Page 48 of Hateful Vows
Two faces show up in my mind’s eye and I almost groan again.
Lucie laughs, throwing her head back. “Aleksei. You’re so self-righteous sometimes. What do you think Magda and I are up to when you’re not here?”
I reel back. “Magda?”
Lucie nods with a subtle blush on her cheeks.
“Fuck,” I exclaim. “I did not expect that.”
“What because she’s a woman?” Lucie challenges with a hip cocked to the side. She looks so young like this. Barely out of her teenage years.
“No! Because she doesn’t talk to anyone, she’s as affectionate as a block of ice. And she’s like what? Forty?”
“She’s forty-four.”
“That’s more than double your age!”
“Okay, dad,” Lucie scoffs and continues preparing the granola. I pinch the bridge of my nose. The women in my life are going to be the death of me.
“I’m serious, Lucie, don’t fuck her again. I’m gonna fire her immediately. That’s so inappropriate.”
“Don’t you dare,Lyosha.”
I level her with a dark gaze, and she sputters. Only Irina calls me that and as much as I like Lucie, the nickname isn’t for her to use. Not when it’s so special to me. Not when it’s the only thing left between Irina and I.
“Whatever, have fun at the ball tonight,” she says.
Once her granola is in the oven, she disappears back into her room. Is this what it’s like to have a sister? An actual sister that feels like a sibling, not whatever limbo Irina and I have been thrown into?
My head drops in between my shoulders, an old memory resurfacing with the heaviness coursing through my limbs.
My father is at my back, sweating as he lashes at my skin with his favourite spiked cat o’ nine tails. “You dare talk to her. She’s filth! The only reason I married her cunt of a mother is because I refused to see you marry her like the Pakhan wanted.”
I don’t remember much other than the pain, but I must have been eighteen or nineteen and it was Irina’s birthday. I gave her something, like I always did, but I got caught. And I got punished. Even as my skin was flayed from my back, I couldn’t hate her. She has never asked for this.
Like serendipity, my phone rings and Irina’s name flashes across the screen. “Dante and I are downstairs.”
She hangs up unceremoniously, so unlike our upbringing, and so much closer to what I think Dante would do. She’s becoming one of his household. I see the change every time I see her. I don’t hate it as much as I should.
Rouge Night Club has been open in West Hill for months but I was never tempted to come here. It’s rumoured to be a den of depravity and those are the words of its owner, Giulia Capaldi, not mine.
The ex-mafia princess turned political analyst for her husband, the famous cyber-security expert Andrea, watches over the crowd now from the balcony atop the dance-floor. Her red hair billows around her face and when she sees us three, she smirks and gives us a signal to come join her upstairs.
“Welcome to Rouge,” she says warmly as she offers us a glass of champagne.
“Grazie, bella,” Dante smiles at her while Irina glowers.
“Calm your tits, Irina. I’ve decided to forgive you for the error of your ways. Seeing you cut the hair of that bitch who touched your husband at the gala was the most fun I had since I threatenedyouall those months ago for touching mine.”
Her husband chuckles behind her, plastering his body against her back. All that display of love and affection is so crude. They remind me of Dante and how forward he is with his own affections, never afraid to show his emotions and take what he wants.
I flick my gaze to Irina and how close to Dante she stands. The green emotion is too new in my body, uncomfortable and raw, but I recognise it instantly. No matter if I could have what I desire most, I’d never be so bold, so warm. That has been taken from me too early to bloom again.
The lights around the black, red and gold space darken to illuminate the stage underneath us. The whole club is shrouded in darkness but for the spotlight on the two performers. They’re completely naked, their cocks erect against their stomachs as they stand in stillness, waiting for their moment.
My throat dries and I cling to the railing of the balcony, riveted to the display of sensuality and sex below. One of the performers ties the other with red ropes that criss cross over their body with tantalising deftness. They tie and pull, then kiss and lick. Repeat over and over until I feel feverish. Despite the mesmerising tableau in front of me, it’s impossible to miss how close to me Irina has shifted, how her very presence and the fact that we’re both looking at the same thing makes this even more forbidden.
The rigger suspends their partner, whose hard cock throbs in between the ropes. He orients his partner’s body so the crowd can’t miss how deep he takes their cock into his lush mouth. The person suspended writhes in pleasure, unable to escape him. I shiver at the sight.
