Page 9 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

He lifted me. His kiss landed at the corner of my eye, like melting snow. My body sank into the mattress. Drowsiness crept up from my toes. I couldn't keep my eyes open. Before they closed, I heard him murmur.

"Sweet dreams, kitten."

Morning.White light sliced through the curtain gap, straight across my eyelids.

I reached beside me. The sheets were cold.

I sat up, rubbing my throbbing temples. Last night's heat still lingered on my skin. The faintest trace of cedarwood hung in the air.

A thick stack of cash sat on the nightstand. More money than I'd ever seen. Beneath it, a business card—crisp white, gold lettering.

Ivan Volkov.

I gripped the card, thumb brushing the embossed name. My heart skipped.

The wall clock ticked. Muffled car horns sounded below. Everything reminded me last night was just an unreal dream.

The dream ended. Time to return to my place.

I slipped into the shirt he had left behind and fastened every button up to the collar. I hid the money at the very bottom of my bag. Then I pushed open the door and left.

The moment I walked out the back door of the club, sunlight spilled across my vision. It was a harsh, dazzling white, so bright that I had to squint.

I leaned against the wall for a while, adjusting to the brightness. Traffic streamed past. Pedestrians rushed by. No one looked twice. Like last night's derailment never happened.

I pulled the shirt collar tighter. Cedar clung to it—his scent mixed with mine, carried off by the wind.

Ivan Volkov.

The man who'd bought me for six hundred grand. We'd probably never meet again. The thought twisted something sour in my chest. But I couldn't let it spread. I couldn't drown in pointless fantasy. I had to return to my real life.

I stepped forward.

Then—I saw that face.

That face I loathed.

Sunken eyes. Vicious features. Hunched gait, like a starving dog hunting for rotten meat.

Gary Bennett. The bastard who sold me here. The person I wanted to escape most in this life.

He was my father. A complete piece of shit.

"Where's the money?"

Not even a greeting. Stale alcohol stench squeezed through his teeth. His rough hand shot out, grabbing my wrist like reclaiming stolen property.

I yanked my arm back. Nails dug into my palm. Hate and resentment surged up like lava.

"You're not getting a goddamn cent." I bit out each word. "You sold me like livestock. You're not getting shit from me!"

His cloudy eyes bulged. Probably shocked I'd fight back. He swung his hand. The slap whistled toward me. I jerked my head aside. He missed, shoulder slamming into the wall. Cursing, he lunged again.

"I made you. You think you can run?"

He caught me. His rough fingers wrenched my hair. Pain blackened my vision. Like my entire scalp was being torn from my skull.

I tried to escape, but I wasn't strong enough. His hand crept toward my collar. I knew what he was after. I thrashed wildly, nails clawing into his arm. The small pain made him crazed.