Page 45 of Taint My Soul

“Let me go.”

“No.” He shouts over the music.

I manage to put some distance between us and head to the elevator, hoping that when I step outside the building, I can breathe through the panic surging through me. But Kurt’s persistent through his pursuit even when I enter the dark alley.

“Hey, I’m speaking to you.”

“You don’t want to do this with me.” I should be home, not here. I should be in my bed. Not facing this fucking embarrassment of a man.

“You’ll pay for this. I lost my job because of you.”

“And you followed me here so I can do what? Get it back for you? You lost your job because you’re incompetent and unprofessional.” I yell at him, a slow mocking laughter escaping me when I least expect it. He groans and grabs me, shoving him against the wall.

My chest expands and contracts. Frustration blooms in his eyes. I try to steady my breathing as anger cuts into me. Hot and lethal. My fists clench at my side, itching to hold onto something. Men like him don’t listen to words. They love consequences.

Before he can say anything else, I shove him, hands springing forward. He lands on his ass, too shocked to respond.

“If you ever come back here again…” the words lodge in my throat. It’s not my voice I hear. It’s something monstrous. Wrapped in hot velvet rage. When I look at him, his image warps into a younger me, and the memory hits me like a brick at the back of my skull.

The calmness is gone.

If I stay here, I’d do something I regret, so I leave. Tears form in my eyes as I take the elevator back to the strip club, immersing myself in the chaos of the thrumming space. The ache still sits there. Through the night. Through the music playing in the background. Through everything that happens around me. When the night ends, I return to the dressing room, push myself through a warm shower, and head out of the building.

That’s where I meet Saint’s driver waiting for me, parked beside the building. Could my night get any fucking worse?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MASON

As the car drives through the underground parking lot, my heart thuds in my chest.

We are here.

Bernard parks the car, circles over, and opens the door for me. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He leads me to the elevator, and we take the ride up to Saint’s penthouse apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap the entire length of the space, catching the night skyline in sharp, glittering fragments. Behind me, the elevator dings as it descends the building. Bernard’s gone. It’s just me standing here in the darkness. Light flickers to life, and I lift my gaze to Saint, who sprawls on the deep charcoal leather couch. He holds a glass of scotch in his hand and looks at me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

The air carries a faint, clean scent of lavender and smoky wood. A single art piece dominates the far wall: an abstract painting of violent strokes and muted red.

“You made it.” He says.

“Just like you wanted.” My voice comes out with a slight tinge of anger. His brows arch, and he sips from the bottle, then stands on his feet.

He’s a fucking mess.

“That’s no way to speak with your boss.”

“If it’s not work, then why am I here?” I still feel the anger from everything that happened with Kurt. I thought maybe the night would take it, but that ache sits low and harsh on my chest. “Our contract is over. You made that abundantly clear. We can’t do this. Please let me go.”

He doesn’t say a word. He’s only looking at me. I can’t pinpoint the emotion in his eyes.

Confusion? Judgement? Distress?

“Kiss me.” He finally says, voice low and quiet. He’s miserable. I wonder what he’s going through that makes him like this. There’s a bottle of scotch on the table. He drank it halfway. From the look of things, he’s not stopping anytime soon.

“Kiss you? Really?”