by Alexa Riley
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I STARED at myself in the bathroom mirror, feeling out of place, distant. Cameron had only told me a couple of hours ago that he had an event to go to, one where I would go with him. I’d be his arm candy, and even though he hadn’t said that, I’d read between the lines. I really doubted this “event” would have the legal, law-abiding type of citizens. I was afraid, even if I knew Cameron wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.
I slid my hand down my stomach, over the silky material of the dress he’d given me to wear. My time was almost up with Cameron, the two weeks going in this blur of emotions and feelings. I only had a couple of days left here, and although I should be glad, my life free, I couldn’t help this emptiness that filled me.
This hadn’t just been about keeping a deal. Cameron had taken my virginity, slept beside me, keeping me close. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he cared for me, but did so because I was his property. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t grown attached to him, needing him, wanting him.
I placed my hand right between my thighs, still sore, still remembering the way he felt in me that first night. He touched me, stroked me with his mouth and tongue, caressed every part of me. But I knew he wouldn’t keep that up, knew he had a limited time with me, only the two weeks we’d agreed to.
The sound of someone knocking on my door had me leaving the bathroom. Just as I walked out, I saw the bedroom door opening. Damien stood on the other side, his focus on me, his gaze cold, hard. “Cameron’s downstairs waiting for you.”
I nodded. He turned and left, leaving the door open. I glanced down at myself again, the cream dress form-fitting, the silk showing off my curves—what little I had, anyway. Taking a deep breath was meant to try and calm me, but it didn’t. I’d noticed that being here had my body, my mind all in disarray. I wasn’t nervous or afraid of what might happen. I felt this way because the excitement of being with Cameron, others’ gazes on us, seeing him touch me if he wanted, simply because he could, made me anticipate it all.
Steeling myself, I straightened my shoulders and headed out of the room and down the stairs. Cameron stood by the door, his focus on his phone, his fingers moving over the keys. He was messaging someone, and I couldn’t help but feel this twinge of amusement that a man such as Cameron, big and strong, scary and dangerous, was texting.
I placed a hand on the banister, curling my fingers around it, the wood cold, smooth. I took that first step, descending, my heart in my throat. I moved toward him, and he glanced up while placing his phone in his pocket. His gaze roamed over my body, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the view as well. He wore a dark tux, the white shirt under it stark, crisp. His tattoos could still be seen, creeping up his throat like icy fingers of dread—or power. Cameron held his hand out to me, the ink covering the back of it frightening as well as intimidating in appearance.
When I slipped my hand in his, he curled his fingers around mine, pulling me closer, his hard body coming in contact with my soft one. He said nothing to me, just cupped the back of my hair. One of the servants had done my hair, a chignon that looked haphazard but elegant, whimsical even. And when I thought the air would leave my lungs, suffocation my last experience, he leaned down and kissed me. It wasn’t sweet, wasn’t soft. He took control, plunging his tongue into my mouth, claiming me, making me know he was the one who held the power.
And strangely enough, I was okay with that. Without me giving my consent about it, without allowing myself to be here, experiencing it, Cameron had no power over me. I had strength in this “relationship” too, maybe even more than he did. That knowledge, that realization was heady.
He broke the kiss but kept his hand on my neck. “Tonight is informal, more or less. You’ll be free to wander, but I’d prefer you stay close. Some of the guests at this event are…questionable in their endeavors.” And without another word, without waiting for me to say anything in response, he opened the door and we stepped outside. There was a stretch limo waiting, the back door already opened, Damien clearly waiting for us.
Once in the back, the door shut, the scent of leather and Cameron filling my head, I sank back against the seat to try and calm myself. The privacy divider was down, but as soon as Damien climbed into the driver’s seat, he rolled it up, blocking Cameron and me from everything else. The car started moving, and the silence stretched between us. I stared out the tinted window, the sun already having set, so it was much too dark for me to really see anything. But looking out the window seemed better, safer, than trying not to glance at Cameron.
