King of Depravity: Chapter 5

I’m not surprised to find Killian in his dark corner table when I arrive at work.

Nor am I shocked when he requests me for his waitress. Part of me knows I should stay far away from Killian Smith.

Lord Killian Smith. I mean, seriously…he’s aristocracy?

His brothers are all just as good looking as him, none of them give off the same air of unhinged like Killian does.

They are one of the major real estate developers in Vegas. I googled them between classes.

Which means, as long as I’m in this city, I’m not likely to escape Killian’s attention. Not until he doesn’t want to give it to me anymore. And unlike the Russian I hoped to avoid, Killian is proving difficult to shake.

The even more mind-blowing detail, is that when I saw him in the coffee shop, I didn’t feel only annoyance or revulsion.

I was also…excited. In my defense, no one, besides me, myself, and I, has ever given me an orgasm before.

I’ve been afraid to let any guy close enough to even try. The fact that it turned out pleasantly is shocking.

But I know it’s a terrible idea to allow Killian any closer. He is not the kind of crazy a girl can control. And then another part argues, there was a little control in my bedroom. He made me a promise and he kept his word.

I banish these thoughts, they’re dangerous. Which is why I’m all business when I head over to his table. “Good evening. What can I get you?”

“Whisky. One an hour,” he murmurs, his eyes sliding down my black oxford and painted-on pants. “I like the dress better.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I try for snark, but part of me is pleased. I like dressing in bold colors. Clothes are part of how I express myself. They are the palette that I share with the world, unlike my paintings, which are way too personal.

I’m an art history major because, while I love being a painter, I know I’m not ever going to make a living off it. That’s for people who are already rich. If I could become a curator or a gallery manager, I’d be ecstatic.

I leave Killian’s table and start for the bar when Callie approaches, giving me a sour look. “The Russians requested you.”

I look over to the table and try not to sigh as Alexander beckons me toward him. Crap. “Sorry,” I murmur to Callie. “I’m as unhappy about it as you are.”

“You can’t take all the good tippers,” she huffs, not asking why I might not be happy.

Sliding my tray under my arm, I approach the table. “Good evening, gentlemen, how may I help you?”

The one who always plays the piano gives me a long look, his eyes sliding down my uniform. “I’ve never introduced myself, I’m Dimitri Ivanov.”

I let out a slow breath, mentally cursing. “Pleasure.”

“Chloe, right?” Dimitri asks, his gaze running up and down me again.

“That’s right.”

“Alexander claims that you are the most professional of the staff.” He smiles and I catch a gold-capped tooth among his molars.

“That’s very kind,” I reply, not liking where this is going.

Dimitri gives a light chuckle as though I’ve said something funny. “I wasn’t being kind. I’ve a meeting next week that I’m hosting in the back room. It requires discretion—” But he stops as three men appear in the door.

I recognize them instantly. Killian’s brothers.

The entire table of Russians stops looking at me and stares at them. Triston’s eyes meet mine, and then flick to the table I’m standing in front of. He looks at me for the briefest second, and then, his gaze shifts to Dimitri as he begins to walk over.

The air crackles.

“What can I get you gentlemen to drink?” I ask the Russians, sinking into my job to relieve the tension.

“Your best vodka and seven glasses,” Dimitri replies, his eyes on Triston.

“Of course.” I’m off, hustling to the bar. Did Triston come here to see them? To check up on his brother? To follow up with me?

Either way, I quickly load up the drinks, returning to the table, all the while feeling Killian watch all this play out from his hiding spot in the shadows. Why hasn’t he joined his brothers?

Setting the bottle on the table, I distribute the glasses and then fill each. I do the task as quickly as I dare without spilling.

“This town gets smaller by the day,” Dimitri drawls as he looks at Triston, who has slid into a chair at the table.

I move to fill Triston’s glass, but he puts his hand out, covering the top. I’m about to move on, when Dimitri speaks. “Fill his glass, Chloe. I insist.”

“Of course,” I answer, even as Alexander shoots his entire glass back, slapping it on the tabletop for me to refill.

Triston removes his hand, and I fill it with a short pour, then move on to Rush’s and Ryker’s glasses. Leaning over the table, I fill Alexander’s again. But I’ve only just finished when he grabs my wrist. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” he starts, his eyes stormy in a way that makes my breath catch.

