The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

“I just—” She stops herself from speaking and swallows. She’s still hiding something again.

A massive alarm goes off in my head. Everything flashes hot and cold as my brows slam down. “Wait… did you do it?”

Her outrage couldn’t be faked. She slaps my face hard, and relief flushes through me.

“Sorry.” I catch her wrist and bring her fingers to my lips to kiss them. “I’m sorry, Kayla. Of course, you didn’t.” I shake my head, still trying to make sense of it. “It’s just that you lied straight to my face. It scared the shit out of me.”

Her eyes swim with tears.

“Why didn’t you want me to know? What did he do?”

She still resists, lowering her chin and drawing back a little.

I rub my hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. “What’s his name?”

Kayla shakes her head.

“No?” I didn’t mean to put a dangerous edge on the word, but she draws back at my tone, and her ass hits the suitcase. I still have her wrist, which I use to steady her.

She wets her lips. “Sasha said you’d kill him.”

I let out a humorless chuff of laughter as her reluctance to be forthright suddenly makes perfect sense. But then the notion that Sasha thinks I will kill this guy—that he deserves to die for what he did to her—sharpens the ruthless part of me to a lethal point.

“His name.” It’s a command, and she doesn’t miss the tone.

She swallows. “Are you going to kill him?”

“Did he touch you?” This man is fucking dead if he did.

She shakes her head repeatedly but then says. “He...he put my hand on his cock—o-over his shorts. But when I pulled away, he let me go.”

I nod slowly, considering what I’m going to do with this cocksucker.

“Does that mean yes, you’re going to kill him?”

I draw in a slow breath then shake my head. Kayla doesn’t want me to. Her soul’s too pure to have that on her conscience. “What do you want me to do?”

Her expression is uncertain. “Please don’t kill him.”

I consider and nod. “If you don’t want him dead, I’ll respect that. You have my word. But I am going to make sure you’re the last woman he tries this shit on.”

I wait for her to soften, then I slowly draw her into my arms. “Are you okay, little flower? You swear that’s all that happened?” She wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face to my chest. I kiss the top of her head. When she doesn’t answer, I say, “Talk to me.”

“I’m okay. It was upsetting, but I’m fine. And you’re here.”

The last three words do something foreign to my heart.

“Tell me what you need.”

She lifts her head and peers up at me. She’s soft and supple and totally submissive again. “Just you,” she murmurs. “Us. To be your slave tonight.”

“Hm.” I tip her chin up, drinking in her unconditional surrender like it’s the fuel that keeps me alive. The electricity sparks between us and a haze of filthy ideas flash through my head. “You definitely have a punishment coming for lying to me. But I’m going to feed you and make sure you’re all right first.”

Her eyes dilate, and her nipples poke through her red scoop-neck blouse. “I’m not hungry yet. Honestly. I just want to play.”

“Come here.” I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom where I turn on the shower. “Strip.”

She’s instantly eager, kicking off her heels, shimmying out of her top and slacks. I lean back against the counter to watch her bra and panties come off, my dick lengthening in my pants.

“Wash off your day, blossom. Take your time.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmurs, head bowed.

I marvel at my urge to kiss that bowed head. How affectionate she’s taught me to be in just a few short weeks. That first night at Black Light, after I broke her as I’d known I would, the urge to walk away—hell, to run away was so strong. But Maxim directed me back to her. Said I owned her now. That she was mine. And that weight, that responsibility felt so light and heavy at the same time. I’d never held a woman before that night. I’d fucked. I’d scened with some women, though I was new to the BDSM world. But Kayla curled up in a blanket in my arms, needed to be held, and it forever changed me.

Whatever it is that she calls up in me is what makes me unwilling to walk away. This relationship is impractical at best—probably unhealthy for her, yet I’m here for the seventh weekend, more invested in seeing her again than I am in my next breath.

I stay where I am and watch through the glass shower doors, enjoying the view for a bit, then head into the bedroom to prepare for our scene.