Chapter Seventeen
Dorian
Iwork side by side with Mira for several hours. Her words ring in my head in repeat, creating a deep ache in my soul. That bastard trained her to distrust the world and all the people in it; he made sweet, empathetic Mira into the wary, closed off person she is now.
I know Connor’s doing a deep dive into her life and background, and I’m planning on taking a close look at whatever he ends up compiling. I would ask her, but I doubt she’d spill her deepest secrets to me.
I intend to hunt down Mira’s stepfather and take care of him the same way Sergei Novikov takes care of child abusers; tear him apart limb by limb until there’s barely anything left of him.
Make an example of him. Tell the world that anyone who hurts Mira is going to get an extended, extremely painful death.
“Oh,” Mira says, sounding pleasantly surprised as she blinks at her borrowed laptop.
I peel my gaze away from my screen, glancing over at her. “What is it?”
“My guidance counselor has room in her schedule for a chat today. In an hour.” She turns to look at me head on, something I can’t quite name flashing through her gaze. “I’m going to talk to her. Please don’t stop me.”
Jesus, does she really think that lowly of me? Like I’d prevent her from trying to achieve her educational goals. I admire her for her determination, grit, and hard work—I would never try to impede her. I want to empower her.
“I won’t stop you,” I assure her. “I’ll wait here for you. I assume you’ll be going to the admissions offices for the meeting?” The admissions building is just a five-minute walk from the library. Even if Mira wanted to run away, she wouldn’t get far; I have a GPS tracker on her phone.
“Yes,” she nods. “It shouldn’t be too long. Half an hour, maybe.” She shifts nervously in her seat, and her throat works as she swallows.
She’s probably worried her meeting will go awry and she won’t hear what she wants to from her counselor.
I offer her what I hope is a supportive smile, trying to emulate what I intend to be: an encouraging boyfriend.
Her boyfriend. I’m irritated with her continued rejection, but I won’t fault her for being wary of me.
The demons in her past have left their mark.
In her shoes, I would be wary of me, as well.
“I’m sure it’ll go well,” I tell her. “Do you have a lot more work left to do after it?”
She glances at her laptop, clicks around on it, and shakes her head. “No, I’ve already gotten through the bulk of it. Friday’s one of my lighter days. After my schoolwork, I usually do meal-prep for the weekend and for my pack and clan.”
A smile pulls on my lips. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to do that, but I want to take you out first.”
She blinks slowly, hesitant. “Take me out… where? Not to kill me, right?”
I give her an exasperated sigh. “No, Mira, not to kill you. I want to protect you, not harm you. We’ve been over this.” I suspect it’ll take time and a great deal of effort to get her past her preconceived notions of how people in organized crime conduct themselves.
There are certainly bad actors in our world.
Terrible ones. People who take advantage of the weak to get ahead, who have free reign to give into their worst desires and darkest perversions.
But those are actually the minority. The majority of those in the mob, mafia, or bratva started out with legitimate businesses, then found that cutting corners and going underground with certain dealings got them ahead faster.
They’re not law-abiding citizens and they’re certainly not good people, but they aren’t child-beaters, either.
Then, there are the Sergei Novikov’s of the underground.
People who do bad things, terrible things, but follow a code of honor.
Sergei’s known as a legend in organized crime circles; mafias around the world are terrified of him.
He’s ruthless, meticulous, calculated, and unnervingly effective.
He’s known to be a master of torture and is absolutely a sadist, but anyone who’s seen or heard him with his wife have gotten glimpses of his gentleness, of his reverence for his woman, of the way he worships the ground she walks on.
There are rumors that he keeps a rival bratva Pakhan captive in the dungeon below his primary residence. Apparently, the idiot tried to take Kira from Sergei, and Sergei now uses that man as a guinea pig to invent new torture methods on.
Perhaps he’s onto something with that. Each time I think of Mira’s stepfather, I have an undeniable urge to disembowel him and garrote him with his own viscera, but I also have the urge to play with him.
Take my time with him; spend days, weeks, months, perhaps even years on him.
After all, he hurt my woman for years, and turnabout’s fair play.
Huh. My woman. The title feels undeniably right. I’ll find a way to make it into a reality. I have to. I won’t allow anything to come between me and Mira. My Mira.
I watch her from the corner of my eye for the next forty-five minutes, gazing at her intermittently as she types away on her laptop.
When she leaves to retrieve a textbook from the science section of the library, I briefly scan the open tabs on her computer and take a glimpse at her email, in case she’s planning anything nefarious.
The email to her counselor is exactly what she said it’d be; she asked for a meeting regarding her academic schedule and her counselor offered her a time slot.
I move away from Mira’s computer just as she returns and begins packing up her things.
“Good luck, baby,” I say. She pauses at the endearment, as do I. Both of us are startled. I didn’t intend to call her that—it just slipped out—but it feels right. It feels good. It’s endearing and possessive at the same time, laying a claim to her.
Instead of responding, she hurries to finish stuffing all her things into her backpack, giving me a nod before rushing out of the room.
I take a few minutes to make a reservation at a nice restaurant, book a slot at a nearby candle-making boutique, then call the local zoo to inquire about an idea that’s been swirling around in my mind.
As soon as I’m done setting up plans with the zoo administrator, I get a call from Connor.
I’m not happy with him right now. Usually, we get along well enough, but things have been tense between us since Mira came into the picture.
He’s made his disdain for her clear, and he’s scared her and made my pursuit of her unnecessarily difficult.
I don’t think she’d be half as uncomfortable as she is if it weren’t for his unpleasantness.
“Yeah?” I say, picking up the call.
