The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

For some reason, the thought of not seeing Pavel sends a whirlwind of anxiety rushing through me.

“No, I’m okay. I’m an actress. I know how to change my mood—or fake it.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I think you need a big hug right now, not Pavel domming you around.”

Actually, the thought of diving straight into that role—the fantasy role where all I have to do is surrender—sounds perfect. “No, I’m good. Thanks for talking me through this. I knew there was a reason I called you and not Ashley or Kimberly.”

“All right. Virtual hug to you. Call me again if you want to talk more, okay?”

“I will, thanks.” I end the call just as I pull into the valet parking for the Four Seasons. I tug the mirror down and wipe under my eyes. I look like crap, but maybe I can tell Pavel I need a shower first. He knows I’m coming straight from an audition that ran long.

Squaring my shoulders, I take my bag from the trunk and enter the hotel. I practice my smile, trying to lighten my mood. Whatever I do, I can’t let Pavel know the truth.

Pavel

I stand on the balcony of the hotel room, trying to unclench my fingers. Kayla’s hours late and hasn’t responded to my last couple texts checking in. The need to get in a car and drive somewhere very fast to make sure she’s unharmed spikes about every five minutes, but of course, I don’t know where to drive.

Damn. I should’ve put a tracker in her phone like Ravil and Maxim did with their women. I chose not to because I already control so many aspects of Kayla’s life, plus it felt like a betrayal of trust. She gives herself freely, and she wouldn’t lie. My enemies are in Chicago, not here, so I didn’t think her safety was at issue. Why would I need to track her?

My phone beeps with an incoming text. Just got here. I’m so sorry, Master, the audition went really long.

Thank fuck. I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and step inside. I want to go down and meet her, to carry her bag, but I’m not sure which way she’s coming, so I wait until she knocks on the door.

I open it, all set to give her a cool command to take off her clothes when I realize her mood is all wrong. She avoids my gaze, ducking her head as she passes me. I pick up her suitcase and bring it to the rack.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She still barely meets my gaze. Fuck—are her eyes red?

What in the hell happened?

I catch her hips and turn her to fully face me. “Hey,” I say softly, waiting for her to settle under my hands. Under my gaze.

But she doesn’t.

“What happened?”

She turns out of my grasp to face her suitcase. “Nothing. Just a bad audition, that’s all. And I was stressed because I knew you were waiting.”

I want to tell her I was fine, that she didn’t need to stress over me, but something doesn’t ring right. I’ve had too much practice beating the truth out of liars. She’s a good actress, but something’s off, and it’s not just her lack of submission.

“Hey.” I stay where I am. “Turn around.”

She freezes, another tell. Prickles crawl up the back of my neck. What in the fuck is going on? When she turns around, her eyes have the wide rabbit look, but more scared than eager to please. I don’t like this version of it.

“Did you just lie to me?” My words seem to take all the oxygen out of the room. There’s a plummeting sensation, like we’re in an elevator dropping quickly.

“Pavel…” Again, not the right response.

I go cold all over. Alarms go off, but I don’t even know what they mean. “Why did you lie?” My voice is so soft, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“I did have a bad audition,” she insists.

I believe her, but I wait because I know there’s something she’s trying to hide.

“W-what makes you think I’m lying?”

Gospodi, now she’s really freaking me out. I step into her space and cup her chin, trying to will whatever’s in her brain out of that pretty mouth.

“I detect lies for a living,” I tell her. We stare at each other for a moment. Her pulse is frantic at her throat. I can’t decide if this is a dom moment or a boyfriend moment. Do I threaten punishment if she won’t talk? I settle for the minced, “Come clean.”

“I got casting-couched. The director wanted me to suck his dick to show how much I wanted the part.”

My nostrils flare, and I let out a string of curses in Russian. That man will pay. But… “Why didn’t you want me to know?”