7. Lindsey
7
LINDSEY
I don’t know how long I run or where I’m going. All I know is that I need to disappear. Every time I spot a police car rolling down the street, I dip into an alley or duck behind a parked vehicle. I keep moving, winding down the streets of Chicago until the sun has started to set. As the shadows creep in, the temperature plummets, reminding me that I can’t survive a night outside in the dead of winter. I wish I could go back to my apartment—I’ve considered taking the risk—but Maks told me he broke into my computer and emailed my work. That means he must know where I live, and I’m sure his men will be waiting for me there by now.
I have no money, no phone, nowhere to go, so I keep wandering, looking for anything that might provide shelter from the cold. That’s why I don’t hesitate when I stumble across the steepled Gothic-style church with Mother of Mercy emblazoned across the sign out front. “All are welcome” is printed in gold letters below it, and I take that at face value, hoping I’ve found a place to hide.
The door is heavy as I pull it open and slip inside. As soon as I cross the threshold, I feel as though I’ve stepped into a completely different world than the hell I’ve been running from. Silence echoes off the walls and empty pews that line the aisle. A massive organ sits high up on the second floor of the open chapel, filling the far wall of the magnificent building with shining silver pipes. Padding softly under the vaulted ceiling, I look up at the stained glass windows, mesmerized by the soft colors that I can barely make out in the fading light.
When I find a small, secluded corner, I tuck myself into it, pulling my black hoodie over my knees and under my toes as I try to thaw my frozen feet. Resting my chin on my knees, I keep an eye on the door and I wait, counting the minutes to see how long it takes someone to find me here. I need to come up with a plan, but I don’t honestly have one. Maybe I could go to one of my friends. I imagine one of the girls from work would be willing to take me in. But won’t that put them in danger? If Maks has the police in his pocket, I’m in much deeper trouble than I realized. I could try leaving Chicago completely—but I have no means of transportation, no money to make that happen unless I’m ready to stow away on another train. My feet throb, reminding me of the likelihood that I could even make it onto a second train without getting caught. Burying my forehead against my thighs, I fight the urge to cry.
Why did I run? Clearly, I didn’t think through all the potential repercussions, and a wave of soul-crushing exhaustion washes over me as I realize I have no clue where to go from here.
I am so fucked…
“I’m sorry, miss, but you can’t stay here.”
The stern voice cuts through the thick fog surrounding my thoughts, and my head snaps up as I realize that somewhere along the line, I must have fallen asleep. My nose aches from where my glasses have dug into the bridge of it for too long. Blinking rapidly, I look at the young priest standing over me, his fists planted on his hips as he scowls.
“Sorry,” I rasp, unfolding my stiff legs and pulling my hoodie down around my hips before I stand.
He eyes my wardrobe with a hint of confusion as he gestures me toward the front door. “If you’re looking for the homeless shelter, it’s just a couple of blocks south, on Wells Street. They might still have a few available beds.” His voice is softer now, a hint of compassion creeping into it.
Maybe that’s my best option—hiding in a shelter. It would be under the radar. “Thanks.” Pulling my hood up around my face, I stuff my hands into the pouch pocket of my hoodie as I step back out into the bitter cold. The sky is inky black above the city lights. It must be late. Every muscle in my body tenses, screaming for me to go back inside. I don’t belong out here. I don’t know the first thing about living on the streets, and I fight back tears as I make my way down the church steps and turn right.
I’m not familiar enough with Chicago to recognize the street names in this part of town or even where I am within the city, but I do know I was heading in a generally southerly direction when I left the police station, so I know which way to turn to keep heading south. Cars pass me at regular intervals, and no one slows or even gives me a second glance. The biting cold of the sidewalk seeps through the bottoms of my socks, turning my toes to ice within a matter of minutes, but I keep walking, reaching each street sign I pass in the hopes that one will say Wells.
The smell of cooked cheese and tomato sauce draws my attention to the neon sign of a pizza joint down the street to my left, and my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since that greasy breakfast sandwich this morning. Hopefully, it’s not too late for the shelter to be serving food. My stomach cramps with hunger, and compassion rips through me as I realize this must be what homeless people experience all the time.
“Lindsey? Lindsey Payne?”
