Page 82 of Pay the Piper

The file is long but already expertly highlighted by the only person who knows the exact pieces of information I always want from an intel sheet. Without time to second-guess myself, I dial the number from the top of the report. It doesn’t have to ring twice before the dead man answers.

“Ah, finally. It’s the man who’s been fucking my wife. Took you long enough to call.”

“You’re a dead man, Fitzpatrick. I’m not sure what you thought the outcome of fucking with the Santori family was going to be, but I can guarantee you that reality will be worse than your worst nightmare.”

“I’m not so sure. I’ve gotten plenty of the information I was after, and my little bride has brought all of her holes back to me just like I knew she would.”

“She’s your bride in name only, and that’ll be easily remedied once you’re dead and scattered to the wind.”

His maniacal laugh is proof that we aren’t dealing with a cold, calculated businessman. He might be savvy and smart enough to maneuver the political circuit, but Conor Fitzpatrick is crazy.

“Oh, I don’t think I can agree with you there, Mr. Mavrin. Yes, I have my own in-house tech. Don’t be so surprised that your name popped up with your number. But my Niamh is my wife in plenty of ways, aren’t you?”

The unmistakable sound of rough oral sex fills the speaker, a woman choking and gagging as Conor grunts and curses.

That doesn’t mean it’s Abby. It could be anyone.

“Say hello to your Russian lover, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”

After a sniffle, the love of my life quietly answers.

“Hi, Misha.”

I fall to my knees in the kitchen as the rhythmic sounds continue.

“By all means, keep listening if you want to hear me fuck her. I have missed her so much. Otherwise, I can’t think of anything we have left to speak about. Oh! Other than this. If you see Nikki Santori anytime soon, can you thank him for sending my wife back to me?”

I end the call, having no doubt that Conor would follow through with his promise. As tempting as it is to listen to proof that Abby’s alive, my time is better spent picking myself off the floor and getting back to what matters.

Finding out what the hell Conor was talking about with regard to Nikki. He’s one of the hundreds of unread messages in my inbox, and when I get a call notification, I’m already halfway out the door to my bike.

Letting it ring, I hop on my bike. I don’t care what he has to say to me. Nothing can forgive his betrayal. As I speed out of the parking garage and race toward the compound, the prospect of relieving some of my tension against Nikki’s face is the only way I know how to calm down.

I pray it works. Otherwise, the world might burn down around us all.

Chapter 32

“Hi, Misha.”

As shitty as it is for Conor to make Misha think he’s abusing me right now, it’s better than what I expected. When I boarded the plane to come back, I spent the first half of the flight thinking of every single moment of happiness I felt in Thunder Bay. With white noise in my noise-canceling headphones, I basked in the love and patience of the man who brought me back to life. I pledged to myself to never completely forget the warmth and family of Ellie, Nikki, Giulia, and Nonna.

Then I buried it all.

The second half of the flight was spent steeling myself for what was to come. If Conor had taken from me before, he’d likely be feral and punishing now. The days of being so drugged out I didn’t feel or remember my assaults were probably long gone, and pain, sexual or not, was my future.

He took one look at me when I walked in with my red curls long and free, and my green eyes flashing in defiance as if daring him to stick another blue contact in them, and deemed me unfit to fuck.

“For now.”

I’m not going to borrow tomorrow’s problems today, so I watch him finish all over the blonde at his feet, then call in his men to cart her off to be abused. I wish I could count on him being in a better mood after getting off, but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes he ends up angrier and crueler after an orgasm. More proof that something is really fucked up in his head.

Without a word, he gestures for me to follow him into his office. I’ve already been strip-searched and run through every metal detector in this place, his team looking for bugs and threatening that if I’m double-crossing them, I’d be sorry.

I wish I were double-crossing them.

Nikki and I had the bare bones of a plan, but Conor got the upper hand. When he convinced me that he could hit Misha where it hurt…I panicked and fled. It’ll probably come back to bite me, but after barging into Thunder Bay and lying to the only real friends I have, I couldn’t be the one responsible for their family getting hurt. It was only right that I did exactly as Conor asked.

In his office, I sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs opposite the imposing desk, eyeing the space for changes since the last time I was unfortunate enough to cross the threshold. It’s the same as when I last saw it, although I rarely sat in any chairs. More often than not, I was gagged and passed around to the laps of various men in the room, either as a reward, an offer to sweeten a deal, or, if the man wasn’t an exhibitionist, punishment. Conor always loved forcing men he suspected to be gay to attempt to fuck me in front of a crowd. When they couldn’t get hard, it would damn them to a lesser role in the organization.