Sloane
The car ride was too quiet.
I crossed my legs in the seat, only to uncross them two seconds later, the ache between my thighs pulsing harder every time I remembered his voice. My palms were damp, my mouth dry. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since I told him I’d gone to the gym.
God, I couldn’t stop thinking about his belt.
The image burned hot in the back of my mind, him calmly unbuckling his belt, letting the leather slip through the loops like a warning. The way he’d fold it in his hand. He’d make me wait, make me stand there shaking until I couldn’t take the silence anymore. He’d bend me over the bed, fingers curled in my hair, and whisper that I was going to be one sorry girl by the time he was through with me.
And I’d cry.
He was definitely going to make me cry.
I pressed my thighs together again, but it didn’t help. If anything, the friction made it worse. I shifted in my seat for the third time, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel like I was going to burst just from thinking about it. My skin was too warm, my pulse too loud, my breath too shallow.
He glanced over and caught me squirming.
“Nervous?” he asked, voice casual, but I knew better.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
His reply was immediate.
“Good.”
That single word wrapped around me like a noose. His word was final, but wasn’t cruel.
It was inevitable.
I turned to look out the window, hoping the city lights would pull me back into something resembling focus, but all I could see in my head was the way the first strike would land. I’d try not to cry, but he would make me anyway.
I was wet. Mortifyingly wet.
The car slowed as we turned onto a street I recognized. The warehouse came into view. Same steel door, same flickering security light. He parked in front of the private entrance and killed the engine.
Neither of us moved at first. He just looked at me and I tried not to look back because if I did, I was afraid I’d beg him to punish me before we walked in.
I knew he’d say no. He’d make me wait because he knew that waiting was half the punishment.
“Ready?” he asked.
I swallowed. My throat was tight.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said softly. “I’m ready.”
The gym was mostly dark when we stepped inside.
No crowd. No fighters. Just the droning buzz of overhead fluorescents and the sound of one man alone in the far corner, wrapping his fists securely, the movements methodical and practiced. The scent of sweat still lingered in the air, clinging to the mats and the walls like memory.
Mikhail was training all by himself.
He was bare-chested, black shorts low on his hips, muscles slick under the dim lights. The kind of body carved by years of work, not vanity. A fighter’s body, confident and deadly. Focused. He didn’t look over at first, but he must have heard us and stopped. He glanced toward the door, spotting Nikolai first, then me.
His posture shifted immediately, not nervous, just alert, like something had just clicked into place. Mikhail dropped the wrap, let it dangle from one hand, and walked toward us without a word. His gaze flicked to me once, then back to Nikolai.
“Boss,” he said, bowing his head respectfully.
Nikolai didn’t smile and he didn’t return the greeting.
“We need to talk.” Nikolai’s growl sent goosebumps up my spine.
Mikhail’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he glanced around, checking the room, the exits, the shadows. His jaw twitched.
“Locker room’s empty. Everyone cleared out an hour ago.”
“Good,” Nikolai said.
Mikhail looked at me again. “She told you?”
“She said you’re holding something back,” Nikolai said evenly. “Something about Stillwell.”
Mikhail nodded once. “Yeah.”
Another pause. He reached for a towel, wiped his face, then tossed it on a bench nearby and turned toward us fully.
“I didn’t want to say it with just her here,” he said, looking at me now. “Not because I didn’t trust you, but because I knew if you went after this alone, you’d get yourself killed. I’m not gonna be the guy who hands a lit match to the girl standing in gasoline.”
Nikolai’s voice was flat. “Then talk.”
Mikhail looked down for a second, dragged a hand through his hair, then looked back up.
“Listen. There’s a whisper network out there,” he said slowly. “Not just among fighters, I mean street-level guys: drivers, enforcers. The kind of people who move things that aren’t supposed to exist.”
I felt my breathing slow.
He continued. “There’re brothels out there in the city. Secret ones. No names. Nothing on the books. They move locations. Stay mobile. Stay hidden.”
