Page 30 of Sweet Torture (Torture Games #1)

TWENTY-FOUR

NAZ

I have had this weird feeling for a few days, like someone is following me.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my eyes jump from person to person to identify a threat. In all my years of being diligent or even obsessively paranoid, I’ve prided myself on the fact that I can spot danger from a mile away.

And yet now, I feel threatened by an invisible force I can’t identify.

Is it because I have so much more to lose now?

I shimmy my shoulders to get rid of the unnerving feeling haunting me.

Again, my eyes peruse my surroundings as casually as one can when searching for devils.

Seeing none, I return to my normal pace as I make my way to see Rose. But the unease is always there at the back of my mind, taunting me that I have become complacent. Or is it perhaps the knowledge that I am fraternizing with a known criminal who has opened up the door to my pestering paranoia?

I take a deep breath before placing my hand on the handle of the gallery door. Rose always has a way to look into my insecure core when she suspects something is wrong. I need to throw her off the scent until I have had time to find the reason for this pressing feeling.

I look around me one last time before pushing through the gallery’s front door. I search for Rose, only to find her assisting a customer. I decide to peruse her newly acquired work and walk to the far end of the gallery. Here, I can look at the paintings in peace and not disturb her business deal.

The first piece is an intricate weave of tribal colors, forming a daunting design in the tapestry.

That is something that I have never been interested in.

Yes, I admire someone who has the talent to create one row at a time.

It is truly visionary to see the finished product in your mind.

But can you imagine how many thread changes I would have to do to illustrate an engorged dick?

By the time I am done, I will want to strangle myself with the multitude of threads just to end my suffering.

No, tapestry is definitely not for me.

The next piece is a beautiful rendition that illustrates the struggle of poverty in our city. The lines on the people’s faces are carved in deeply, and I place my hand over my heart, absorbing the pain etched for all to see.

“It truly is an exquisite piece, isn’t it?” a voice to my left says.

I can’t peel my eyes away from the painting, “Yes, yes, it is.”

“Do you work here, or are you just browsing?”

The man’s English is remarkable, considering that he is clearly from another country.

His snow-white hair reflects the sun like glitter tossed in the wind.

His penetrating blue eyes seem to reach into my soul.

The question pops out before I consider the consequences.

“Where are you from? Your accent is quite unique.”

His smile is friendly but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If I were to put this man’s face on canvas, I have a feeling he would also end up in my burn barrel out back. Something so sinister shouldn’t be replicated.

“I have made New York my home, but hail from Russia. Is that a problem?”

Time to lie my ass off, “No, of course not. I am just fascinated by the complexity of the multitude of cultures we are surrounded by. Don’t you find it fascinating?”

He seems to ponder my question, and I sigh in relief. Why do I feel like I just dodged a bullet?

“You might be right? So, tell me, what are you doing here? Some shopping?” his tone is back to neutral.

“No, actually, I am waiting for my friend to finish. She owns the gallery, and we are planning to go dancing tonight.”

The smile that adorns his face does nothing to soften the hard edges of the distinctive scar over his left eyebrow. “That sounds like fun. Did you have a place in mind?”

I fold my arms over my chest, shielding myself from the suspicions bubbling to the surface. I am not sure that I should give out information like this to a perfect stranger.

He lifts his hands, clearly seeing my hesitation. “Oh, I don’t mean any offense. I see that could be perceived as a personal question. I am asking because I own a nightclub here in the city and would love to host you. It is called Club Riot.”

“We love Club Riot. They have the best DJs. Hi, I am Rose. How may I color your life?” Rose interrupts.

Relieved to not be alone with this man anymore, I subtly step closer to Rose. I hook my arm through hers to show a united front.

“This young lady here was just telling me that you were planning a girls’ night out. Might I interest you in coming to my club tonight? I would gladly give you access to the VIP area. It is always in my best interest to have beautiful women like yourself frequent my establishment.”

I still have a hint of hesitation, but Rose is all in.

“That would be wonderful. We truly love the vibe in your club, and it’s been so long since we’ve had the chance to go out dancing. This one got hooked on a man, and you know how that goes.”

His glare focuses on me, and chills run down my spine. “Yes, I certainly do.”

He breaks the spell by pointing at the piece we were discussing, “I will take this one. And then I can give you my number and get your names to put on the list at the door. Otherwise, you might have some trouble getting in.”

Rose is excited, but turns ecstatic when she sees the price tag on the painting. Almost panting for the sale, her skills take over: "Oh, this is an extraordinary piece. It is also quite special to the artist. He will be overjoyed that it has found a home.”

Rose takes the painting down, and the Russian takes it from her hands and gestures for her to lead the way. I stay behind and pretend to occupy myself with the other art pieces.

He turns around when he notices I am not following. “It was wonderful to meet you, Naz. It is very important to put a face to a name, don’t you think?”

When he walks away, I bite my bottom lip, trying to establish exactly what freaked me out about this guy. He seemed pleasant enough.

Then it dawns on me.

He called me by my name.

I could have texted Chaos, but I wanted to tell him in person that I would be going out with my friend tonight.

I know I don’t owe him an explanation, but our relationship has somehow unconsciously changed, and it feels wrong to just text him.

But this will also give me the opportunity to talk to him about the strange coincidence of earlier.

I texted Rose about it earlier after I left the gallery. She was too busy with clients to chat, and she still hasn’t gotten back to me. Although I don’t want to feel this paranoid again, I have learned to trust my gut. And it is saying that this guy is bad news.

I can’t believe that Rose was so eager to go to his club.

Hopefully, he won’t be there, and it was all an arrogant ploy to get more people to come to his club.

