Kissed by Shadows: Chapter 22

Iris and the twins emerge from her bedroom half an hour later, the chicken and bacon salads waiting for us on the table, as Iris prefers. I actually love eating there with them all, my family. Well, aside from Willow, but I accepted last year that she needed some space from what had happened, a fresh start, and I was so fucking grateful to Iris for providing that for her. We may be pretty well off financially, but Iris is, well was, next-level.

When I discovered who had hurt my sister, some wannabe gangsters, the twins and I swiftly showed them the error of their ways. Safe to say, that gang no longer exists, their name scrubbed from history, and no one is left who may avenge them. That is the lengths I will go to protect what is mine, and now Iris falls under that category, no matter how short the time is that she’s been with us.

The woman in question comes straight over to me, not even hesitating as she wraps her arms around me and places her head on my chest. Tension drains from my body, my arms automatically coming up to surround her, pulling her closer. She fits so well, like she was always meant to be there, and a fissure of panic has my heart thudding painfully when I think about anyone taking her from me. From us.

“Let’s eat, Peaches,” I tell her gruffly, only releasing her enough to wrap an arm around her waist and guide her to the table, seating her next to me so I can make sure she eats enough.

I’m not foolish enough to think that I can let her go far yet. She’s become my latest obsession, and I know it’s the same for the twins. It’s about so much more than just protecting her now, we plan to keep her, even if that means Petrov is included at some point. I guess it won’t hurt to have friends in the Bratva.

And we’ll need all the friends we can get if my hunch about Sergi is correct. He seems just as obsessed with Iris as I am, and I can’t help but wonder why. Is it just because he sees her as something that belongs to him? Because her father gave her to him? Or is there a deeper motivation at work? He did let his son take her virginity after all, which would be unusual if he wanted her for himself because men like Sergi don’t like to share. I can feel his net tightening, the unseen threat looming over us like a thick, toxic cloud. He’s been watching us, I’d be a fool to think that he hasn’t, but what he plans to do next is still a mystery.

“So,” she starts, interrupting my inner musings as she brings a forkful of the salad up to her mouth and moans when she takes the bite. Fuck, this girl can give me a boner quicker than Rowan can whip his knife out. “This is so good, Hunt.” She pauses, chewing some more before swallowing. “Where is this club night?”

“At Depravity, our club, Princess,” Roman replies before I get the chance to.

“You own Depravity? It’s like, the best club in the West End,” she exclaims, looking at me, excitement making her eyes sparkle.

“Yes, we do. We have to clean the dirty money somehow,” I tell her, watching her brows dip.

“The money you make from selling drugs and stolen cars?” Her hazel eyes don’t leave mine, and stronger men have quaked beneath my stare, but she doesn’t flinch. She just holds it like she has no fear of me, and something inside me eases, knowing that she trusts me on an instinctual level.

I suppose she doesn’t know the extent of what we do, we told her about the cars and drugs, but it takes a certain level of violence to keep people in line, to show them that they can’t take our turf, and whereas the job of reminding them usually falls to Rowan, he has the need for it, the rest of us indulge in letting our beasts lose from time to time. I can’t help wondering if she’d still trust us, trust me, if she knew of the things I’ve done to my enemies.

“Yes,” I tell her, watching her face as she takes this new information in. We are not good men, we do bad things and I won’t pretend otherwise. She nods slowly, her eyebrows releasing to their normal position, accepting what I’m telling her with no judgement or censure in her beautiful eyes. There’s just a calm acceptance, and it’s like my whole body becomes weightless as she accepts me, accepts us, for who we are.

“It’s the best fucking club in London, baby,” Roman tells her, breaking our stare as she turns to look at him. “The DJ tonight is world-class, one of the best in the business.”

“Oh really? Would I have heard of him?” she asks, taking another forkful of salad. I eat and watch her, making a note of how much she needs to eat before I’m satisfied.

“DJShadowMan is his handle,” Roman informs her, a twinkle in his chocolate eyes. Little fucker. I’ll let him keep his secrets for now to surprise her later.

“Oh my god! I love his stuff!” she exclaims, her fork clinking on the plate as it drops from her fingers. Frowning, I pick it up, spearing some salad and chicken, then bringing it up to her lips.

