Page 36 of Savage Kingdom

As I followed him, I replied, “And what makes you think I want to ride yours?”

Gideon didn’t hear me, or if he did, he ignored my smart mouth. When we made it out of the bar, he hailed a cab. He guided me inside and gave the driver directions to Oak St, where all the high-end boutiques were located.

I looked out the window as I watched Chicago pass by. This city didn’t hold fond memories for me. I’d been coming here since I was sixteen, and at twenty-two, I hadn’t been able to break that cycle.

“Where to?” I asked once we got out of the cab.

Gideon looked at me and smirked. “My little whore, I want you in Chanel.”

I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, so I didn’t bother responding. Side by side, we passed the shops, making our way to the store he wanted.

Only loaded people attended Sinestre. The underworld had some fucked-up entertainment, and if you stepped a foot in the shadows, you might as well kiss your life goodbye. Once you walked into hell, there was no turning back.

When the door to Chanel opened, Gideon took my hand. It was foreign and intrusive, but it was another sort of test, so I bit the inside of my cheeks and let him hold me.

Gideon probably thought he was showing me the world. Poor little slave girl. That part was correct, but even if I was a slave, I was one with a black Amex.

“Do you want to pick, or shall I?” I humored him as I pretended to look at the garments on display.

He walked toward the back where a black dress was displayed on a mannequin. Square neckline, tight with a slit that went all the way to the waist. It was the perfect mix of slutty and classy.

“You dress, act, talk as I tell you,” he growled.

My chest burned with a slow simmering rage. For a second, I thought he was different than the men who came before him.

“As my master wishes,” I murmured, making my way to the sales associate so I could ask for a room. Gideon didn’t follow me into the fitting room.

The dress was tighter than I liked but not as revealing as some of the things Damian had made me wear through the years. The tops of my breasts were noticeable, and it was obvious I didn’t wear a bra by my pebbled nipples.

It’s chilly in here.

When would I stop being a pawn for horny men? If my babushka could see how far I had fallen from grace, she would be sorely disappointed. A change needed to happen, but I didn’t know how. There had been venom in my veins, slowly spreading since I was eight. It had been resting within me, not harming anyone but me.

“You look gorgeous.” The soft voice scared my thoughts away.

I saw Gideon through the mirror. His eyes roamed my face, my breasts, the skin that showed between my legs. He made no excuses that he wanted me.

He wore a charcoal suit that fit him to a T. It accentuated his muscles, broad shoulders, and a tie at his neck. He looked refined—we both did.

He took a step towards me, his hand brushing the hair on my nape to the side. I realized why I kept having all these odds feelings for him. He made me feel like a woman. Someone desired worthy of a man’s attention without the shadow of the past clinging to her skin like a disease. Gideon made me feel alive.

It was a dangerous feeling I was aware of it. Still, I found myself saying, “thank you.”

“You want to know how I know you will be riding my dick?” He kissed my shoulder. “Because every time I get near you, every time I touch you, your eyes, they grow wide in amazement—in wonder. Petal, for a guy like me, that’s like a red flag being waved in front of a bull. It’s not often I get to peel back feelings and layers, and here you are, a novelty that I want to destroy.”

My lips trembled, and my legs shook, and my hands were clammy. I felt like I was going to pass out. His words elated and terrified me. Yes, they made me feel like a woman, but also like a failure.

“You look edible. No one will be able to resist you tomorrow.”

With those words, he walked out of my dressing room.

What was I doing? I couldn’t remember why I was with him in the first place. As I took my clothes off, I reassessed my priorities.

Revenge—I wanted revenge.

Not only on Yoro but on Damian. Long ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I swore I would get back at him, and somewhere along the way between missions, I forgot. I was going to do this with Gideon, and then I was going to leave him. I didn’t need him to kill Yorovich. The rules be damned.

I feared the emotions Gideon evoked more than I feared the Sekt.

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