Chapter 5
Chapter five
JUDE GRAVES
I feel so fucking out of place here. Adriana keeps me close, steering me with a hand at my back, leaning in like we’re lovers instead of whatever the hell this actually is.
Her mouth brushes my ear as she speaks. “This is your life now,” she says quietly.
“Might as well make it somewhat enjoyable instead of moping all the goddamn time. How many times do I have to say that?”
I exhale through my nose. “Yeah. Guess so.” Resignation tastes bitter, but it goes down easy like a pill I know will calm my pain. So fuck it.
Alexei finds us near the event bar, a smile already in place. “Jude,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “How are you liking the car?”
“It’s…great,” I say. “Thank you.”
He grins wider and gestures for us to follow him.
We move through the crowd, where I catch fragments of conversations here and there.
Names, numbers, and the casual talk of money and crime like it’s some casual shit like the weather.
I see people who look like they have more money and power than anyone Nolan partied with in the States.
We've stepped into a territory even he isn't familiar with. This isn't good.
Alexei stops us in front of three men. They’re all older, extremely clean-cut, with eyes that make me uneasy. He sounds like he introduces me, but in Russian. Then, in plain english, “My new investment.”
The word punches me in the goddamn face.
Investment.
Nolan steps in beside us, grinning like the pompous dick he is.
They smile, congratulating him, and talk about future opportunities and possible partnerships with various drug routes in the States.
Nolan brags about how much money he’s laundered through my performances, and Alexei nods approvingly.
He believes he's found a little fish with a decent pond.
But I can tell that he is just going to decimate it.
“Jude’s a solo man, now,” Alexei says, clapping me on the back.
One of the men smiles slowly. His gaze not only crawls over Adriana, but over the women passing by, like he’s assessing them. It’s creepier than just admiring. Adriana’s spine stiffens.
“Pleasure,” the man says. “My name is Vlad. I handle logistics. People, mostly.”
Human trafficking, my brain supplies.
I swallow.
Jesus. We really are in deep shit here.
Nolan continues talking to him, seemingly unnerved by the way Vlad looked at Adriana.
Eventually, the men drift away, leaving Adriana and me alone once more.
Her hand slides down my arm. Vlad made her nervous, I can tell.
As much as she wants to think she’s a bad bitch in this industry, she’s still a woman.
And that alone is dangerous in the criminal world.
And I think she was just reminded of that.
I need air. Or alcohol. Preferably both. I break away, swiping a drink from a passing tray. The waitress is young and barely dressed with a smile so practiced I feel like I can see myself in her. My stomach turns. Another human likely owned by powerful men.
The base of a massive marble spiral staircase offers some kind of quiet, thank fuck. I retreat there, leaning against the cool stone, breathing through my nose.
“Hey,” Adriana says behind me. “You can’t disappear like that.” She steps closer.
I sigh heavily.
“Lighten up,” she adds. “Those guys are…creepy.” She reaches for me, fingers straightening and tugging at my tie. My body reacts before my brain can stop it. Not happiness or desire, exactly. Just memory. Conditioning.
I hate it.
“I’m fine,” I say, a little too sharply.
Her brows lift. “You don’t look fine.”
She moves closer anyway, hips nearly touching mine. I suddenly regret stepping somewhere private. Nolan’s words echo, entirely fucking uninvited.
Whenever she wants.
My grip tightens on the glass. “I said I’m fine,” I repeat.
Her eyes search my face for a long moment. Then she scoffs, stepping back half an inch. “Unbelievable,” she mutters. “I’m not in the mood for you to piss me off. No fighting tonight, please. Nolan wouldn't stop touching me on the way here, and I'd rather not deal with him after this party.”
I don’t answer.
Above us, the music swells, laughter bursting out of some loud old hag.
Somewhere in this building, deals are being made that will ruin lives and kill people.
And I’m standing at the bottom of a staircase, dressed like a version of myself I don’t recognize, realizing exactly how horrifying my world has become.
I finally down the drink, my gaze not leaving the wretched women before me.
Someone who is a venomous snake beneath her beauty and perfume.
She doesn’t give me time to think before her hand slides into mine, pulling me back towards the crowd.