I freeze, my muscles tensing as someone calls me by name. Turning, I look in their direction, and my heart breaks into a sprint when I don’t recognize the men. But they seem to recognize me—three dark-haired, clean shaven men who peer out the open windows of a black Lincoln.
“Do I know you?” I ask, icy adrenaline flooding my veins as they throw the car into park and start to get out.
“No. But we know you. Half of Chicago is out looking for you. Why don’t you come with us?” the man from the front passenger seat suggests, extending his hand toward me in an inviting gesture.
His accent triggers warning bells in my head, and I take a step back. He doesn’t sound Russian like Maks. He sounds Italian—like the man Maks was meeting with. Fuck.
“I don’t think so,” I say, backing away more quickly now.
Irritation flashes across the nearest man’s angular face, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of a blade as the driver flicks a pocket knife open. Double fuck. This day could not get any worse. Spinning on the spot, I don’t wait to see where things might go from here. I run. Cusses follow me down the street, then a shouted command in a language I don’t understand. I hear doors slamming just as I round the corner.
Heart pounding, I don’t slow down as I dip into an alley, praying it will let me out on the other end. I’ve run more today than I think I have in my entire life, and it’s catching up to my bruised bare feet. But my survival instincts keep driving me forward, pushing me past my limits as I reach the far street and scan frantically for that homeless shelter the young priest mentioned. If I can just get there, maybe I can hide. But I don’t see it, so I keep running, zigzagging between streets and alleys until my lungs are burning and my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. I can’t stop, though. Every time I do, I hear footsteps in hot pursuit.
Then, out of nowhere, I turn onto a street I recognize. You have got to be shitting me. High above me are the tracks for the Purple Line—and just a block farther is the glowing sign marking the front entrance of the Dungeon. There’s no way in hell that running to Maks for protection is a good idea, but when I glance behind me and see the men I’m running from—the blades they’re carrying—I know I’m out of options. Maks may or may not decide to kill me now, but if I don’t ask for help, these guys most definitely will.
“Shit!” Quickly looking both ways, I cross the busy street, dodging between the cars to put as many obstacles between me and the Italians as I can. Then, sprinting right past the nightclub’s bouncers, I burst inside the Dungeon.
My feet skid across the slick surface of the black marble floor, and I slow down only long enough to rip the tattered cozy socks off before I launch myself down the hallway of sparkling twinkle lights embedded in the ceiling and into the club. The dance floor is a little less crowded tonight, meaning it’s probably a week night, and I catch several odd glances as I launch myself into the open space. I must look like a crazy person, but I don’t care. I make a beeline for the back of the club, hoping desperately that Maks is here.
My heart sinks when I look up toward his table in the VIP section and find it empty. Fear grips me as I realize my Hail Mary might not work. But I won’t quit until I’ve exhausted all my options, so I turn toward the hallway I stumbled down the last time I was here. From the corner of my eye, I see several beefy-looking bouncers joining forces with the Italians who spot me across the dance floor. I don’t have much time left before they catch me.
Raking in lungfuls of air, I force my legs into a sprint one last time until I find the door I’m looking for, and I wrench it open.
“If she’s still not home, she might have gone to a friend’s house, so?—”
Maks’s deep voice comes to an abrupt halt as I freeze in the doorway, panting. His sharp blue eyes find mine, and his strong features tense, lips pressing into a thin line as he straightens behind his desk, his palms leaving its surface as he stands to his full height. The three men standing with their backs to me turn, looking for what made him stop short.
“Please, Maks, I need your help.” I glance back into the hallway before racing across the room. “They’re going to kill me?—”
The door slams open, hitting the wall behind it as the men who have been chasing me finally catch up. Breathing heavily, they stop just inside the door, their gazes furious. Rounding the edge of Maks’s desk, I grasp his hand.
His eyes darken, his jaw clenching until the tendons jump beneath his skin as he looks down at our twined fingers, then his gaze slowly returns to my face. Fury blazes in their blue depths. “And why should I protect you when you manipulated me, made me think I could trust you, and then ran the first chance you got?”
“Please, Maks, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let them take me.” Tears pour hot and heavy from my eyes as I feel my last desperate hope slipping through my fingers.
