Chapter 6

ESME

Lorenzo drags me toward the car, opens the door, and guides me inside without a word, sparing me no glances.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask.

"Somewhere we can finally be alone." His expression hardens as he pulls away from the curb. "Since you were so quick to threaten me, I figured I might as well live up to the reputation."

"What? I didn't—"

The look he gives me sends a chill down my spine. Shit. Is Julian really a spy? I feel stupid. I went too far. But I had every right to suspect him. Right? Lorenzo always finds ways to sabotage my fake relationships. I naturally thought he had something to do with Julian's sudden departure.

I sigh, looking out the window. "I'm... sorry—"

"Too late." Lorenzo’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight his knuckles are white. He stares straight ahead, his jaw set like granite.

"I thought you were sabotaging me again," I whisper. "You always do. You scare them off, you ruin the dates... I thought Julian was just another one of your games."

"I don't play games with rats, Esme."

He kills the engine. The silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. He gets out, rounds the car, and jerks my door open. He doesn't say a word as he hauls me out.

"At least let me apologize."

He doesn't answer, stepping into my space and towering over me. He reaches out, and for a second, I flinch. But he just tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch surprisingly steady. He’s never hit me, and he isn't going to start now. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to break me.

I sigh audibly. "Accept the apology, Lorenzo. Please."

"It doesn't work that way. You'll have to be punished."

He leads me inside a club I recognize instantly. To the outside world, this is a lounge—a high-end spot for people with too much money. But for us, it’s a front. Our family’s main hangout. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my ears. The air inside is thick, bathed in a deep red light that reminds me of those Bloody Mary horror flicks. Yikes.

Caleb, one of the underlings who handles internal security, catches Lorenzo’s eye and smiles, tossing a key toward him. "Have fun, Boss," he winks, his voice trailing off into a chuckle as he turns back to the bar.

Lorenzo catches the key mid-air. His grip remains locked on my arm as he drags me toward the private elevator at the back.

"Lorenzo, wait," I whisper, leaning into him as the red lights blur around us. "If this is what I think it is, we can... go to... a hotel. Or somewhere Dad won't find out. What if someone tells him we're here?"

Lorenzo stops just as the elevator doors hiss open. He looks at me like I’m a child who just found out Santa isn't real. "Unfortunately, your dad is a dickhead. Not every one of his men is as loyal as he thinks they are," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "No one tells him anything I don’t want them to."

Figures.

Lorenzo clearly has the bigger wallet. Honestly, my dad's not my main concern right now—it's what Lorenzo is about to do to me.

He shoves me into the elevator. And... down we go.

The doors open to a long hallway, and he marches me toward a door at the end. We’re inside before I can even catch my breath. The moment we step in, the view hits me. 

Great. It’s a literal dungeon, but with a five-star hotel budget.

There’s a massive bed bolted to the floor, enough leather to start a boutique, and an assortment of silk and metal hanging from the walls like twisted home decor. It’s the kind of room that says, "You're not leaving in one piece."

There are so many instruments designed just to break you. My stomach does a backflip. I’m trying to keep my face blank, but the sight of the restraints laid out on the mattress makes my knees feel like jelly.

He doesn't waste time. He turns me around and shoves me onto the bed. The impact rattles my teeth. Before I can even try to scramble back, he’s hovering above me, straddling my hips. His face is inches from mine, his breath warm and smelling of tobacco. 

Being under him like this makes the room feel microscopic; the heat of his body seeps through his clothes until my skin feels like it’s burning.

"Lorenzo..." I stop myself, terrified of the way he's staring at me.

He looks like he wants to swallow me whole, but in a way that’s completely unpredictable. It’s the kind of look that makes you guess the method—will he be rough, will he be quiet, or will he just let me sit here and lose my mind? The part of me that’s dangerously wired is waiting for whatever comes next.

He doesn't look angry anymore, which is worse. He reaches out and tucks another strand of hair behind my ear. "Stay put."

Above my head, he grabs the restraints attached to the headboard. I watch, breathless, as he takes my wrists. He’s so efficient and calm, pinning them to the wood like he’s gift-wrapping a delicate package he’s finally decided to open. The silk is soft, but the way he knots it is firm and unforgiving. My arms are stretched high, chest arching as he secures the second tie. I’m trapped, fully exposed under the red glare of the room.

Or so I thought. Then he grabs the blindfold.

"Wait, do I have to go blind for this session?" My voice jumps an octave.

He gives me a dry look. "Are you afraid? I thought you were the one brave enough to threaten me to my face."

I roll my eyes. "You're not gonna forget that, are you?"

He ignores the comment and wraps the cloth around my head. Everything goes dark. Every other sense turns hyper-aware of how vulnerable I am. The rustle of his shirt, the faint click of his lighter, the smell of tobacco filling the space around me. He’s just sitting there, watching me while dragging deep, pulling the smoke into his lungs.

Then he starts.

He uses his fingers like a pen, lazily tracing the lines of my thigh, dragging back and forth with an agonizing friction that makes my skin tremble. My muscles tense, my hips locking shut, but he immediately parts them, forcing them wider.

"Don't move."

I squirm. "How is that even possible?"

"Hold your breath and find out."

He continues at the hollow of my throat, dragging a single finger down to my cleavage. He switches to his thumb, tracing circles, another stray finger fondling my bra. I try not to make a sound, but it's impossible with the teasing. My body is screaming to react. All I manage is a whimper, barely audible.

He leans in and exhales on my skin, coating me with a wave of hot smoke. My skin prickles as the smell of tobacco hits me. He doesn't stop there; he moves over the curve of my stomach, his nails trailing just above the hem of my dress. I’m tensing up so hard I feel like I'm going to explode.

Then I feel something different. It isn't his fingers. Something cold and sharp touches the fabric, though it isn't directed at my skin.

The blade slices through my dress. Slow and steady.

He’s precise, tearing through the material and tossing the pieces away like trash. Warm air hits my skin as he rips off the remaining fabric. He’s at my ear now, whispering.

"You can move now. So show me how much you want me."