“Look at me,” he said in a deep, baritone voice.
I turned and stared at him, glancing into his dark eyes, wondering what he thought about, what he saw when he stared into my eyes. Did he see a broken girl, or did he see the changes in me, the ones I felt transforming me inside since being with him, experiencing his delicious capture?
“Come closer,” he demanded softly. There was a dim light in the back of the limo, giving way to this dreamlike atmosphere, this almost hazy experience. I shifted on the seat, the leather and my dress causing my movements to be water-like. Before I knew what was happening, Cameron had me on his lap, his hands on my waist, his lips on mine. I was startled, gasping, the sudden movement making me feel off balance. Cameron moved his mouth slowly yet thoroughly against mine at the same time he slipped the dress up my legs. He moved his hand over my ass, the barely there thong I wore hardly a barrier. Cameron started rubbing ever so slowly the crease where my ass met my thighs. I was uncomfortable, because Damien was right on the other side of that thin protective shield. If he wanted to speak with Cameron, he’d only have to push it down and he’d see the act we were doing.
But in the same breath that act turned me on like no other.
He slipped his hand farther down, right over my panty-covered pussy. And then he moved the material aside and ran his finger through my slit, eliciting a soft moan from me. I was still sore from what he’d done to me, from how he’d stretched m, despite it being two weeks since I arrived. Even my thighs objected to being spread, straddling his muscular frame. And when he applied pressure to my clit, I gasped, knowing I could come like this.
“Seeing you like this, unhinged, at my mercy, does more to turn me on than anything else.” He rubbed my clit harder, a little faster. I’d come for him soon, and I didn’t want to fight it. I was so wet, maybe embarrassingly so.
The sound of his finger moving over my soaked flesh filled the back of the limo. Could Damien hear what was going on? Did he know what was happening even if he couldn’t?
I opened my mouth, the pleasure building, the silent cry right on the tip of my tongue.
“Let go,” he said, those two words more of a demand than anything else. And when he slipped a finger into me, all the while still rubbing the little bud, I finally let go. It was like a dam opening up inside of me, breaking free, washing through my entire body and claiming me. I gasped and found myself biting down on his shoulder, knowing it had to hurt. He hissed, but a groan still followed. The ecstasy was body absorbing, taking me further away, higher up.
And when the high faded, my body relaxed, my mind calmed, I rested against Cameron’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me, the act gentle, caring even. It was so against the man he portrayed, the one who killed without remorse because he could, because he had to in order to survive.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but Cameron held me the whole way, moving his hand up and down my back, letting me relax, be calm before the storm.
I could have stayed like this forever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WE’RE HERE,” Damien said through an intercom placed close to us. I lifted my head, surprised that the time had gone by so fast. Cameron helped me off him, and I adjusted my dress, making sure I was righted. Through the window I could see the massive house we’d pulled in front of. There were cars lined up, each one waiting their turn. I watched one of the cars farther up, this sleek red sports car. One of
the staff opened the door, and a gorgeous blonde in an equally gorgeous ruby-colored gown stepped out. The man who accompanied her was older, maybe even double her age. They walked up the massive steps that led to the front door, and then we were moving forward.
I was still wet between my thighs, the arousal and orgasm Cameron had brought forth in me not dimming in the slightest. Blood rushed through my veins, this excitement and fear coursing through me. Once it was our turn, the back door was opened. Cameron stepped out, then promptly held his hand out for me.
I slipped mine into his much larger palm, allowing him to pull me out gently, and together we ascended the steps. My mind was whirling, my pulse racing. I could hear music coming from the inside. I wanted to ask what this event was about, but I knew better. And truth was I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know about the men who were here, ones who were most likely dangerous, just as much as Cameron.
