Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  Shit, I couldn’t wait to fuck her, but lording the upcoming event over her was satisfying. I’d gotten her all keyed up, shot a load in her panties, and left her hanging. If she was a good girl, tonight I’d give her an orgasm or two, but that all depended on her.

  I didn’t owe her shit. I was about to drop two grand, so she could suck my cock for a month and we still wouldn’t be square. Although, she hadn’t asked for the clothes. She hadn’t really asked for anything.

  We got the last of the clothes together and I added to the pile Daphne was scanning at the register. I tossed down the two price tags from the bra and underwear on the counter. “She’s wearing them,” I announced.

  And they’re drenched with my cum, I wanted to add, but Daphne didn’t strike me as the type who’d appreciate the detail. I’d thought about flirting with her for a half-second to see what kind of response Oksana had, but decided it was a bad idea. The saleswoman seemed too professional.

  The Russian girl said she had no emotions, other than fear and anger. What about jealousy? Seemed to be the only emotion I felt these days.

  I swiped my credit card and signed the electronic tablet, and glanced at Oksana while Daphne finished bagging everything up. My ‘girlfriend’ stared at the counter, looking shell-shocked. Or maybe she was just starving and tired. It was after two o’clock, and I had no idea if she’d acclimated to the time-change.

  “Can you hang onto those for us while we grab lunch?” I asked Daphne, although I didn’t use a questioning tone. With the money I’d just spent, anything other than a ‘yes, sir’ would be unacceptable.

  “Absolutely. I’ll put your bags in my manager’s office. If I’m not available, just let anyone know and we’ll get them for you right away.”

  “Great, thanks.” I turned on my heel and headed for the escalator. Without a word, Oksana followed. She was so obedient, it was unreal. I didn’t ask her where she wanted to eat lunch, or if she even wanted food. I was hungry, so we’d eat.

  I thought this was awesome. There was no guesswork involved, and all decisions were mine. If I wanted to drag her ass into the disgusting Hooters at the other end of the mall, I could, and I bet she wouldn’t say a goddamn word.

  Instead I chose a burger joint nearby, where the walls dripped with obnoxious fifties diner décor, and when we were tucked into a booth, she stared at the menu like it was written in a foreign language. Oh, shit. Maybe it was for her. I’d left that note for her this morning, but she might not have been able to read it.

  “Can you read English?”

  Her blue eyes snapped to mine. “Yes. There are . . . a lot of options.”

  “Yeah, welcome to America. That’s how we do it here.” I set my phone down on the table so I’d see any notifications if they rolled through. “Get the Bacon Bleu Burger. It’s good.”

  My casual comment hung awkwardly.

  Okay. I hadn’t thought this through. Sitting casually across from her at the restaurant felt suddenly like a date, and the odd look on her face made me wonder if she had the same thought. I needed to establish my dominance since we were in a new environment.

  I dropped my menu and leaned over the table, keeping my voice quiet. “Tell me. Are those cum-soaked panties sticking to your pussy right now?”

  Oksana blinked slowly. “Yes,” she said, her tone plain. Maybe she’d been telling the truth about not feeling shame. The idea of it excited me.

  After I’d ordered our lunch and the server disappeared in the back, I narrowed my gaze on Oksana’s shoulders. She was stiff. Was her perfect posture from years of playing piano, or her unease around me? We needed to fill the silence with conversation because there was a kid a few tables over who was banging his fork on the tabletop, and if he didn’t stop soon I was going to rip it out of his hands and stab his mother in the eye with it. “How long have you been playing piano?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Since I was eight.”

  The tap-tap-tap of the fork grew louder. “And writing songs? When did you start doing that?”

  “A few years ago.”

  I gnashed my teeth. Couldn’t she help me out and give me an answer longer than four fucking words?

  She drew in a hesitant breath. More was coming, but she wasn’t sure if she should reveal it. “I studied to be a composer.”

  I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “Like, Beethoven and shit?”

  “Yeah.”

  Fuck me, the kid discovered the sound his fork made against his mother’s water glass and began to beat the shit out of it. Beneath the table, I balled my hands into fists. “Tell me about the song last night.”

  Oksana could not only feel fear, she could experience panic. I already knew this, but I watched her eyes grow wide and color drain from her face. “I’d rather not.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because it’s private,” she snapped.

  “Wrong fucking answer, because now I want to know everything,” I fired back. “And do I look like a guy who always gets what he wants?”

  Her eyes went to slits. “Yes.”

  Smart girl. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another, so do yourself a favor and tell me now.” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms, barely noticing the kid anymore. “Or don’t. That makes it more fun for me.”

  Oksana’s gaze fell. “Usually when I compose, it’s structured. I have a formula I follow and things I want to say with each bar I plot out. My decisions are—” she searched for the right words, “—carefully considered.”

  “Manufactured,” I corrected. It explained why I hated the first two songs she’d attempted.

  “The one last night, when I wrote it, it poured out of me. I heard the whole thing in my head before I put it on paper.”

  “Why was that one different?”

