Chapter 9
Rye
I’m in my Mercedes, not my brother’s fucking minivan. So when I see the security fence protecting that motherfucker’s house, I put my foot down instead of easing off.
The truck slams into the fence. Sparks fly as it’s torn from its setting. I think the front of my vehicle is wrecked, but I don’t give a shit.
I don’t ease off the accelerator until I squeal to a stop in front of the door, the door already opening.
And who should emerge?
The motherfucker I warned not to let her out of his sight.
He flinches back as I climb out of the car and take the steps two at a time.
“I tried to… I mean, I just figured out that she wasn’t acting right, and I went to her room but she wasn’t there! Mr. McAllister, you have to believe me, I didn’t know—”
“Know what?”
I grab him by the collar and he shrieks as I slam him into the doorframe. His mouth moves but no sound comes out.
“Fucking know what?”
He takes a moment to compose himself, and when he talks his voice comes out strangled, even though I’m not holding him that tight.
“I didn’t… I mean, she’s in the dance hall. She’s just doing everything she’s told. Everything. If you understand—”
I roar as I drop him, forgetting he even exists in an instant as I pound down the hall.
I don’t even know which way I’m going, but it’s like I’m a bloodhound on a scent as I sprint through hallways and rooms toward the back of the house.
I hear Patrykov’s voice before I get to them.
“This is the final test, Elodie. You’re doing great, and you want to be a dancer, don’t you?
I can make that happen. All you have to do is prove how committed you are, how much you want this.
Make me believe it, little girl, and I’ll make all your dreams come true.
We are going to perform the Bella Figura.
So, time for you to take your top off and dance your way over to me--”
“Motherfucker,” I roar as I slam into the door, not even bothering to try the handle. Hinges rip through wood, and it flies open with a crash, and as I take in the scene my vision turns red.
He’s seated in some gilded throne chair, his pants open as he waves for Elodie to come to him, a pillow on the floor between his feet.
She’s shaking her head and doesn’t even seem to have noticed me enter.
But he does.
“What?” He cinches his forehead. “If you want her to succeed in this business, you need to show yourself out, otherwise, this tryout is over and she can go find a job teaching four-year-olds to curtsy at the community center downtown.”
“I’m gonna teach you to curtsy, motherfucker.”
He bolts out of the chair, tries to run, but he trips over his own pants as they fall to his ankles and slams face first into the dance floor of the studio with a crunch.
I’m on him a breath, dragging him up by the collar and then slamming him into the floor again.
“Mother. Fucker,” I repeat. “I told her what would happen to you. You think I don’t keep my promises? Fucking piece of shit. They’ll be finding bits of you in Alaska.”
I grab him, flip him over and slam my foot down between his legs, making him squeal in pain.
I punch his face, but it’s all too good. He needs to suffer, and he will.
“Daddy?”
Her little voice comes from behind me cutting through the noise.
The light pressure of her hand on my arm stalls me as I raise my fist.
“Daddy, stop… Please…”
“Time for lights out asshole—”
My knuckles land one last time, I draw back again but Elodie’s scent swirls around me.
She needs me too.
“Daddy, please… Don’t… I don’t want them to take you away. If you do this…I won’t have you.”
I pause, my heart cracking against my ribs. She doesn’t know this side of me. I could disappear this asshole with one phone call and no one would come knocking. But, not in front of her.
Not right now.
His body goes slack, eyes half closed.
I drop him to the floor, fire racing over my skin as I turn and find her wide eyed, blinking, swaying.
“I think he put something in my food. I don’t… I didn’t eat it all. That butler stopped me after a couple bites, switched my plate. It tasted funny…”
“Did he touch you—”
“He didn’t … I’m still yours, Daddy. Still yours.”
She puts her arms around my waist and everything else fades for a moment.
I kiss the top of her head, nuzzling her hair.
She's still swaying. Still blinking like she's trying to remember where the edges of herself are.
Her wide eyes find their focus. The flush working up her throat. Still here. Still mine.
"Daddy," she says again, and something in my chest that has been locked down since that phone call cracks clean open.
I walk her backward. She goes without question, hands finding my shirt, and when her back meets the mirrored wall, she tips her chin up and looks at me like I am the only fixed point in the room.
Behind us, Patrykov is beginning to stir.
Good.
I want him awake for this.
"You know what you're doing to me right now?" I say against her hair. Low. Just for her, except nothing in this room is just for her right now. That's the point.
