Page 34 of Kneeling for Daddy
Heat flushes across my cheeks.He’s right. My entire life, I can’t think of a time that I have been as happy as I am here, in theforced marriage I was vehemently against. Staring down at my plate and concentrating far too hard on cutting a piece of kufta, I snip, “Shut up and eat, Alek.”
A small, soft laugh bubbles from him, but he doesn’t push.
We linger for over an hour, eating, talking, and just enjoying each other’s company. By the time Alek stands from the island, I am full in a way I haven’t been in years—not just my stomach, but also my heart.
“I’ll let you two newlyweds,” Alek pauses to overtly wink at me, “get back to… whateverthisis.” Nik walks him to the door, and the two of them talk quietly for a moment, with both their gazes occasionally flicking toward me before. The door clicks shut, and Nik crosses the room before gently pulling me toward the couch.
Stuffed with food to the point of almost being lethargic, I can’t bring it in myself to resist him. We curl up together, his arm draped around me and my cheek pressed so tightly to his chest that I can feel the steady thud of his heart beneath me.And I like it.
He strokes his hand lazily along my arm. “Tell me about your favorite place in Armenia.”
His request catches me so off guard that instead of answering, I blurt, “Why?”
“Because, my little pet, I think it’s time I learned a little more about my wife than how sweet her pussy tastes or that her lower lip quivers when she’s about to come.
“Nik!” I gasp
“What?” I can hear the smirk spreading across his face from his tone. “Youdohave a sweet little pussy. And I do actually want to know.”
“Lake Sevan,” I mumble into his chest without needing to think about my answer, able to see it when I close my eyes. “It’s this huge lake, so blue it looks unreal. In the summer, the beaches fill with families and vendors selling khorovats. There are kids running into the water and music playing. I used to sit on the rocks and just… watch. The mountains spread across the background. It’s so serene, it kind of feels like the whole world slows down there.”
He listens quietly, his hand never stopping its leisurely path on my arm. When I fall silent, he tilts his head down, eyes catching mine. “Someday you’ll show me?”
Nik’s question hits harder than it should, pushing open a door to something I had not yet dared to imagine.A life with Nik… with my husband.For a girl who doesn’t cry about things, I blink rapidly, fighting back tears… again. And for the first time since Alek dragged me to this country, it kind of feels like maybe—just maybe—home isn’t quite as far away as I had thought.
Word travels fast in our world. A whisper in Brooklyn becomes a roar in Manhattan by morning. Right now, the city is fucking loud. And it’s all because of the Armenians—men who are more loyal to the twisted and depraved world that Alek’s father had built than Alek.
The Diva Lounge, a club we helped Alek quickly get off the ground in Brighton Beach, has developed a reputation over the past week. A reputation we are not even remotely okay with being associated with the King name. The staff of dancers we had hand-picked have been replaced with a group of barely eighteen—or maybe younger—girls who all recently arrived from Armenia with the hopes of caretaker jobs and a better life. Young, naive girls who are not dancing by choice but to stay alive. Girls who are finding themselves being ushered from the pole and into back rooms, where they are locked into nightmares.
They might be rumors, but they absolutely fucking stink of the truth. The validity of what we’ve been hearing is so strong that I’ve found myself in Brighton Beach just shy of midnight withCillian and Enzo. We are meeting Alek at The Diva Lounge, under the guise of grabbing a drink and checking in on the club we own part of.
We walk through a cloud of cigarette smoke at the door as we make our way into the club. Inside is nothing like Kings Temptation. This place reeks of cheap perfume, like it’s being used to mask the fact that it hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too long. The scent makes my stomach twist—knowing it’s masking the most vile things in the back rooms.
The club is crawling for a Friday night. Red lights strobe over the stage, matching the steady thump of the pounding bass. One girl is working the pole, the others are lined up along the stage. Dressed in nothing but skimpy thongs and glitter, all of their eyes dart toward us nervously when we walk over to them.
I fucking hate this shit…
My brothers and Alek should have just let me come in here guns blazing, sorting out the rest over the dead bodies beneath our feet.
With Cillian moving like a shadow on my right, and Enzo on my left, they both take in every inch of the place as we make our way to Alek, waiting for us at a table by the stage. He greets us with a forced smile, pretending this is nothing more than a good night out. “Relax,” he says quietly, gesturing at the seats surrounding him and eyeing the hand I didn’t realize was firmly wrapped around the gun tucked into my waistband.
I would, but all I can see is the sharp looks being exchanged between his lieutenants when they manage to pull their stares away from the three of us. They look more desperate than loyal—not that they’re exactly loyal—and that makes them fucking dangerous.
“How’s business?” Enzo asks, getting comfortable in an oversized faux-leather seat.
“Running as it should,” Alek lies for appearance’s sake. “Drinks are flowing. Men are spending. And the girls are earning money hand over fist.”
The girls are earning… I struggle not to roll my eyes.Is that what we’re calling it?
A waitress flutters over the moment we’re all seated at, bending low and garnering us all a few of the tits spilling from her top, to hand us menus that none of us need. “Two whiskeys on the rocks and a vodka neat,” Enzo shouts over the pounding music. He draws a smirk that causes the waitress to blush. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
She no more than steps from our table before a group of three girls waiting near the stage is instructed to join us. They’re all similar in appearance—tall, curvy, long hair–but the two blonde girls look far too young to be here. “Are any of you gentlemen interested in a private dance?” the brunette of the group asks, with a too-rehearsed smile and accent so thick it makes Ani sound like a native New Yorker. With her sugar-laced voice pleading for us to say yes, her sad eyes defiantly scream for us to decline. Her gaze flicks over us one by one, waiting for an answer. When it doesn’t come, she swallows hard and continues, “You can even take all three of us if you want.”
I shouldn’t. I fuckingknowI shouldn’t, but if we’re going to find out if the rumors are as true as we believe them to be, one of ushas to go. Leaning back in my chair, I flirtatiously arch a brow. “Depends. What kind of dance are you offering?”
“For you, handsome? The best the champagne room has to offer.”
Ignoring the glare from Cillian, I give her a quick nod and rise from my seat. Her hand slips around my wrist. She leads me through the haze of the club and down a narrow hallway. The thud of music in the club fades as she walks me toward the champagne room.