  She knew the answer and didn’t like it. She definitely didn’t want to say it out loud. Her gaze darted from side to side, checking to see if anyone was listening. “Because I did something awful, and at the time, that song was my way of coping with it.”

  I sat upright. “Wait a minute. The song . . . is about you?” The bad motherfucker’s theme was Oksana’s? I couldn’t believe it. “What did you do that was so awful? Kick a puppy?”

  She leveled a gaze at me. “I killed someone.”

  The kid could have been banging a million forks against glass and I wouldn’t have heard a single tap. The conviction in her was absolute. I’d had a guy brag to me once about a kill he couldn’t take credit for, and knew instantly he was lying. There’s a look you get when you’ve ended someone else’s life, and it’s a hard fucking one to fake.

  She’d really done it.

  Christ, Oksana was becoming more like me with every breath she took.

  “Who?” I asked, interested. “How?”

  She threaded her fingers through her long blonde hair, considering if she should answer. “The man who touched me when I didn’t want him to.” Her perfect posture wasn’t quite so perfect now. “With my father’s gun.”

  I don’t know why I cared, but I did. Satisfaction rolled through me to know the guy who’d laid hands on her was no longer in this world. That she’d been the one to send him off? Even better. My chest expanded as I took a breath. “Gotta say, you are full of surprises.”

  She looked pensive as she reached for her glass of water. I’d press for details later, where conversations about murder wouldn’t be considered inappropriate. She drank, and as I watched the delicate bob of her throat, all I could think about was last night when I’d had my cock shoved halfway down it. It was miracle she was still a virgin. I couldn’t go two minutes with her and not think about sex.

  We lapsed into silence, and our food came shortly after.

  She picked up her steak knife, and as she cut the burger in half, I made a mental note to check the knives in the kitchen when I got home. I didn’t believe she’d try to kill me, but better safe than sorry, and she’d confessed she’d done it before. The
first one was the hardest. I found it much easier to kill after that.

  “You don’t seem like you’re in a rush to get back to work,” she said.

  “I work half-days on Mondays.”

  She looked less than thrilled when she realized I’d be around the rest of the day, but had no comment.

  She had eaten barely half of her burger when I’d finished mine. I watched her push her plate away, signaling she was finished, and my eyebrow arrowed up. “You didn’t like it?”

  She startled at my tone. “No, it was good.”

  “Then, are you a fucking bird?” It would explain why she was so skinny.

  “No, I’m not a fucking bird, I’m just full. This is too much food.” The second the words were out, she looked like she wanted them back.

  My annoyance dissipated somewhat. It probably was too much for her, since I had no idea what her life had been like in Russia. Could have been the Hunger Games, for all I knew. The burger I’d eaten was as big as my hand, and the dinner plate was overloaded with fries. It was almost too much food for me, and I was big guy.

  “How bad was it in Russia?” I asked. “I mean, I figure it had to be pretty fucking bad for you to come here. You aren’t stupid. It seemed like you knew what they were going to make you do once you got here.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I hoped for something else, but, yes. I told myself if it happened, I might get lucky and end up sold to some guy who was good to me. Maybe I’d even learn to like him after a while.”

  Like, not love, because like me, the girl ‘didn’t see the point’ in love. I skewed my face with skepticism. “A girl as hot as you? Not a chance. You’d make a helluva lot more in a brothel than as a wife.”

  My compliment sat uneasy on her and was pushed away. “It doesn’t bother you, selling women into slavery?”

  Now it was my turn to glance around and make sure no one had heard her accusation. “Yeah, it fucking bothers me, but right now it isn’t my call.” Besides my weird moral objection, running the girls was the riskiest aspect of our business. The FBI had stepped up their investigation of sex trafficking in the last few years, and getting caught would mean your life was over.

  I happened to like my life very much.

  “What do you mean,” she asked, “it isn’t your call right now?”

  I’d do away with running girls as my first order of business when I was in charge of the Markovic empire, but I wasn’t about to announce it. “Forget about that. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which was?”

  “What your life was like. You know, before I swooped in and saved you from spending the rest of it making money on your back.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Is that what you did?” Her patronizing tone was sharp. “Are you the guy I hoped I’d end up with?”

  I smirked. “Fuck, no. I’m not going to be good to you. I think you know I plan on being very, very bad.”

  Something flashed in her eyes, but it wasn’t panic. If anything, it looked dangerously close to excitement. It was gone faster than a muzzle flash, and her face turned blank. “We didn’t have money. My mother was an opera singer, but she was an understudy, so she worked a second job when she could, so we could get by.”

  “Your father?”

  Her expression soured. “He didn’t know I existed until my mother died. She’d kept us a secret from each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Protection. After I went to live with him, it didn’t take long to realize he was not a good man.”

  “Because he was connected,” I said.

  Everything about her, from her expression to her rigid posture screamed she was holding back. “Yes. After he was shot, things became . . . unstable, and I chose to come here.”

  She’d fled Russia, probably worried her father’s associates would come after her, too. Parts of the Russian Bratva were ruthless, even more than us Serbs. One bad decision by their own soldier and they’d take out his entire family. And I knew those fuckers had no problem burning down a house with an innocent family trapped inside if it would give them an advantage.

