Page 18 of Ruinous Need

LISETTE

THE WIND WHIPS through my hair. It’s a freezing day, but I want to tilt my head back and laugh at the sky.

The open sky. Gloomy clouds have never looked so beautiful, and the New York winter has never felt so bright.

Viktor might have assigned me my personal prison guard in Daria, but it was easy to convince her to head down to the bakery for a treat. She’s basically the female version of Viktor — emotionless and scary on the outside, but softer now that I’ve gotten to know her.

“Viktor never buys me treats,” I complained to her, talking up my craving for a pumpkin-spice latte. I shoved the credit card into her hands, even though it would have been easier to take it with me. I can’t even hail a cab with no cell phone and no wallet.

The escape was surprisingly simple. I just don’t think they’d expected that I could squeeze through the dog door. My budding friendship with Chekhov put the idea in my head a few days ago.

Was the escape plan also sparked by the way Viktor’s been treating me lately, withdrawing from the simplest interaction as though I’m made of some kind of explosive material he might set off?

Perhaps.

If I can’t hang out with Merc and Ben, and he’s going to be so angsty, I need a break. I need real human interaction that isn’t just sitting on a couch in an apartment.

Thankfully, Viktor has a person-sized dog.

Chekhov watched me closely as I climbed through his dog door, which I found strangely comforting. Like he was coaching me on how to use it.

Once I squeezed my shoulders through, it was easy to drag my hips the rest of the way and land on the freezing concrete pavers of the courtyard. I brushed myself off, wiping black fluffy dog fur from the woolen coat, and twined the pink cashmere scarf around my head.

Someone might have seen me cross the yard, but I had my hair wrapped in the scarf and I was covered in a long gray coat from Viktor’s shopping trip. Hopefully, I was unrecognizable, if these supposed gangs who are tracking me down were close enough to see the courtyard of Viktor’s apartment.

He’s going to be so angry with me. I chew my lip as I think about how he’s going to react.

But I promised my friends I would do the show tonight.

Months ago, but still. I hate to let people down when they’re relying on me. I power-walk down the street, bracing myself against the cold.

I’m not escaping forever.

That much is certain. I don’t want my family to be killed. With my family’s lives on the line, I’ll be making my way back to Viktor’s apartment after the show.

Although the more time I spend with Viktor, the less I can imagine him carrying out that brutal order. Hurting me. He might be cold, but he’s not a monster.He seemed shaken when he had to tell me about Marianne.

From a pay phone, I dial the number of my best friend.

“Kyle?” I can’t stop my voice from cracking with joy when he answers. “Are you going to the show tonight and can you pick me up?”

He squeals with excitement.

Kyle used to be in the City Ballet with me, until he got in trouble for being too vocal.

He now has a budding reality TV slash influencer career.

He is not the kind of person I ever thought I would be friends with after my sheltered upbringing.

But he’s a damn good dancer and just as committed to pole fitness as I am.

Kyle picks me up in his bright-green Beetle and we head to the nearest diner.

I might have been lying to Daria about the pumpkin spice latte, but I am ravenous for food that I didn’t cook at home. Waffles are always more delicious when someone else made them.

He hugs me tight when I get in. “I’m so sorry about Marianne. Our teachers are like our second home in this world.” My heart thumps in my chest and I will myself not to cry. At least no one else knows it’s my fault that she’s dead.

As we chat in the car, I find out the supposed cover story the Bratva have made up for my sudden disappearance — I’m volunteering, teaching dance in impoverished communities in Latin America.

Apparently I sent a mass email to everyone and left the next day, and wasn’t able to travel back for Marianne’s funeral.

“It’s been eye-opening. The people there are so vibrant,” I improvise when we flop down into the booth, praying that he doesn’t ask exactly where I’ve been teaching.

“It was wild how you just up and left. But I love that about you. Starting a more chaotic phase of life, right?”

Then he gives me a long look, arching his perfect eyebrows. “There’s something different about you. A man. I can always tell.”

I try to deny it, but my blush gives me away.

If only you knew, Kyle, I think as he updates me on his dating life.

“Have you gone insane?” Daria grabs me backstage at the pole show when I’ve finished my performance.

Phew. I made it through before they tracked me down.

The manager of the studio, Kryssi, had been so excited about having another City Ballet alum performing. They’d even advertised the show with my name in the program.

