Chapter 12

12

Leah

I always thought morning-after soreness was supposed to be a happy reminder of sexy times.

Today it fills me with rage.

Dmitri’s gone when I get up. Fucking coward.

I throw off my blankets and go straight to the kitchen, driven by the angry churning in my gut.

He made coffee, at least, and left some for me. I push away my thoughts of how considerate he is. I need to be angry. Anger beats sadness, and sadness beats apathy in the rock-paper-scissors of life.

Apathy beats anger. I’m not there yet.

I don’t have any tutoring to do until this afternoon. Even then, it’ll be a light schedule because it’s Friday. Just two sessions. Very few of my students want extra lessons on Fridays.

I fix myself a cup of coffee and turn on my laptop. While it slowly whirs to life, I switch on the TV for Academy of Ghosts .

I have to restart the episode I was watching last night, because I wasn’t really watching it, was I? No, I was thinking horny thoughts and doing horny things with Dmitri Love-’Em-and-Leave-’Em Montrose.

“Argh!” I cover my face with my hands. I want to replay every detail of the night, but each time I go through it, I wind up in the same frustrating place—Dmitri rejecting me and rushing off like the couch was on fire.

I pull up housing and roommate wanted ads. The sooner I can get out of Dmitri’s house, the better. Once I’m gone, we can be friends again.

My phone chimes with a text. I pick it up, see Danica’s name on the screen. My heart sinks when I see the message.

Bitch! How could you?

Oh, shit. I don’t know how she found out. I stall by playing dumb.

How could I what?

Dmitri told me .

I gulp. He told her? Fucking hell, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry? But I’m not sorry. Not for what I did. I’m sorry he turned into an asshole afterward. I’m sorry my heart is breaking. Because like I always do, I went ahead and let my heart get invested before there was any proof of concept.

That’s the thing. I think I’m angry, but I have to be angry. Because if I’m not pissed off, I’d be so sad I couldn’t move.

I should know better. Did Mick teach me nothing?

I start typing. She’s writing something else, so I stop and wait.

Her words pop up. I can’t believe you’re watching AoG without me. Seriously, I’ve tried to get you to watch it for years, and you go and watch it with my brother????

I slump back against the couch. I thought she found out I slept with Dmitri, not that I was watching that dumb show with him.

Sorry , I write back. I needed something easy and he convinced me .

Will you at least stop before Season 3? That’s when it gets really good and I want to watch it with you .

I promise her that I’ll watch Season Three with her.

The bulk of the day passes in a haze of AoG episodes and apartment searching. I prep some materials for today’s and tomorrow’s tutoring. Then it’s time to head downtown for work.

It’s another cool February day. I get out of my car and put on my coat to walk toward the San Esteban Public Library. The parking lot is less full than usual, but there are still quite a few cars around.

When I get close to the brick building, a familiar figure steps out from behind one of the bulky rectangular columns. Dark gray hoodie with a stain on the left sleeve, oily dark brown hair. His blue eyes look desperate and bloodshot.

“Mick,” I whisper, stopping short. Should I turn around? Run?

“Hey.”

“Are you waiting here for me?” I ask.

He holds up his hands. “Leah, stop freaking out.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. We’re over.”

“I know, but I have to tell you, I didn’t do shit to your car.”

“Sure, whatever.” I move forward. If I can get inside the library, I can ask for help if I need it.

“No, listen.” He reaches out like he’s going to grab me, but I dodge his grasp. He doesn’t even get a grip of my coat sleeve. “Leah, fuck, come on. You sent the fucking cops after me?—”

“You threatened me!”

“I didn’t, would you just?—”

A tall security officer with her blond hair pulled back in a tight bun strides out of the library and marches toward us. “Is there a problem here?”

“Yes,” I say, at the same time Mick says, “No.”

The guard gestures toward me. “You, young lady, can come inside.” She then turns to Mick. “You, sir, should move along. I don’t want to see your face again today. Understand?”

Mick looks like he wants to mouth off with some stupid retort, but instead he shakes his head. “Be careful, Leah.”

The guard leads me inside, looking over her shoulder. “That sounded like a threat, miss. Do you want me to call the police?”

“I can do it, but thanks.”

I have the number of the officer who helped me report the paint on my car. Once my tutoring sessions are over, I make the call.

The officer can’t do anything about Mick having a conversation with me in public, but he does make a note for my file. It’s something, I guess.

Even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

Leah

Mick is nowhere to be seen when I leave the library. I tug my coat tighter around my body. It isn’t even that cold, but the extra fabric gives me a false sense of security.

I wish seeing Mick hadn’t made me so jittery, but maybe seeing him was a positive thing. Get that first sighting out of the way, warn him off. It’s over for good, he knows that now.

When I get back to Dmitri’s place, all the windows are dark. Of course—he’s working tonight.

As soon as I step inside, I stare at the couch.

Heck. I don’t think I can do this.

I don’t want to be alone. Not here.

I also don’t want to hang out with Danica. Anything I say to her will involve dodging questions or telling half-truths or outright lies.

What else can I do tonight? Is there someone else I can call to hang out?

“Baby girl, if you want more of the darkness, call me.”

Gage’s card is still in my coat pocket. The edges are less crisp than they used to be, after I’ve repeatedly run my fingers along them.

