few phone numbers, none of which are the one she’s using now. And a list of several dozen residential addresses. There’s quite a few Nadia Wolfes, it seems.

  I do a half-hearted search on social media, but then slap my laptop closed and decide it’s not worth my time.

  Who cares who she is or why she’s doing this? Nadia Wolfe has obvious issues. Most of which will prevent her from playing a game with us. And if she does agree tomorrow night, well, she won’t be around long, that’s for sure. She wants something, but it’s some prize that has nothing to do with Jordan or me.

  So fuck it. Fuck her. I don’t care about her motives.

  I just want her on her knees. I want to bend her backwards and make her submit.

  This is not the game I usually play. This game has nothing to do with taking turns.

  This is about me for once.

  It’s my turn, I realize. It’s my turn to take, and take, and take until I use her up and spit her out.

  It’s been a long time since I did something like this. A very long time since I’ve had it my way. And now’s my chance. Just a little detour, I think in my head. A shortcut to ease the pain from losing the last game to Quin and Rochelle.

  I won’t get lost.

  I know my way through this dark forest.

  Chapter Six - Nadia

  Oddly, I do not think of them all day until… until… grrrrr, he makes me so mad. Until Jordan shows up—in person, at the front desk of the school—with a huge bouquet of red roses. Not the kind in the vase, either. The bouquet all wrapped up in pretty paper. The kind a prima ballerina might get on stage after opening night.

  Of course he’s wearing one of those bazillion-dollar suits and looking hot as fuck. So by the time I follow Chris back to the front desk to see what the hell is going on, there’s a horde of young women, not to mention the mothers of the young students, hovering around. Buzzing like bees and asking him questions and… and he’s generally just being… him. Which is so irritating because he’s fucking hot and charming as all hell. And he knows it. Jordan is one of those guys who looks unapproachable at first. Very handsome. Strong square jaw with the perfect amount of stubble on it. Like he grooms himself that way on purpose. Which he does, because I’ve been at his house when he’s been getting ready for work on several occasions.