Page 53 of Hero Worship

The cognac was a power move. At four figures per pour, it screamed both wealth and taste. Perfect for our cover. I leaned into his touch, letting my dress ride up just enough to be interesting. "You spoil me," I purred, watching Roche track the movement in the mirror.

The designer's eyes lingered on where Ash's fingers pressed into my thigh, their expression hungry. Beside him, Misha started to slide down the seat, only to be caught by Roche's steadying hand. The casual possessiveness of the gesture made my stomach turn.

"Monsieur Roche would like to know if you'd care to join him," a deeply accented voice announced. One of Roche's security detail loomed over our table, his bearing screaming military training. "He rarely meets others with such... exquisite taste."

Ash's smile was pure predator as he helped me to my feet. "We'd be delighted."

The guard led us to Roche's private alcove, the space arranged to put guests at a disadvantage. The designer sprawled across butter-soft leather, one arm draped possessively around Misha's shoulders.

"Welcome," Roche purred in accented English. "I couldn't help but admire you both from afar. Such a striking couple."

"You're too kind," Ash replied, settling me against his side. His arm wrapped around my waist, grip firm enough to brand. "Though I must admit, we've been hoping to catch your eye. Your latest collection was revolutionary."

Roche's smile sharpened with genuine pleasure. "A fan of my work? How delightful." Their gaze raked over me withunconcealed hunger. "Though I suspect your lovely companion would look stunning in anything."

"Flatterer," I murmured, letting heat color my voice. "Though I'm hardly the most interesting artwork in your collection tonight."

Roche's eyes glittered as they tightened their grip on Misha, who blinked slowly at the contact. "Ah yes, my beautiful muse. Though I'm afraid he's a bit... under the weather this evening. The pressures of such beauty, you understand."

"The demands of beauty can be so exhausting," I agreed, trailing my fingers along Ash's jaw. "Thankfully, my husband knows exactly how to help me relax."

"I bet he does." Roche leaned forward, openly admiring how Ash's hands branded my skin. "Though surely a man of his... appetites must enjoy sharing such exquisite beauty occasionally?"

"Only with those who truly appreciate art," Ash replied, his voice dark with promise. His grip tightened possessively as Roche's eyes gleamed with interest.

"Then perhaps you'd both enjoy a private showing of my upcoming collection?" Roche suggested. "I have a small soiree planned for tomorrow evening. Very exclusive. Very... intimate."

"We'd love to," I answered before Ash could speak, letting eagerness color my tone. "Wouldn't we, darling?"

Ash's smile held equal parts possession and warning as he squeezed my hip. "Whatever makes you happy, precious."

"Excellent." Roche produced a black card embossed with nothing but a phone number. "Call this number tomorrow afternoon for the details. The dress code is... minimal."

I accepted the card with a coy smile, making sure our fingers brushed. "We look forward to seeing more of your work. All of it."

"And I look forward to seeing more of you both," Roche replied, their meaning unmistakable as their gaze lingered on my throat, my thighs, the places where Ash's hands marked me as his. "Much more."

Misha swayed slightly as he stood, mumbling something in French that made Roche's smile tighten. "Excusez-moi," he slurred, taking an unsteady step toward the restrooms.

"I should freshen up as well," I said, squeezing Ash's thigh in our pre-arranged signal. "Won't be long, darling."

Roche's eyes followed me as I made my way across the club, but their security stayed put. Either they didn't consider me a threat, or they were too focused on watching Ash to notice.

The bathroom was all black marble and gold fixtures, empty except for Misha braced against the sink. Up close, the designer clothes couldn't hide how thin he was, how his hands shook as he splashed water on his face. Purple shadows bloomed beneath his makeup, not just from exhaustion. His wrists bore the kind of marks that came from restraints, and fresh track marks dotted the crooks of his elbows. Those weren't from his own choices. I recognized the precise, methodical placement. Roche was keeping him compliant, marking him in ways that wouldn't show on the runway.

"Here," I said softly, offering him a paper towel. "Let me help."

He startled at my voice, pupils so dilated I could barely see the green. The same eyes as Viktor, but clouded with whatever cocktail of drugs Roche used to keep him compliant. "I know you," he mumbled in heavily accented English. "From somewhere..."

"Shhh," I soothed, steadying him as he swayed. "You're safe. Just breathe."

"Not safe," he slurred, tears cutting through perfectly applied makeup. "Never safe. He'll find me. Always finds me."

My heart broke at the defeated certainty in his voice. I wanted to tell him everything— that we were here to help, that his father was worried, that he'd have somewhere to go. But in his current state, he wouldn't remember, anyway. And if Roche questioned him later...

"Stay alive," I whispered instead, squeezing his arm. "Whatever you have to do. Just stay alive."

He blinked at me slowly, fragments of understanding flickering through the drug haze. The click of the door handle was my only warning. I stepped back quickly, adjusting my dress in the mirror, making sure Roche would see exactly what they expected. I was just another vain club patron preening rather than someone passing messages to their pet.

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