: Chapter 9

And they say men can’t find the G-spot.

Holy fucking shit,he’s found it, and he’s assaulting it with the wooden tip of the pool stick. A spasm of pleasure rushes through me, and my hips are off the bar, my breath strangled in my throat.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls, half approving, half angry in my ear. “You act like you hate me, but this fucking greedy little cunt knows who owns it. Good.”

I bite my lip to hold back. I don’t wanna give him the satisfaction, but the wood inside me’s unyielding, pushing me to the edge, pushing me closer to bliss. It feels so fucking good. My cheek presses against the cold wood of the bar as my body stretches around the thickness of the pool stick.

“You wanna come, little witch?” The varnished end of the pool stick throbs inside me.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

My back arches in my throes. “Little brat’s been playing fucking games for weeks, but the second I’ve got her pinned down, the second I get this greedy little cunt’s attention—she’s fucking dripping all over my fingers.”

Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off, but all that comes out is a whimper.

He leans over me, his breath hot in my ear, and he nips my earlobe hard on his exhale, and a shudder of pleasure runs through me. “Beg me. Fucking beg me,” he growls.

“Fuck off,” I spit, my voice shaking. A part of me wants this, and a part of me wants to fight. I’m confused and aroused, and I want him so fucking bad.

Slowly, with agonizing deliberateness, he pulls the stick out until just the end rests at the edge of my pussy. I can feel the varnished edge, and my body clenches to be filled. But even now, I want his thick heat inside me—not just the damn wood. “Try that again, you fucking little brat.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite back a grin. I love getting under his skin.

“Please,” I say in the smallest, tightest voice I can.

A sharp slap lands across my ass, his palm rough and mean. “Fucking pathetic. Not good enough.” He bites my shoulder, a punishment that sends a delicious shiver spiraling through me.

“Please, fuck me. Please let me come.” My voice breaks, little raw sobs tangled in the plea. I’m laying it on thick. “I need it. Please.”

“Is that better?” He slides the stick back in deeper until I’m pinned between it and the bar, so full I can barely breathe. His free hand slides under my body, fingers curling around my clit—rough. Ruthless.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “My lying, running, fucking little bratty girl.” The combination of the crude pressure of the wood, the brutal circles over my clit, and the weight of his body pinning me in place—it’s too much. I explode around the stick, screaming loud enough to rip my throat raw, my body convulsing. He fucks me through it, working me like I’m his personal plaything until I’m slapping at him, begging him to stop and never stop, all in the same breath. I don’t know what I want. It’s too much. It’s perfection. And then my legs give out, and I’m nothing but a limp, ruined mess on the bar.

He pulls the stick out, dripping and slick, and tosses it to the floor with a crash. His fingers tangle in my hair, dragging my face up to meet his. Holding my gaze, he licks his fingers, savoring my taste. “We’re not done here yet,” he says, wicked promise in his eyes as he yanks the belt off my wrists. “That was your first lesson.”

I’m still shaking, my body boneless and fucked out, when my survival instincts kick in and my brain catches up.

Shit.

Run.

I slide one trembling leg off the bar, then the other, my fingers fumbling for balance. My thighs are soaked, my pussy ruined, my skin hot and raw. Fuck.

But I only need to run.

I lean across the bar, grab a bottle, and, in one quick motion, smash it. Liquid pools over my hands, but I quickly swivel the broken glass in my grip and swipe across his arm. Blood instantly wells at the site.

“What the fuck?” he growls, but it’s all I need. I slip again, and I run. I run as fast as I can. I’m smaller, faster than him, and there’s no way he’ll get through that tiny bathroom window.

I dive into the bathroom just as I feel him at my heels and slam the door in his face. I press the flimsy lock, knowing it’s not enough to keep him out for long. I only have seconds. I leap onto the sink, heave myself up, standing on the porcelain edge, and reach for the window above. There it is—my freedom.

I go to hoist myself through the window, but it’s locked. I hit it with my elbow. Glass shatters, and I push myself through just as I hear him breaking the door below. He’s gotten in. He tries to chase me, his fingers snatching at my ankle. They clamp down just as I kick him hard. I scream and twist, and I manage to shake him off me just as I drag myself through the tiny window and out into the street. I barrel-roll, ignoring the pain as glass bites into my side.

“Going somewhere?”

This guy in front of me is young, cocky. We’re in the dark alley behind the bar, alone. I’m on my feet, panting like a victim—like a fighter about to jump into the ring—when the guy reaches for me. He wraps his hands around my wrist and drags me closer.

“You’re not getting away,” he sneers. I look for an escape, but there’s none. I dive to the side, but his grip holds me back.

A gunshot.

No hesitation.

I scream as the man drops to his knees, blood gushing from an open shoulder wound. Matvei stalks forward slowly, his vicious gaze narrowed on the man in front of him. Measured. His knife is already in his hand. I back up until my spine hits the wall, and my skull smacks concrete.

Déjà vu.

We’re back where we started.