She glances at me, her face softening for a moment as she opens her mouth and takes the bite. I watch intently as she chews and swallows, then I get more for her, deciding that it’s best if I feed her so I can make sure she eats enough.

In between bites, she gushes about DJShadowMan, how all his stuff is saved on a Spotify playlist and how she loves his mix of classical and techno beats, and Roman is practically preening like a fucking peacock by the time I’ve fed her the final bite of salad.

“Good girl, you ate it all,” I whisper into her ear as she takes a sip of her peach iced tea. Willow mentioned once that it was a favourite of Iris’s, so the first night she came to stay, I made sure to stock up, ensuring there’s always some in the fridge for her.

She shivers. “You didn’t exactly give me much choice, but it was delicious, thank you, Daddy.”

I take in a sharp breath, the honorific going straight to my cock. Dipping down, I press a kiss to her pulse point, which is racing just as much as mine is.

“You’re welcome, baby,” I murmur, pulling back and standing up before reaching for her plate and ignoring my hard dick that is pressed against my sweatpants, which is obvious to the whole room. “We’ll be leaving about nine, so there’s a few hours to relax, maybe nap before you need to get ready.”

I grab the rest of the plates, taking them into the kitchen and placing them in the dishwasher. Taking a deep inhale and leaning my hands on the countertop, I try to get a hold of myself. All I want to do is hoard her away like a dragon does with its treasure. I don’t want her to leave this flat because she’s safe here, but she’s also safer if she’s with me, with us, and we can’t be here tonight. I fucking hate that she’s coming with us, that she’ll be exposed. Never mind all the men that I know will be staring at her no matter what she wears, because she’s just that fucking beautiful.

I hear soft footsteps before I feel her arms wrap around me from behind.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Hunter,” she whispers as she rests her cheek on my back. My racing heart calms a little at having her so close. Being parted from her for those couple of days was nothing short of torture, and I developed more than a little sympathy for Petrov having to leave her with us.

“You can’t leave our sides tonight, Iris,” I tell her, twisting in her arms so that I can look into her beautiful face. My hands come up to cup her cheeks, the peachy colour reminding me of why I gave her the nickname I did. “I’m serious, you don’t even go for a piss without at least one of us by your side, okay?”

I expect her to argue, but she just nods, her face soft. “Okay, Hunt.”

My breath rushes out of me, though tension still tightens my muscles.

“I wish we could just stay here, or fuck, kill Sergi so that we wouldn’t have to worry about your safety so much,” I confess in a whisper, knowing that even with no threats, I will always worry about her now. She’s part of the people I have to take care of now, and that list never changes. I’ve never had cause to change it. Once someone is on it, they stay there, and only four people are currently on it, three of whom are in this flat right now.

“Why can’t you kill him?” she asks, swallowing as her eyes go a little wide, like she can’t believe she just said that out loud. Pride at her ruthlessness fills my chest though. She’ll need to embrace it if she’s to survive in our world.

I release a sigh before replying, “We’re good, Peaches, but he’s Bratva, the head of the Bratva, so is basically untouchable.” My jaw clenches with frustration. If it was just as easy as killing him, I’d stalk up to his fucking mansion right now and put the bullet in his head myself, but there’s so much else at play. “Petrov, Nikolai, has a plan. I believe he’s going to eliminate Sergi and take over, which is the only way to keep you safe.”

Worry makes her forehead crease as she nibbles her lower lip, which has a growl rumbling in my chest. She immediately stops, releasing the abused flesh, and all I want to do is lean in and kiss it better, then bite it harder.

“I worry about him, Hunt. You don’t know what Sergi has done to him over the years. Hell, even I don’t know the full extent, but he hurt him so badly when we were younger.” Tears fill her eyes, making the green in them sparkle and shine.

“And it will have made him stronger, Peaches.” She flinches, but that’s the hard fact. Sergi’s abuse clearly hasn’t broken Nikolai yet, and I admire Nikolai for that. He used it to fuel his anger, channelling the pain into a strength that he will use to bring his father down. “He can take care of himself, and he’ll use that strength to take over the Bratva and keep you safe, baby.”

