Page 608 of Filthy Elites

“Glad to see you’ve done your homework, Billie Fairchild. So, you must know my name.”

“Yes,Chad Volkova.”

He gives me a wolfish grin. “A stranger doesn’t become your friend just because you know their name. Neither do they have to accept a lame-ass apology simply because you offer it.”

“Look, I’m trying. I understand why you hate me, but you can’t blame me for something I didn’t even do.”

He comes closer, seeming much taller and more muscular than yesterday. When he gets far too close for comfort, I step back, bumping into my car.

I expect him to stay where he is, but he inches closer still like he’s going to kiss me.

The thought instantly makes my bravado slip and a lump the size of Texas forms in my throat, freezing the breath in my lungs.

“I’ll blame whoever the fuck I want to blame, and I want you gone, Malyshka.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” I square my shoulders. “If you or your people could, I wouldn’t be allowed here.”

When he answers with a slow, easy, sensual smile and looks me up and down in the same leisurely manner like he’s committing my body to memory, it throws me. I’m knocked off-kilter and surprised by the tingle of arousal jabbing at my insides.

No. Billie, under no circumstances must you get all worked up over this guy. He’s an asshole, for fuck’s sake.

“I personally haven’t allowed you to be here.”

“Well, clearly, your opinion doesn’t matter.”

In one swift move, he catches my throat just like yesterday and squeezes.

God. He’s crazy. He has to be.

“Let go of me. You fucking asshole.” I hit his chest, which feels like ramming my fist into a steel wall.

Sliding his fingers up to my face, he holds me in place and glares down at me with blazing eyes. There’s something else, though, lurking within the waves of hatred. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he warns.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“It’s so pretty; I want to fuck it. So defiant, I want to punish it until you choke on my cock.”

My eyes turn to saucers, and shock pulses through every nerve of my body. At that moment, I realize what the look in his eyes is.

It’s lust.

The idea would be laughable if he didn’t just say what he said to me.

I must be more fucked up than I realized because his dirty words stir arousal once more deep in my core, and I imagine him fucking my face with his cock.

“Maybe you like the idea of being my little slut,” he taunts, pulling me from the dark vision.

I yank myself free of his grasp, raise my hand, and slap him right across his face so hard it leaves a mark.

Those passing by and watching us—watchingand once again doing fuck all to help me—gasp in surprise.

I’m only surprised I found the strength to hit him, but my action didn’t surprise me.

It was that word he used that made me snap—slut.

On hearing it, I retorted like I do every time I’m dehumanized with that word, and I remember what happened to me when I was just a little girl.

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