I am a little early, with my hastened pace back, and the constant scouring of my surroundings.

I decided to say hello to Kyle. I haven’t seen him since he delivered the food, so I haven’t had the opportunity to thank him. Chaos completely shitted over our good intentions, and I was wondering if he got into any trouble because of me.

Herb, the doorman, points me in the right direction of Kyle’s office, and I hurry down the corridor.

Conveniently, his door is partly open, and he sees me before I have to knock .

“Naz, what a pleasure it is to see you again. How have you been?”

“You know me, kicking ass and taking names. How are you?”

He gets up and meets me at the door to give me a hug. When he sees the trepidation on my face, he shoves my shoulder, “Come on. We are friends now, right? That is what friends do. Now tell me how much trouble you got into.”

I laugh, “I am here to ask you the same thing. I wondered if you lost your job or something.”

He chuckles while holding my arm and escorting me back down the corridor. “Not yet, but would you believe I was demoted to janitor. Let me tell you, this building has a lot of toilets to scrub.”

We laugh together but don’t realize in time that we have come face to face with the man himself in the foyer. His penetrating stare burns on Kyle’s hand on my arm, and Kyle quickly drops it.

Trying to save the moment, I step into Chaos and kiss him on the cheek. “Hi, welcome home. I was waiting for you.”

“And you found other distractions while you waited? Or did they come in search of you?” His snide comment ruins the vibe.

Kyle coughs, pulling at his collar, which shows starkly against the redness of his skin .

“If that is all, Miss Adams? I will talk to you again next time you come to visit.”

Chaos chimes in before I can answer, “Or not.”

He practically drags me to the elevator and pushes the button to the top floor.

He steps in and turns around, maneuvering me like a ragdoll. I am still staring helplessly at the gaping faces of Herb and Kyle when Chaos grabs my face and kisses me deeply.

We kiss all the way to the top floor, and when the elevator stops, I am a puddle on the floor.

His only words before he exits are, “That is how you greet your man.”

He leaves me behind, and I try my best to catch up with his long strides. The door almost shuts in my face, and I push it open with more haste than needed.

Chaos heads to the kitchen, removing his jacket along the way, but drops it on the floor. He yanks open the fridge door and starts gulping on a water bottle while glaring at me as I pick up the jacket and deposit it on the dining room table.

“What has gotten into you? You were extremely rude to Kyle downstairs. I was just making small talk.” My hands come to rest on the kitchen counter next to the handbag I threw down. Ready to diffuse another one of his tantrums.

“Maybe I wouldn’t need to act like a jerk if my woman stopped flirting with the hired help.”

This again.

“You are unbelievable. I was just making conversation. Besides, wasn’t it you who said that this is purely a business transaction and that you can talk to whomever you please? Surely, it must go both ways.”

“That was before. I will not tolerate that little shit stain to get in my way. Period. Now, I won’t talk about this again.”

He pours the rest of the water down the drain and tosses the bottle in the sink. Without warning, he walks around the counter and toward his bedroom. I quickly follow him and lean against the door frame when I confront him.

“We are not done talking about this, Chaos. I am not leaving until you have calmed down and told me exactly what is bothering you.

He gets in my face, and his menacing stance portrays how close he is to the edge.

“You are mine. And you will act accordingly. Now, get undressed. I want to fuck.”

“Excuse me?” My voice is way too high, and I sound like a mouse squeaking.

“You heard me.” He is removing his clothes piece by piece and walking towards the bed.

Now I am spitting fire.

“Regardless of what you might think, Griffin, I am not your whore.”

He halts and turns around slowly. “I apologized for saying that.”

“Yes, yes, you did apologize, and then you treated me like one for talking to another man. I don’t know what has gotten into you today, but behavior like this will not be tolerated.”

“And what are you going to do? Dicked to death. I kind of like the sound of that.”

It is my turn to get in his face. I march closer until I can hit him with my index finger in the chest. My pointed fingernail cuts into the skin on his hard chest, but I don’t care. This ends now.

“How about I never ride your dick again? I should have known you would behave like a spoiled brat when you don’t control everything.

And if you think this is a turn-on, you are sorely mistaken.

I don’t play with little boys. If you are looking for a mommy to teach you some manners, you have come to the wrong place.

” I turn to leave, but he grabs my arms, and his grip is punishing.

“I had a mother, and she taught me that people are cruel and not deserving of love and respect. The love she gave my father was trampled on by the fucking useless piece of shit he was. I will be damned if I don’t demand respect from the woman who wants to see me beg on my fucking knees. ”

Something breaks inside me: "So you believe you deserve respect but not love?”

He says nothing, only stares.

I rip my arm from his grasp and rub the red marks behind. “The thing is, Griffin, respect is earned, not demanded. Enjoy your night.”

I hurry out of the room before my courage fades. That poor little boy who was given such an abysmal example of love is just as broken as I am. It doesn’t matter who broke us, the main point is that I underestimated exactly how deep his insecurity runs.

Just like my own pain, I can see his turmoil tearing him apart, and no matter how much I want to soothe him into believing that he is entitled to love, am I the right person for the job?

Sure, I know what to do, but would it be fair to teach him how to love if I knew there was a possibility that I would need to pack up and leave at any time? Leaving behind another empty husk of a man, abandoned by another person who was supposed to show him love.

And what if I lose myself in the process ?

Can I step away to save myself and him when the time comes? Who is to say?

All I know is that tonight, I am going out with my girls and forgetting about the grumpy brat at home who is wallowing in self-pity.

That was the plan until we arrived at the club.