Make Me Beg, Daddy

Chapter 17

Matter of fact, I don’t want to be inside anything with a roof on it. I want open sky above me.

I’m going to walk. Where to? No idea. I’m just going to keep walking until there’s water in front of me and no more road, and then I’ll figure out the rest.

I make it four steps before someone stops me.

“You gave them hell.”

I stop.

He’s between two cars with his hands in his coat pockets, watching me come down the steps.

The Green-Eyed Pantry Ghost.

Except now that there’s a porch light and a streetlight and no shelving between us, I can get my first real look at him.

He’s enormous. That part I knew from the dark. What I didn’t know is the rest of it. How well he’s dressed, in a black overcoat, black shirt unbuttoned to the chest, black and silver rings on his fingers and a black chain around his throat. His jaw is savagely sharp, covered with dark stubble, and the black hair raked off his forehead is messily perfect, like he did it with one hand and never bothered checking the result because he already knew he looked f*****g good.

But the eyes are what bring it all together.

They’re greener than green, brighter than bright. Not an ounce of dilution or shadow in them.

And they’re pointed straight at me.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the end of my life as I know it,” I answer hoarsely. “So happy to please.”

His lips quirk.

“Which part of this is funny to you?” I say, suddenly mad.

“Oh,” he sighs, “it’s so hard to choose just one.”

I scowl. “You must not have heard the ‘end of my life’ part.”

“Believe me, I heard it. I listened to every word that passed your sweet lips, sladkaya.”

My eyes roll upward of their own accord. “There you go again with the smooth lines. I’m really not in the mood.”

Inside the house, something made of glass hits the floor and a man starts yelling.

The Pantry Ghost tips his head toward the sound. “Sounded expensive.”

“I can only hope. Anyhow. Nice to meet you, but I’ve got places to be.”

I start to go past him. This time, unlike in the pantry, he’s the one who grabs my wrist.

And unlike Vivian, when I glare at him, he shows no interest in letting go.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, gazing down at me with infinite patience in his eyes.

I shrug. “I don’t know. ‘Away from here’ is the only requirement. I had a vague plan of walking to the water. Mind letting go of me so I can proceed?”

He declines to do so. His long fingers, covered in rings and tattoos, encircle my wrist easily. That single touch is enough to pin me in place.

“It’s twenty-six degrees.”

“Is it?” I say, glancing around at the snow piled up on the sidewalks. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“You have no gloves, no coat, no hat, no scarf.”

“You know,” I say, “for a man who broke into a house tonight, you have a real Mom energy about you.”

“I walked in the front door.”

“So you keep saying. I believe you less and less every time.”

The corner of his mouth goes. It’s not a fully baked smile. More like the raw dough of one.

I squint at him. I fully believe that he hasn’t lied to me tonight. But there’s something I don’t trust about him at all.

Maybe it’s just that he’s too good-looking, too obviously rich. People this easy on the eyes can’t be trusted—just look at Connor or Vivian, for example.

Pretty people are liars. Plain and simple.

“Are you a police officer?” I ask suddenly, not even sure why I care.

“No.”

“A reporter?”

“No.”

“Then you’re the third-worst thing at this party, and the other two are inside.”

“I assure you I’m worse than both,” he promises solemnly.

I shiver. “Look, if you’re out here waiting on my sister, she’s inside throwing a fit. You’ll spot her without any help from me. Men always do.”

His eyes stay locked on me, but a hot flash of rage surges through them. “I don’t want her, and I don’t want anything she’s got.”

I shiver again, this time for a different reason. It’s like he grew an extra six inches in every direction when he spoke like that, in that harsh, feral growl. Taller and broader and closer to me.

Or maybe it’s that the world seemed to shrink around him while he stayed as big as ever.

I dunno. Weird. I might be having an episode.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” I mumble through cold lips.

He arches a brow. “Are you sure you want it?”

“Should I not?” I question. “Is it a bad name? Are you, like, an Igor Igorovich or a d**k Johnson or something?”