This is insanity. I shouldn’t even consider it.

And yet I’m taking out the card and my phone and composing a text message.

Wait. He said, “…call me.”

He doesn’t want a text. He wants a phone call.

I close my eyes. Am I really going to do this? For some reason, speaking on the phone is a lot scarier than texting. It’ll probably go to voicemail. What will I even say?

Screw it. My other option is sitting here on the couch where Dmitri and I fucked last night. Nope, no way.

I dial and listen to the ring tone.

“Hello?” he answers.

That voice of his. It’s so rich and yummy.

“Hi,” I say. “This is Leah. From the club the other night.”

He doesn’t say anything right away.

This was stupid. My face is burning.

After too long, he says, “I’m glad you called.”

It’s hard to believe he remembers me, but the warmth in his voice is reassuring.

“I’m not really sure why I did.” I stare at Dmitri’s couch. How can an inanimate piece of furniture look so reproachful?

“Would you like to meet me at Low Vice?”

I didn’t expect him to ask me out on a real date, but wouldn’t that be the natural first step? Instead, we’re going straight to a BDSM club.

Oh, hell. He paid fifty thousand dollars for a sexual encounter with me. Sixty, including the tip. There is no “natural first step” with this guy.

“Leah?” His voice is patient.

“Yes.” I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, I’ll meet you there. When?”

Dmitri

A text chimes with the club ringtone, so I check my phone. The message is from Miles, the bouncer working the parking lot entrance. Your friend is here again .

My friend?

Shit. Leah. Does she need something?

I text back, I’ll be right there .

I hurry into Low Vice, leaving the hallway that leads to Vice, the vanilla dance club. I lock the door after me. If any members need to get through, they’ll have to wait a couple of minutes, same as they would if I were taking a break.

“Everything okay?” Ayla asks from the reception desk where she checks in members.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” I say.

When I round the bar, I find Leah standing next to the other reception table, manned by Fouad. She’s looking over a clipboard. On that clipboard, I know, are lists of club rules and a release to sign.

“Leah, hey.” I stride forward.

She doesn’t seem to hear me as she studies the paperwork.

She’s seen the release and rules already—she had to look them over before the auction. Still, the sooner I get her out of here, the better. She isn’t a member. Miles shouldn’t have let her in. And if Gage sees her…

I don’t fucking know what he’ll do. But it’s probably deviant.

I don’t have a problem with deviancy as a concept. But he’s not a good guy, not a responsible Dom. And Leah deserves better. Better than him…and better than me. Taking control last night, the breath play? I shouldn’t have done it.

“Leah,” I say louder.

Glancing over her shoulder, she frowns. Unlike last time, when she came for my house key, she is dressed like she belongs here. She’s done something to her eyes, making them dramatic and smoky and bluer than ever. I’ve never seen this dress, a deep blue that’s almost black. The strappy halter reveals triangular peeks of her skin and showcases the rose and butterfly tattoo on her back.

The dress’s cut-out above her ass is mesmerizing.

There’s no emotion in her voice when she says, “Hi, Dmitri.”

“Leah, what are you doing here? Did you get locked out?” It’s a fucking idiotic question. She’s holding a pen and looking at the club rules. She’s dressed for a night out. But I’m grasping for some other explanation.

“No.” She doesn’t smile.

I know I fucked up last night. I should’ve admitted that I have feelings even though I’m going to ignore them. I should’ve told her how I want be with her again and again. But now we need to exercise some self-control, or, I don’t know. My thoughts are roaring around in my head like cars on a race track.

Nothing makes sense, least of all her presence in Low Vice.

“Then why are you here?” I ask.

Fouad’s green gaze bounces between Leah and me. He’s hoping for gossip to share with Betty later on, goddammit.

Leah says, “I’m here to enjoy myself?—”

“You’re not a member.”

“She’s my guest,” a smooth voice says behind me. “Have you signed the forms, Miss L?”

“Just about.” Now she smiles, so sweet and bright I’m momentarily dazzled.

She takes the pen Fouad offers and scribbles her signature on the final page of the packet.

“Pardon me, Dmitri.” Gage steps around me.

If I don’t want to be sniffing his ear, I have to take a step back.

Fuck him. My neck and shoulders are so tight, I think I’m going to snap.

He holds out an arm, and Leah links hers with his. As he leads her farther into the club, he glances over his shoulder at me.

He doesn’t wink, doesn’t smile. His eyes don’t even sparkle.

But the message is clear—he may as well be sticking out his tongue and wagging his fingers from his ears, singing, “Neener-neener, I have her and you don’t.”

What the fuck does he want with Leah, anyway? She’s beautiful, yeah, and smart and kind and funny. She has a way of making me feel like everything’s going to work out. She has a way of making me feel like I have potential, that I can ignore the dark violence within me and live in the light.

When I talk to her, she gets me in a way nobody else does. When she looks at me, she sees me. All of me. Even when it makes me uncomfortable, even when I’d rather hide. It’s horrible and wonderful and exhilarating.

But Gage doesn’t know that stuff about her. He doesn’t know her.

With his wealth, he could find dozens—even hundreds—of beautiful women willing to take off their clothes and orgasm in front of him.

Yet he wants Leah. Why?