“But what will be the cost, Hunt?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, and lead fills my stomach. I know the cost, have experienced it firsthand, and seen in it those that I love. I know my obsession with keeping everyone fed and safe isn’t normal. I know that the fact I would happily kill anyone who hurts them and not lose a minute of sleep isn’t normal either, but it’s who I am, and I’m a product of my upbringing and environment just as much as Petrov is.

“Something he’ll pay willingly,” I tell her, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her trembling lips. “How about we snuggle on the sofa and watch a film? We never did get to see 365 Days.”

She takes a shuddering inhale as I pull back, and my stomach warms to see some of her concern has been replaced with lust. That’s good, because one lesson I learned very early on was there is no point in fretting over shit that can’t be changed. Because the universe doesn’t give a fuck and will change it anyway, whether you want it to or not.

We don’t actually watch the sexy mafia film. To be honest, I have enough mafia vibes in my life right now that I don’t need anymore. Instead, I make them all watch Barbie, and the hilarious thing is not one of them complains.

Hunt keeps me on his lap the whole time, a blanket wrapped around both of us, and I find myself drifting off to sleep, his warm arms encasing me and keeping me safe as he always does.

“Time to get ready for the ball, sleeping beauty,” Roman croons in my ear, my eyelashes fluttering as I wake up from my nap, still snuggled up on Hunter, the TV on low. Warm, chocolate irises stare back at me, the look in them filling me with even more warmth. “There’s those beautiful eyes.”

My cheeks heat a little at the praise. It’s not that no one has ever told me that I’m pretty, Dad used to all the time, but it’s like these boys have made it their mission to tell me multiple times a day how beautiful I am and show me how attracted they are to me. So sue me for it being a boost to my confidence.

“What’s the time?” I question as I stretch, the blanket falling down onto my lap. Hunter allows me to stretch but doesn’t remove his arms from around me, and I soon settle back into them, not quite ready to leave the comfort of them yet. A pleased purr sounds in his chest as he draws me closer, pressing a light kiss on my head.

“Seven, and I should make us some dinner before we leave,” he tells me, sighing as he hugs me close, clearly also not ready to release me. “How do chicken noodles sound?”

“Perfect,” I tell him, my stomach growling a little at the thought. He’s up in a flash, passing me to Roman’s lap like I’m on fire. Blinking, I look up to see an almost panicked look on his face, the whites of his eyes showing. “Hey, Hunt?” He looks down at me, his chest heaving, so I reach up and cup his cheek with my palm. “I’m okay, I’m not starving, just my stomach being greedy.”

I watch as he takes in a couple of deep breaths, his eyes closing while he reins in the worry that lines his face. “Still, I should get started on dinner.”

Pressing a kiss to my lips, he pulls away and heads towards the kitchen.

“He’s alright, Princess. Just his trauma showing,” Roman assures me gently, pulling me closer to him and kissing my neck. My eyebrows draw together, my stomach twisting as I think about what trauma leads to that kind of visceral response. Whatever happened, I guess his upbringing was harsher than I thought. “Now, have you thought about what you’re going to wear?”

Taking a deep inhale, I try to push aside my concern for Hunter since he can’t help his reactions. Willow hinted at some of the things they went through, like the fact that Hunter often had to try and provide meals because their mum was too wasted to remember. Clearly, it’s still having an affect on him, and I guess he’s dealing with it in the way that he knows how.

“I think Willow still has some things in her wardrobe, so I was just going to look through there and see if anything would work,” I tell him, and his lips twitch.

“Oh, she definitely has some things that would work. Might send Hunter into a hissy fit, but it’ll be worth it to see you all dressed up,” he tells me, mischief glittering in his eyes. “Why don’t you go and get ready while Hunt makes the food?”

Placing a soft kiss on my lips, he encourages me to get up, and I head to my room. I mean Willow’s room, though each day it’s starting to feel more like mine. I go straight to the wardrobe, opening it up, and the light glints off a dress on the right. Pulling it out, a wicked smile tugs my lips upwards, knowing that this will be perfect.

“Dinner’s ready!” Hunter shouts just as I put the finishing touches to my make-up. Smokey eyes with some silver sparkle on my lids stare back at me, my hair in soft waves and falling to brush the tops of my breasts.

