Page 79 of Pay the Piper

“Home would be perfection.” The thought of home relaxes me, and with my adrenaline finally gone, I’m hit with a sudden plea from my bladder. “But do you mind if I use the restroom first?”

“Of course love.”

After we say our goodbyes, Misha walks me to the women’s restroom, where I have to practically swat him away from coming in with me.

“Fine, but I’m waiting right out here, and I’ll break this door down the minute I hear a peep.”

Rolling my eyes, I make my way inside and find the relief I so desperately needed. Who’s going to bother me at an event so heavily guarded? I mean, sure, it’s full of Mafia and Bratva guys, but only a fool would mess with Misha’s girl, not to mention a personal guest of Nikki himself. That’s one thing I learned from being married to Mayor Fitzpatrick. Men move around you in fear, as if they’ll lose a hand if they touch you.

I’ve barely stepped out of the stall when I’m pushed back inside with two large hands covering my eyes and mouth. Time stands still, and for a moment, I believe it’s just Misha playing with me, but everything is wrong. The smell is wrong, the size of the arms wrapped around me is wrong, even the breathing is wrong. I stiffen at the realization, and my captor squeezes me harder.

“I know he’s right outside the door, but if you make a sound, I’ll kill you before he can get to you. Do you understand?”

I nod as much as I can in the tight grip. I know that voice. It’s etched in my memory as clear as day. McKenzie O’Reilly, Conor’s best friend, and my most prolific abuser. He loosens his hold on me and spins me around.

“Well, look at you, Niamh, almost completely unrecognizable. Conor was wrong about you being unfuckable, though.” He takes a strand of my hair and twirls it between his thumb and finger. “Red hair or blonde, I couldn’t care less what color it is. You’re still my favorite plaything, even if you did spread your legs for that Russian bastard. That wasn’t part of the plan, you know. Conor is very upset about it. I had to talk him out of getting rid of you. You have me to thank for your pathetic little life, and when you get back to Canada, I’m going to enjoy all the ways you’ll pay me back.”

“I am not going back with you. I would rather die now,” I hiss, spitting in his face.

Chuckling, he wipes himself clean. “Oh, you’re coming back with us, alright. You may not care about your life or your parents anymore, but not only have we successfully infiltrated the Santori Mafia, we’re into the Taranov Bratva, as well. Your lover’s little bitch of a friend’s name is Mila, right? Well, she’s dead the second we find out you’ve gone off script.”

“No,” I whisper.

My life hasn’t meant anything for years, but Misha would die if anything happened to Mila. Then he would blame me.

“Now you listen, and you listen good. You’re going to go back outside and act like everything is perfectly fine. We will have a jet waiting for you before dawn tomorrow to take your ass right back to Canada. I don’t care what you have to do to get out of his place unnoticed, but you fucking do it. If we find out you’ve said a peep, we will kill the Russian bitch. Do you understand?

I nod.

“Good girl, now go.”

I stomp his foot on my way out, and he grabs me again, licking up my neck. “I like this version of you. I’m going to insist Conor hold off on the drugs for a while. Your fight is delicious.”

I gag when he spanks my ass, and he laughs, pushing me out of the stall.

Five deep breaths to compose myself. I’ve barely twisted the doorknob when it flies open, Misha staring down at me with concern.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I think Mila’s driving messed up my stomach.” Not necessarily what you want to tell your very new lover, but it’s the best I’ve got.

To my surprise, he doesn’t seem grossed out at all. Instead, he laughs, throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Happens to the best of us. Now let’s get you home.”

Home…how close I was to having that.

My stomach ruse gave me reason to be quiet on the ride home. I held on tight to Misha, tighter than ever before, crying silently as I took him in for the last time. By the time we got home, I had pulled myself together enough to put on a facade. I’ve had years of practice hiding my emotions, but I don’t need it tonight.

It’s easy to tap into the version of me who belongs to Misha. So I leave my sorrows behind, if only for a few hours, and do just that. Belong to Misha.

If Conor allows me to live, it will be a fate worse than death, and I’ll need this one last night to go to. One last happy memory to visit. One last flicker of light when darkness threatens to take over.

By the time I’m showered and clean from the day, Misha’s already sprawled out on the bed. His bare, tatted skin glows with the city lights filtering through the windows, like a dark angel. Pausing at the door, I take him in. He’s magnificent. He is the devastating combination of harsh masculinity and divine beauty. Something that should be carved in stone for humanity to admire for thousands of years. I know that my admiration will continue until my last breath, whenever that might be.

I’m not able to hide from him for long. His gaze always finds me sooner rather than later.

“Are you feeling better?”