Chapter 72: Chapter Seventeen

Andrei

For the first time in my life, I panicked.

How had I not looked past the title of girlfriend and given her a job? Hell, bartender would have even been better than whore.

But with the way she looked in that dress.

With the reputation I tended to like an obsessive-compulsive freak.

They wouldn’t believe I’d taken a bartender to dinner, would they? Or a waitress. No, I was too dirty. Too far gone. I would bring a whore to a family dinner in front of their children.

I, Andrei Petrov, would do that, because I laughed at their silly Italian code, because I didn’t care about love or family or any of the things they found necessary for survival.

But her face.

Fuck, her face killed me.

And then she’d asked for more wine, and I had the most intense need to either laugh or kiss her senseless for being brave when she needed to be, despite being angry and hurt, despite wanting to strangle me with the napkin on her lap.

And I didn’t make a habit of kissing women when I could avoid it.

They were always disappointed I didn’t do more.

Disappointed that I didn’t follow up the kiss with my mouth everywhere else, with our bodies moving in sync.

When I kissed a woman it was for a reason.

Not for a want.

Or a damn need.

We were driving back to the club when my phone rang—I wasn’t surprised it was Phoenix, he knew me better than most. I was, however, surprised he was calling so soon.

Six thirty-two had scooted all the way across the leather seat and was staring out the window like a shooting star would solve her problems.

How she was able to even sit there with her head held high was beyond me. How she kept that look of wonder in her eyes.

And I was the bastard that was making it worse.

“She’s not a whore.” The first thing Phoenix said when I answered the phone.

He was quiet after that, reading the tension across the phone as he always did, gauging my breathing to see how I’d react.

He was the mentor I’d never asked for, the man who had taken over for Luca, who watched over me and made sure I kept to my shit and didn’t lose what was left of my soul in the process.

He was also the only man alive who understood the pain of being raised in a prostitution ring.

Only he had been forced to break the virgins in, while I was only forced to watch while my dad did the honors.

“No.” My voice was clipped, my answer short.

“She looks familiar.” Bastard was baiting me, I almost smiled.

“She’s a new acquisition, haven’t decided if I’ll let her go with the other girls in a few weeks or keep her for myself.”

Six-thirty-two stiffened, her hands gripped the leather seat like she was trying to calm herself down or maybe keep herself from grabbing her heel and impaling me with it.

Phoenix sighed. “Right, keep her for yourself, so what? You can stare at her? We both know how you are; you can’t hide that shit from me, I was born in it, I breathe it, I’ll die in it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough shit,” he snapped. He rarely snapped with me. He knew that anger only made me more indifferent. “You can’t go on like this, you’re worse than a sexless robot.”

I barked out a laugh. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means, one day you’re going to lose it, and it’s going to be ugly, and you’re going to hurt whoever is on the other end of your rage, I would hate to hear that it’s that pretty girl who looks like she’d rather play with Serena and Junior than talk with the wives.

“A girl whose strength is completely born out of necessity, and whose eyes hold no hope whatsoever when she looks at you. That would be tragic.”

Her brother had done that to her, not me. I wasn’t the guilty one. I hadn’t taken her innocence, and I never would.

“Calling the kettle black a bit, aren’t you?”

“I own my darkness.” Phoenix stood. “I embrace it with both arms. You, my friend, justify it.”

He hung up on me.

I wanted my knife.

I wanted to justify throwing it into his back.

Phoenix just had to offer up his advice, didn’t he?

I wondered if she knew that I’d made a pact to keep the families safe, that I would die to protect the wives, the children.

***

That I had two jobs: figure out how to take down this club, the last club my father owned, once and for all, and make sure that the wives were never left unprotected if anything happened to their husbands.

I secretly loved them.

I secretly respected them.

And I would take that secret to my grave. My intense need to protect them from a fate she’d already faced.

It’s why I’d taken time out of my busy schedule to warn Luc of Chase’s darkness, of his need to kill every last remaining De Lange.

I tried to save Luc.

And I almost failed.

“You did good tonight, six-thirty-two, very good.” I reached for her, put my hand on her thigh only for her to jerk away from me.

“You should have told me from the beginning… that I’d traded one owner for another, one master for another… you shouldn’t have cleaned me, shouldn’t have fed me.

“You should have let me bleed while I serviced you. He was right, you know… I’m nothing but a whore.”

“Stop the car.” I was barely in control of my rage. “Stop the fucking car!”

The car jerked to a stop along the highway. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out onto the gravel road and slammed her against the side of the vehicle.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

And turned her head away.

I cupped her chin, forcing her to look at me as I reached for her breasts, shoving my other hand inside her coat and running it down her hips until I gripped her ass.

She let out a shriek before I slammed my mouth against hers. I wasn’t thinking beyond teaching her a lesson as I dug my fingers into her hair, deepening the kiss, forcing her to open her mouth while I drank.

I jerked my head away and whispered coldly in her ear. “A whore would have moaned, not shrieked. A whore would have given me a price.

“A whore would have spread…” I gripped her thighs and stepped between her legs, spreading them apart. “Just like this.” I rested my head against her neck. “You’re not a whore.

“I just needed them to think you are.” I stepped back. “Satisfied?”

I didn’t see it coming.

Because I didn’t expect her to fight.

Not until I felt the sting of her slap across my cheek as her fingertips burned into my ice-cold skin.

“Now I’m satisfied,” she hissed.

We locked eyes; hers were filled with barely restrained blue fury as she stared me down.

“I can’t decide…” I trailed my gloved finger down her jaw and dragged it across her bottom lip. “What I enjoyed more. The kiss or the slap.”

“I can demonstrate the slap again if you want.”

I smirked. “No, that’s okay.”

Her lower lip trembled.

Shit.

I hung my head and muttered, “Get in the car, Alice.”

It wasn’t until we pulled up to the club that I realized I didn’t say “six thirty-two.”

And as the door opened to let me out, I realized.

I’d suddenly done the unthinkable.

And made it personal.

Fucking Phoenix.