All eyes remain on us as silence fills the space, broken only by the ragged breathing of those involved in my chase.
When Maks finally decides to speak, he shifts his gaze away from me to look at the three Italians. “I’ll handle her,” he states flatly.
“That’s what you said the first time. Lucian told us to take care of it?—”
“And I said I will, so unless Lucian wants to come argue with me himself, you can get the fuck out of my club and tell him the problem’s been solved.”
The Italians exchange quick glances. Then the leader of the group jerks his chin, indicating it’s time for them to leave. He casts one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at me before he exits the room.
“Everyone out,” Maks commands, his voice flat and deadly.
The hair lifts along the back of my neck, and a cold shiver races down my spine as his men follow orders without question, filtering from the room and closing the door behind them. Only then does Maks turn to look at me, and when he does, his gaze steals the air from my lungs. My fingers feel like ice as I realize I’m still clinging to his hand. I drop it quickly, hiding my hands behind me as I take a step back.
“I’m sorry for running,” I whisper, my pulse fluttering.
His eyes blaze with a fire that makes my mouth go dry, and I lick my lips. His gaze drops to observe the motion, and my stomach quivers as a new kind of heat mingles with the burning anger in it.
“Bend over my desk,” he says, his tone dangerously low. “I told you I would punish you the next time you lied to me. You need to learn what happens when you break your promises.”
I gasp, my jaw dropping open. “You can’t be serious. I’m not going to bend over and let you punish me for your own filthy satisfaction. You’re practically old enough to be my father.” I sound like a petulant child, but I know the retort gets under his skin when he takes a deliberate step toward me.
“You deserve a lot more than that for running away and then asking me for protection when things don’t work out the way you hoped.”
“Can you blame me for running?” I demand, my temper flaring as he towers over me, his blue eyes narrowed. The look should instill fear in me, but right now, my instincts tell me to stand my ground. “You were holding me prisoner,” I point out. “No sane person would stay just because they said they would. I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it. How should I know you own the police department along with half of Chicago?”
“You said you would do anything if I let you live,” he states flatly. “If you want to back out of that as well, then I would gladly turn you over to the Italians, who will do with you what I should have done from the start.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I realize the corner I’ve backed myself into. He’s testing me again—just like he did with the locked front door—he’s seeing if I’ll go back on my word a second time. “Fine.” Grudgingly, I approach his desk and bend over the edge until my cheek finds the cool wood, the corner of my glasses clicking softly against the smooth, hard surface. My stomach quivers at the unexpectedly vulnerable position, and my body warms as I feel his eyes traveling over me.
“Hold on to the edge,” he commands with an authority that leaves no room for argument.
Breath trapped in my lungs, I do as he says, my hands shaking as I white-knuckle the dark lip on either side of his desk. His fingers slide up beneath the hem of my hoodie, his touch surprisingly soft, and I shiver as they curl around the waist of my leggings.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, my pulse racing a mile a minute as I consider what kind of punishment he has planned for me.
“Don’t worry, little rabbit. I’m not the kind of man who forces himself on a woman,” he says darkly.
“Could have fooled me,” I snap as he continues to inch my leggings down my hips.
Maks leans forward, his voice soft and husky by my ear. “Trust me, I would make you beg for it before I ever fucked you. But you’ll need bare skin to feel the full impact of your punishment. I want to make sure it properly sinks in .”
Cold fear floods my body as a molten heat blossoms in my core, and I close my eyes as he drags my leggings down my hips and past my ass, exposing the thin string of my thong. He leaves the elastic waistband tight around my thighs, and it presses them together. I gasp as his warm hand smooths across my ass cheek, massaging the cold flesh. Mortification tightens around my throat as the heat of his palm sinks into my skin, soothing the chill from being outdoors. Then my stomach knots as I catch the distinct sound of a buckle and the hiss of leather slipping through belt loops.
My eyes snap open, and I look over my shoulder at Maks in horror. “You cannot be serious.”
“The only words I want to come out of your mouth until your punishment is over are the number of strokes,” he says. “And if you’re a good girl and take your punishment well, I might even reward you after.”
