Chapter 9
Chelsea
Anticipation prickles along my skin,sending goosebumps along my arms. The space is crowded, the heat from their bodies washing over me in waves. Glancing about, I keep a tight hold on Master Grigori's hand to make sure I don't get sucked into the crowd and separated from him. Something doesn't feel right, but I can't put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the way he had sex with me last night. Normally he's tearing off my clothes, unable to resist slamming deep within me. Last night was different, tender even. In the small span that I've known him, I didn't know gentle could be in his vocabulary.
Though his soft touch felt like heaven against my skin, I still missed that frisson of excitement, the bite of pain as he bent me to my will. Then again, I've been doing everything he's asked of me. I've been the model submissive. Perhaps he gets gentle when I behave? If that's the case, I will certainly act up tonight. Gentle is good in between rough sessions, but I can't take the chance that it will never go back to rough and heavy.
I don't want to misbehave here, though. We were invited by his uncle, and to me, the rules from last night still apply. I don't want to draw any attention to myself. Absently, I bring my hand up to finger the new collar Master Grigori presented me with before leaving. It's much plainer than the one last night, but I feel like it suits me that much better. I won't worry about it snagging on anything or having it get taken somehow. The band is plain, solid black, and shiny - like liquid onyx. It's missing his emblem like the other one, but that's more for my safety. Given the nature of his business, wearing his symbol so blatantly was like asking someone to come up to kill me.
Though he never did admit his mafia ties to me, that confirms it in my mind. What other profession would someone have to worry about shit like that? I shift my hand in his grip, clutching at him even tighter. I steal glances about, hoping I'm not drawing attention to myself. Even though his uncle owns the club, are we still at risk?
"Ah, you came!"
That familiar voice slides down my spine and settles heavily in my gut. Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to face his Uncle Dima, determined to not let him see how nervous I am to be here. Master Grigori seems right at home. Not one ounce of him looks perturbed. More than likely, this is not his first time here.
"We couldn't refuse such an enthusiastic invitation."
I give a mental snort. Forced was more like it. You can turn down an invitation. Something happened to make Master Grigori say yes. I'm sure of it. Pale, watery eyes slide to me, looking me up and down for a moment before his lips curl up into a grin.
"You look good enough to ravish."
Master Grigori's grip tightens on my hand, but he stays silent. Do the same rules apply as last night? Am I not allowed to speak to others? Absently, I reach for the charm from last night, remembering a bit too late that it's not there. For some reason, I don't feel as protected without it. Though it could make me a target, it also reminds everyone that I'm his. In that, I'm much safer.
"I plan to do so later tonight," He grinds out, smoothing his thumb across my knuckles, the soft touch belying his harsh words.
Uncle Dima stares me down; is he daring me to speak to him, to respond in some way? I glance at Master Grigori, hoping he could tell me what to do, but he's not looking at me. Instead, his gaze is caught on blonde across the club. Her hair sways with each animated gesture, the silky strands catching in the light. Jealousy rears its ugly head as he takes a step towards her.
The moment she turns around, revealing her face, he steps back. His uncle watches the entire procedure, his smile getting wider with each stuttered movement.
"You remember Alina. You left quite an impression on her. She's requested your expertise again later tonight."
As Master Grigori shakes his head, Uncle Dima steps closer to me. Just one step is all it takes for Master Grigori to sigh and rake his fingers through his hair. I really wish someone would tell me what was going on. I feel like I'm caught in between something I know nothing about. Thankfully, it seems like he's reluctant to play with her; otherwise, why start to say no at all?
"Come, I'll get you set up."
Master Grigori pins me with an unreadable stare, his eyes boring deep into mine. Before I can ask him anything, he clutches me hard to him, engulfing me with his embrace. His heart beats wildly in his chest as his body molds itself onto mine. Fear fills me as we stand there, locked together. This feels like a goodbye, and I don't understand why. He's just playing with another woman, right?
"See where Ivan is standing? I want you to stand over next to him. When I'm done with Alina, I'll come back for you."
"Promise?" The question leaves my lips before I can hold it back.
