Page 11 of Fatal Bonds

“At night?”

Again, that stab of guilt. She has no sense of time. She probably feels like I forgot about her. “Yes. You hungry?” I lift the bag of takeout as I fish in my pocket for the key to her cell.

She just nods, swallowing hard as her eyes track the bag of food.

“Take a seat,” I suggest, and like this morning, she heads to the cot without question, settling onto it and crossing her legs so the blankets can cover them.

She would make a good sub,I observe, my cock twitching at the errant thought. But it’s true. She’s a delicious combination of rebellious, independent, and obedient.

I hand the bag of food to her, unsure whether I should stay or go—whether my presence is more of a comfort or a burden—but I can’t drag my eyes away from her as she unpacks the takeaway like it’s a Christmas present. I’m still conflicted about the way I left things with her this morning. Her question shouldn’t have gotten under my skin like it did, but something about her just does that to me. I can’t get her out of my head, and now that I’m here, I can’t tell if she’s grateful for the company or just the food.

“Ugh, minestrone?” she groans, pulling out the large container of soup. “Iloveminestrone.” Her eyes flit up to me as I stand watching her. “You want to sit?” She gestures to the vacant foot of her cot.

“Do you want me to stay?” I sound surprised.

“Honestly, the isolation is driving me out of my mind,” she admits, opening her soup and releasing a thick coil of steam. She’s not necessarily saying she likes my presence—but if it’s better than being alone, I’ll take it.

I sink onto the offered seat, closer to her than I was this morning, and watch her tear off a chunk of bread and dip it in the broth. She’s not shy about eating, picking at it like a lady. She digs into the food with verve, and the moans of pleasure that escape her make my cock swell against the seam of my pants. She makes it sound as good as sex.

“Taste good?” I tease, leaning forward so I can subtly adjust myself.

“So good. I’ve never heard of Aurelia’s before,” she adds, glancing toward the paper bag with the restaurant’s red logo.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s one of mine.”

“You own restaurants too?” Her hand pauses, a bite of soup halfway to her mouth as she looks up at me.

“I own several businesses around the city.”

Lindsey’s eyes widen, and she sets her plastic spoon back into the soup. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” I point out, but the question is valid, considering my quick departure this morning. If she doesn’t want to be alone, she must be worried I’ll leave if she asks it—which makes me think it must be personal.

Lindsey rolls her eyes, returning her attention to her food, and for the first time since the club, I get the feeling that she’s not scared of me.

“You’re welcome to ask it. I might choose not to answer though.”

“I suppose that’s better than lying,” she concedes, and color infuses her cheeks as I quirk an eyebrow pointedly. “Okay, my lying was because I thought telling the truth would get me killed,” she says defensively, pointing her spoon at me. “You can hardly blame me when your man kidnapped me just for being in that hall.”

She’s not wrong, and killing her would still be the safest plan of action, but she doesn’t need to know that because I don’t intend to kill her if I don’t absolutely have to.

“What’s your question?” I say, leaning my elbows onto my knees and interlacing my fingers.

Lindsey hesitates, trapping her lower lip between her teeth, and it makesmewant to bite that lip.

“Are you some kind of mafia don or something?” she asks quickly, her cheeks flushing an attractive shade of rose.

“Do I sound Italian to you?” I counter, my lips curving into a grin.

“No. But one of my friends told me the Dungeon is owned by the Russian mob, and I thought since your guy called you the boss—” Her words trail off, and she traps her lip once more.

“I am thepakhanof my Brava, yes,” I say, curious how she’ll react. That’s not something I typically broadcast, even if authorities couldn’t lock me up for it, but the speculation is pretty common knowledge.

Lindsey looks stunned, her jaw dropping slightly. “Wow, I didn’t actually expect you to answer so frankly.”

I shrug. “I don’t see how being honest about it could hurt.”

“Fair point, considering I don’t really have a hand to play with here.” Her smile is dry, but a spark of humor lights her eyes. “And even if I did, I imagine that must be how those dancers ended up in the cages at your club, right?”

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