I look at myself in the full-length mirror, the silver sequin dress sinfully short as it stops just below my arse. It’s backless too, so I’m without a bra, which I know will drive Roman wild. I frown when I look at my bare feet. I only have my boots, and Willow is so tiny, which works great for the short dress but not so great as her feet are also smaller than mine. I should have bought some other shoes, I just forgot, but I’ll add that to my list of things to purchase next.

Pushing the fact that I’ll have to ruin the outfit with brown boots, I head out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. As I enter, all three guys stop what they’re doing and stare at me. It feels as though the temperature in the room has soared as their hot gazes devour me.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Hunter finally growls, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt that clings to him and showcases all his gorgeous, tattooed muscles. “You need to change, you can’t wear that…scrap.”

Well, I guess Roman did say Hunt would have a hissy fit, so I channel my inner Chelsea brat and arch a brow at him. “What’s the problem, Daddy?” His nostrils flare at the name, and it takes a lot to hold my smirk back. “Is it the fact that it’s so short? Or that it’s backless so I can’t wear a bra?” I turn so my back is facing them, then glance over my shoulder when three curses sound behind me.

“Fuck, Princess,” Roman hisses, licking his plush lower lip.

“Do I look pretty?” I ask coquettishly, fluttering my lashes at him.

“You look fucking stunning,” he says, stalking over to me like a predator, and I’m frozen to the spot as he approaches. He’s dressed in black jeans, boots, and a vest that has a neon skull printed on it, the armholes ridiculously big so all his inked muscles are on display. “I won’t have trouble watching you all night, though I may not be able to stop touching you.” When he reaches me, he runs his finger down my exposed back, and my nipples pebble under my dress.

“That’s the fucking issue, every fucker in there will want to touch her, and I’ll have to kill them all for even thinking about it,” Hunter seethes, and I giggle, his possessiveness not scaring me in the least. It’s sweet, and so what if it’s a little violent, there’s something about the caveman attitude that’s really doing it for me.

Turning around fully, I sidestep Roman, trailing my nails down his arm as I pass. He shivers and I grin, but my sights are set on Hunt, who almost vibrates with the rage he’s keeping in check. When I’m standing before him, I go up on my tiptoes, placing my hand on his hard chest to steady myself as I lean in, my lips next to his ear. His hand immediately comes to my waist, a deep rumble sounding in his chest as he makes contact with my skin. My temperature rises at his touch, Evangeline panting for more.

“But you’ll be the only ones allowed to touch me. They may fantasise about getting their hands on me, but they’ll know that I belong to you, that I’m yours, and they can look all they want to, but I’ll only have eyes for you,” I whisper, his breaths rasping out harshly as his body thrums with coiled energy.

“Fine,” he grits out, his other hand coming up to tangle in my hair. He uses his grip to pull me back, and the sharp sting has me gasping as heat fills my core. “But you don’t leave my side, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I agree, and his pupils expand, the black swallowing the green. Then he’s pulling me towards him and my eyes close, ready for his lips to take mine. He bypasses them though, his hot mouth landing on my neck and sucking hard, causing my knees to almost buckle at the shot of pleasure that runs through me.

I moan as he doesn’t let up, sucking almost to the point of pain, and I know there will be a huge mark for everyone to see. He’s claiming me and I am fucking here for it.

He releases me slowly, peppering my neck with kisses that literally leave me swooning.

“Mine,” he growls before he releases me. “Now eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I repeat in a breathy whisper, because I love seeing his nostrils flare and eyes go molten every time I call him that.

Stepping away from me, he pulls out the chair that I sat in yesterday before quickly claiming the one to my right. He doesn’t even pretend to give me a choice, just picks up my fork and puts a small amount of noodles on it, blowing on them, because of course they are still steaming hot. I hold his gaze as he feeds me, and maybe I should mind, because I’m not a child and can feed myself, but I don’t. I actually kind of love the fact that he feeds me, that he cares for my basic needs, and if the way his chest expands and his shoulders lose their tension is any indication, he loves it too.

“You look beautiful, Little Lamb,” Rowan compliments from my left, and I turn to stare at him. He, too, is wearing a vest with a neon skull on it, but whereas Roman’s is shades of pink and purple, Rowan’s is in greens and blues.