"I will always come back for you. Make no mistake."
His fingers linger against mine for longer than necessary, and I feel his sentiment. I want nothing more than to leave this place that smells like sex, alcohol, and desperation. I don't need all these other people. I just need him. He pulls away, his fingers gripping mine until the last possible moment. They pop free from his, my arm plopping next to my side. Then he strides away from me, never looking back.
As a pair of double doors click behind him, my adrenaline spikes, setting me into motion. I tear through the crowd towards Mr. Ivan. He towers over everyone, so it's easy to keep him in my sights. Hands claw and tear at me as I push through, desperate to get to the one man I hate, the one man that's supposed to keep me safe while Master Grigori is otherwise occupied. He watches me as I struggle, his eyes taking in every push and shove as I fight to get free.
Why won't he help me? He crosses his massive arms, a hint of a smirk at his lips. Or is that the light? I can't tell anymore. All I know is I want to be off this dance floor and where Master Grigori told me to be. If I listen to him, I'll be safe. I have to be. Some unknown man pulls me against his chest, his hips rocking against mine. I reach out towards Mr. Ivan, but he simply raises his eyebrow. The arms move from my hips up to my shoulders, and instinct takes over my body. I drop to the floor, dragging the stranger with me, ignoring his yelps of discomfort.
"What the fuck, bitch?"
I whirl around, fists in front. "I didn't give you permission to touch me, asshole."
He backs away, hands in the air. I preen for a moment before realizing he's not actually looking at me. Instead, his eyes are glued to something up above my head. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Mr. Ivan's bulk and breathe a sigh of relief. It stings a little, but no one will mess with me now that he's here. I turn to thank him, but his hand wraps around my arm as he drags me towards the spot he previously occupied.
I push at the large digits leaving deep impressions into my skin, that frisson of panic crawling up my spine again. Once more, I try to peel his fingers off of my body, but he doesn't even budge. He pulls me in front of him, giving me a straight-shot view of an empty Saint Andrew's cross. Finally, he drops away and backs off, giving me a moment to breathe.
Oxygen catches in my throat as the blonde from earlier saunters past, flipping her hair into my face before walking up to the cross and placing her delicate wrists on the padded cushions. A few men lock her into place, and my stomach drops, my brain zipping backward to that night several weeks ago when it was me strapped to the cross, waiting for Master Grigori to do his worst.
My throat clogs as he exits out of another set of doors, his eyes never landing on mine. They seem to look everywhere but at me. Just as I feel the first burning sting of tears gathering in my eyes, his gaze locks onto mine. He seems to be speaking volumes, but I am unable to translate. Desperation clogs my throat as I watch him slide off his jacket and hand to a waiting man. His eyes never leave mine as he undoes his cufflinks before rolling up one sleeve then moving to the next. The play of lights against his muscles makes my mouth water, but now is not the time to be getting aroused.
The lights dim, and by the time they come back up, the moment's gone. He has two floggers, one in each hand, as some song with hard, thumping beats blares through the room. Multicolored lights add to the confusion, as does a single strobe bathing both of them in a frenetic staccato that matches my racing heart. As some rocker sings the line, "hail to the king," Master Grigori explodes into a flurry of movement.
The tails of the flogger swish about as his wrists move in a fluid figure eight. He's only done florentine flogging to me once, but the delicious sensations etched themselves into my brain forever. As he smacks the floggers against her, the double thuds not audible over the music, I feel them as if they're beating against me. I sway in time to the beat, arousal gathering on my thighs. I can't even begin to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't seem to be enjoying himself.
Instead of the easy smile that I've seen him wear the few times he's beat the front of me, his face is pained, pinched, but not in concentration. The music crescendos, and his pattern switches up with him swinging both floggers simultaneously on opposite sides of her back. As the music starts to fade, awareness prickles the back of my neck. I don't even have time to turn before a sharp prick sparks against my neck.
Blackness encroaches on my vision, and I blink it away, desperate to keep Master Grigori in my sights. With each moment I'm able to pry my eyes open, relief floods in as I see his face. He turns towards me, his brows pinched together. Everything goes black.