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“You have?” My smile falters and my heart sinks because picturing Mikhail at one of these depraved parties does tarnish the image of him I have built up in my mind. Is he one of them—like them?
He must notice my expression change because he leans forward and grips my hands.
“That doesn’t mean I treat women this way, Lilli. I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t fucked whores. Come to think of it, until you, whores, were mainly the only ones in my bed.”
“Mainly?” It hurts even imagining him with anyone else and he nods, a ruthless gleam in his eye.
“We both have a past and must accept it. I am not a nice man, you already know that, but I don’t abuse women, children, animals, you name it. I’m not that man.”
“But you do go to those parties knowing they involve–”
“Sex?” He answers for me and nods.
“Of course. I have particular tastes that women at these events cater to. It’s why I use whores. I pay them well and they know what’s expected.”
I snatch my hands away.
“Understood.” I stare moodily out of the window and hate that he doesn’t even try to explain. All he does is pick up the diary and carry on reading it, leaving me to wallow in his verbal shit.
I don’t want to think of him like them. The same men that Reggie spoke about. He is better than that. At least I thought he was, and yet he is unapologetic about the fact he’s not. He says he doesn’t use women, that they know the score, but all I have is his word on that and then there’s the reason I’m here at all. I’m his prisoner, so why am I even surprised that he is just like them?
“What are your tastes?” I blurt out before I can think this through, and he raises his eyes.
“My tastes as in–”
“Sex, Mikhail. You said those women cater for your particular tastes. What are they? It’s a simple enough question.”
I’m being deliberately rude and for a second anger flares in his eyes and I wish I didn’t have such a motormouth.
“Would you like me to show you?”
Why do those words make me clench my legs together and why does that sound like the best idea he’s had all day?
“No!” I add with a rough, “Asshole.” For good measure.
Once again, he sets down the diary and from the expression in his eyes, I should be very afraid right now.
“Come.” He holds out his hand and I ignore it and hiss, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes. You are.” He reaches across and unfastens my safety belt and pulls me from my seat as if I’m a feather.
He moves fast and I don’t miss Damien’s smirk and Katerina’s roll of the eyes as they watch us go.
Despite being incredibly angry at him, I am also curious, so I don’t object too hard as he guides me through a curtained area toward another cabin.
He opens a door and as we head inside, my eyes widen at the huge bedroom that appears to be out of place on an aircraft.
“Wow, Mikhail!” I am more impressed than extremely worried right now.
He points to the bed.
“You ask what I do when I entertain whores. Why don’t I demonstrate instead?”
“No!” I am horrified at being treated like them and my eyes burn with unshed tears as I feel like a fool. Of course he screws whores. Probably anything that moves actually, and I should never have questioned him on it. Isn’t that what I am, anyway? He is paying me for my company. Paying me for sex.
I brush the tears aside and he reaches for me and holds me close, whispering, “First they strip and then they sink to their knees before me.”
His voice is husky in my ear, and I shake my head. “I don’t want to know. Change the subject, please.”