He chuckles. “My name is Kane Makov.”

“Ah. You say that very impressively. Should I recognize it?”

He bobs a shoulder. “Some people do.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but it means nothing to me.”

Finally, I get a flash of dazzling white teeth as he grins. “It will. Very soon.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I am the pakhan of the Makov Bratva,” he says slowly, “and I am the man to whom your husband owes four million dollars.”

I’m not one to brag under normal circumstances, but I do feel like I’m generally a pretty smart person. I learn fast. I listen well.

But at the moment, considering that these are extremely abnormal circumstances, my brain is opting to process information at the speed of a dial-up modem with a rat chewing on the cables.

Let’s take it one chunk at a time.

Pakhan. I know maybe nine Russian words and six of them are pastries. But I’ve seen enough television to understand that it means he’s the head honcho.

I also understand that a man usually doesn’t announce himself as the head of a Bratva while clutching my wrist in his fist unless he means for me to be scared.

On to the next part: four million dollars.

When I pictured V Haven Holdings, LLC, I was imagining a beige office park in Jersey with a fern in the lobby.

Not…

Him.

A green-eyed Adonis with a whip-smart tongue and a cruel twist in his smirk.

“Are you here for him?” I whisper as the terror slithers up my throat.

He nods. “I was.”

“‘Was’? But… what changed?”

“You did,” he answers.

I shake my head to make sure I heard him right. “I don’t understand.”

“I came here tonight to ruin him,” Kane murmurs. “But you stepped in and did a much better job.”

There’s a whine and then the motor pumping the inflatable snowman next door suddenly dies. Without it, the night is even quieter than it was.

“So what happens now?” I squeak out. “You go in and get him?”

Kane shakes his head. “I’m not going in.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing left of him in there.” He nods at the window. “You finished it. The man’s soul is gone. Money’s a different conversation, and it’ll happen when I choose.”

“Great.” My teeth are starting to chatter. “Then we’re done, and I’m going to go walk into the ocean. Metaphorically. Well, mostly metaphorically.”

I make it one step past him.

“Delilah.”

I stop, because he’s never said my name before, and because of what his voice does with it. To it. How it transforms my name from Do-It-All Dee into something shimmering and enchanting.

“I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m telling you,” he says. “Tonight, in front of his family, Connor Boyd stopped being any use to me at all.”

“Okay,” I say in confusion. “Uh, great. I mean, good for him. Or whatever. I don’t care.”

“But your name is on the loan.”

The wind goes right out of me.

“I… I… I…”

He takes one step in. Whiskey rushes into my nostrils, and snowmelt, and cologne, and musk, and fear, and darkness.

Suddenly, his smile doesn’t look so nice and pretty.

Not so nice at all.

“Your husband owed me a debt, sladkaya. I think I’ll take you as repayment instead.”

There’s probably a correct thing to say when a man informs you that you are collateral.

Huh is probably not it.

But huh is all I got.

So…

“Huh?”

Kane just eyes me.

“Sorry, it’s been kind of a traumatically full evening. I’m going to need a minute to clear some shelf space, like, mentally speaking.”

In response, he lets go of my wrist. Given what he just said—I’m taking you as repayment instead—I was braced for the hand to tighten, and then pick me off my feet and hurl me into the back of an unmarked van.

But instead, it just opens. Set free, my arm drops back down to my side like it was never anybody’s business but mine.

I rub the spot anyway. It almost feels like a burn. The kind you get from touching ice for too long.

“You know,” I say as I look at him, “I’m starting to think you were serious just now.”

He nods. “Deadly.”

“Ha. I assume that was a pun.”

He doesn’t laugh, so I guess not. But information is at a premium right now, so I plow ahead into the Q&A part of this bizarre encounter.

“Alright, so let me make sure I’ve got this all straight,” I say. “Connor borrowed four million dollars. He put my building up for it. He’s defaulting on the loan. And your solution is… to take me?”