Chapter 48
“I’m sorry,” Dolinsky said again. His gaze was compassionate; something about him appeared completely devastated. Like it truly hurt him to hurt me.
My throbbing, splinted ring finger rested in my lap. It looked pathetic and naked without my wedding ring. Dolinsky had taken it, the ring that had belonged to Flynn’s mother, and placed it in his pocket for safekeeping.
“It doesn’t hurt. Much,” I said, lifting a glass of vodka to my lips. The doctor who wrapped my finger had urged me to take a heavy pain med, but I refused. I preferred the vodka.
“Do you really think he’ll show?” I asked.
“I do.”
At the end of the video, after I’d stopped screaming from the shock and pain of Dolinsky breaking my finger, he’d turned to the camera and instructed Flynn to meet him at a warehouse in Queens tomorrow at eleven. Flynn was to come alone and unarmed—or Dolinsky had promised to do worse to me and make sure Flynn saw it all.
“Campbell will come because he wants to ensure he gets you back—all in one piece. He’ll do anything to protect you.”
I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore. Dolinsky had made me come on camera. I hadn’t faked it—my belly burned with shame and remorse.
We sat in the living room of the penthouse suite, a gas fire burning in the hearth. It was far too normal for what had transpired between us a few hours ago. Sasha had been the one to dispatch the video, so he was gone. It was just us in this still place, filled with feelings and things I didn’t want to deal with.
“You’re quiet,” Dolinsky noted.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Tomorrow. I can’t wait until this is all over,” I said.
For once, I wasn’t lying.
“After it’s done, how should we celebrate?” he asked.
“We will climb back into bed and spend the day there.”
“Is that a promise?” he asked, his voice husky.
Men. So easy. Letting women lead them around by their cocks.
I forced a smile. “Promise.” Standing up, I set my unfinished vodka on the coffee table. “I think I’ll head to bed now.” I brushed a kiss on Dolinsky’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t lose sleep over what happened tonight.”
His gaze slid to my broken finger and his nostrils flared. “I hate myself. For hurting you.”
“I know.”
“I loved touching you.”
“I know that, too.”
Once I was in the privacy of my own room, the weight of what I’d done smothered me. I’d been pleasured by another man’s hand. I’d enjoyed having Dolinsky touch me. My body had overruled my head.
I hated myself.
And it wasn’t only my finger that was broken.
The next morning was cold and gray. After I dressed in all black, I stood in my bedroom, staring out the window. There was a knock on the door before Dolinsky appeared in the doorway holding a long mink coat.
“Apology gift?” I asked with a slight smile. My finger hurt, but it was my spirit that was truly battered.
“Furs fit for a queen,” he said, helping me into the coat, mindful of my injury. His hands lingered on my shoulders, his lips close to my ear.
