3. Nicci
3
NICCI
I ’m not surprised that Barca Valenti’s brother is an arrogant asshole, but when he says I belong to him, I almost feel relieved.
He’s full of shit. And however much money he has, however much power he wants to flex, he’s not taking me out of here. He can’t. That’s the one thing that I know—the only concession, other than the stage name I was given, that my father allowed in setting the rules of my punishment.
Here, men can do whatever they want to me. But I don’t have to go anywhere with them. They can’t make me go to a hotel room with them, can’t force me back to their apartment.
And none of them own me. I’m powerless to stop them until they’ve gotten what they paid for, but it’s always over eventually. No one gets me exclusively. And the fact that this man thinks he owns me now is both entirely unsurprising and laughable.
I do exactly that. I laugh, the sound spilling out of me in a sharp jolt, and I can’t stop it. I laugh at him, and I know a man like him won’t take that well, but I can’t help myself. I can see his eyes darkening, see the muscle in his jaw leap, but the words are already spilling from my lips despite my better judgment.
“You don’t own me,” I spit out. “I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to me here, but I don’t have to go anywhere with you. So decide what you want or leave, but I’m staying right here.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s where you’re wrong, principessa . You are mine now. I do own you. Come along with me quietly, or?—”
“Or what?” I glare at him. “What are you going to do that every man who comes in here and decides he wants me hasn’t already done?”
“I told you who I am.” His voice is even, but I can hear a thread of anger in it. “I told you how this is going to go. And you’re still defying me?”
“Why not?” I toss my hair back, feeling a flood of adrenaline at finally, finally fighting back. And maybe I’ll regret it when Savio gives up this game and hurts me in whatever ways men imagine hurting women who talk back to them, but for this one, blissful moment, it’s as if all the repressed anger and resentment pours out of me—and it feels so fucking good. “You can’t hurt me more than anyone else has.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His cool voice roughens ever so slightly, a hint of a growl to the words, and I feel an inexplicable shiver roll down my spine. “I can do things to you that you can’t begin to imagine, principessa .”
“Well, decide which of them you’d like me to imagine. The hundred dollars that you gave Bryce will only go so far?—”
Savio smirks. “His name is Bryce? Unsurprising. How many times has he had his hands on you?”
That stops me short. “I—” I don’t want to think about it, to count them. “I don’t know.”
“After tonight, if he or any other man touches you, I’ll cut off his hands.” Savio raises an eyebrow. “Any man but me. Would you like that? If I cut off his hands? One finger at a time, for every time he’s forced you to let him use you?”
I’d rather you cut off his fucking dick. I bite back the words, forcing myself to ignore the allure of what Savio’s saying. The revenge he’s pretending to offer. It doesn’t matter, because nothing is going to happen to Bryce. And I don’t belong to Savio, regardless of what fantasy he’s playing out. I force myself to ignore the effect that fantasy is having on me , the way something hot and needy uncurls in my belly and slides through my veins at the thought of him punishing Bryce for touching me.
“Just tell me what you want,” I spit out. I’m suddenly tired of this game, tired of being taunted, tired of pretending that this back-and-forth ends with anything other than his hands hurting me and his cock inside me.
“I told you.” Savio steps forward, and I glance at the door, measuring if I could make a break for it. But I’d be in worse trouble, then. Running from a customer?—
“Stop it.” I bite out the words. “Just…stop playing this game.”
“It’s not a game.” Savio walks towards me, his strides smooth and effortless. “We’re leaving, Nicci. Now. I want to hear that you understand that. You won’t enjoy the repercussions if you try to run from me.”
He’s saying one thing, but I see the flicker of heat in his eyes at the thought of me running from him. Of what he thinks he’d do to me if he caught me. And strangely, once again, I feel that slither of heat down my spine at the thought of him doing those things.
His green eyes are hypnotizing. I feel like I’m being trapped in a web, slowly, as it’s spun around me. But he’s full of shit, I remind myself, and I swallow hard, taking a step back.
“I think your time is up,” I tell him decisively. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You should go.”
He chuckles, the sound dry and dark. “I’m not going anywhere, principessa . We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. But either way, you’re leaving here with me.”
“No, I’m not.”
