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Screw Bastian.
I paced the length of my apartment, a nice but small flat close to the Wilton University area. The FBI had paid for it in cash for the year. If my legend ran over, I would be taking over the payments with the bartending salary.
It was two in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I was wired. The sight of Bastian’s cock was seared into my mind, and I didn’t know what to think about what had happened.
I had walked in on him, but he could have at least stopped.
Or you could have walked away.
I stuttered to a stop, hoping the Devil’s advocate in my head wasn’t me, the real me, the one peeping its head out now that I had finally assumed my identity.
If you could call it an identity since I’d shoved myself under so many covers for so long, I still didn’t understand who I was or what I wanted.
What if the real me turned out to be a horrible agent, a deviant person, and a sex-crazed woman with no boundaries?
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The way his cock looked, hard and ready for me, pre-cum dripping past his piercing.
And my goodness, his piercing. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about walking in on him.
My last legend would have taken advantage of the situation, and the one before that would have been pissed.
But as Ariana? I didn’t know what to make of it all.
Bastian had humiliated me all day, but I liked the challenge. I liked the thrill that accompanied defying him, and better yet, I liked how he pushed me.
Fire met each opposition.
We were an inferno set to combust, and we had convinced ourselves we were fireproof. We were going to burn, but each flame was gilded, each blister worth the agony.
I knew deep down my lack of resolve was shameful. My lust—pathetic. But fighting Bastian felt intense, and no amount of logic could control my feelings.
He was a potent high I couldn’t achieve with adrenaline, alcohol, or any other vice I could think of. And I recognized the signs of an impending addiction.
To make matters worse, I still hadn’t received a call or email or anything to tell me that I had gotten the job. Dread settled in my gut as I paced, paced, and paced some more.
The phone rang, and I knew instantly who it was.
Who else would call at two in the morning as if I were at his beck and call?
I clutched the phone tightly, my fingers whitening from the pressure.
“Hello?”
My voice was breathless, but I didn’t have it in me to put on a façade.
Not after what had happened.
“Training begins Monday. Half past noon. Black dress. Sleeveless but not strapless. Cocktail. Mid-thigh. Cleavage light. We don’t want you looking like you frequent street corners at night. No heels. You’ll regret it. Hair pulled back. Make up light. Natural.” His voice dipped lower. “And Ariana?”
The way he said my name, like a horrible, reluctant caress, had me struggling to breathe. I wanted to argue, yell, whatever, but I didn’t have it in me in this moment.
Monday, I would be ready, but right now, all I could manage was a ragged, “Yes?”
“Don’t be late.”
If I knew what was best for me, I wouldn’t show up at all.