I would have felt so bad if I’d let her down. This whole place has been absolutely critical to my recovery after my ballet career crumbled around me.

“Seriously, do you want your family killed?” Daria asks me.The look on her face reminds me of a teacher at school telling me off.

“They’re okay, right?”

I can’t help the edge of panic creeping in.

Her face softens and she pulls me to her in a hug. “They are. But if we were following the Pakhan’s orders, they would be dead.”

All I can feel is relief. “Good.”

“You’re just lucky we made it here before the Irish or the Albanians.” She brandishes the program at me. “This was so stupid, Lisette. Your name is right here. It would have been so easy for them to track you down.”

I shrug. “But they didn’t. I was fine. It’s almost like you’re being way too paranoid about this. I don’t think all of New York is out to get me.”

She looks furious while she grabs my things from the dressing room. “You really don’t understand the kind of trouble you’re causing. Or how much danger you’re in.”

“I just wanted to feel like a normal person again and not let down my friends.”

“That’s not how this works, Lisette. You made an agreement with the Pakhan of the Bratva.” She lowers her voice as she says those words, grabbing me by the elbow and marching me towards the door.

I don’t even get to say goodbye to Kyle before she drags me out back towards the parking lot. Just a few hours ago we’d been yelling the lyrics to pop songs out here while drinking matcha and I’d felt like a normal person for the first time in a month.

Now I’m being ushered into a car like a naughty teenager who’s broken curfew.

A screeching car speeds into the parking lot. For a second, panic rises in me. The Irish? The Albanians?

But the man who ducks out of the drivers’ seat is just the person I want to see.

Even as he slams me against the side of the car.

Daria seems bewildered, looking between the two of us as if she doesn’t understand what’s happening. She opens her mouth to speak. “Lisette —”

“Thank you for finding her. You can go home.” Viktor speaks without looking at her.

Daria huffs, her eyes narrowing at the way Viktor is leaning over me, but does as he orders.

I inhale deeply, admiring the way he looks in his combat pants and black coat. A fresh coating of stubble scratches when I reach out a hand to his face. He catches my palm and holds it there.

I can feel the tension in his jaw as he takes in my pole outfit, spiky heels and the make-up I’m wearing.

“How many?” His brows are low over his eyes.

“How many what?”

“How many men do I need to kill for seeing you like this?” His eyes are deadly serious on mine.

“I escape the apartment. And you’re worried about my pole fitness show?”

He doesn’t blink or deny it. His eyes continue to swirl with the power of gathering clouds before a thunderstorm.

“Viktor. This is pole fitness. Those men are not straight.”

“I don’t care. They saw you like this. They saw that dance that you did for me.” His voice turns dangerous, and he steps closer. “I told you I don’t like to share.”

There’s a looseness I haven’t seen before in Viktor’s eyes. He’s let go of some hidden boundary.

The way he’s touching me now is forceful, determined and possessive.

He’s not in control of what he’s doing. He’s not thinking about the consequences. He’s staking his claim.

This was what it took. Escaping. Doing a pole show, out in public.

It sends a thrill right through me to know that he’s probably fantasizing about beheading every man who was at the show tonight.

I don’t think Viktor is thinking about my safety right now or our need for guards against the escalating attacks.

He’s only thinking about me.

As soon as we get to his car he pins me to the passenger seat, his mouth ravenous between my thighs. He doesn’t use a knife on my booty shorts this time, just tears away the thin fabric with his bare hands.

“You’re not wearing these out of the apartment again.” He uses that stern voice that makes me want to giggle.

I let out a laugh.

“I’m not joking, Lisette.” He hisses against my mouth.

That should scare me. Instead, it makes moisture gather between my thighs.

As he drives us home, one of his hands stays between my legs. Playing with me while he keeps his focus on the road.

Until I’m a whimpering mess begging him to let me come. He doesn’t. This is another punishment. I hold on, desperately, unable to stop grinding against his hand even as it brings me closer and closer to the edge.

He wraps me in his jacket to hide my bare pussy and carries me up to his apartment. What if someone had seen me being carried, half naked, in his arms, overstimulated and right on the precipice of an orgasm?

I should feel uncomfortable with the idea that someone could walk in on this clearly dangerous, volatile man carrying me naked in his arms through the lobby of his apartment building and into the elevator.

Instead, it makes me tingle with a fresh wave of arousal.