Page 35 of Forbidden Deviant Games

“What the hell are you talking about, Haley?” Viks growls.

“It’s going to be rough for me. No one will say shit to you, but—”

“Who?” he cuts me off.

“What?”

“Who has said shit to you?” he demands. “Was it Veronica? I was under the assumption you two were friends, but I can be wrong—it’s not the usual, but it’s happened before.”

I blink up at him. “Wow,” I say blandly. “You? Mr. Mitchell Vikson wrong about anything at all ever in life? I never would’ve guessed.” The sarcasm is a knee jerk reaction, something I cling to because my brain is going haywire at the scent of him as it invades my nostrils.

“Haley.”

“Yes?” I perfect an innocent appearance—all wide-eyed and slightly confused, as if I can’t understand what the big, strong man is trying to say—it’s the doe-eyed look.

“Stop bullshitting me,” he orders.

Fuck.

“Ugh.” I groan and reach up, scrubbing a hand down my face. “No, Veronica didn’t really say shit. She doesn’t care. One of your managers, however, was acting like a bitch because of … well, you know. I’m not completely stupid. There will be other people who treat me that way because you and I are … fucking.” I can’t think of any other way to put it. Making love? Ha. Viks isn’t a making love kind of guy, but fucking also feels wrong. Like there’s no other emotion when all there is between us is complicated emotions and problematic results. “I realized I can’t exactly work in the same place that my … that you do because of it, and it’s fine. I can find another job.”

“Anything else?” Viks presses.Does he have some sort of internal radar for bullshit?I wonder.Or perhaps it’s that psychology degree of his at work.

I refocus my gaze on that stupid piece of lint. It flutters there, sticking to the soft cotton fabric. I reach out and snatch it off, flicking it from my fingers to the floor, but unfortunately that leaves me with little else that’s safe to direct my attention.

“It’s the hallway,” I finally confess. “The back one. The one where…” I let my words trail off, unable to verbalize my own thoughts and I don’t need a fancy degree or a license in therapy to figure out why. I still don’t want to admit it. What happened could have been ten times worse. I could’ve been raped. I could’ve been killed. None of that happened. I’m lucky. But the fact that I was completely out of control, at the mercy of a man who was more than willing to do whatever he wanted were he given the appropriate amount of time plays reruns in my head. A sick television show that reminds me I’m little more than a plaything to some people. Not even human. My stomach churns with acidic bile.

“You can’t go into it?” Viks asks, his voice dropping, softening. I hate that, too. The softening—as if he feels like he needs to speak to me in such a way because I’m fragile and at risk of breaking. I hate it even more because I understand the need for it. I don’t even know what I’m facing here. What potential triggers could possibly send me into a tailspin. Nothing else has happened aside from that nightmare, but every time I think about what could have happened…

“I can’t even look at it,” I admit. “If I stop to think about it for even a second, I—Viks, just accept my resignation. I’ll work the rest of my shift tonight and I don’t have many other shifts for the rest of this week, I can get them covered. You have to understand, though, that I probably shouldn’t work for a boss I’m not only sleeping with but living with too.”

When I glance up again, Viks’ gaze roves over my face. Analyzing. It’s like he’s trying to crack open my skull and crawl inside to find out what little things make me tick. He’s not doing it on purpose, I realize now. It’s just the way he is. He’s not just a problem solver—he’s a people solver. He needs to know how people work. And knowing what I do about him now … it’s probably because that’s how survival works. Predicting people, their emotions and their actions, can sometimes mean the difference between life and death.

“Viks?” I prompt him when he doesn’t respond after several beats of silence.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he says.

“You can’t really force me to stay,” I point out.

He nods. “I know, but I don’t like the idea of you out of my sight. I feel like it’s safer here because I can be here.”

“You can’t follow me around for every shift.”

“No, you’re right.”

His hands move up the arms of the chair, the backs of his knuckles brushing against me as he presses down. I look up and Viks’ head touches me, his forehead against mine. He sighs, and the smell of mint on his breath makes me have to resist the urge to lean into him.

“I’ll finish my shift tonight,” I remind him.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

His lips twitch. “I know a way you can thank me,” he says suggestively.

I shove him back. “Perv.”

He arches a brow. “For you? Fuck yeah. All the time, baby. Anytime.”

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