“So, you just don’t want to follow my orders. Why?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain it to her. To lay out all the ways she belongs to me and all the ways I’m honored to protect her body and mind. But no, she doesn’t want that. She made it clear I mean nothing more to her than a drugstore dildo.
The server brings her bill, she pays it quickly, and we leave the restaurant. It hits me when we climb into her SUV.
“You were jealous.”
She scoffs, but it’s not sincere. Not for a second. “What do I have to be jealous about? Margery has a husband she adores. Anything she does outside of her marriage is at her discretion, but she never gets attached.”
I want to disillusion her. Explain how her friend didn’t get attached to a sixteen-year-old sex slave she kept under lock and key for weeks. She has no idea who her enemies are because she doesn’t even know her friends.
Which, considering how things went with us, I can’t say I am surprised.
I keep quiet about Margery’s secrets for now. Especially about the letter M carved into the back of my thigh. It’s nothing more than a faint-white scarred outline now, but then, it was one scar too many. One more thing meant to break my will and my spirit.
We get back to Selena’s house, and she tosses her keys onto her countertop. “There. We had a successful outing where no one tried to kill me, and neither of us killed each other.” There’s an edge to her tone, though, which says she’s still considering the option.
I meet her eyes, and I can’t look away. Not from her anger, from her pain, or her pleasure. She shows so much in her eyes, and she doesn’t even realize it. Even under the masks, the acts, all of it, I can always read her eyes. I was too wrapped up in my pleasure the other night to read what she was about to do to me. And that is partially on me for not expecting to be blindsided.
The anger rears up anew, and I have to turn away from her to contain it.
“What?” she asks. “What was that look? This is your fault too. You’re the one who demanded sexual favors for protection.”
I head up to the guest room and close the door quietly. This is my fault.
Maybe when Kai finds out and kills me for touching her, I’ll be free of it all.
It’s not right now that hurts. It’s the memories. Every single one a tiny needle digging into my skin, ready to be tugged, rearranged, and sunk deeper at any moment.
24
SELENA
Michail’s presence has gone from distracting to all-consuming. It’s late in the day, and I step out on my front stairs to watch the last of the sunset over the sliver of water view I have from here. It’s lovely to watch, each individual ray adding to the symphony of color and light to create something beautiful and a little bit awe-inspiring.
I feel him before I see him, even before the air around me stirs when he throws himself onto the stone steps beside me. He doesn’t offer a greeting, so I don’t speak either.
But his entirely consuming presence makes it hard to stay alert to dangers—things like armed men firing weapons from their vehicles. I hear the first bullet pinging off the brick before I’m moving, never having seen the small red SUV which slows to a crawl as it passes my house.
Michail is faster than me. He curls around my front, throwing himself between me and the bullets, which is not better than getting shot myself. Why would he do that? Pulling me out of harm’s way is one thing. Throwing himself in front of something that can easily kill him is another.
More gunfire causes him to grab my bicep, haul me to my feet, and race inside the house with me stumbling along beside him. With the door between us and the guns, I feel better. Still, we both hit the floor, pressing our bellies to the hardwood as we wait for the noise to end and the cars to finish their run.
Any non-society members on this street will have also called the police when the gunfire erupted, helping curtail the number of bullets we might be trying to dodge right now.
A soft knock draws both our attention. I shake my head, content to remain belly down in my foyer until I know it’s safe.
Michail doesn’t handle wait-and-see very well. He presses his long body off the floor in a feat of strength, then stands and opens the door, keeping himself behind the barrier of it.
It’s not armed assailants coming to finish the job. It’s Emmanuelle.
I shove off the floor this time too and straighten my dress. He enters, a soft smile on his lips, his hair coiffed, wearing a gold smoking jacket and shiny black shoes.