“Thank you. You look pretty hot yourself, Roo,” I tell him, and his eyes widen in delight at the nickname.

“I got you something,” he says, reaching beside him and pulling out a shoe box. The outside is a colourful pattern and has the words Irregular Choice in script across them. “Willow says this is her friend’s favourite brand, and I thought that you might not have anything that you could wear tonight.”

My gaze flits up to him to find an unsure look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, surprised that he even thought about it ahead of time and sorted the problem. “I don’t have any shoes, just my boots.”

I’m not surprised that they’re my size, because Rowan is the most observant of the three Shadows. He’s always watching, which is actually kind of comforting. Opening the box, tissue paper rustles as I unwrap one of the shoes and then gasp. It’s a stunning, silver glitter heel with a matching bow on the toe and a chunky heel, so it will be comfortable to wear all night.

“They’re…” I trail off as he takes the shoe from me, then gets on one knee. I twist in my chair as he grabs my foot, lifting my leg and helping me to put the shoe on. Then he unwraps the second one and puts that on my other foot, all while I stare at him, my heart pounding inside my chest. It’s somehow more intimate than I would have thought, especially as his hands wrap around my ankle and he looks up at me from his kneeling position.

“Did you know that in the past, giving a woman shoes was akin to a marriage proposal?” he asks, and I swear my heart skips a beat. Part of me is terrified at what he means, what he’s implying, but another part of me is ready to give him, to give them all, my forever. “There’s a reason why the Prince gave Cinderella her glass slipper.”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Rowan?” I breathe out, tension in the room as I hold his stare. His lips twitch, which is practically a full-blown smile for Rowan.

“You can’t just marry me, the others would feel left out,” he answers, which isn’t exactly saying that he’s not making some kind of declaration with these beautiful shoes. Grumbles from either side of us confirm his theory, and his lips twitch again as he gets up and sits back down.

“When did you get so much fucking game?” Roman hisses at his brother, and I laugh at the incredulous look on his face.

“Worried about competing, brother?” Rowan teases, and I giggle as I spin back to Hunt, who holds another forkful of food out for me to take.

We finish the meal with me peppering them with questions about the club in between Hunt feeding me my dinner. I’ve never really been clubbing because I was too young before I left for finishing school, and I didn’t get much of a chance when I returned, but I’ve heard about Depravity. It’s a very exclusive, highly sought-after club, supposedly with queues stretching along the street to get in.

Pride shines in their eyes as they tell me all about it, about the beautiful male and female dancers in cages high above the dancefloor and about the world-class cocktail makers who make the best and most innovative drinks in London. There are also some VIP areas upstairs that are for those who’d prefer to spend the evening playing poker while being served the most expensive liquor available and smoking Cuban cigars. DJs come from around the world to do a set, and they’ll often have several big names in one night, but they also open it up to aspiring DJs who always gets a name for themselves afterwards.

Excited butterflies flutter around my stomach as we leave the estate. I am finally leaving the estate, and to go clubbing with three hot men no less. A black sedan is idling next to the pavement. I frown at it, pulling the short, faux fur jacket I also found in Willow’s wardrobe closer around me when a gust of freezing wind whips around us. Hunt walks around to the passenger side while Roman opens the back door, and I can make out the burly figure of a driver in the driver’s seat.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Ro asks, and I chuckle at yet another nickname.

“I just kind of imagined you guys would have something…I dunno, more flashy, I guess,” I tell him, getting in after he does and not caring if I flash Rowan. I obviously do, because as I’m bent over, a loud crack fills the car and I yelp as pain flashes across my arse. “What the fuck, Row?!”

I have to sit down in order to glare at him, but he just arches a brow at me. “Brats get spanked,” he tells me, and my cheeks heat as I shuffle on the leather seat, my arse cheeks smarting.

“I wasn’t being a brat,” I complain, my tone sullen and very brat-like. He just stares at me, taking the seat belt that Roman passes him and pulling it across my body to click it in place. The car is deliciously warm, and so are the seats, the inside pretty luxurious and high spec.

“You definitely were being a brat,” Roman whispers in my ear, taking my hand in his and weaving our fingers together.

