Page 63 of His Father

“I’m surprisingly not in the mood,” I explain, stepping around her.

She looks insulted, her massive ego can’t handle the rejection.

“Because of that little girl you have been fucking?” She is not happy but I stay calm.

“No, because I haven’t slept all night and I’m worried about my future and the future of my company.”

Her eyes narrow further. “I traveled all this way to see you and help you with my father and you turn me away like this?”

Fuck. “Like I said…”

“Like the last time when I offered to stay for longer and you declined me then too. Yet now you live with a girl half your age.” She pulls out her phone and grins maniacally. “She isn’t even pretty.”

My lips thin to a white line. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Nastya.”

“She’s not prettier than me.”

Insecure bitch. When I don’t reply her cheeks pink with rage.

“I will have them bring her to me right now. I will not be embarrassed by you for anyone! Especially not little girls.”

My heart rate picks up. She would be so callous and cruel. What do I do?

“You are still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Nastya. I simply don’t wish to date you because of your father being who he is. I saw what he did to the last man you tired of.”

She laughs at that and cups my face with her hands. “Then we mustn’t tell him, yes?”

My stomach is twisting in knots, I feel ill. I feel trapped. I have to be careful not to anger her. If I can stall her for long enough.

“Come,” she says, draping her jacket over the chair by my desk. “Now we can fuck.”

“I’m not…”

“Release some of that tension.” She circles me like a vulture and starts rubbing my back. I close my eyes but there’s no willing this away. “We had fun, let us repeat.”

Her nails scratch the surface of my arm as she comes to stand in front of me. I let her lift my shirt over my head, begging for an excuse that doesn’t sound pathetic and useless. I could say I have an STI but then she’d lose interest entirely and I need her on my side when her father shows up. If he shows up. She’s the only one that can keep me alive.

Her fingertips touch the part where my tattoo meets my shoulder, trail across my throat and then dance to my nipple which tightens immediately.

“Come,” she whispers against my lips, tugging on my belt to have me follow before undoing it. She scrapes her nails over the top of my jeans but it doesn’t even stir.

Fuck. She’s going to be really pissed off if I can’t get it hard.

I’m going to have to do this. The thought makes me ill but I’m going to have to do it. It’s the only way.

I crush my lips to hers, praying for some kind of divine intervention.

Unfortunately, none comes and after discretely rubbing my cock with my birthday gift from Tempest, I make Nastya remember everything she liked about me.

Tempest

Tears blur my vision as I’m dragged past the rows of bikes by a humongous, bald-headed dickhead. He’s taller than Sargent and has his hand fisted in my hair.

“Gently, Sergei,” my captor snaps at his bald-headed guard.

My captor being a very Russian, much older man called Yaroslava. The same man that Sargent told me about just last night.

I don’t beg anymore, not like I did for the first five minutes, insisting I had nothing to do with this. Yaroslava pushed a blade against my neck and that’s all it took to silence me for the journey here. I would have been safer hiding somewhere. They stopped us en route to the airport. They left Miles by his car in a bloody pulp after this bald fuck and another guard kicked the shit out of him. He put up a good fight but it wasn’t enough. I don’t even know if he’s alive.

“We do not want her as bald as you by the time we make it inside.” Yaroslava laughs loudly at his own joke.

Pain grips my scalp as his hand leaves my hair and all of my roots fight to return to their original resting spaces.

I whimper when his strong grip moves to my arm and yanks me into the house where men are scattered in all uniforms. Some in cuts, some in suits, some in casual attire.

They all look our way and they part as I’m shoved through. Their chatter now silent, so silent I can hear something else. Something that sickens me. The sound of a woman’s moans of pleasure coming from upstairs. How can anybody be having sex at a time like this?

She’s so loud.

“Sit,” Yaroslava commands me and I’m pushed toward the sofa facing the stairs.

I sit and the big guy stands behind me as Yaroslava greets Stone and the others in here.

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