Page 15 of His Turn

“Do you want to play or not?” I finally ask, reaching the end of my patience.

“I do if you do.”

“Can you be serious for a moment? And stop acting like a child? I mean, I get it. You practically are a child, but let’s pretend you’re a grown-up for a few more minutes and see if we can’t work out a deal.”

“I don’t respond to insults, Mr. Bricman. I can take anything you throw at me. Words”—she laughs—“words are useless weapons. They bounce off, Elias. So if that’s your game plan, you’ve already lost.”

“I’ll keep that in mind about the words,” I say, letting out a sigh. “How about we take a night to cool off and think it over, hmmm? Have another go at it tomorrow.”

“Fine with me,” she says. “Have a nice evening.” She ends the call and leaves me to stare at my phone.

What the fuck just happened?

I shake my head and laugh, answering my own question. “I have no clue.”

I press the contact number for Jordan. He picks up on the second ring. “Did she call you back?”

“She sure did,” I say. “That bitch is nuts.”

“Right? She’s fucking perfect.”

“Where did you find her?” I ask.

“A directory online. A kink chat on the dark web. Why, you think she’s dangerous?”

“She might be,” I say.

“Too dangerous for you?” he laughs.

“No,” I say.

“Are you in or out?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I think it’s up to her.”

I think Jordan spits out a drink at that comment. “Since when?” he asks. “Since when do you let the women call the shots in the game?”

But I have no answer for him. So I just say nothing.

“Well, listen…” Jordan says. “I’ll make nice tomorrow like I always do and we’ll have dinner with her. Not at the Club. Somewhere else. You take care of that and then swing by my place and pick me up at seven. We’ll pick her up together after that. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I say, ending the call.

I am restless the entire evening. And I’m not tired, since I slept all day. So I look her up online. I get her last name from the ballet website. A blog post about her joining the company. Nadia Wolfe. From a smaller company in New York. No other personal details. After searching I get a few phone numbers, none of which are the one she’s using now. And a list of several dozen residential addresses. There’s quite a few Nadia Wolfes, it seems.

I do a half-hearted search on social media, but then slap my laptop closed and decide it’s not worth my time.

Who cares who she is or why she’s doing this? Nadia Wolfe has obvious issues. Most of which will prevent her from playing a game with us. And if she does agree tomorrow night, well, she won’t be around long, that’s for sure. She wants something, but it’s some prize that has nothing to do with Jordan or me.

So fuck it. Fuck her. I don’t care about her motives.

I just want her on her knees. I want to bend her backwards and make her submit.

This is not the game I usually play. This game has nothing to do with taking turns.

This is about me for once.

It’s my turn, I realize. It’s my turn to take, and take, and take until I use her up and spit her out.

It’s been a long time since I did something like this. A very long time since I’ve had it my way. And now’s my chance. Just a little detour, I think in my head. A shortcut to ease the pain from losing the last game to Quin and Rochelle.

I won’t get lost.

I know my way through this dark forest.