“You’re right that your girl is trustworthy, as in she won’t talk,” he says. “She is, however, going to try to create some problems. I tapped into the bug you have in her bag. Her conversation with the guidance counselor is most interesting. You should take a listen.”
He hangs up on me. My chest tightens and my heart speeds as Connor’s words burrow deep, creating a hum of anxiety that tingles through my body. I navigate over to a secure browser on my laptop, pop in my headphones, and connect them to the bug I have in Mira’s backpack.
Static greets me at first. Crackles and pops that quickly morph into two distinct voices. One belongs to Mira, the other to an unfamiliar woman who must be Mira’s guidance counselor.
“Are you sure you’re interested in that?
You have an excellent record at Greywood.
As your counselor, I’d advise you to avoid transferring altogether, but if you must transfer, then at least wait until next year.
A mid-year transfer will be difficult to execute, and there’s no guarantee you’ll retain any scholarships at your new university. If you’re accepted in the first place.”
What—the—fuck? A goddamn transfer? Mira wants to transfer away from Greywood?
“I’d like to explore my options,” Mira responds, her voice steady. “If you could guide me in the right direction, recommend programs that offer scholarships or grants—ones that I have a decent shot of getting into—I’d appreciate it.”
A long pause ensues, during which my blood pressure shoots through the roof. The shuffling of papers sounds through my headphones, underscoring my rising anger.
“There are a couple options that might be worth looking into,” the guidance counselor says.
“No guarantees, but possibilities. Mira…” she trails off.
“Is everything alright? Is there a reason you want to get away from campus? You’re one of the animal sciences department’s brightest pupils; you’re one of Greywood’s most promising students.
We don’t want to lose you. If you’re having troubles on campus that you’re trying to run from—”
Mira coughs. “No, there are no… troubles. No. I just, um, want a change of scenery. The… the Vermont weather doesn’t agree with me.”
While I’m furious that Mira’s taking such pains to try to run from me, I’m also consumed by relief that she says nothing about me, Connor, or Seamus.
This conversation isn’t a guarantee that she’ll never talk about us, but it’s a good indicator that she intends to keep her mouth shut.
After this, maybe Connor will stop seeing her as nothing more than a liability.
“The weather?” The guidance counselor repeats dubiously.
“Please let me know which programs you’d recommend,” Mira says, attempting to shift gears. “I’d like to start sending out applications and getting recommendation letters as soon as possible. If a transfer isn’t feasible, I understand, but I’d like the option.”
“Very well,” the guidance counselor says. “If that’s truly what you want.”
“It is,” Mira confirms firmly.
I listen as Mira says her goodbyes, popping out my headphones and seething. I only let myself stew for a few moments, though; then I get down to doing what I do best: think. Plan. Strategize a way to get past this hurdle.
I’m furious with her for having the gall to try to run, and yet, I can’t truly blame her.
She’s still afraid for her life. She must see this as the safest option for her—the best way out.
While my base instinct is to carry her back to the house and show her exactly how bad a punishment from me can get, I push that aside for now.
I’m serious about Mira. I shouldn’t be, it’s too soon, yet I feel a surety when it comes to her; a certainty that she’s the one for me, and I’m the one for her.
If I want to keep her in the long run, I have to be strategic.
Fear is not a good way to build a relationship; connection is.
Punishments can frighten her into obeying and make her beholden to me for a time.
But if she comes to care for me and truly connects with me, forms an attachment to me, I can keep her forever.
I need her to be content. I need her to be happy.
I need her to not only be afraid of the punishments I am so looking forward to delivering, but to also feel drawn to the happiness and opportunities I can offer her.
She likes animals? I’ll get her a house full of them.
She wants to be a vet? I’ll get her into the best, most prestigious program.
She wants safety and security? I’ll deliver that in spades.
She wants to be free of the fear of her stepfather?
I’ll kill him with my bare fucking hands.
First, we’re going to have a good day together. I’m going to pretend that I never heard her unfortunate conversation until tonight, when we come home. When I have her in my bed. Then, I can get to the correction; now, it’s time for something more lighthearted.
Fortunately, a part of living my life means becoming an excellent actor.
She will have no clue that I know anything until it’s too late.
I’m still going to treat her, give her a wonderful afternoon, get to know her and take interest in her, and then I’ll pounce on her like the prey she’s just morphed into.
I take a few minutes to compose myself, compose my emotions and muster my facial expression to one of neutrality.
Some of those minutes are spent fantasizing exactly what I’ll do to Mira once we get back to the house tonight, but the rest are spent focusing on the plans between now and then.
For tonight, I already have all the props and toys I could possibly desire.
For now, I want to see Mira smile. There’ll be more than enough time to extract every drop of agonized pleasure she’s capable of giving to me tonight.
When she returns to the library, I’m scribbling away in my notebook, working on an accounting assignment. She seems a bit nervous and out of sorts as she takes the seat beside me, but relaxes when I offer her a calm, casual smile.
“How did your meeting go?” I ask her, taking care to keep my voice even.
She has a chance right now. A chance to admit why she had her meeting, what she talked to her guidance counselor about. If she does, her punishment will be significantly less severe, and both this day and this evening will be spent bonding.
Mira briefly bites her bottom lip, seeming unsure. I think part of her wants to tell me. Then, a mix of fear and desperation flashes through her eyes before her face goes blank.
“It went well,” she says. My heart falls to my stomach. “I’ll see what comes of it soon enough. How’s your schoolwork?”
“Coming along,” I reply, my voice faintly strained. “Let’s wrap up here. I have a surprise for you.”
Several surprises, and not all of them will be nearly as fun for you as the first one.