Chapter Sixteen #2
I chose not to answer because no, I wasn’t at all surprised by it.
Based on what I’d observed so far, it was right on par with her.
It should have bothered me a fuckton more than it did to know that she’d been essentially monitoring my calls.
That she’d been spying on me. Stalking me.
But it was so different from what I’d ever experienced that, instead of making me nervous or putting me on edge, it goddamn thrilled me.
“I saw your father,” she said suddenly.
My head snapped to her. “Say what?”
“You’ll be glad to know my plan worked perfectly. There was no blame placed on you or your family. It all went to Anya and the Tarasovs, like I knew it would.”
“Hang on a second.” I turned in my seat to face her.
My body itched to move closer, to close the distance between us and finally touch her—the woman who’d caught my attention so long ago and never given it back.
“How could you possibly know that? Are you stalking my father too?” That thought didn’t sit well with me.
Not. At. All.
“Once I found out you were coming here to marry, I made it a point to infiltrate Sergei’s home as one of his maids. I went there last night after our little…tiff. I thought it might reassure you to know there will be no retribution against your sister for what happened.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “You know that for sure?”
“I do.” She nodded. “Your grandfather had a meeting with Anya’s father and yours. The blame is placed solely on them.” Lyla looked at me expectantly. When I said nothing, she tilted her head. “This is where you say, ‘thank you’.”
“You want me to thank you for kidnapping me?” She really was crazy.
“I want you to thank me for risking my life to obtain information to put you at ease.”
But it hadn’t. Not really. Like I’d said before, I couldn’t take her word for it. I needed to hear it with my own ears.
“Yeah…that ain’t gonna happen.” A beat of silence passed. “My father…Is he okay?” He would probably be losing his shit.
“Papa D is losing his shit a little bit.” It was like she could read my goddamn mind. “You’re lucky, you know. He loves you a lot.”
Given what he did to her own father, I was quite surprised Lyla was speaking so highly of him. Shouldn’t she hate him for what he did?
I certainly hated her father for what he did to my mother, and I always would. If I could, I would resurrect that fucker just so I could be the one to kill him.
Despite what happened the night before, I didn’t blame her for what her father did.
That would just be completely irrational.
Don’t get me wrong, when I found out who she was, it had been a shock, to say the least. But Lyla had only been a child when it all happened, like me. She wasn’t responsible.
“Papa D?” I questioned, a trickle of humor skating through me.
She shrugged absently. “It’s what I call him. I think it suits him, don’t you?”
Yeah. It kinda did.
The rest of the car ride went by quickly and without further conversation. To be honest, I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. To try to figure out what the fuck I was going to do to get out of that situation and back to my family.
I counted the minutes, taking note of every turn we took.
The distance between each one. How long we stayed on a straight path.
The landmarks. If I wasn’t able to get away during that trip, I could hopefully make a run for it from the house and at least have some idea of where I was going. So I wasn’t running blind.
Lyla hummed to herself—a soft, melodically tune that I found to be quite calming and soothing.
Instantly put me at ease. I studied her discreetly from the corner of my eye.
She was truly a marvel to look at. Long, toned body, both slender and curved at the same time.
There was definitely something there—some feeling growing in my chest. A connection that I was trying desperately to ignore.
We arrived at a small town. Very laid-back. Snow littered the ground. Dusted the rooftops like a sprinkling of icing. Rows of rustic-style buildings lined both sides of the snow-paved road. There were a few pedestrians walking up and down the footpaths, clad head to toe in winter gear.
The car pulled over to the left and stopped in front of an old sign that read Tsar Café. Cedric turned off the engine and got out. I reached for the door handle, but Lyla spoke, making me pause.
“Before we go, you’ll have to put this on.” She pulled something out of a sleek black purse. In her hands was a collar—thick, made of beautiful, dark, padded leather.
My brow arched high. It reminded me of something from the kink world. Between a dom and their submissive. I’d never worn one before, but the idea had always intrigued me.
Excitement flashed in her eyes. “It’s a little different from normal submissive collars,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“See these.” Lyla twisted it so I could see the inside.
Spread evenly throughout the leather were tiny spikes.
She pulled out a remote next and clicked a button.
The spikes retracted, disappearing completely into the leather.
What in the ever-loving fuck? “Each individual spike is filled with a small dose of a sedative. On their own, it won’t be enough to knock you out, but together, they’ll have you flat on your ass in three seconds.
You’ll wear this, and if you try to escape, I’ll activate the spikes, which will render you unconscious.
You’ll be taken back to the house, and that will be the last time you will ever be permitted to leave. Ever.”
Maybe I can try to wrestle the remote from her? Without it, she couldn’t activate the spikes.
Her eyes narrowed. She pulled out another collar, almost identical to the other, except not as thick.
“Just in case you get any bright ideas and try to steal the remote from me, your collar is synced to mine. If you get too far from it—any more than ten feet—the spikes will automatically activate, and the same thing will happen.”
How the fuck is she doing that?! It was seriously like she could read my fucking mind. As if she could anticipate my thoughts and what I would do before I even knew myself.
I’d never had someone so attuned to me and my thoughts before. It was…freaky. And yet, a part of me—a very, very, very small part of me—liked it. Like having someone who knew me so well, since it felt like most the people in my life barely knew me at all.
“Why the fuck would I agree to wear it? Doesn’t exactly bode well for me.”
She shrugged, starting to pack the collars away. “You don’t wanna wear it? Fine. We’ll just go home.”
Argh. I really want that fucking cake though!
“Wait! Just stop.”
She paused and looked up at me beneath her long lashes. The innocence Lyla portrayed was fake as shit. She was anything but fucking innocent.
“Give it to me,” I snapped. She held it up, and I snatched it out of her hand, clicking it around my neck before I had the chance to back out.
Lyla sighed, almost contently. Something streaked across her face. Something I couldn’t place. Approval? Satisfaction? Contentment?
Fucking what?!
I hated that I couldn’t read her as well as she could read me. I had no idea what it was, or what she was thinking, but a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in my chest at the sight of her.
Lyla ran a finger down the side of my face in a warm, loving gesture, eyes fixated on the collar around my neck. “Such a good boy, you are.”
I stiffened, unable to move, completely transfixed by her.
“It looks good on you. Suits you.”
It was a struggle, almost like lifting a car into the air, but I came back to myself, slapping her hand away. “Don’t get used to it,” I hissed. “I’m only doing this because I want that fucking cake.”
She wasn’t the least bit deterred. If anything, the entire thing made her fucking smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to be begging me to wear my collar very soon, my love.”
A thrill streaked down my spine at her soft, sultry voice. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Why not?” Lyla threw back, clicking her own collar around her throat. “Sounds like fun.” She winked before getting out.
Jesus Chirst. She was goddamn fucking crazy. And if my rock-hard cock was anything to go by, I liked it a little too much.