His gaze darkens, hard and cold as stone. “Fine.” There’s a hint of impatience in his voice. “Get on your knees, Nicci.”
Finally. He’s gotten tired of playing this game, and now he wants his dick sucked.
Problem is, I don’t want to give him anything now.
How much worse could it be to say no?
Much, much worse. I can’t refuse him. But before I can acquiesce, Savio loses his patience and snaps his fingers, pointing to the floor in front of him.
“ Now ,” he barks, and I stiffen, anger flooding me.
“No.” I feel fear flood me, like ice in my veins, because my rebellion is unthinkable. I’ll regret it later. But I can’t do it. Maybe it’s because Savio is Barca Valenti’s brother, or maybe it’s because of how he’s shown up here every night, saying he wants me like he’s entitled to have me and then declaring that I’m his . Maybe it’s because he just offered me something I desperately want—while knowing he’s not going to give it to me. But right now, I can’t imagine obeying him.
Like a striking snake, Savio closes the distance between us before I can finish my line of thought. Smooth and calculated, his hand shoots out, wrapping around a fistful of my hair in a painful grip as he forces me down to my knees in one flex of his arm.
His hand holds me there, unable to move. He looks down at me, and I can see the flare of satisfaction in his eyes, a look of triumph. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his other hand move, but I can’t see what he’s doing. All I register is a small, sharp pain in the side of my neck, and Savio gives me a look that’s almost sympathetic.
“It could have been easier, principessa ,” he says calmly. “But we’ll talk later. For now, this will make it so that you don’t have to choose.”
I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but my throat seems to tighten. It feels like it takes all of my effort just to suck air into my lungs, and the room tilts, my vision narrowing as I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me.
Fuck , is the last thought that runs through my head before the room tunnels, and darkness washes over me, Savio’s hand still tightly wrapped in my hair.
—
When I wake up, it’s with a jolt.
The room I’m in is dark. For a moment, I think I’m tied up, and then I realize that it’s just that my joints are stiff. I shift, noticing that I’m still in my clothes from the club, and what’s more, that the bed I’m lying on is impossibly soft.
It’s as soft as my bed at home, and the duvet that I run my hands over is high quality—I can feel it even in the darkness. The entire room is bathed in it, so dark that even after my sticky eyes adjust, I can’t make anything out. I sit up slowly, pressing the heel of my hand to the side of my throbbing head.
I still feel a little dizzy, though not as much as I did before I passed out. I prod the sore spot on the side of my neck, and anger washes over me in a hot, red haze.
That fucker drugged me. And then he took me ? —
Where? Where did he take me, exactly? From just the feeling of the bed I’m in, I might have thought that someone rescued me and took me home, but I know that’s not true. Something feels off about the room. It doesn’t smell like mine. Even after all of my luxury makeup, designer perfumes, and other possessions were taken away, the scent of all of it still lingered. This room smells too clean, like no one actually lives here. I smell lemon cleaner and fresh detergent, but there’s no scent of a person . Nothing warm and particular to someone, myself or otherwise.
My throat tightens with fear, mingling with anger. Barca Valenti is dead. If his brother wants me—for whatever unspoken reason he does—it can’t be good. The only real motivation I can think of for him kidnapping me is that he thinks I have answers—about something.
What, I don’t know. About my attempts to lure in little Evelyn Ashburn for Barca’s knife? About the deal he made with the former Yashkov pakhan ? My failed engagement to the Yashkov heir? I’m not sure what Savio cares about in any of that—but if he wants answers about anything else, I don’t have them.
Swallowing hard, I push myself slowly off of the bed, my bare feet hitting cool, smooth wood. I don’t know where my heels are, but I’m glad to be rid of them—If I get the chance to run, I’ll get further in bare feet than I ever would have in those.
Padding across the room, hands out to avoid bumping into anything, I walk until my hands meet smooth fabric. Curtains . I grab them, yanking them back, and squint as the lights from the city skyline below flood into the room from the huge window that takes up most of the wall.
I’m not in my father’s mansion. I’m somewhere in the city, in an apartment high up above the glittering lights below, and my stomach dips and swoops at the realization. I fight back a lurch of nausea, my mind still trying to reject the idea that Savio drugged and kidnapped me…when I hear the click of the door unlocking.
