Page 88 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

Eager to shovel a little more misery in my pit of despair, Taras pushes back from the table and rises shakily to his feet. “No? Then I believe dinner is over. Would you care to retire?”

He’s speaking with a vaguely aristocratic accent, as if this is a real date. As if he is really wooing me.

It’s sick. Fucking sick.

And there’s nothing I can do but smile and play along.

Taras walks over to a heavy wooden door just behind the table and opens it. I can see a four-poster bed in the other room, black silk sheets dripping over the sides and pooling on the floor.

I feel light-headed. Faint. But I stand up. I walk over to him. When he holds out his hand to escort me, I hesitate for only a second before I place my fingers against his damp palm and let him lead me inside.

The bedroom is warm, almost balmy. Vaguely feminine. Hints of coconut and vanilla. I realize with a start that Taras isn’t just trying to fool the women who enter this room.

He’s trying to foolhimself, too.

It’s clear he wants this to feel like a seduction, not an assault. He doesn’t want to look in the mirror every day knowing he’s a man who rapes women. He wants to convince himself that they want it. That they like it.

The realization shocks me.

And infuriates me.

Rose told me to play along. To pretend. But isn’t that only feeding into the problem? The more women who walk into this room and give him what he wants, the more that will come after. I won’t be the last. Neither will Rose.

More women will be bought and sold.

More women will be forced to traipse around his house in next to nothing, being leered at by his guests.

More women will be subjected to this sick man and his perversions.

It won’t stop until he stops. Or until someone stops him.

Taras closes the door and bolts it, turning around slowly to face me. His eyes rake over my body. “The dress fits you beautifully,” he says, licking his lower lip. He stares at me for another moment before walking forward slowly, one foot in front of the other in a seductive stalking.

I retreat unconsciously without even realizing I’m doing it. Goosebumps sprout across my skin and a cold sweat settles on my chest.

Until the bed hits the back of my thighs. I sit down on it with a surprisedoof.

When I look up, Taras is paused a foot away. Watching me, his forehead resting against the corner post of the bed.

Then he growls low in his chest like a pig in heat. Striding closer, his fat hands land on my knees and he pushes my legs apart, stepping between them. His fingers drag up my thighs, slipping under the silk hem of my dress.

Go along to get along.

Smile.

Fake it.

Pretend.

Rose’s advice echoes in my mind. But my body can’t be so easily swayed. Before I can stop myself, I bolt up and zip to the far corner of the room. By the time Taras follows my movements and turns around, I’m pressed against the wall next to the window.

The view is beautiful, a clear shot of the river and the cityscape. Skyscraper lights reflect off the water like a million floating stars. Under different circumstances, it would be beautiful.

Tonight, it’s anything but that.

“Oh, I see. I like a little chase,” Taras whispers, moving towards me. He presses his body against mine. I feel his hardness on my lower back. His breath is hot against my neck. “This is one-way glass, you know. I could fuck you right here and no one down there would be the wiser. Would you like to try it?”

His hand scraps up the back of my thigh, lifting my dress. He starts grinding himself against my ass.

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