“Leave it, Alex,” Dimitri commands.

Alexander’s mouth snaps shut and he releases my hand, but his glare assures me he isn’t happy.

The Smiths have been silent, but as I leave to bring Killian his drink, I hear Triston say, “My apologies if we’ve trodden on your preferred establishment. I’d only heard the music was good, but now I understand it’s likely because you’re playing.”

All the Russians laugh. I shake my head. I guess Triston got all the charm in the family.

Stopping at Killian’s table, he glares at me too. “Did that motherfucker just touch you?”

My brows lift as I set down his whisky and his glass of water. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. But I am curious about why your family has made an appearance.”

He grunts. “Checking on me. Assessing you. They don’t trust me, but I think they’re learning all the ways they’ve been mistaken.” He waves at the Russian’s table. I don’t know what he means but I’m not asking.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah. For you to suck my cock.”

I blink at him, my mouth hanging open. To my own shock, my answer isn’t one of disgust and I don’t feel the normal skitter of fear that always accompanies a sexual advance. “There is no way that thing will fit in my mouth.”

He laughs then, the husky chuckle vibrating through me and settling between my legs. “It’ll fit.”

“You have to know I’m not giving you a blowjob.”

“Is there a price?” He leans back in his chair, looking curious. Hungry.

“I’m not a prostitute.” I huff, honestly more offended by that question than his initial request.

“I could make you,” he cocks his head, gauging my reaction.

For a split second the fear hits me again. But I swallow it down. “But then you’d have to take that sensitivity training.” I turn to leave when he wraps a hand around my thigh.

“It would be worth it.”

“Killian,” I hiss, pulling away. “Last night was a one-time thing, I…”

“It was not.”

“It was,” I turn, heading for my next table.

The night passes in a blur. The Smiths stay with the Russians, Killian remains hidden in his corner. I do my normal dance on my heels, the tips rolling in. At this rate, I’ll have a good head start on next month’s tuition bill.

After I take a quick bathroom break, I come out of the bathroom to find Killian waiting for me just outside the door.

“Go away,” I huff, trying to shrug past him.

“No,” he answers, trapping me against the wall in a cage of his arms.

“I’m not going to be your whore, Killian,” I say, trying to duck under his arm. That’s when he pushes his chest against mine, pinning me.

The coffee shop today, even the conversation about blowjobs had felt more…normal and less sinister.

But trapped like this, I start to feel frightened again. “You’re scaring me.”

He eases back the slightest bit. “I’m never interested in women like this. I can’t leave it alone.”

I’d like to tell him that it’s not my problem, but Killian will make it my problem. “I’ve never even given a blowjob. I haven’t any idea how.” It’s the worst reason ever, but we’re on multiple rounds of this conversation.

“I’ll teach you.” His mouth is pressed to my ear.

But I shake my head. This is wrong. I don’t even want a regular guy to have power over me. I’m not giving it to someone like Killian. “No.”

His hand comes to my shoulder. “Yes.”

“No, Killian,” I start but he’s pushing me down, my knees buckling under his hand. Last night, I didn’t have to do anything. But this…getting down on my knees, this is my worst nightmare.

I grip his shirt, my ragged cry filling the space between us and I say the word I haven’t uttered in years. “Please, Killian. Please don’t do this.” And then my knees buckle and I end up exactly where I begged him not to put me. But the air won’t fill my lungs, I feel like I’m drowning.

I’m trying to breathe but I’m hyperventilating instead, tears filling my eyes.

“What the fuck?” he rumbles and reaches down, his hands in my armpits as he pulls me back up. “What is wrong with you?”

“So much,” I answer, as I close my eyes, allowing the wall and Killian’s hands to hold my weight. “Leave me be, Killian. I’m asking you to please leave me be.”

But that’s when a male laugh filters down the hall, followed by sharp words called in Russian.

I stiffen, wondering which one of them is coming, when Killian melts into the shadows.

Did he just leave me? Motherfu⁠—

I try to get my legs to work, but I’m still leaning against the wall when Alexander rounds the corner and stops when he sees me there.

He smiles, showing all his teeth, before he starts coming right for me.