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Disgrace.
Disgust.
Whore.
I grit my teeth and look out the window, surprised to find the view a bit blurry. I’m not a crier. Why now?
For a while, he doesn’t talk at all. He’s on his phone, casually scrolling through with a look of intense concentration. I left my own phone behind, but a part of me’s actually relieved I did. There’s no more expectation of keeping up the appearance of perfection with every selfie and post if I don’t have my phone.
When my mother discovered that social media could be profitable, she made up her mind. They needed money, and Ihad a pretty face. She researched everything she could, and the next thing I knew, I was a social media sensation.
I hate it. So I’m glad to leave that part of my life behind.
Phones are disposable, like so many other things. Clothes. Feelings. Daughters, apparently.
Do you have any other daughters?
It would actually get under my skin if I didn’t guess that’s exactly why he said it.
“We’re almost home,” he says, still holding his phone. “Come here.”
The sound of his voice is like the shimmering surface of a lake I swam in as a child. Placid and calm, but beneath the surface, the frigid depths of the water pulled with a current that could sweep you off your feet and drag you under.
I will not be pulled under.
“Come here? We’re in the back of a car. How much closer do you want me to come?”
A dangerous glint in his gaze tells me he’s not amused. “Do I need to show you exactly how much closer I expect you to come?” Leaning toward me, his voice drops to a low register. “And Iwillexpect you to come, Princess.”
Oh, God.
I know this game. I know these maneuvers. He wants to rattle me so he can make his move.
I’m not easy to manipulate regardless of what he thinks. I haveyearsof experience.
Holding my gaze, he slowly pats his knee, a silent beckoning. “Hands here, please.”
He wants my ... hands… on his lap? What kind of weird kink is that?
Bemused, I obey, my fingers pressed against his pants. The muscles of his sturdy thigh are hard beneath my hands as I arch my back.
There’s a click of metal and something cold on my wrists. I look down to see hehandcuffedme. Just pulled out a pair of handcuffs like a magician.
“That’s how much closer you’ll come,” he says with an air of cold finality. He yanks me by the wrists so my whole body slams against his chest. “Just like that.”
The car has come to a stop and the door opens. A flash of moonlight shows he wasn’t lying — the glint of silver and light show the Manhattan skyline on full display against the inky sky, as far as the eye can see.
He gets out first then reaches for me. I’m awkward, stumbling with my wrists cuffed, but he has too tight a grip on me for me to fall. The harsh sound of Russian fills the night as his men speak in low voices to one another, a show of deference when they talk to him.
I wonder where he ranks. I only know my family’s hierarchy but I’m almost completely unfamiliar with the Russians’.
“Welcome home, sir.” The rest all speak in Russian, so I assume the change is for my benefit. I’ve lifted my head to see where we are, to see where I might plan my escape, when silky fabricgoes over my face and my world is plunged into darkness.He blindfolded me.
I stumble when I can’t see where I’m going. My belly dips and I gasp, trying to brace myself for a fall, but my hands are restrained. Then strong arms wrap around me, and I’m hoisted in the air.
“Watch your step,” he snaps, as my belly hits what must be his shoulder. I can’t see, of course, but it feels like I’m high in the air and this is extremely uncomfortable.
“With a blindfold on? Sure, that makes total sense. Maybe next time you’ll ask me to sing with a gag in, or?—”