“I fucking told you not to touch her.” His voice is calm. Flat. Terrifying. The kind of voice that speaks truth, not threats. “I told you to fucking watch the exit and not to touch her.”

“Please! Please, sir, I didn’t mean⁠—”

Boom.

The gunshot shatters the silence, followed by the wet crunch of bone and flesh. Howls of pain and pleas for mercy fill the small alley. No one comes as Matvei advances.

“I told you not to fucking touch her.”

Boom.

The pleading dissolves into whimpers and gurgling. Blood pools beneath the man’s trembling body as he frantically tries to stop the inevitable.

Oh god. I should be horrified. But all I can do is stand there, my breath shallow, and watch. I should be trying to find a way to escape instead of staring, with my jaw unhinged, as Matvei Kopolov punishes the man who touched me.

Because I’m not scared. I’m fucking mesmerized. His brutality doesn’t disgust me. It doesn’t terrify me.

It owns me.

He did this… for me.

“I don’t. Fucking. Repeat. Myself.”

Every word is punctuated by another bullet.

The man screams, then drops, flailing.

Matvei’s moving closer to him.

He looks up at me, his eyes locking on mine.

Cold. Certain. Possessive.

My hands are flat on the wall behind me as he grabs the man’s wrist, drops his gun, and, in one quick movement, takes out a knife.

Oh my god.

One clean slice—and the hand drops to the pavement. Blood spurts fucking everywhere, a rivulet of crimson.

The man howls, writhing in pain, but they’re the sounds of a dying man. Hopeless.

Matvei unfolds his huge body, stands, and steps over him like it’s nothing. Then he turns and looks at me.

His eyes meet mine.

We stare at each other. I don’t know how to explain the way I feel right now.

I should be horrified.

I am. I am horrified.

Am I?

I should be wanting to get away from him.

But all I can think is… I’m a fucking psycho.

Have I met my match?

He moves until he stands in front of me, so close his breath kisses my cheek. Then he brushes a thumb over the apple of my cheek, smearing blood. ‘You belong to me, Anissa. Get that through your pretty little head.” He leans in, voice softer now. Almost intimate. “You like this game, don’t you?”

Do I?

He turns, grabs the man by the shoulder, and shoves him through the broken window. His body topples onto the porcelain sink.

Oh god.

My hand is suspended in the air in front of me as if frozen in time. I’m not reaching for him, but I⁠—

Will he walk away? After whipping me, making me come, and viciously murdering a man who dared to touch me?

“You think you’re clever, little brat?” His voice is low, almost amused. “You think you can cut and run, and I’ll just chase you like some rabid dog?”

I say nothing. My breath is caught in my lungs, my eyes locked with his.

“Let me explain how this works.” He leans in until his lips brush my ear. “You don’t run because you want to.” He pauses, dragging me toward him until I’m arched into him. “You run because I tell you to.”

That’s what he thinks. Still, I’m curious where he’ll go with this. I’m frozen in time, eager to hear what he says next. “You want to play games?”

“Of course I do. It’s my favorite.” Why does my voice sound all husky and flirtatious?

His teeth scrape my throat, a mockery of affection. “Good girl. I’ll teach you the rules.”

My heart thumps even as my fist clenches in defiance.

I want this.

No, I don’t.

Yes, I do.

And then his mouth is on mine, and his fingers are in my hair, his second hand on my throat. He’s covered in blood, and I can still feel the slick heat between my legs. Our tongues touch, and when I bite his lip, a low, masculine hum of approval makes my pussy clench. The kiss is rough, consuming, punishing.

And I want so much more.

“First rule,” he whispers in my ear, hand still at my throat, “I decide when the game begins.”

“Of course you do.” I shake my head. “Control freak.”

“You have no fucking idea.” He shakes his head. “Second rule,” he says, backing away. “You can run, little brat.”

His smirk is deadly.

“But you can’t hide.”

He’s not a captor. He’s not a jailer. He’s the goddamn game master.

“Run,little ghost. I’ll catch up.”

In a flourish, he’s gone, I assume to clean up the mess of the mutilated body of the man he just killed for touching me.

Right, right.

My mind races.

I could run, and I could even have some fun with it. I’m damn good at it. But he wants me to.

And if I get away? It’s not freedom.

It’s a head start.

And I’ve never been more thrilled in my life.

So I’ll go home.

For now.

To wait for him.

I’m a fucking mess, so I pour myself into a cab and go back to my apartment. I feel like I’m in a daze. This time, he didn’t drug me. This time, he didn’t need to.

I walk to the kitchen and open the cabinet to get a glass for some water.

And I see it—all of my favorite foods, neatly arranged just for me.

My stomach twists.

He cleared the bar and fucked me up against it with a pool stick. I wonder.

Is he still hard?

Does he want to fuck me?

He said I belonged to him. That I’m his little brat.

His voice was low. Intimate.

Why do I love that?

And then he told me to run.

This is fucking unhinged.

But I’m not afraid.