We headed inside, and my breath was stalled in my lungs at the sight before me. Crystal chandeliers, a smoke-filled atmosphere smelling of sweetness, and servants walking around with silver trays and champagne flutes filled with bubbling liquid took up my view. I saw a few other servants with trays filled with hors d’oeuvres, the staff’s backs stiff and their expressions blank.
The guests were in expensive outfits, diamonds and gems dripping from them. The men looked severe and intense as they spoke to each other. The women appeared to be more ornamental than anything else, their heads downcast, their expressions void.
I didn’t miss the fact that some of the men eyed me, their gazes lewd. I felt Cameron wrap his arm around me, pulling me closer to him. I sank against his hard body, feeling like nothing could touch me. I knew he didn’t have to bring me here, didn’t have to show me off. He wanted to because he knew he could protect me, keep me safe. Twisted reasoning or not, I trusted him.
For the next twenty minutes we walked around. I held a champagne flute in my hand, the liquid warming in the glass because I wasn’t drinking it fast enough. Cameron spoke with a few men, his voice even, the respect they had for him clear.
And then one man started speaking in another language, his voice clipped, his words clearly angry, even though I didn’t know what he said. The man had gray, thinning hair, and his eyes were these thin little black beads. He stopped in front of us, a young, voluptuous, and busty woman hanging on his arm. She too had her head downcast and couldn’t be more than twenty-five.
Cameron’s arm was still wrapped around me tightly, but his fingers digging into my waist told me he was focused on the man he was speaking with, not realizing what he was doing. I slipped out of his hold, and he stopped speaking and looked at me.
The man started rambling off in that other language, and Cameron turned and barked out a string of words. The other man paled, his back going straight, his eyes narrowing. Cameron looked at me again.
“I’m just going to walk around, see the art.”
Cameron looked me in the eyes, his gaze penetrating, intense. He finally nodded, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t know where I was.
I walked down one of the hallways, the guests thinning as they congregated with each other at the front of the house. The art was colorful, erratic even. I kept moving, looking at each piece. There was a set of open double doors to my right, and I moved closer. I didn’t want to be nosy, but the lights were on, and I saw even more art. Surely if no one was allowed in here, the doors would be shut.
I stepped inside, the lights dimmer than I’d originally thought, the corners hidden with shadows, making the art seem ominous. I walked around, the scent of old leather, roses, and something darker filling the air.
The sound of wood creaking behind me had me looking over my shoulder. A man stepped inside, his focus on his cell, his face cast in a scowl. He said something low, too low for me to understand.
He shoved his cell in his pocket, went to turn around, but then spotted me. For a second he just stared at me, his dark eyes seeming like endless pools. It gave me the chills, made me frightened. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to be in the same room with him.
“You like the art?” His voice was thickly accented.
I nodded, not sure why I felt so nervous, so off-kilter. I wanted to go back to Cameron. I went closer to the door, but he shifted, blocking me.
His smile was so dark it actually made me uncomfortable. Warning bells started going off, red flags flashing in front of my eyes. I needed to get to people, to the crowd. There I’d feel safe, just like at the club, being swallowed whole by the sea of bodies.
“Are you here alone?”
I shook my head, my throat far too tight to manage any words. Force them out. Show strength. “I’m not alone.” The need to run, to lash out, to fight ran strong within me. I was pressed to the wall, my hands flat on it, the sweat starting to form on my palms. He moved closer, the cloying, suffocating sensation of his cologne making me sick.
I tried to look around his shoulder, but he’d backed me into a corner, the people at this event farther away than I would have liked. I was blocked by his grossly large muscles.
He breathed out hard, the scent of his liquor-laced breath wafting over me, the need to gag strong. My stomach was twisted, turned around. I was in flight or fight, my mind screaming to be rational, that I couldn’t stop this man if I wanted to. But my body wanted to lash out, to survive.
“So small, fragile.” He looked into my eyes, his smile grotesque. “I’ll have fun breaking you, girl.”
