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If he does want to hurt me, then he’s already found me–it would only be a matter of time before he catches up. And if he is actually only interested in me because he wantsme, then I have a different decision to make. One that could mean my freedom.
“I’ll wait here as long as you need,” Mikhail says, an easy smile on his face, and somehow that makes the decision for me.
I step off the curb, walk around to the passenger’s side and yank open the door. “Thanks,” I say quickly, slipping inside. “I’m almost late as it is.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” He pulls away from the curb and back into the street, the car gliding smoothly forward. I breathe in the smell of new, expensive leather, my fingers tracing the buttery edges of it. In one brief moment, I’m transported back to my old life, my old place in the world, and a cramp of pain grips my chest at the sudden longing for the time when I thought I had so much to worry about, with no idea of how much more there could be.
As much as I wavered about getting into the car at all, the ride feels far too short. Mikhail is, as he promised, a perfect gentleman. His hands stay on the wheel, on his leg, not even twitching in my direction to touch me. His eyes remain on the road. He could be a cab driver, in terms of the respectful distance that he keeps. All too soon, he pulls up at the back door of the club, letting the car idle.
“Your destination, madam.” He smiles at me, flashing those perfectly white teeth, and I hesitate.
“You’re not stopping by tonight?”
His smile widens. “Why? Do you want me to?”
Something about the self-satisfied smile, the arrogance in his voice, wipes away all the goodwill I feel towards him in an instant. “No,” I snap irritably. “I just wanted to know, so I could make sure I was busy elsewhere.”
I push the door open, sliding out. My feet instantly hit a puddle in the pitted concrete, which pisses me off that much more. “Thanks for the ride,” I throw over my shoulder, letting the car door slam shut.
Fuck.
I let my temper get the better of me with him again, reacting and speaking before I had a chance to think.Now he’s never going to come back.
Do you even want him to?
I huff out a frustrated breath as I walk up the stairs to the door leading into the dressing room. No man has ever taken up this much space in my head before, and it irritates me to no end that Mikhail is the one who is taking up residence there, rent-free.
At least I won’t have to see him tonight.
It should have made me afraid that he showed up there, in my neighborhood, and it does. Even with his excuse oferrands, something about it doesn’t quite feel right. The coincidence is too great.
But at the same time, I’m not convinced that it’s him leaving the threatening messages.
There’s something else to worry about, too–thethrillI felt when I heard his voice. The way just the sound of it had run over my skin, making me feel alive.
No one has ever given me that thrill.Nothinghas, except–
I have a sudden, stark memory of descending into my father’s compound with Levin and Max, a gun gripped in my hand. I remember the trigger squeezed under my finger, the sharp acridsmell of gunpowder, and the smoke filling the air. The thud of bodies as they hit the concrete, thepowerof it. The shock on my father’s face when he saw what I’d done. When he knew I was no longer his.
That’s the thrill Mikhail gives me. A feeling of power and weakness all at once, the feeling that the same thing that thrills me could also pull me under, overpower me. The sense of danger that cuts with the same edge that allows you to make others bleed. It’s a feeling I’ve never found in a person.
I don’t want to find it in him.
I’m not supposed to be at work tonight, so I have to request my time on stage. I pick my old familiar song, the one I can get through without really thinking, trying to give myself the best chance of making it through the night without pissing Igor off again.
When I step out onto the stage, I nearly freeze in place halfway to the pole.
He’s there. At the front of the crowd gathered around the stage, looking directly at me. His ice-blue eyes meet mine, and a cold shiver runs over me.
Anticipation and fury wrap themselves around each other, blazing their way through me as I grip the pole.You said you weren’t coming here tonight, you fucker.Without a shadow of a doubt, I know why he’s standing there, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watches me. Instead of putting him off, he’d taken my parting words as a gauntlet I’d thrown down, a challenge.
He’d changed his plans to come in here and taunt me. It infuriates me–and inexplicably, it turns me on.
Fuck you.
I try to look anywhere else, focus on anyone else, but he feels like a magnet, pulling my attention back to him. I fling myself into the familiar steps of the dance, swinging myself around the pole, but like a compass, I keep ending up facing him.
His eyes never leave me, just like that first night. I can see other hands waving money in my direction, and I sway past them, pausing ever so briefly before moving toward the end of the stage where Mikhail is standing. I feel hands push bills into the taut string of my panties and more cash under the heels of my shoes, but all I can see is him.