I whirl towards it, regretting the quick motion when my head throbs. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, ready to fly at whoever is coming in.
It’s Savio. He’s still wearing the same Armani suit from earlier—smooth and unrumpled. He closes the door behind him with a firm click , flipping the lock before I can so much as move. He doesn’t turn the light on right away, only stands there, appraising me as I feel a tremor of fear run through me.
I’m still furious, but I’m smart enough to be afraid. Barca was a dangerous man in his own right, even if he played on a field that was out of his league. I have no reason to think that his brother is any different, especially after what’s happened tonight.
And yet, he seems to know exactly how to make me forget all of that with just a few words.
“Have you calmed down yet, principessa ?”
That one sentence makes me want to fly at him and claw his eyes out. He seems to see me flinch and shakes his head, his lips thinning. “If you do what I see you thinking about, I’ll drug you again and leave you to sleep it off and rethink your choices,” he warns. “I enjoy your spirit, Nicci. I’ll enjoy breaking it. But I won’t deal with hysterics.”
I glare at him, furious. “There’s nothing left to break,” I spi—and he chuckles dryly.
“I think that’s far from the truth.”
“You know what else is? You thinking that you can just kidnap me. I told you that you couldn’t take me out of the club. When my father finds out?—”
Savio laughs —a deep, real laugh that seems to come from his gut, making his shoulders shake. “Oh, principessa ,” he says finally. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His games and evasion at the club were irritating. Now they’re fucking pissing me off. “Then you need to start talking,” I hiss. “You know my name. Don’t you know who I fucking am?”
It’s a threat that has very little weight now, but it still holds some, if only because my father considers me his to punish. He’s not going to appreciate someone else usurping that authority. I’m in the club because he put me there. Every hurt that’s done to me is under his oversight. Whatever Savio is doing is outside of that purview, and much as he said to me earlier, he won’t like the consequences of it.
Unless…
I push back the thought that my father has something to do with this. It doesn’t fit. Ever since I failed to snare Dimitri and have Evelyn murdered, it’s been a slow slide downwards. Once I was at the Lily, the chance of me being sent to service some rich associate of his was long gone.
Savio chuckles. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, Nicci Armand. But it seems you’re not in any mood to listen. I’ll come back when I have something more…convincing for you.”
For a brief, frightening moment, I think he’s going to grab me again and drug me. But instead, he just turns, unlocking the door and slipping out of the room. I hear the click of it locking again behind him, and my stomach drops.
I’m trapped. The only hope that I have is that when I don’t come home tonight, my father will look over the security cameras and see what Savio’s done. Which begs another question—why did he do it without trying to hide his identity or anything about what he was doing to me? He said his name, out loud, right before drugging me. He didn’t just leave breadcrumbs to find him, he left the whole fucking recipe to make the loaf.
None of this makes sense. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, fighting the sense of panic that settles behind my ribs and makes my heart race. I’m used to being locked in a room. I’m not allowed out of my suite of rooms in my father’s mansion except for meals and to go to work, and most of what I would entertain myself with has been taken away, like a child who’s been naughty. But this feels different. Worse. More dangerous. I can feel myself on the edge of a panic attack, and I walk around the room, flicking on every light in an effort to keep myself grounded.
There’s a clock in here, on the nightstand, that tells me it’s just past one in the morning. The time ticks by—two a.m., three, four, and I can feel exhaustion weighing me down. I hear the sound of footsteps in the distance, occasionally, but nothing else. It must be Savio, moving around the apartment, but he doesn’t come back. Finally, when I can’t take it any longer, I fling myself back onto the bed and let myself drift off into sleep, taking some consolation in the fact that I haven’t showered since being taken from the club, and I’m getting his fancy bed absolutely filthy . I still smell like cigarettes, alcohol, and that awful fake-smelling lotion. And now his bed is going to smell like it, too.
Or a bed in his house, anyway.
I’m woken up by the sound of the door opening again. I jolt awake, pushing myself up, and catch a glimpse of the clock just before the door fully opens. It’s six a.m., and I can see the sunrise outside turning to the blue of the morning sky.
And then I see who walks into the room, and every other thought flees from my head as my stomach drops.