I huff, but can’t really say much considering he’s absolutely right. I was teasing Rowan on purpose, and if I’m being honest, I don’t totally hate the idea of being spanked by either of the twins. Or Hunt. Even the thought of the driver watching isn’t terrible. I really have fallen off the virginity wagon straight into a sexual deviant.

“Don’t worry, Lamb, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you properly later until your peachy arse is glowing and you won’t be able to sit down without feeling my handprint,” Rowan murmurs in my other ear, and his hand lands on my thigh, gripping tightly as my body flushes with heat, especially as we’re not alone. I cast my eyes to the driver, who is looking straight ahead at the road, completely ignoring us. He’s a huge guy with a scar across his face, ink covering his hands that grip the wheel tightly. Not your typical chauffeur.

We drive the rest of the way with Hunt issuing orders to the twins, both of whom listen intently while I melt between them from the visual that Roo created. It doesn’t take long and soon we’re pulling up outside the club, the queue already a mile long while bouncers wait at the entrance, a red carpet leading inside with a rope in front of the doors.

The club itself looks to be housed in an old Georgian building, the windows all above the ground floor level are lit up, the outline of drapes pulled open, giving it an upper class feel. The ones on the lower floor are blacked out, and I wonder if that is where the club is. There’s a lit-up sign across the front, swirling script announcing the name of the club, written for all to see.

Hunt is the first to get out, then Roman opens his door, stepping out before reaching inside to help me from the car. I glance at the driver and say thank you, but he just grunts in return, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Shrugging, I let Roman pull me from the car, careful not to flash Roothis time.

Once we’re all out, Hunt steps up next to me, Rowan taking our back as Roman goes slightly in front as if they’re using their bodies as a protective cage around me. We move as a group, Hunter’s hand on my lower back underneath my coat, sending all kinds of delicious shivers across my body. The bouncers nod, opening the rope before we even reach it so we don’t have to pause in our stride.

As soon as the large doors close behind us, warmth envelops me as we enter a plush reception area. The walls are decorated with grey flocked wallpaper, chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and a beautiful woman behind a tall reception desk. I can’t hear any music, but can feel the slight pulsing of deep bass as we make our way over to her.

She beams at the guys, her eyes faltering slightly when she catches sight of me, but she quickly recovers as a man in a shirt and waistcoat takes our coats from us.

“Welcome back, Mr Anderson, Mr Kent, and Mr Kent. And you brought a guest, how lovely,” she enthuses, and I want to call her out on her fake bitch bullshit but don’t bother, instead, stepping back into Hunter’s side, his arm coming round my waist as I snuggle into him.

“Mine,” I whisper as I practically rub myself over him, and he gives a deep, manly chuckle that does unspeakable things to Evangeline.

“Evening, Jessica,” he greets, squeezing my side. “No trouble tonight?”

“None at all, Hu–Mr Anderson,” she gushes, and I glare at her, pausing in my snuggles to make it extra menacing.

“I’d like some champagne brought up to the VIP area, Jessica. Dom Perigon if you have it,” I order before Hunt can reply, and I catch the twitch of his lips as she blinks rapidly.

“O–of course, Miss…” she trails off, and a wicked idea pops into my head.

“Mrs Anderson,” I tell her, feeling Hunt stiffen beside me as her eyes widen.

“Um, absolutely. Um, congratulations,” she stammers out, and I give her a feral grin before looking up at Hunter. His eyes are on me, and I expect to see amusement flashing in them, maybe even a little confusion, but what I find stops my breath. It’s white-hot need, his jaw tight and his body vibrating as he stares at me as if he’s claiming my very soul.

Ever so slowly, he leans down, pressing an almost reverent kiss to my cheeks. “Fuck, I like my last name on you, Peaches.” His words are just above a growl, and his hand on my waist tightens as he inhales. “I like the idea of owning you like that.”

Molten lust fills my veins, my lungs dragging in a huge breath and being filled with his rosemary and mint scent until I feel like I might be drowning in it.

“Let’s get this nuptial celebration started then, shall we?” Roman teases, and I look at him to see amusement in his eyes, and maybe a touch of jealousy. Fuck, I can’t help feeling my joke backfired just a little.