“And?” Nikolai pressed.
Mikhail looked at me, then back at him.
“There’s a rumor that Stillwell uses them, has for years. That he’s not just a client—he’s a favorite.”
My stomach turned.
Mikhail’s voice was quieter now. “The kind of girls he prefers… they’re not women.”
The silence stretched too long.
I cringed. “You mean—”
“He likes young girls. Underage,” Mikhail said. “Teenagers. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sometimes younger. They’re brought in from overseas. Eastern Europe. Southeast Asia. Sometimes local girls who disappear off the grid. No one talks about it because no one can prove it, but the rumors are there. Too many people are paid too well to keep it buried.”
My head felt light.
Nikolai’s hand reached out, bracing on the edge of the ring, knuckles white.
“And you know this how?” he asked.
Mikhail took a slow breath. “Because five years ago, I drove for a man who handled ‘delivery’ for a client. One pickup. One drop-off. I didn’t ask any questions, but I heard his name whispered when the girl got out of the car.”
A chill ran through me so fast I thought I might be sick.
“I didn’t go back,” Mikhail added. “I quit the job. Walked away from that entire chain. But the name stuck with me. And when I saw the campaign posters start going up last year…”
He shrugged, his expression bitter as he looked between us.
Nikolai’s voice was quiet. “And you didn’t say anything.”
“No one could prove it,” Mikhail said. “And I wasn’t about to come at a man like that with nothing but a rumor.” He looked between us. “But I’ve heard his men asking around about Sloane. You can use this.”
Nikolai looked at me. His eyes were inscrutable, but I could feel the fury radiating off him like a heatwave.
“We need names,” he said to Mikhail. “Places. Anything we can get our hands on. We have to end this. Quietly if we can, loudly if we have to.”
Mikhail nodded. “I’ll get what I can, but if you go for him, be ready. He’s dirtier than we ever knew, and he’ll kill to protect his name.”
“We need proof though,” I said, stepping closer to Nikolai. “You can’t go public with nothing more than a rumor. Not even a credible one.”
Nikolai didn’t look at me right away. His eyes were still locked on Mikhail, dissecting him in silence, scanning for weakness in the way only men like Nikolai could. Finally, he nodded—once—and turned his attention to me.
“We’ll build a case,” he said. “Find the supply chain, the drivers, the money trail.”
I shook my head. “That won’t be enough. Not with someone like Stillwell. You show up with a few witnesses and an angry Russian, he spins it as a smear campaign. Give him twenty-four hours and he’ll burn the evidence, silence the victims, and leak a story that I’m a delusional, desperate daughter of a fading politician.”
Nikolai’s brow lifted—just slightly—but I could see it in his eyes: he was listening pretty closely. Proudly even.
“So what do you suggest?”
“A sting,” I said. “We make him think he’s getting another delivery. We find out how he sets meetings, who arranges the logistics. We bait him. Then we catch him with his hands where they definitely shouldn’t be.”
Mikhail crossed his arms. “You planning to bait him yourself?”
“No,” Nikolai snapped instantly. “She’s not.”
I didn’t argue.
Yet.
Instead, I pivoted. “We don’t need to start from scratch. There’s already someone working the other side of this. Someone with more reach than any of us in the political space.”
Nikolai stilled.
“My father,” I said with a curt nod.
Mikhail nodded slowly. “If you can bring him in, I can track the drivers, some of the routes, get some phone numbers. I know which clubs the guys frequent, which networks they pull from. But you’ll need a burner with heavy encryption. If this goes loud, it can’t come back to you.”
I turned to Nikolai. “You’ve got the tech guys, the muscle, and the money. I’ve got connections myself, press relationships. And the name.”
His mouth twitched. “And the recklessness.”
“Which,” I said, stepping closer now, right into his space, “I think is the thing you like about me most.”
He grinned wide.
“That’s only one of the things I love about you.”
My heart exploded at least three times its size in that single moment.
