Chapter 15

15

Dmitri

A ITA for fucking my little sister’s best friend and ghosting her afterward, even though she’s staying in my house because she has nowhere else to live?

I didn’t mean for the sex to happen. She’s just so hot, and sweet, and innocent. Maybe I wanted to corrupt her a little bit. My boss encouraged my lust for her. He even gave me her panties.

When I returned them to her, I put them in her mouth.

Then I choked her a little. And we fucked and I choked her some more.

And then I ran away like a fucking coward.

YTA, Dmitri. You’re the asshole.

Now that my asshole status has been established, I have to decide what to do about it.

The past five days, I’ve done everything I could to avoid Leah.

And it’s fucking killing me.

New plan: no avoidance.

I’ll face her head-on. Make nice.

The only thing I know how to cook is an omelet or a grilled cheese sandwich. Not exactly “hey sorry I’ve been an asshole” food. But I know she likes Thai, so I order take-out and bring it home.

Leah arrives soon after I do. When she sees me standing in the kitchen, she freezes.

“I just remembered I have somewhere to be,” she begins.

I hold out my hands. “Hey, don’t leave. We should talk.”

She comes all the way inside and drops her bag on the coffee table, looking defeated. Something is off. She looks sad instead of pissed.

I go to her and hold my arms out before dropping them. I don’t know if she wants to be hugged. “Leah, what happened?”

“Mick’s—Mick’s dead.” She closes her eyes for a long moment. Has she been crying?

Surprise renders me speechless. Then I blurt, “What the fuck, really?”

“Yeah.” She looks around the living room, dazed. Her eyes lock on a framed picture of my family, a Christmas gift from my mom.

“What happened?” I’m obviously not sad about his death, but it’s a shock to Leah. A shock to me, as well.

“I don’t know. I mean, he was shot. Murdered. It doesn’t seem possible, and I don’t know how it could even happen. Like, he was just a dumb gamer, right?” She rubs her eyes and shudders.

Maybe he was just a dumb gamer, maybe not. Sometimes we think we know the people closest to us. Growing up, I idolized my grandfather. Every time he told me I was “just like him,” I’d puff up with pride. Then I learned the truth about him. Turns out, I never knew him at all. Which means I don’t know myself, either.

Could be that Leah never really knew Mick.

I give up on trying to keep my distance. She needs a hug. I can do that. I pull her into my arms and try to ignore how right it feels. All the madness of the past few days, the itchy feeling that things aren’t locking into place? All of it disappears as soon as I hold her.

I was going to try to talk her out of participating in the auction next month, but that will have to wait. Fixing her distress is now my number one goal.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure. Confused. Sad, too. He wasn’t a good guy, at least not for me, but I thought I loved him at one point. Now he’s a dead body that someone left behind like trash. It doesn’t make sense.”

Violence never does. Eleven years later and I still replay that night of my eighteenth birthday, trying to create meaning out of what I witnessed. It’ll never happen. There’s no meaning. Never will be.

I squeeze her gently, trying to offer support. I never know the right things to say. Someone like Gage Jannik could break out the SAT words. Nothing flowery. But something big and thoughtful.

She speaks before I can think of anything to say. “I was—I was thinking I’d get some things together, stay in a hotel for a bit.”

“What?” I pull back, but I keep my arms on her shoulders. That’s not at all where I thought the conversation was going. “Why?”

Her laugh is fake. “Why do you think?”

“Look, it’s been awkward since that night. But it doesn’t have to be. I’m sorry I avoided you. I’ll stop, okay? We can go back to normal.”

She shakes her head. “ Normal is impossible.”

“Look, let’s try.” When she starts to shake her head again, I say, “No, really. No hotel. Maybe we can’t be normal, but we don’t have to be strangers. It doesn’t have to be weird, right?”

“Dmitri…”

“Please?” I can’t bear the thought of her leaving.

It’s hard having her here. It would be worse with her gone.

“Fine. I’ll try a few more days.”

“Good. Let’s watch AoG and eat dinner.”

“Do I smell Thai?”

I smile and pass her a Thai iced tea. I can’t drink the crap, but she loves it.

Our bellies are full and we’re nearing the middle of Season Two. I can’t fucking wait for Season Three. It’s going to blow her mind. Yesterday, Danica texted me, saying, If you start Season 3 of AoG without me, I will murder you in your sleep, slap you awake, and murder you again .