I should be.

I can still see the man’s hand—his fucking hand—falling to the ground, blood spurting out like someone opened a fire hydrant of blood onto the street.

I didn’t flinch or scream but watched the blood pool on the ground, tilting my head to the side like I was studying art.

That man who was writhing and gurgling in pain?

He wasn’t even important.

My eyes went back to Matvei.

Not the hand.

Not the blood.

Him.

He did that for me.

My whole life, I’ve been used and discarded. Replaceable.

He did that for me.

How romantic.

If this is a game, it’s the exact kind of game I like to play. With a wistful sigh, I open the cabinet and reach for a snack.

And then—the lights go out. I’m in pitch dark.

Not just in my apartment but the whole block.

“Wow, buddy, you don’t do shit in half measures, eh?”

Outside, I hear a car alarm shriek and a distant yell. Voices, the muffled thud of something hitting the concrete. My breath catches.

This isn’t just a power outage. It’s him. Coming for me. He loves the game, and so do I. But what’s going to happen when I can’t get away anymore?

I was under control once—I was hurt and abused, and I won’t ever let that happen again. But this is… god, this is so different.

My ass still aches from where he spanked me. My pussy clenches at the memory of the pool stick sliding in and out of me. And if I had a light and a mirror, I’d still see where he bit me. Matvei left his mark on me, but it doesn’t feel the way it did before.

I stand, glass in hand, water sloshing over the sides, and take a long sip.

When I initially got to Paris, the first thing I did was get in touch with the Irish. “Our deal is over,” O’Rourke told me, his voice chilling. “Don’t call again.” I’m told The Undertaker had my name scourged from their files as well.

I know it’s not personal. It never was.

That’s the problem.

What now?

I could flee to the depths of the earth and change my whole identity. Again. But I wasn’t created for a nomadic existence, moving from place to place and never putting down roots. I have no friends and a list of enemies a mile long.

I set the glass down so quietly it doesn’t even clink.

The front door is locked, as useless as that is. But I can feel him. And just as before, I can hear him breathing. My skin prickles, and my stomach flips.

Why does he say I’m his?

My thighs clench because I know what’s coming, and a sick, twisted part of me wants it.

I take a step toward my bedroom, treading lightly, listening for any sound that he’s near, and the second my foot touches the cool wooden floor, a hand clamps over my mouth.

Hot. Rough.

Familiar.

I grin around the calloused palm.

Oh, hello.

His other hand slides around my waist, jerking me back against him as my ass is pressed to the thick line of his cock. Already hard. Already hungry.

“Little brat.” He breathes in my ear, his voice a low purr that drips down my spine. “I wanted to see where you’d go while I cleaned up my job.”

I lick his palm, causing him to flinch, but he holds me tighter.

Did he like that?

I bite his palm hard enough to taste copper.

Growling, he spins me, shoving me onto the bed, where he pushes my head down hard.

“You like blood, Anissa?”

“Depends.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am.”

Flipping me to my back, he grabs my jaw roughly in his palm and kisses me… hard. Punishing. Teeth against mine, fingers digging into my throat until I’m gasping. His tongue fucks my mouth with possession.

I want to fight him.

I want to fuck him.

I want to slit his throat.

So naturally, I kiss him back.

When we break apart, we’re panting. I feel the smear of his blood across my chin from where I bit him.

“Coward,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t want freedom, do you?”

He’s right, and I hate him for it.

I love him for it.

I’m confused as fuck.

But I know what I don’t want.

“Was that for me, Matvei? What you did in the alley? Are you in trouble with Rafail?” I lower my voice, having fun. “Are you going to get a spanking for being a bad boy?” I sigh. “You cut the man’s hand off. How romantic. Tell me something.” I lean in closer to him. “Would you have done that if he’d just looked at me wrong? Or was it the touch?”

His hand grabs my jaw, fingers pressing just enough to hurt. “You think this is a game?” His voice is low, almost amused.

My eyes have gotten adjusted to the darkness. I blink and smile up at him in the dark. “Isn’t it?”

Maybe he wants me to break. I know he wants me to beg.

Instead, I tilt my chin up, exposing my throat to him. If he were a vampire right now, he could sink his teeth into my skin and never look back. ‘You like hurting people, don’t you? But I think you like it more when they deserve it.”

His thumb presses against my neck. My pulse beats faster. In the dark, his lips curl as he shakes his head. “You’re not scared, are you?”

The tension between us snaps, burning.

Hate.

Fascination.

Lust.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “You’re going to be so much fucking fun to break.”

That’s what he thinks.

You can’t break someone who’s already broken.

In seconds, he has my wrists wrapped in one of his while he ties them with rope.

“Hey—”

“Patience, little brat,” he says as he stalks away and leaves me.

I shake my head, and my heart beats faster. I can’t predict what he’s going to do or when, but I know this game is only just beginning.

I’m not trapped. I’m playing the long game.

He thinks he’s in control.

But I’m just getting started.