The music is louder here, bass thudding through the marble.
It seems the quartet is no longer playing, now replaced by speakers.
People are closer now, their bodies grinding together in a sensual manner.
She grabs two more drinks from a passing tray, hands one to me without asking, already halfway through hers. “Drink,” she says.
So I do. And then I do it again. And again.
Fuck it.
That seems to be my new life motto.
If events filled with crystals and silk are my new cage, I may as well stop trying to gnaw at the bars.
The oxy and alcohol are warm in my bloodstream, smoothing everything out that would usually annoy me.
My thoughts start to smear together, reality losing its grip just enough to calm down a little.
Even more people are dancing now. It’s not wild or reckless like you’d see at concerts.
It’s more of a controlled indulgence with swaying bodies and stuck-up laughter.
Adriana presses closer, her body fitting against mine like it always belonged there.
And, in a way, it does. She’s been the constant in my life for the past almost eight fucking years.
Her arms loop around my neck. My gaze drifts and locks with Nolan’s a few feet away. He takes a sip of his drink, staring at me like he’s making sure I remember what I’m for. I close my eyes for half a second and sigh. Then I do my job.
My hands settle at Adriana’s waist. She smiles victoriously and moves with me as the music swells. I stop thinking and shove it all down until there’s nothing left but the beat and the heat and the numbness. This is easier...existing without meaning.
She tilts her head up, lips brushing my jaw at first. She’s testing me, waiting for resistance.
It doesn’t come. So when she kisses me, I don’t pull away.
I kiss her back. The room spins just slightly.
The music grows louder. Wealthy criminals laugh, talk, and drink around us.
Her mouth is warm and familiar enough. And somewhere deep down, a voice whispers that I deserve more.
That I’m worthy of better things. Of...her. The artist in Seaside.
But I don’t listen. I let myself disappear, because it's the best way to protect her.
Moscow blurs past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow on the quiet drive back to the hotel.
Nolan sits in the front seat, relaxed, one arm draped over the door.
Adriana and I are in the back. She’s leaned into my side, warm and loose with alcohol, her head tipping against my shoulder as the car glides forward.
Her fingers trace idle patterns on my thigh.
I stare straight ahead.
She hums softly, amused with herself, and shifts closer. Her hand slides higher. I don’t stop her. I don’t encourage it either. I’m too tired to choose.
Nolan glances at us in the rearview mirror and laughs. Actually laughs. “See?” he says, pleased. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I blink, slowly. “What.”
“Happiness,” he says easily. “You could really live the dream life, Jude. You know that, right? Money. Freedom. A beautiful woman who wants you. All you gotta do is stop fighting it.”
The word happiness sounds so fucking stupid coming from his mouth. “Freedom?”
He huffs. “Free enough, kid. You still have a job, sure. But you’re doing just fine.”
Adriana giggles and nuzzles closer, her lips brushing my jaw. “You hear that, baby?” she murmurs. “You’re allowed to be happy.”
My head feels heavy. Everything does. I close my eyes for a second, then open them again. I’ve become so used to living on autopilot for other people that I rarely feel present anymore. Adriana was so busy trying to avoid Nolan's company tonight that she's gluing herself to me.
Nolan keeps talking. “Alexei wants us at his place this weekend,” he adds casually. “Wants to discuss some things.”
“Okay,” I say. The word falls out of me without effort. Agreement is easy when you’re chronically exhausted.
“Good,” Nolan says. He sounds satisfied.
Confident, even. More relaxed than I’ve seen him in a long time.
Like things are finally moving exactly the way he wants.
He can’t see it, but when I look at him standing beside those other men, I see a house cat trying to fit in with lions.
Still, both he and Adriana have seemed to shift their behaviors since we left the States.
Even just slightly. I don’t really know what to make of it.
Perhaps they’re trying to become new and improved versions of themselves? I have to swallow down a laugh at that.
Adriana mumbles something incoherent, her fingers curling into the fabric of my suit.
Nolan chuckles at that, shaking his head. “She’s had a night,” he says fondly. Then, grinning, he adds, “I’m meeting one of my favorites from this morning later. Should be fun.”
