Page 29 of His Turn

Chapter Eight - Nadia

I’m snickering with delight when I get the hang-up beeps from Elias. I stand up and stretch. My old t-shirt rides up my belly and my cut-off sweats fall a little down my hips.

I hike them up and then skip into my kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I should’ve been an actress. For real, I am so good at this shit.

But these stupid men, right? They are ruled by those cocks. And the bigger, the fatter, and the longer those cocks are—the more they use them to think.

I bust out laughing. It’s so loud, it echoes through the kitchen.

“Mr. Bricman,” I say to no one but myself. “You have officially met your match.” He’s going to be so much fun to fuck with, I almost feel giddy at the thought. Never in a million years did I think I’d wrap him up in one night.

God, he’s almost a disappointment. “I expected more from you, Bricman,” I say, filling my tea kettle with water and placing it on the stove burner.

Then I walk back out into the living room and flop onto the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest and look out the window. I think I like Denver. I think Denver is my new favorite place.

I haven’t felt this… happy in a very long time.

The entire night was perfect. I played this game like a goddamned gold medalist. I am the queen of fucking mind games.

“Queen, Bricman! Do you hear me?” I shout it at the walls. “I’m the fucking queen!”

He has no idea who he’s dealing with. He has no idea how manipulative I can be. How cunning, and unscrupulous, and scheming I can be.

But fuck him anyway. Fuck him for only seeing what’s on the outside. Fuck him for pegging me as a victim. Fuck him for underestimating me. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

My phone rings on the coffee table. Vibrates too. I glance down at the number, my heart skipping a beat as I read the screen. For a moment, I hope I’m seeing it wrong. I hope it’s just an illusion. Some kind of hallucination.

But it’s not. It’s real.

The phone is about to vibrate off the table when I reach out and grab it. Tab accept. “Hello?” I say.

“Nadia?”

“Yes,” I say.

Silence.

“What?” I ask. “Why are you calling me?”

“Where are you?”

“None of your business.”

More silence. I should just hang up. But I won’t. I refuse. I will not submit.

“I already know anyway.”

“Good for you,” I say. “What do you want?”

“I want you to come home.”

“No. I’m not coming home. I told you that when I left. I won’t be home again. Ever.”

“You got a new job,” he says.

“Yup. Pretty sweet one, too.”