Chapter 29
Iwake to the feeling of lips on my neck. I hum, eyes still closed, soaking in the warm, persistent tingles. I feel perfect right now, happy I slept over, and I’m not allowing myself to think about what will happen when I get home, the shit storm I’ll be walking into.
“Hi,” I whisper, smiling as I open my eyes—only to find him kissing and licking the curve of my neck.
He rolls on top of me, pinning my hands to the bed. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
Saying it now, without the sex clouding my mind, still feels right.
He hums. “What should I get you for Christmas?”
“Well, I was on the naughty list, so … I think that means coal for me.”
He chuckles, pressing kisses along my collarbone.
“For Christmas, you get my number,” I say, smiling from ear to ear, excited to see him again.
“I like that present.” He kisses me deep. “I think I’ll save you as Mouthy Morgan.”
My smile falters. Wait—I never told him my name. Did I hear that right? How the fuck does he know my name? My body goes still beneath him—and his expression shifts. He presses his lips together and sits back on his knees.
“Baby, I—”
“What the fuck?” I yank the blankets up to my chest. I don’t feel safe anymore. He reaches for my arm, but I pull back, scrambling upright. “Tell me! Right now!”
He hesitates, his eyes flicking between mine like he’s trying to read me. “My friend went through your purse. And your car. Back at the bar.”
I blink, then blink again. “Why?” My voice pitches into a yell.
“Because pretty girls don’t walk into my bar alone,” he says, his hand twitching like he wants to grab for mine, but then he pulls back. “And with my past ... I have to be cautious.”
This was supposed to be the perfect hookup. Two strangers, no names, just a night of fun. Now, I feel violated.
He sighs. “People have tried lots of ways to get information from me or kill me, so I had to check you out to make sure your intentions were pure.”
The reality of all this mafia talk hits me. He’s dangerous, scary, and so are the people in his life.
“So you’ve known my name this entire fucking time …” I say aloud, processing it all. “Why not, like, ask to see my ID? Why lie?”
He shrugs, and his eyes flick down. My gut is telling me there’s more. I can see it all over him. There’s something he’s not saying.
“What else do you know about me?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He sighs loudly, still straddling me, his posture stiff. That’s when it hits me: Polish.
“When you were speaking in Polish … were you learning more about me?”
He nods once. He’s too quiet now, and I hate it. I hate how calm he is while I’m spiraling.
“Okay. Creepy. I’m going to go. Take me back to the bar.”
“Your car is here,” he says, too calmly.
I throw my hands in the air. “How is my car here?”
“I had it dropped off.” He finally moves off me, sitting at the edge of the bed.
I’m too stunned to keep arguing. This is done. Over. I fling the sheets back—and freeze. I’m still handcuffed to the bed.
“Take this off. Right. Fucking. Now.”
His chest rumbles in protest.
“Now!”
He rises slowly, heading to the closet with his eyes locked on mine. His expression is … soft, disarming. It only pisses me off more.
He returns, sitting at the foot of the bed, the key hovering in his hand above the lock.
“Don’t make this weird,” I snap.
He exhales then unlocks the cuff.
I spring up, storming toward the living room in search of my clothes. He follows silently, and I feel his stare searing into my back.
I grab my bra off the floor and then my sweater. As I yank it on, I glare at him. “What’s your name?”
“Piotr.”
PYOH-tr, I internally repeat.
“Last name?” I press, pulling up my jeans.
“Kruk.”
I laugh—short and bitter. “Your son is Declan fucking Kruk. Got it.”
The founder and CEO of Cryptoball. The reason for his weird rule about the company. I hate how small the world is right now. My roommate’s boyfriend is friends with Declan. She’s even been to his summer house. This wasn’t anonymous. This isn’t what I signed up for.
I draw in a sharp breath, trying to hold it together. “Let’s not make this any weirder. Merry Christmas to you—getting to touch this. But access? Revoked.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes darken, and for a second, I brace for a scolding, maybe even a punishment. For anything. But he says nothing, and somehow, that’s worse.
“I’m fucking done with you,” I say, anger seeping from my pores. “You called me a liar all night when you’ve been lying.”
“Morgan,” he says, stepping toward me.
“I’m done with you,” I say again, firmer.
He runs a hand through his hair, still silent.
Why isn’t he saying anything? I mean, I’m glad he’s not, but ... whatever.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head for the front door. I look back, expecting him to fight more, to fight for me, for us.
Fucking say something, anything, to make this better!
“Take care of yourself, baby girl,” he says somberly.
So he’s done with me now too.
Fuck him!
I slam the door behind me, march to my car, and dive inside. The second the door closes, I scream, “Fuck this snow!”
My windshield is covered in white powder, so I jam the start button and turn on my windshield wipers.
The snow brushes off, but the ice remains.
I blast my heater, too frustrated to scrape the ice off.
I can see well enough. I slam my car into reverse and back out of the driveway. I’ll turn my GPS on in a few blocks.
That’s what I get for catching the fucking feels. I was just a fuck to him. He was just a fuck. That’s the story. That’s the real story, not whatever fantasy all those orgasms tried to sell me.
“Ugh!” I scream again, gripping the steering wheel as trees blur past me.
I flip the visor down and laugh, a short, broken sound. I look like I’ve been in a bar fight. My mascara has smeared, making my under eyes dark. My hair is an actual rat’s nest. My neck—oh my God. My neck is covered in hickeys and bruises.
Talk about a walk of shame. My stepbrothers were likely gaming all night and sleeping, and my stepdad doesn’t leave bed until eight sharp.
Please, Mom, still be sleeping when I get home.
I turn on my phone. Multiple missed calls and texts from her.
It’s almost seven in the morning. Yeah, no way I’m that lucky.
She probably has been up all night, waiting to yell at me.