He leads the way, Hunter’s grip on my waist still tight as we walk down the corridor to another set of doors. They open as we approach, music pulsing out of them, and we enter a world full of strobing lights and writhing bodies.

The space is so much bigger than I feel like it should be, the ceilings high, and just like they promised, dancers in gilded cages dangle like exotic birds. The DJ booth is high up on its own platform, and there’s a mezzanine level with a glass balcony, more bouncers, and a rope at the base of some stairs.

“We knocked the whole of the ground floor together, which included a ballroom,” Hunt tells me, practically having to shout in my ear as we walk towards the bouncers.

Again, they have to rope open before we’ve even reached it, and the guys give them a nod as we walk up the stairs. The music isn’t as loud as we get to the top, and we find a man in a suit waiting for us.

“We have your usual table ready, sirs, Mrs Anderson. And may I offer my congratulations and those of all the staff here at Depravity,” he greets, a smile on his face as he looks at Hunter. “About bloody time too.”

Hunter chuckles, slapping the guy on the back. “Thanks, James.” He keeps hold of me as James leads us to our table, which is towards the side of the VIP area and has a view of the entire club down below.

“Dom Perigon, as requested,” James says as a server holds a bottle of champagne before filling four glasses.

“Thank you,” I reply, blushing as Hunt laughs. He takes a glass, passing it to me, then grabbing one for himself as the twins do the same.

“To my beautiful bride,” he toasts, and the others echo him as my heart races. Why does this feel less and less like a joke and more real with every passing second?

I bring the flute to my lips, sipping the light, bubbly champagne as I stare into my fake husband’s eyes. I wonder what it would be like to actually be married to Hunter Anderson, but then a small pain flares inside my chest because there are three others who seem to have just as much of a claim on me as Hunt does, and I don’t think I could ever choose.

“Take a seat, Mrs Anderson,” Roman teases as he sits down and pats the booth next to him, and shaking my head at his silliness, I slide in, the leather cool against my overheated skin. It’s a curved booth facing both the VIP area and the club below and a round, polished black table in front of it. Hunter slides in next but Rowan stays standing, observing the people around us while sipping his champagne.

Fingers from my left tickle up my thigh and I take in a sharp breath as they move higher. My hand grabs his wrist, but it does nothing to stop him. “Roman.”

“They may all think that you’re his wife,” he whispers, his fingers gliding underneath my barely there skirt and teasing along my knicker line. “But you belong to me too, and I’m going to make you come while they all watch.”

He doesn’t even give me time to answer, sliding his fingers inside my lace thong and going straight for my clit. My fingers tighten around his wrist, but I don’t push him away like I really should. Instead, I stifle a moan into Hunt’s neck as Roman sets to work destroying me as quickly as he can, and there’s something about the fact we are in a public place that makes my blood sizzle in my veins.

“What’s—” Hunter cuts himself off, and I move my face so I can look up at him. His gaze is hooded, his stare between my thighs as Roman moves his fingers lower, sinking two of them inside me so suddenly that I can’t stop the cry from escaping. “Fuck, we really don’t need this kind of distraction,” he mumbles, but then his hand is on my thigh, pulling it open to give Ro better access.

“Evenin’, Hunter, boys,” a deep male voice says, and I hide my face in Hunter’s neck again, my nails digging into Roman’s skin as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of me. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Hunter answers just as Roman strokes that spot inside me that is sure to make me see stars. “May I introduce my wife? Iris, this is Roger Sterling.”

Gritting my teeth, I try to school my face and turn to look up at Roger. He’s older than Hunter, maybe mid to late forties, handsome in a silver fox kind of way, and smartly dressed. There’s something a little unsettling about him though, like a beautiful snake that will hypnotise you and then sink its fangs deep.

“Pleased to m–meet you, Roger,” I say, my nails digging into Roman’s wrist and Hunter’s thigh as Ro finger fucks me hard. My breaths are panting, and it’s taking everything in me to keep a straight face and not roll my eyes at the pleasure that is flowing through me, threatening to drown me. Roger gives me a considering look, one eyebrow arched slightly.

“The pleasure is all mine, though I must say, I thought your father struck a deal with the Russians? That’s certainly the impression I got when we last spoke,” he tells me casually, and it’s as if a bucket of iced water has just been dumped over my head.

