Rough Exile

“You don’t leave my sight—understand me, you stupid bitch?”

“What’s the big deal?” I asked. “I didn’t realize I needed a hall pass to pee.”

“You can’t walk around looking like this and not expect trouble. You stay where I can see you. If you need to piss, you take me with you.”

“The club is full of security. There are guards—cameras. What do you think is going to happen?”

“Anything could happen. You could get kidnapped.”

“Maybe my new kidnapper won’t be such a jerk.”

His hand came to my throat, squeezing as he looked down into my face, his eyes snapping with anger.

“This isn’t a game, De-li-lah.”

Every time he said my name like that, between the accent and the mocking enunciation, I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to slap him or fuck him.

Both. Probably both.

“It’s not a game, and yet you still want to play with me, Bron-i-slav.”

He flashed his teeth at me, but it was more snarl than smile.

“Most of the people in this club want to fuck you. If you don’t stay where I can see you, anything might happen.”

“I’m used to being on the Island, playing dangerous games with dangerous men. Maybe having access to only two men is boring me.” I said it to rile him, and I wasn’t disappointed.

There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, and my adrenaline rushed to meet the challenge I saw there.

“I’m trying to help Ilya get to know a few people who know his father, so that word will get back to him that Ilya’s not a man-child anymore. I don’t have time to deal with your petulant, slutty behavior.” He squeezed my neck harder, and my head swam. Scowling at me, he leaned in and dragged his tongue up my lips. “Stop looking for trouble.” He gave my neck another warning squeeze, then let go.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he grabbed my arm and slapped my face hard enough to sting.

“Don’t speak unless someone asks you a question. Understand me?”

A hot buzzing sensation filled me. I really wished I wouldn’t get turned on when he roughed me up.

“Open your mouth.”

Confused, I obeyed.

He spat in my mouth, then pushed up on my chin, closing my jaw. He waited for me to swallow, and I did, ignoring the way my body was begging for more disrespect. I was going to need some serious therapy when I went home.

“You look very beautiful tonight.”

A compliment? Had hell frozen over?

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I admitted.

“We’ll need to make a mess of you before we bring you back to the hotel.”

“What?”

He dragged me back through the club, not stopping until we reached the couch where Ilya sat. Ilya’s face had taken on a strange hardness as he spoke to these men. Even his voice had changed. It was lower now, his words more measured. It reminded me of Bron.

Now that I got a better look at them, the men looked like rich thugs. Like Bron, they were heavily tattooed. My men were in jeans and T-shirts, but the other two were in dress pants and button-down shirts.

My men?

Had I really just thought that?

Ilya reached for me as we got to them, and I settled in his lap again, as though I always sat there.

Bron sat beside him, and they had a brief, murmured conversation before he shifted farther away. Ilya’s brow arched, and his gaze came to me. I flushed, realizing I’d been the subject of their discussion.

“Making trouble?” Ilya snapped. “I thought I told you to behave.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. It sounded like Bron coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I said, putting my hand on his chest and gazing up at him adoringly, knowing full well the strange men were watching. If this was supposed to prove to Vas that Ilya was ‘manly,’ I could act submissive for a few hours. “I went to the restroom.”

“You don’t leave my sight, understand me?”

“Yes, Ilya.”

“If you’re so bored that you need to go wandering around, maybe we’ll make your evening more interesting.”

“That’s not necessary. I—”

He spoke to the half-naked server who arrived with more drinks, and she flashed him a smile, then sauntered away, the sway of her hips an invitation Ilya paid no attention to.

I wanted to ask what he was planning, but he was shooting the shit with the men again, and I didn’t want to interrupt and look pushy. They called another friend over and introduced him as Ty.

“You’re American?” he asked, speaking directly to me.

Both Bron and Ilya stiffened, as though a man speaking directly to me was borderline unacceptable.

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”