Ah. My dear, loving sister.

I glance over at Leah, who’s curled on her side of the couch. She sucks out the last of her tea through the straw. When I wince at the noise, she grins and does it again.

Little brat.

Her phone chimes with a message. A secret smile plays on her lips as she reads the screen and types a response.

I know that smile. I’ve seen her wear it for crushes in the past, whenever they came around my parents’ house and Leah was living with us, or whenever Danica teased her about some boy.

I can’t resist asking, “It’s Gage, isn’t it?”

“Might be.” She taps her screen. Her phone makes the little swoop sound of a sent message.

“Are you dating him?” The thought of Gage dating anyone is so bizarre, my question comes out judgmental. Not my intention.

Her brows pull together in annoyance. “It’s none of your business if I am.”

“Come on, Leah.”

“Fine. If you really want to know, I’m meeting him at Low Vice tomorrow night. He’s going to give me tips for the next auction.”

Jealousy slams into me like a truck.

He’s going to help her with the next auction? No fucking way. He’s going to use her, not help her. Gage Jannik doesn’t know how to help someone. Working with him is like making a deal with the devil.

“Leah, you can’t do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. We’re not in a relationship, you get no say.”

“If we were in a relationship, would I get a say?”

“What? What does that even mean?”

I turn sideways on the couch to face her better. The kitchen light behind creates a halo around her head. “It means, do you let your boyfriends call the shots. If I were your boyfriend, would I be in charge?”

“Don’t be a pig.”

“Not being a pig, just asking a question.”

“Forget it.” She throws the blanket off her lap. “I’m going to bed now.”

“It’s early.”

“So?”

“So.” I lean back against the couch, making a show of being comfortable and not budging. “I’m going to stay up and watch a couple more episodes.”

“Fine. You stay out here. I’ll sleep in the bedroom.”

“Fine,” I say, because apparently I’m a teenager.

She pushes herself off the couch, clears her dishes, and takes herself into my bedroom. I lean forward. I want to chase after her, bend her over the bed, and spank her pert little ass. Then I want to have her writhing on my cock and gasping out her orgasm.

But I don’t get the things I want.

I restart the Academy of Ghosts episode, really fucking grateful I’m not watching Season Three.

Leah

As I drive to Low Vice, something Dmitri said during our argument last night keeps running through my mind. Do you let your boyfriends call the shots?

Do I?

I think back to Mick saying he wanted to “open up our relationship.” Which we both knew meant he wanted to fuck other people.

I went along with it. The choice was letting him fuck other people, or breaking up. And for some reason, I didn’t think I could break up with him.

I think back to my past relationships. I bent over backward with every boyfriend, trying to mold myself into someone they wouldn’t leave.

Was all of that obvious to Dmitri? He was watching out for me all that time, because that’s what he does. He must have seen something in my behavior. I wonder if it ate him up inside. It’s the kind of thing that would bother him, because he’s loyal and protective—to a fault.

There’s no time to ruminate further, because I’ve pulled into the tiny lot behind Low Vice and miraculously found a parking spot. I climb out of the car and straighten my silver club dress. It’s too flashy for Low Vice, and more of a fit for the front-facing dance club, Vice. But I didn’t have a lot of options.

I don’t think Dmitri is working tonight, but I didn’t ask, either.

I’m trying not to care.

A bouncer named Paxton lets me into Low Vice, and Gage is waiting for me inside.

The music is what hits me first. Powerful, sensual. I think I hear Bastian Crown’s voice—it sounds like a slow-down remix. Everyone else seems to sway to the music. Even the people sitting down. Even the woman sitting at the desk to check in non-members. Hell, even surly-looking Paxton has an extra rhythm to his movements. Everyone’s driven by the low, sensual bass of the song.

Everyone except Gage. His eyes are on me. He’s utterly still, unaffected.

That unswerving focus is exhilarating. I stare back, heart pounding, stomach fluttering with excitement.

Gage is wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeved button-up shirt. This is the most casual I’ve seen him. His broad shoulders fill the shirt and make him look nearly as muscular as Dmitri.

“Miss L,” Gage says, his eyes warm behind his glasses. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me, too, Sir.”

“Are you ready for your lesson?”