Chapter Eighteen
Viktor
Daddy.
The word has been looping in my head. Valentina’s daddy.
Before her, the word would have turned my stomach.
It would have tasted like the brothels. But Valentina breaks every single rule.
Coming from her mouth, it didn’t feel dirty.
It meant protecting her. Vetting her life.
Feeding her when she’s too stubborn to stop working.
And one day—soon, fucking her the way she needs to be fucked at night.
Giving her what she so desperately wants but is too proud to admit to.
I don't know when my feelings for Valentina changed from indifference into a burning purpose.
A purpose to protect her. To care for her. To punish her when she's being a brat.
Maybe it's because she's the only person in this world who helped me when I was nothing, without expecting anything in return. She offered me a hand when both of mine were empty, when I had nothing to give back to her.
Maybe that's where it started.
But things changed. So completely that I can no longer imagine a purpose in life that doesn't begin and end with her.
When I escaped the brothels, I never expected this. If I'd ever had the courage to imagine a future for myself at all, I would have thought my purpose would be survival.
Never a woman.
But Valentina isn't just a woman.
She's the reason I push forward when the ghosts of my past try to drag me back under. She sees the worst parts of me and accepts them anyway.
I almost broke my vow last night. When she dropped her robe and stood before me in nothing but that scrap of black lace, I came so close to taking her until neither of us could breathe.
But I can’t. I won't touch her until I pay back every single cent of those ten million dollars. When I finally lay my hands on her for real, I don't want her to feel a single ounce of guilt. And I don’t want to feel owned either.
God, I still can’t believe I spanked her.
When the red mist cleared, I was horrified.
But I can't deny how right it felt. And just the thought that she was going to hide a loaded firearm from me makes my palms itch to put her over my knee and strike her milky ass all over again.
A stubborn, arrogant little girl who still thinks she has to carry the weight of the entire world on her own shoulders.
The noise of this nightclub is so loud I almost can’t hear my own thoughts. The air smells of cheap vodka, expensive perfume, and sweat—the cocktail of smells tastes entirely too much like the underground clubs in St. Petersburg.
I keep my posture rigid, my eyes scanning the crowd. I am working. I am earning her money back.
"Hey, big guy."
The voice is slurred. A woman rolls off the VIP lounge and stumbles straight into my chest. She’s heavily made up, her eyes glazed over with alcohol.
I freeze.
She lunges forward, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. Her wet lips drag up toward my jaw, leaving a smear of dark red lipstick across my white collar.
The room instantly tilts.
The flashing blue lights turn into the damp neon of the basement cages. My lungs refuse to take in air.
No. No, please.
She reaches down, her fingers squeeze my cock through the fabric of my pants.
Don't touch me. Don't touch me.
I am a slave again. I am an object. I am nothing.
I blink through the blinding panic, and the image of Valentina flashes behind my eyes. She is always so strong. She fights the whole world, and she called me her daddy.
The thought acts like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. I rip the woman’s hands off my body, and she stumbles back into her friends.
I turn on my heel and sprint through the crowded floor, shoving past patrons. I throw the door to the employee bathroom open, collapse over the porcelain sink, and violently vomit into the drain.
I retch until my stomach is entirely empty. I need to calm myself down. I need to get back to work. For Valentina.
I wash my mouth out with cold water, but the taste of bile won't leave my tongue.
With a deep breath, I force myself out of the bathroom and back onto the crowded club floor. The rest of the shift is a living hell. I try to hyperventilate silently so the patrons don't notice.
Every corner I look at is filled with women with glazed, desperate eyes, men wearing predatory smiles and devil horns, and suffocating rooms where my dignity was sold.
But I don't leave my post. I grip my hands behind my back, digging my fingernails into my palms to stay in the present.
For Valentina.
She needs to know I am a man who can protect her, not a broken boy who flees at the first sign of his past. I will suffer through a thousand hells if it means proving I am strong enough to be her daddy.
"Hey. You okay, man?"
The sudden voice to my left makes me lock up, but it’s just another bouncer on the team. He’s standing a few feet away, looking at me with a heavy frown.
"I saw what happened over there with that girl in VIP," he says. "She crossed a massive line, bro. You need a break? I can cover the main door for twenty minutes."
The temptation to say yes is overwhelming. But if I take a break, they deduct the hours. If I go home early, the wire transfer to her account is smaller.
I pull my shoulders back, adjusting the collar of my shirt to hide the red smudge on the fabric.
"I am fine," I say. "I do not need a break."
He nods once. "Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind. We got your back out here."
"Thank you," I murmur.
I pretend everything is completely okay. I will stand here until the sun comes up, ignoring all my fears and doubts.
For Valentina. Always for her.