Chapter 33 #2
But I don’t want to hear his voice. I don’t want him jeering at me, making this horrible thing any worse than it has to be.
I pinch my nipples. I push my breasts together. I bend my neck and moan as I nuzzle my freezing flesh.
He croons in the darkness: “You are beautiful, Katie. You are my beautiful little girl. But if you truly want me to help you, you must make another choice.”
I know what I have to do. I’ve known from the moment he called me Katie. I hate him and I hate myself and I’d give anything to turn back time and never go into the Cold Room in the first place.
But I shimmy out of my linen trousers. I slip off my knickers. I check the position of my phone before I lean back, spreading my legs and sinking my fingers into my bone-dry pussy.
“Excellent, Katie. Show me how much you want me. Show me how much you care.”
I close my eyes and pump my hand, in and out, in and out, like I’m seasoning a roast chicken. My clit hides deep inside its hood. My skin is so dry, I’m certain he’ll hear the rasping.
But Tarasov can’t possibly hear me over his own grunting and groaning. He’s positioned his own phone so I can see his legs spread into a V. His thin, curved cock arches over the waistband of his tighty-whities.
He spits into his fist and rubs faster. “One more choice, Katie. One last thing. Will you do it? Will you come for me?”
When Cole had me masturbating in the dungeon, I fought for the goal he set me. I was so aroused I could scarcely breathe, but my orgasm stayed just out of reach. The entire time I strained to come, I knew I was precious, I was cared for, I was loved.
But I needed the riding crop. I needed Cole to complete me.
Tarasov doesn’t give a shite about what I need.
He’s so engrossed in stroking his own cock, he’s nearly forgotten I’m on the screen.
He doesn’t see me flatten my hand across my crotch.
He doesn’t hear the lie as I moan twice and wheeze.
His eyes are closed as I sit up and gather the sheet around my shoulders, as I shudder in the room’s funereal chill.
Only then do I realize his phone has slipped to one side. I can see half his bed and the wall beside him. I know the carved posters of that bed. I know the wallpaper, a hand-painted scene of the River Swilly, idling through the countryside of County Donegal.
Tarasov is in my parents’ house. He’s two doors down from Breagha. He’s next to my mother’s private study, the room she calls her office.
I didn’t think I could hate the Russian gobshite more. But doing this, giving me the false choice of exposing myself in the very heart of the Canton Crew… I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.
“Good, Katie,” he finally says, wiping his hand on his sheets. “You have always been my good little girl.”
“You’ll do it then?” My voice is too sharp. I swallow and force a frozen smile. “You’ll take Viktor?”
“Take it, little girl? I will destroy your fucking Wolf.”
Something shrivels beneath my breastbone. I tap a button, ending the call. I go back to the texts we exchanged, and I type.
Ready to sell your soul for a fortune made of light?
Logging into my secure home network, I send him the software in one neat, easy packet.
There’s no way I’ll ever fall back to sleep in this motel room.
Wrapped in the sheet, I lie on the bed for an hour or two. Three times, I pick up my mobile to see how Tarasov is using Viktor. I can monitor him through my network, every keystroke, every shovel of earth he digs for his own grave.
At 5:00, I slip out of bed. I pull on my clothes carefully, like I’m donning protective gear in a laboratory.
At 5:30, I splash water on my face. I rub a finger across my teeth and pretend they’re clean.
At 6:00, I decide it’s late enough to call for a ride. I can go to the airport and hire a car. I can be home by ten.
I tap the app, and the marker starts to spin, searching for an available driver. Suddenly, I can’t stand another minute inside this manky room. I look around quickly, making sure I’m leaving nothing behind but my dignity.
I unchain the door. I shoot the deadbolt. I step outside into the humid heat of a summer morning. I’d rather wait out here, sweating, then spend even one more—
He’s here.
Cole is here.
He’s leaning against a jet-black Land Rover, holding a massive insulated cup. A deep purple bruise paints his jaw. He straightens when he sees me, and he fights to keep from wincing.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all of it. The paintings. The freeport. Most of all for leaving you. I was an idiot. And I’m so, so sorry.”
I spent hours last night, considering my own apology because I did meet with Megan despite his ban. I meant to amaze him with my humility, with my gentle speech. But all those words fly out of my head and I simply say, “I’m sorry too.”
And it turns out, that’s enough for both of us. He smiles, and it’s like watching the sun rise over a canyon. “Coffee?” he asks. “It was hot about four hours ago.”
I blush, thinking about what I was doing four hours ago—seducing Tarasov so we can destroy him forever.
I’ll tell Cole all of it. But first, I nod toward the massive vehicle. “New car?”
Of course he notices my flushed cheeks. He notices everything. His head tilts with just a hint of a question, but he says, “It’s Nilsson’s. I couldn’t climb into the Jaguar.”
“You poor thing!” The words burst out as I close the distance between us. I lean in like a schoolgirl and feather a kiss against his lips.
When he pulls me close, I hear the thunder of his heartbeat. His arms are stiff, though, and he hisses when my fingers find his ribs. I could stand here forever, but I know he needs to shift his weight.
When I edge back, he passes me the coffee. He walks me to the passenger side and opens the door, holding it until I’m settled in the seat. I wait until he’s behind the wheel before I say, “Home?”
He shakes his head. “We’re going to Sherman Federal Bank, downtown.”
“What’s at Sherman Federal?”
“A bank vault, where I’ll store everything from my freeport gallery. Just until I can organize a secure way to move it all closer to home.”
“Wait. A bank just opens up at seven in the morning so you can put things in their vault?”
“They do if you pay enough.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. Nilsson made it happen.”
Of course. Nilsson makes most things happen.
Cole signals as he turns out of the motel lot. Traffic is sparse on the highway. I wonder where all the truckers have gone to sleep.
We go a couple of miles before Cole shoots me a quick glance. “So? How much did Megan take you for?”
I’m ashamed, but I tell the truth. “Three hundred.”
He laughs. “That’s a bargain. The last time she conned me, I paid for three nights at the Four Seasons, all the room service she could eat, and a new wardrobe.”
“I guess I’m just better at sniffing out a con that you are.”
Managing the steering wheel with one hand, he reaches over and laces his fingers between mine. “I guess you are.”