Page 8 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“Payment,” Artur replies.

“Excuse me?”

And just like that, we switch gears, tumbling into unfamiliar and unpleasant territory as I try to process what’s happening. Artur leaves the envelope on the bed, next to my thigh. “It’s for you and your missed interview,” he says. “You deserve it.”

“Oh, wow,” I snap, instantly scrambling off the bed and onto my feet.

Fire rages through me. Outrage. And so much shame.

“I’m not some fucking prostitute,” I state.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Max says. “We just want to make sure you walk away with the best experience. Especially given that you were incredibly brave to do this, to trust us the way you did.”

Ivan comes out of the shower, gloriously naked and wet, steam rising from his smooth, tattooed skin. He overheard everything. “We would never view you as such. But you did miss an interview and you might experience some inconveniences after this meeting of ours. We just want to make sure you’re compensated for any discomfort that might come your way.”

“I don’t understand. Make it make sense,” I reply, hands balled into fists at my side.

“Artur here will do his best to scrub you from the hotel’s CCTV system, but we can’t guarantee a miracle, especially since I presume you went through reception before coming up here, telling them you were meeting with Jack Bowman.”

“Oh, God.” I had almost forgotten. “Shit, the police will surely want to ask me questions if and when someone reports him missing.”

“Take the money,” Ivan insists. “Consider it an incentive to keep your mouth shut. We certainly won’t be mentioning your name. As far as we’re concerned, you were never here.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Take the money,” Ivan says again, more sternly this time. “Play your part. Nothing happened. Bowman wasn’t here. You left. You don’t know anything.”

“But that’s only if the cops come asking,” Max calmly states. “Otherwise, please go on with your life. It has been a veritable and unexpected pleasure getting to know you, Lyric.”

I scoff and stomp out of the room, leaving the money behind. In mere seconds, I manage to put my clothes back on and slip into my shoes before grabbing my purse and leaving Executive Suite 208.

The men didn’t try to stop me. They didn’t say another word nor did they move from their positions in the bedroom as I stormed through the suite and into the hallway.

When I get to the elevator, I find myself looking up. There are cameras in the corners on both sides. My face burns red hot. Bile gathers in my throat. We had such a good thing going on in there, and yet…

How the hell did I get myself roped into this? I wasn’t thinking clearly. I must have been under the influence of something.

“Of what, Lyric?” I mutter to myself.

I already know the answer to that and it’s beyond shameful given the circumstances. As much as I enjoyed it, tinges of regret test my resolve as I decide to take the stairs instead. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I do know I need to get the hell out of here.

I sneak out of the hotel and head back to my car as fast as I can, flooring it all the way to my apartment, praying the cops don’t show up.

As much as I’d like to forget about what happened, the way I feel in the morning prevents me from doing so.

My muscles ache. My pussy aches. My body longs for them and I hate it. I’m angry and restless, yet I can’t stop thinking about it. I walked into that situation expecting something entirely different. They gave me an out yet I chose to stay. I can’t blame them for anything that happened.

I was in charge the entire time. All I needed to do was say stop and it would have ended. I need to accept responsibility and be honest with myself about it.

It's been quiet, so far.

I guess that’s a good thing.

My thesis might need a few changes. I don’t know what’s going to happen to Jack Bowman, and I’m wondering whether I should just keep his chapter without an interview.

Instead of panicking over what happened or over what might happen next, I decide to brew myself a cup of coffee and begin my day. I have a few things to do before I start my afternoon shift at the school library so I might as well get on with it.

Get on with my life, like Artur suggested. Pretend that nothing happened.

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