I didn’t know what came over me, but this surge of power, of strength took hold, making me feel—realize—I was not this asshole’s victim. I brought my knee up, rammed it right between his thighs, and felt really damn good when he made this pained sound.
“You fucking cunt,” he gritted out. He was slightly hunched, and I knew he wanted to grab himself, relieve the pain I’d caused, but instead he raised his hand. I knew he’d hit back, knew he wouldn’t stand for me attacking him. I wanted to move, tried to in that instant, but his big body blocked me.
I tensed, bracing for the hit, but before it came I saw a shadow cross over his body. Then a hand grabbed his arm, pulling back with a force that had him stumbling.
The big brute cursed in Russian. Although I didn’t see, couldn’t see who held him away from me at this angle, I knew it was Cameron.
I felt it in the air, this charge, this intensity that stole my breath, made me weak, had me shaking. And then the Russian was jerked back and I saw Cameron. He looked furious, enraged, his eyes cold, dead.
I shifted, seeing the man’s face now, the fear that covered it.
“Damien, take her to the car,” Cameron said, never moving his gaze off the man he still held. I glanced to the side, seeing Damien, not sure where he’d come from.
“Let’s go,” Damien said, grabbing my arm, steering me out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.
The limo was already waiting at the bottom of the steps. Damien opened the back door for me and gently pushed me inside. I don’t know how long I sat there, my palms damp, my heart in my throat.
Finally the door opened again, and I saw Damien hand Cameron a white rag. Cameron slipped in, his focus on his knuckles. That’s when I saw the blood covering them. I lifted my gaze to his white shirt, seeing the splatters of red along the stark light color.
“Did you kill him?” I asked softly, almost frightened to know the answer. He didn’t respond me right away, just continued to clean his hands off. I looked out my window, not expecting a response. This was Cameron, after all.
“Whether I did or didn’t isn’t the point.”
I glanced at him after he spoke. “Isn’t it?”
He looked at me then, his face hidden partially by the shadows, his expression void.
“No.”
I slowly inhaled, not sure if I should push this. I wanted to, wanted to see what he was thinking about, what was going on in his head. I wanted to learn about him, know what m
ade him tick. But I also knew Cameron was a mystery, didn’t let people in, and I doubted even if he trusted them.
“But I didn’t kill him, even if I should have.” He stared me right in the eyes. “Make no mistake, Sofia. I wanted to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat for even thinking he could look at you.” This draft of frigid air slammed into me. “The fact he touched you…” He shook his head slowly. “If he wasn’t who he was, and a man I need alive for business purposes, I would have fucking gutted him.”
I breathed in and out hard and fast, his words like a knife, sharp, deadly.
“And no one would have fucking stopped me.” And then this expression covered his face, this hard, cold look that I felt to my bones. It was reflected at me. And then, just as fast as it had shown up, he masked it.
Cameron turned and looked out the window, and I did the same. I watched the scenery pass us by, not sure what the sudden change in him was. He seemed angry. Was he blaming this on me?
Why does it matter? In a few days I’ll be gone—all of this behind me, my life in front of me.
But that felt so empty.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE FINAL DAY
HE’D KEPT HIS DISTANCE, made me feel isolated. I was starting to feel, to think, this had more to do with his emotions than the fact that he didn’t want me.
I found myself moving through the house, running my fingers along the smooth wood, taking in the desolate, dark pictures. The man I cared about, had fallen for during my short time here, was more of an enigma than anything else.
He’d been beaten as a child, given away as if he were nothing. He’d fought to survive…literally, and here he was now, standing tall, above everyone else. Although my life, childhood, hadn’t been this bottomless pit like he’d experienced, I did know the darkness he felt, even if it wasn’t nearly to the extent he did.
I found myself in front of the bird painting, staring at the mouth, the bleak eyes. I felt for Cameron, wanted to be the one who comforted him, shared in his pain. But a man like him, one who had been through so much, hid what he needed. He wasn’t normal in the sense that he needed, or wanted, comfort.
