Destroy (Sordid 2.5)

I wanted his beautiful, artistic hands on my body, touching me with the same delicateness he’d used with the sculpture petals, even though the idea scared the hell out of me. Who was I when I was touching him?

“It’s nice to meet you, Nikita.” He continued to hold my hand and used his free one to motion to my sculpture. “This isn’t what I paid for. How do you recommend I proceed?”

His words were professional and friendly, but his tone had an edge of warning, hinting his patience was nearing an end.

I chose to make my stand. “Tell me what you’re going to do, and I will fix it. You have my word.”

His grip squeezed the bones of my hand together. “Your word? We just met, and I have no reason to trust you.”

His refusal meant only bad things were in the future. His hand on mine had felt wonderful at first, but now it was uncomfortable. “Let go of me.”

He blinked slowly and released his intense grip. I yanked away like he’d burned me.

“I won’t be sending it back, Nikita.” He drew each consonant out of my name. Ni-ki-ta. “Correct it, and I’ll tell you what I have planned.” This time his smile was smug. “You have my word.”

I didn’t believe him.

His phone buzzed from his pocket and was snatched up. As he spoke, his gaze was fixed on me, pinning me in place. “This is Luke.”

It was impossible to look at him as he stared at me. My gaze flitted from him to the crowbar he’d set on the table. He was distracted. I should move now. Take the cold crowbar in my hand and swing until there was absolutely nothing of me left.

“Yes, it was damaged, but Ms. Petrov promises to repair it.”

My focus snapped to him, and I let my expression go cold.

He only smirked. “It may take her a few days, but she’ll get it done.”

Days. He was an over-the-top asshole. He must have suspected what I was planning, for he moved between me and the sculpture, blocking it from my view.

“It’s no problem. I understand these things happen. Thank you for sending her.”

He’d barely pocketed the phone before I lashed out. “I’m not going to lift a finger until you assure me my artwork is safe.”

“Safe? From what?”

“Your hands.”

Luke’s jaw tightened, televising his displeasure. “You don’t seem to understand how this works. That sculpture is mine. It’s property I own and can do whatever the fuck I want with.”

I reared back. It wasn’t that I had a problem with profanity, but it was so unexpected, it sent me stumbling until I had my back against a wall. He approached deliberately until he filled my vision. He was all aggressive eyes and wild hair.

“If anyone’s a danger to my sculpture, it’s you,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Once again, he put his hand on my shoulder, but it wasn’t to guide me out of the way. This time he pressed down. I hadn’t realized how tender I was from toppling the crate over earlier. I gnashed my teeth through the pain and couldn’t keep it from my face.

“She told me what you did.” His touch was gone, but it still smarted. “You intentionally damaged what’s mine. My very expensive property, which we’ve already established is your best work. Why?” Something flickered in his eyes. Sadness? “Why on earth would you do that?”

The air swirled around us with tension and choked the truth from me. “I don’t want it twisted into something it’s not.”

His nostrils flared, and the color of flames heated on his neck. His gaze drilled down into me as he seethed. “It’ll ruin you all over again, and you were lucky you got a second chance. No one will touch you after this. Are you really that stupid?”

Yes, I was.

All I ever did was make poor choices and mistakes.

I couldn’t render a response, and my mouth went dry when he set his hands against the wall on either side of my head. Alarms rang in my mind, flooding tremors down my legs. I didn’t know this large man, who I’d certainly upset, and his thick arms caged me in.

Yet another terrible choice I’d made without thinking it through. Were we here alone in his house? Would someone hear me if I screamed? There’d only been one car in the garage, and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Somehow, I found my voice. “No, I’m not stupid. I’m . . . passionate about my work.”

Did he find that amusing? He chuckled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “And you feel so strongly, you’re willing to go back to prison?” He was only a breath away, so close I could see the sapphire strands in his irises. “You willfully vandalized my sculpture. Given how much I paid for it, I’m sure you committed a felony. Tell me, Nikita. Are you still on parole?”