“P–pardon?” I whisper, Roman’s fingers stilling and Hunter going taut next to me.

“Your father and I had business together, and when I heard that he was in a little trouble, offering his beautiful daughter up in exchange for clearing his debts, I thought I could be of assistance.” Bile fills my throat at the thought of more people being aware of my shame, of the fact that my own father was offering me up like a prized cow and that he wasn’t hiding it from anyone, instead, flaunting it. “I’m glad Hunter got you in the end. Sergi Petrov is a brutal man who I doubt would appreciate such an English rose.”

Tears sting the back of my eyes, and Roman removes his hand completely as Hunt rubs soothing circles on my thigh, but I barely feel them, my body going numb as a wave of grief hits me so hard that I sway a little.

“I do hope you’re okay, Iris. I’m sorry if I said anything upsetting, I assumed you knew,” Roger is saying, but it’s as if it’s coming from a vast distance. Hunt assures him it’s just the champagne, but I hardly hear him. The need to flee, to go somewhere just to breathe becomes so overwhelming that before I know what I’m doing, I’m pushing past Roman and striding towards the ladies’ bathrooms that I spotted earlier.

Bursting through the door, I’m relieved to find it’s an individual room, complete with a vanity and plush velvet chair, a sink to one side, and the toilet behind another door.

I lock the door behind me, jumping when a loud fist bangs against it.

“Let me in, Lamb,” Rowan demands, and I’m shaking my head even though he can’t see.

“I–I’ll only be a m–minute,” I tell him, my voice thick with unshed tears. I just need a moment alone to process what that man said, what my father did. Movement in the mirror has me spinning, my eyes widening when a dark figure emerges from the toilet. “Nikolai?”

“I need to check the space, Iris,” Rowan grits out, pounding on the door again, but my focus is on the man in front of me. He looks, well, he kind of looks like shit, deep violet smudges underneath his eyes.

“Hello, Malyshka,” he whispers, and before I’m thinking, I’m throwing myself in his arms. He catches me with a grunt, but his arms wrap around me, pulling me so close, and my body immediately relaxes. “What’s wrong, Dorogoi?”

“Nothing, not anymore now that you’re here,” I murmur back, unconvincing as a tear glides down my cheek. My breath stalls and fear makes me flash hot. I pull away to look up into his beautiful, tired face.“Why are you here? What if Sergi⁠—”

He cuts me off with his lips and I melt into his kiss. He starts off slow, like he can’t quite believe that I’m here, which I sympathise with because I feel the same. My hands travel up his chest, feeling the tight muscles underneath his fitted shirt, but I need more. I need to feel his hot skin beneath my fingertips. So as he deepens the kiss, I start undoing the buttons of his shirt, making quick work of them and pushing the garment off him to land in a pile on the floor.

I pull back from the kiss, just so my eyes can confirm what my hands are feeling, and a sob rips from my chest at the purples and blues that cover his inked-up torso. “Oh, Nik.”

“Shhhh, Dorogoi. I’m fine,” he assures me, even though he clearly isn’t, but then his lips are on mine again, his large palms cupping my face as he walks me backwards until my thighs hit the vanity top.

Then his tongue delves inside my mouth, stroking and leaving me whimpering before he picks me up underneath my thighs to set me down on the cool marble, and I hiss into his mouth when it hits my overheated skin. My legs open to allow him to step between them, and I lose myself to him, letting him ease the pain of my father’s latest betrayal.

I moan when his fingers glide up the inside of my thigh, and he growls into my mouth when they brush over my damp underwear. The door pounds again, but the sound is muffled because all I can focus on is Nik.

“Do they keep you satisfied, Kotenok?” he whispers harshly against my lips, and I whimper when he tugs the fabric aside, roughly shoving two fingers inside me. “It feels like they warmed you up just for me.”

With a feral snarl, he pulls his fingers out, wrapping them around the material and tearing it from my body. I stifle a cry of pain as the fabric pulls against my skin, my chest rising and falling rapidly as the sound of his belt buckle being undone fills the room.

His other hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look into his dark eyes as I feel the tip of him nudge my entrance. No words are said as with a single hard thrust, he slams his way inside my body just as the door flies open.