  Just ask Luka’s girlfriend.

  Thinking about Addison led me down a dark path and I didn’t want to go there today. I’d like to dig into Oksana’s backstory more, but it would have to wait until later, when we could be alone and it was safe to talk openly.

  “Don’t think this conversation is over,” I said, tossing some cash down on the bill, “but we need to get going.”

  She had an appointment to keep.

  12

  During the drive back to the house, Oksana asked me if I liked my job. She was trying to make small talk, but traffic was fucking awful and I told her to be quiet so I could focus.

  Alek’s car was parked out front in the circle drive. I already knew he’d accessed the house—an alert had chimed on my phone five minutes before. I steered the Porsche into the garage. “We’ll put these bags in whatever room you slept in last night. That’s your room now.” I pushed open the car door and got out. “Take a shower and get cleaned up.”

  We lugged the bags into the house, but she froze in the hallway leading to the stairs, and I slammed into her, nearly knocking her over.

  “What the fuck?” I demanded.

  Her gaze was fixated on Alek. She was probably wondering what the hell he was doing here, and I should have given her a heads-up.

  “Ignore him and keep moving,” I said. “This shit is heavy.” Alek eyed the bags in our arms with interest, and then looked at me like I might be an imposter. I sighed. “You’re early. Is he here?”

  Alek nodded, but his gaze went back to her. “Yeah, in the living room.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” I used the bags in my hands to push her forward and up the stairs. We went down the hall into the green wallpapered guest room. I dropped them with a thud in front of the closet, turned to face her, and put my hands on my hips.

  She stared back, and anxiety grew large in her eyes. “What?”

  “Don’t bother getting dressed after the shower. I’ll bring you my robe.” I left her standing in the room with a resigned look, went to grab my robe, and she hadn’t moved a muscle when I came back. I tossed it onto the gold brocade love seat. “I know how you girls can be. Don’t take forever.”

  “Why would I?” she shot back. “It’s only my third shower in less than twenty-four hours.”

  I ignored her quip and left her to it. I went downstairs and found Amit sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone and a drink in his hand. Good. Alek was taking care of him. Amit was particular. If he wasn’t treated right, he’d go straight to my uncle.

  I explained what I was looking for, and then we made small talk until I heard the pipes overhead go quiet. Her shower was over. I motioned to the stairs. “Sounds like she’s ready.”

  I pushed the bedroom door open without a knock, because it was my house and I owned everything in it, and she turned to face us. Like last night, her hair had been twisted back in a messy bun and wasn’t wet. And once again, I admired the way she looked wrapped up in my robe, but I didn’t get to focus on it for long. Her face was coated in fear at the short Indian man at my side, who was at least thirty years old than either of us.

  “Oksana, this is Amit. He’s a doctor.”

  She backpedaled until she reached the bedpost. It was mostly hidden by the sides of the robe, but she wrapped a hand around it and clutched it for support. Her chaotic eyes darted from him to me. “I’m not sick.”

  “Great,” I said. “That means it’ll be a short visit.”

  Amit carried his leather bag into the room and set it on the bed, but Oksana skittered away. There was nowhere for her to go, because I stood in the doorway and blocked her in.

  “Relax,” I ordered. “Amit examines every girl who . . . gets involved in the business.”

  “All of your whores,” she said.

  I shrugged, because what was there to say?
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  She watched as he pulled a blood pressure cuff out of the bag, followed by a stethoscope, but it did nothing to soothe her nerves. Anxiety rolled off her in waves.

  “It’s all right, miss,” Amit said softly. “I’m only going to make sure you are healthy. It will just take a few minutes.”

  Or a lot longer if she fought me on this. I was really hoping to avoid calling Alek up here to help me hold her still. That’d make everything more difficult, and I didn’t want him to see her when she was fucking naked. Amit I could tolerate. He was a doctor.

  “Oksana.” She’d been obedient up until now, but I sensed this was her breaking point. “He’s not going to hurt you.” I weighted my voice, even though she was smart and had no reason to trust me. “You have my word.”

  Her shoulders were so tense, they were practically up to her ears. Her expression was both icy cold and fiery rage, and I watched her hands curl into tight, white-knuckled balls. A deep breath was drawn in, and blown out slowly as her eyes closed. “If I do this, I want something in return.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Like, two grand worth of clothes?”

  Her eyes popped open and zeroed in on me. “Hire someone to tune the piano.”

  A half of a laugh erupted from me, but she didn’t smile, and I sobered. “Oh, shit, you’re serious? No.”

  “Why not?”

  Because bringing strangers into my house was dangerous. I could literally be inviting the FBI inside and offering them a million places to stick a surveillance device. This was my safe haven. The only place I could truly be me.

  Amit chose that very fucking moment to pull the rest of his shit out of the bag and lay it on the bed. Latex gloves, an alcohol swab packet, a packaged syringe . . . and an ampule. Oksana gasped like I’d slammed my fist into her stomach and her accusatory glare cut right through me.

  She thought I was going to drug her.

  “That’s not what you think,” I said quickly. “It’s so I don’t knock you up.”