“Poor woman,” I mutter.
“She’s a good girl,” he answers swiftly. “I actually like her. Unlike that one,” he adds, quiet enough that drunken Adriana doesn't register. "She's just a good fuck."
I don’t respond then.
The car pulls up to the hotel, and the doorman is already moving before we’ve fully stopped.
In the elevator, Nolan hums under his breath while he texts that woman, clearly in a good mood. When we reach our floor, he steps out first, adjusting his jacket. “Have a good night,” he says with a wink.
Adriana laughs again, sloppily.
I mutter a goodbye.
He disappears into his suite, leaving us standing there under the soft hotel lighting. As soon as his door shuts, Adriana’s hands are on me again—grabbing my jacket, tugging me through our door. She fumbles with the handle, still laughing, still annoyingly drunk.
I close the door for her, and then she’s all over me. She isn’t gentle, which isn’t new. She’s simply claiming what she thinks is already hers.
The bedroom is dark except for the city lights spilling over the king-sized bed. Adriana pushes me backward, hands on my chest. Her mouth finds mine again, tasting like alcohol. Her hands are already tugging impatiently at my suit jacket.
I let it happen. That’s the theme of life now.
She laughs softly when I stumble, steering me toward the bed. I let myself fall back, the mattress dipping hard enough to make the room tilt. Too much oxy, too much vodka. Fuck.
She doesn’t turn on the lights, which I don’t complain about. Darkness is easier to tolerate in moments like these. She climbs over me, the city reflected in the glass behind her. Her hair spills forward, hiding her face.
Her mouth moves along my neck, her body rolling against mine. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always has. For a second, I consider staying still and letting it happen. Letting myself drift. Then something in me snaps a little bit. Honestly? This is just resignation with claws at this point.
I grab her thighs and pull her closer, grinding up into the motion she’s already started, giving her what she expects. My body reacts because bodies are stupid like that. They’re wired for reflex, not meaning.
I stare past her shoulder. The Moscow skyline is cold, endless, and beautiful. Somewhere down there, people are laughing. Crying. Living lives untouched by the kind of things I’ve done.
She whispers my name.
It doesn’t sound like it’s mine anymore.
The sensations blur together—pressure, warmth, movement. I don’t float away this time. I stay just grounded enough to participate, to finish this. If this is the life I’m stuck in, I might as well stop pretending I’m above it. Adriana is kind of right, in that respect. Still, my mind screams…
This isn’t intimacy. It’s anesthesia.
But before long, my suit is gone, and so is her dress. She moves against me, panting, nails digging into my chest. I keep my eyes open. If I close them, I might see the wrong woman—and that would break whatever spell this is.
She shifts, her weight settling fully on my hips. Her fingers find the waistband of my boxers, sliding them down with a practiced ease I don’t bother to help with. I just watch the window, the endless grid of lights. My head is spinning.
I don’t move. I let her do what she’s going to do.
She sinks down onto me, and a sigh escapes her lips, warm against my cheek. The feeling is immediate and intense, dragging a groan from my throat despite my fucking self. My hips jerk upward involuntarily, as much as I hate it.
There it is. The stupid, base reaction.
My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her steady as I finally meet her with thrusts of my own. A relieved sound falls from her lips. She’s probably happy I’m finally reciprocating.
I focus on the physical details. The way her head tilts back, exposing her throat.
I watch it all from a distance, even as my own body is pulled into the current.
I hate myself and accept this shit at the same time.
I’m a goddamn contradiction. My own need builds, and I pull her down harder onto me, forcing myself deeper.
I hate you so much. I hate this.
“Jude,” she pants, her rhythm fracturing.
Ugh, don't say my fucking name. It sounds wrong on your tongue.
I don’t answer. I just watch her come apart. I give in to the pure, mindless sensation of it. I try not to think of another voice.
A softer, sweeter one.
The one that makes my name sound like a melody.
When it’s over, she collapses against me, satisfied, her breathing slowing. I don’t move. And somewhere deep inside me, buried under drugs and noise and resignation, a brutal truth slaps me in the goddamn face:
This is what it means to survive here. Not living...just enduring.