Page 14 of Poisoned Vows

I don’t intend to let him know the pain this causes me. Just as I hope I can stop myself from taking it out on Lilliana later.

I just hope she’s worth it, too.

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The hot spray of the shower is painful as it washes the blood from my back, seeping into the cuts and torn flesh left from the knotted rope. My back is already bruising, turning purple and black, and I have a hot, violent need to take the same pain and inflict it on someone else. If we had any prisoners or anyone needing torturing, it would be an easy urge to find a release.

But the only man we had right now I dispatched earlier today.

My fingers itch for a blade, a pair of pliers—or something else. A paddle, a flogger, a cane. A woman squirming and begging as I take my pain and anger out on her soft flesh, but a woman who is willing nonetheless.

Even if it’s because I paid her.

That, at least, I can satisfy. I won’t even have to undress, so I won’t have to endure the pitying look that the bruises on my back would earn, and result in further violence.

If there’s one thing I can’t fucking stand, it’s pity.

I dress stiffly after I get out of the shower, throwing the blood-stained towel in the trash. Black pants and a black shirt to hide any further bleeding. Pain radiates through me every time I move, but I lean into it. Accept it.

Life is pain. I’m no exception to that, not always. In our world, you get what you take. Violence is a requirement, not an option. I took something more than what I was meant to be offered, and I should have known there would be consequences.

I call my driver and tell him where to take me. One of our family’s clubs, a particular place called theAshen Rose. A dungeon where the women who work there will accept anything. Some clients have more depraved desires than I could ever imagine having. They appreciate when men like me show up, men whose kinks lean towards violence, but not as…creative as others.

When I walk in, I’m pleased to see that one of the women working is my favorite—a pretty, slender blonde who calls herself Asha and looks like a porcelain doll, but can take more than any other woman I’ve ever been with—and genuinely enjoys it. I’ve rarely seen a woman come so hard on the other end of a flogger. She sees me and sways towards me, her eyes widening with pleased recognition.

“Nikolai.” Her voice is a sensual purr. She’s wearing black latex from her tits to her toes—literally. She’s encased in a corset, a garter belt, and a strip that runs between her thighs, those same thighs dipped into tall black latex boots. She looks like a dominatrix, which tells me that’s the side of this she’s working tonight.

She’s also the only woman I’ve ever met who gives as well as she takes. Not that I’ve experienced it—I don’t get off on receiving. But I’ve heard.

“I’m a domme tonight,” she tells me, and I can hear the regret in her voice. She likes when I come asking for her. She always has.

“You’ll be what I want you to be, so long as I’m paying,” I tell her, and I see the instantaneous reaction she has to that, the flush on the high points of her sharp cheekbones. Asha is one of the few women who I know genuinely wants me. It’s what keeps me coming back to her.

But I still don’t know that she’d fuck me if I didn’t pay her.Never give away what you can make a dollar from.I know that’s her mantra. I know her very, very well.

“It’s your club, boss,” she says with a seductive smile, her tongue tracing the edge of her full, red-painted lower lip. “If you want me to swap the latex for lace, I can do that. Or whatever else you’d like.”

Anything I’d like.I know that’s what’s on offer here. I’ve been taking advantage of it for years. Iownthis place—or at least my family does—and by virtue of that, every woman who works here.

Lilliana springs into my mind, unbidden. A scared little rabbit in a trap, but a defiant one. I’ll own her too very soon, by the letter of the law—and according to the law of the Bratva, I already do. But I know she doesn’t see it that way.

She’s going to fight me until I teach her to submit, until I make herwantit, and the appeal of that has my erection dying before Asha’s seductive expression can bring it to life.

“Actually, on second thought, don’t let me take you away from your night’s work.” I give her a casual, affable smile. “I know how much those Chicago politicians will pay to have you step on their balls, after all. I see the books.”

“Hopefully, you don’t see the little bit extra I pocket, then.” She flashes me a flirtatious wink, as if she doesn’t give a shit that I turned her down, but I can see the hint of disappointment on her face. I know she wanted me. Normally, that would be enough for me to take her downstairs and give us both what we want and need.

But tonight, it’s not what I want. The woman I want is back in my family mansion, locked away in one of the many bedrooms, awaiting the day we sayI do. And while I don’t intend to give in to temptation and fuck her tonight, I do want to see her.

Ineedto see her, and that’s something I’m going to have to figure out what to do with, before it gets me into more trouble than it already has.

“Have a good night,” I tell Asha, and she blows me a kiss as I leave, her expression unfaltering. I respect that about her—she hides her emotions as well as I do, keeps them locked up behind sex and seduction, as well as I keep mine locked behind the cold, brutal outer shell that I’ve so carefully honed. She’d never let me see her flinch, not for more than a second.

I tell myself to go to bed, as the driver takes me back to the mansion. Not to find Lilliana and look in on her. Better yet, I should have my driver take me to my penthouse on the Gold Coast, so there’s distance between me and the woman who is not yet my bride.

But I don’t like the idea of leaving her in my father’s house while I’m not under the same roof. I don’tthinkhe’d touch her, not considering the rightful consequences if he laid a finger on my wife-to-be. But there’s a part of me that wouldn’t necessarily put it past my father to think himself above any consequences.

I want her to be safe. From him—and from me. It’s an urge I don’t understand, but it keeps me from telling my driver to take me elsewhere, all the way until I’m back in the familiar foyer of my father’s mansion.

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