"Yes," she breathes.
"Tell me."
Her hands tighten in my shirt. "You want to remind him," she says. "What's yours."
I pull back just enough to look at her face. She's not afraid. She's — God, she's luminous. Cheeks flushed, eyes soft and dark, the corner of her mouth doing that thing that has been ruining me since before I had any right to let it.
"You okay with that?" I ask. I will always ask.
"Daddy." Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck. She tips up onto her toes and puts her mouth against my jaw. "I've been yours since the first night you walked into Club Echo and looked at me like that. Actually, a long time before that." Her lips brush my ear. "Show him who you are to me."
The sound that comes out of me is not civilized.
Let him look.
"Still mine?" I murmur against her skin.
"Still yours," she says, and the steadiness in it, the certainty, after everything this man put her through tonight — it wrecks me completely.
Elodie’s fingers grip my thigh through fabric as she strokes me, her breath hot against my lips, but when we hit the desk, I break contact and whirl her around.
Press her forehead to the polished oak surface, tug down my zipper while watching her dance instructor linger in the corner—still a threat even now.
Her little hips sway, ass high under that sheer dress. “Yes, Rye,” she breathes.
I kick her feet apart with my boot, dragging her tights down her legs, ripping off the little pink ballet slippers leaving her naked under that tutu that’s been driving me crazy for more years than I should admit.
She smiles, those round cheeks offering herself like a ripe peach begging to be plucked.
Time to mark what’s mine. I turn her again, back to the mirror, and she wraps her legs around me when I lift her and the rest of the world narrows down to this.
Her mouth. Her hands in my hair, pulling, like she can't get close enough.
The small sounds she makes against my lips that are mine, have always been mine, will be mine after every room like this one is a distant memory.
Her scent hits me, my balls fucking ache. My cock finds its way inside her tight warmth in one hard push, a growl tearing free as she clenches down on me.
Home.
Goddamn perfection.
Balls tighten instantly. Gritting my teeth against the urge to spill too soon, I brace over her back and hook a fist in that golden hair.
“Look at you,” I rasp, yanking her head up so those big brown eyes meet mine in the shadows. “Good girl.” I thrust slow, wanting her to feel how full she is. Her wet heat swallows me whole. “That pretty cunt was made for me.”
The director moans and shifts, muttering under his breath.
“And that worthless cock of yours?” I bite out, stilling her with my grip. “Will never touch this.” My palm curls into her hair again, pulling until her chin tilts back. “She’s mine.” I slam into her deep, watching her throat work as she gasps. “All mine.”
Animal instinct takes over. Pounding into her tight little body, her whimpers echoing through the room. The table legs scrape hardwood with every thrust.
Mine, mine, mine. Let him see how she gives it all to me. For me.
Her tiny body bends like a bowstring under my hands.
“Daddy… oh God, Daddy—I can’t—”
I roar, my hand owning her throat. “You worshiping daddy’s cock with your little cunt?” My hips surge in and out, in and out, driving deeper that I should. “Who’s your daddy?”
“You!” She twists and bucks, panting, eyes unfocused. “Only you.”
Fucking heaven. “Right fucking answer,” I snarl, lifting her hips to get a better angle and piston into her so hard wood cracks against the wall. “You’re gobbling up Daddy, aren’t you? Trying to make me cum in this hot little hole.” My balls knot tight, veins throbbing as her channel milks me.
“Daddy…”
“Come for me,” I grunt, slamming into her tight heat until stars burst behind my eyes.
She spasms around me, quivering and messy, while my own release tears through me.
I off load a river of hot of cum inside her.
“Fuck yeah…” More spills out, jets filling her up as I rut against her, marking this little body until there’s no denying who owns it.
When the last pulse fades, I sag against her catching my breath then pull out and adjust my clothes, tuck strands of her hair behind her ear. She melts into me, face glowing rose-pink, pupils blown wide.
My girl. My sweet, perfect Elodie.
And that teacher? Let him choke on his jealousy.
Patrykov makes a strangled noise from across the room.
I lift my head. Meet his eyes over her shoulder.
Hold them.
She is mine. This is what mine looks like. This is what you never get to touch.
He looks away first.
He will always look away first.
"Daddy." Her hands cup my face. "Take me home."
I press a slow, soft kiss to her mouth.
Then I set her on her feet, without another glance at the man bleeding on his own dance floor, I walk her out.
Back to our life. On our terms.