“Come with us and wait outside the conference room to collect...”
My gaze went to Patrick’s, wondering what he’d left unsaid.
Collect...what?
Me?
I reached for Patrick’s arm. Beneath my grasp his forearm, one that I knew to be both solid and strong, tensed. His icy stare looked at my hand and then to my eyes. Although he was silently telling me to let go, I couldn’t. The turn of events had left me alone in unfamiliar territory. Like a kite that had broken free—or been discarded—after most of its life it had been tethered to a string and controlled by a master manipulator, I was unsure if without Andros I would fly or crash to the ground. I needed the connection to Patrick to keep me from a free fall.
Instead of releasing my hold, I gripped tighter.
With a shake of his head, he led me down the hallway and around a corner to a new door.
“In here,” Patrick said, turning the knob and opening the door to a small conference room.
Letting go of his arm, I stepped in front of him, taking in the room. The table wasn’t large and was surrounded by eight chairs. When the door closed behind me, I turned back.
Patrick handed me another note.
Sighing, I again reached for his next instructions.
Remain silent. Before we speak, you will strip yourself of everything—every piece of clothing, jewelry, and hairpins. Or I will.
When I looked up, his head tilted to one side.
Strip or be stripped, was that really a choice?
Madeline
I crossed my arms over my chest as I contemplated my future.
It didn’t take a genius to understand that these men wanted a guarantee that I couldn’t contact Andros. If they only knew the depth of my hatred for the man, they wouldn’t be concerned. Of course, they never would know if they forbade me to speak.
Instead of verbally responding, my lips came together in a straight line as I studied Patrick’s expression. Within his set jaw and cool gaze, I saw the determination I once loved and admired.
Reaching out, I silently asked for a pen or pencil.
The look staring back at me was all the communication we would have.
Patrick laid the clothes on the table and walked back to the door. With a twist of his wrist, the door locked. Step by step, he came toward me. My mind told me to rebel, to let out my brewing emotions on him. Yet my body wasn’t willing to push him away.
My eyes closed as he reached toward me. I imagined a caress of my face or the cupping of my chin. Instead, I opened my eyes as one by one he plucked hairpins from my hair. Before long, a pile formed in the palm of his large hand. Laying them on the table, he ran his hands through my long locks, his fingers combing and searching.
If this were another place—under different circumstances—the actions may be considered attentive and pleasurable. This wasn’t another place or time; it was a conference room in the office wing of Club Regal and I was being searched.
My necklace was the next to go, followed by the platinum bracelet. My breath caught as Patrick lowered the zipper of my long emerald dress. Cool air met my back as the zipper descended. He brushed the straps from my shoulders, letting the material pool around my high heels. I spun toward him, meeting his stare with mine.
This may be a strip search and in Patrick’s mind I may deserve it, but that didn’t mean I would cower in his presence. This man had seen me naked when I was younger than our daughter. He’d tended my bruises and infirmities as I had his. Life on the street wasn’t kind, yet we’d survived because of one another.
It wasn’t until we were older that we discovered sexual pleasure. We found it in the warmth of togetherness and the way we enjoyed one another’s touch. One would assume that without the oversight of others that we jumped into sex.
We didn’t.
Like other teenagers, we experimented and explored.
Streetwise and sexually ignorant, we were each other’s teacher as well as pupil.
Patrick nodded toward my scant pair of panties.
My thumbs caught in the waistband as I pulled them over my hips and down my thighs, allowing them to fall to my ankles.
Without a word, he nodded his chin toward a chair at the conference table. As I sat, he crouched down and reached for the panties, pulling them over my shoes. Then he moved my feet apart and unbuckled each strap, releasing my high heels and removing them from my feet.
Our eyes met as his hands landed upon my thighs. The width of his body moved closer as at the same time, he applied pressure, pushing my legs farther apart.
Instinctively, I resisted.
His blue eyes snapped to mine.
Silently, they demanded my compliance.
Intellectually, I understood his next move.
A strip search wasn’t complete until every crevice was explored.
Sitting taller, I complied by opening my legs.
This wasn’t meant as a sexual experience, yet as one finger and then two searched, my core clenched. My body couldn’t separate the meaning, instead, responding to his long fingers and knowing of what he was capable. I stifled a moan as his touch disappeared.
Helping me stand, Patrick turned me around, placing my hands on the table and applying pressure to my lower back, moving me to his desired position. This final search was the most demeaning and invasive. Tears threatened to return as he pressed a finger against my tight ring of muscles.
I wouldn’t cry. I’d been through worse.
My eyes closed as Patrick verified that my last possible place to hide something from the Ivanov bratva was indeed clear.
At the loss of his touch, I stood, spinning toward him. Folding my arms, I covered my breasts and stood my ground as he disappeared into the small attached bathroom. The sound of water running filled the office. When he returned, he lifted the panties, dress, and accessories and took them to the door, opening it only wide enough to pass my belongings over the threshold.
“You know what to do.”
I couldn’t see the person to whom Patrick was speaking though I easily assumed it was the man from a few minutes before. Embarrassment flooded my circulation as I imagined facing Patrick’s associates, knowing they knew what had happened in here.
As the door closed, I finally spoke. “I’ve never hated you until now.”
He scoffed. “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”
“Elie Wiesel.”
Patrick made a quick nod.
“Tell me, Patrick. Is that what you now feel about me—indifferent?”
With one quick glance toward the door, he took a step closer and then another. I didn’t back away. There was nowhere to go. Instead, my chin rose and my arms dropped to my sides, all the while keeping his blue stare in view.
When he came to a stop, we were close enough for me to feel the heat of his body as the lingering scent of cologne filled my senses. He reached for my chin.
“Indifferent? No.” He stared down at me. “At this moment, I hate you too. I should fuck that tight ass to punish you for...for all of this.”
I didn’t back away from his grasp of my chin. My eyes stared into his icy blue glare. “Is that who you’ve become, Patrick, a man who uses his cock as punishment?”
A vein throbbed to life on his forehead as the muscles in his neck grew taut. “At this moment, I’d say yes.”