That should not sound as sexy as it does. But the heat of his voice awakens something dark inside me. He doesn’t sound angry anymore. He sounds ravenous, and my core throbs as I realize he’s turned on by the thought of punishing me.
“Is that what you think you’re doing while you’re groping me?” I hiss, wanting to lash out because this is so demeaning.
“That’s for your benefit, little rabbit. The belt hurts a lot more if your skin is cold. Now count.”
That’s all the warning I get before the sharp snap of leather streaks across my skin. I yelp, my hips jerking forward against the desk as the stinging pain sears across my flesh. My fingers grip the wood so hard they hurt, and salty tears burn against my eyelids.
“Count, Lindsey,” Maks reminds me, his deep voice soft.
“One,” I whimper.
I tense this time, before the second strike meets my skin, and though I’m determined not to give him the pleasure of knowing it hurts, I can’t entirely suppress the whimper that rushes up my throat. “Two,” I choke out.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and my core clenches as a wave of desire blindsides me.
“Three!” I gasp as his belt draws a line across my ass before I have time to process my reaction. It hurts like hell, and at the same time, I feel a tension building inside me—something very similar to the feeling I get as I’m approaching an orgasm.
“You’re doing so well, little rabbit,” Maks murmurs, his large hand softly kneading my tender flesh. “You’re almost halfway there.”
A moan bubbles up from my chest, but it’s dangerously close to a sound of pleasure, and I bite my lip as I realize Maks’s punishment is actually turning me on. I’m shocked and more than a little appalled at how much I like it—maybe even more so because he’s so much older—but something about an older man bending me over his desk to spank me feels dirty and wrong and sinfully forbidden. It’s one of those dark fantasies I would never admit to having but secretly crave, and having a man as gorgeous and dangerous as Maks punishing me turns me on in a way I never knew it could.
His warm palm leaves my skin, and he brushes the cool leather of his belt across my flesh to prepare me for my next spank. Then he snaps it across my ass.
“Four!” I cry, pressing my thighs together as the pain unleashes a wave of pleasure that floods my panties. I can feel the fabric clinging wetly to my sensitive skin, and my face burns.
“Five.” It comes out on a whimper as I feel my arousal climbing, the biting sting across my bare ass driving me toward the precipice.
“You’re taking your punishment so well, zaya ,” Maks says, his voice low and enticing.
“Six!” I moan when the belt sears across my flesh again. I’m going to come. I can feel it as my clit throbs, my core clenching with anticipation. It’s mortifying, but the pain feels so good, I’m losing my mind.
“Last one,” he growls, then snaps the belt against my skin.
I scream as an orgasm rips through me, igniting my body in liquid flames. I shudder violently as my walls throb, seeking something to fill me up. My clit pulses, and I pant as the tingling relief washes out to my fingers and down to my toes. My knees give out from the intensity of it, and I cling to the desk, pressing my cheek against the smooth surface to keep me from sliding onto the floor.
“Did you just come?” Maks purrs, tossing his belt onto the chair beside me.
The heat of humiliation returns in full force, and I press my eyes closed as I feel the sudden urge to cry. I can’t lie to him. He would see right through it. Besides, he knows. My cry of pleasure couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Willing my legs to hold me, I jerk upright and yank my leggings back up over my raw ass.
My eyes accidentally lock with Maks’s, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “You like being punished, zaya ?” he presses, humor glinting in his gaze.
“You’re an asshole,” I snap, spinning toward the door before he can see my tears.
“Lindsey, wait.”
Strong fingers close around my wrist, pulling me back, and I’m too weak and exhausted to resist. I stumble, falling against Maks’s shockingly muscular chest, and I gasp as heat floods my core. I hate how much he affects me.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, grasping my chin and tilting it up until I have to look him in the eye. “I shouldn’t have teased you. Let me make it right?”
His eyes burn with intense desire, and as his arm snakes around my waist, I can feel the thick length of his cock like iron against my abdomen. He’s as turned on by my punishment as I was, and the thought excites me as fresh arousal floods my core. I can see the question in his eyes, the permission he’s looking for to take what he wants, and my chin gives a subtle jerk of consent, responding as if it has a mind of its own. Electric heat charges the air around us as he leans in slowly.
Our lips meet, and the jolt that blasts through me lights my world on fire.