After fussing with the radio, she sits on her hands beside me, stealing sidelong glances.
“What are you thinking?” I demand. That’s one of the insane benefits of being a dom. I can make her talk but don’t have to offer a thing myself. It’s cruel and wrong, I know, but suits me to a fucking tee.
Her gaze zips back to the windshield. “Nothing. Just checking.”
I don’t know if I let the smile show, but it’s definitely there, in my chest. My crazy little slave is always checking in with me—making sure she’s pleased me. “We’re good,” I tell her, in case she’s still worrying about our fight back in the hotel room.
I know she wants more from me. She expects me to open up and share something. Maybe not the way she bares her soul to me, but crumbs, at least. It’s just not my way. Never has been.
But as I follow her directions out to the highway, I sense her nervous energy growing more frenetic. She’s a tempest in a teapot, this one. A mercurial ball of energy, fascinating to watch, easy to direct. But also shockingly combustible when I fuck up and miss giving her what she needs.
“Where are we going?”
She shoots another glance at me, like she’s trying to figure out if she got it right. “Venice Beach. Is that okay? I don’t know if you’re a beach person—”
“It’s good,” I cut her off. “I want to see what you like here.”
“I’m not a beach person, I mean, I don’t go swim or lie out in the sun, but I like to walk down the pier. It’s where I go to think.”
My phone rings as I’m driving, and I pull it out of my pocket. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this,” I tell Kayla and put it on speaker since her car doesn’t have a hand-free option.
My mom’s lonely voice fills the car. “Pavel?”
“Da, Mama,” I answer her in Russian. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I just… hadn’t heard from you for a while.”
Guilt rips through my chest—not just for not calling more, but for not being there. Especially after what I did.
“Sorry, Mama. I’m in Los Angeles. It’s a city in California—with a beach,” I add because my mom knows nothing about America.
“Oh?” She sounds so lost, but it’s nothing new. She’s been lost my entire life. Trauma and abuse have made her vacant and withdrawn. Barely functioning in reality. And she was my good parent. It’s no fucking wonder I’m an emotionless mudak.
“I—” I look over at Kayla, who’s listening raptly, despite the fact that she doesn’t speak Russian. “I’m with a woman.” I don’t know why I’m telling my mom that. I’m making this thing with Kayla way more important than it should be.
“Oh.” My mom’s surprised syllable has a hopeful tint to it. “That’s nice. I’m sure you’re very good to her.”
My skin instantly crawls, heart dives into my stomach. A wave of oily sickness washes over me. Images of my mother cowering against a wall, my hands covered in blood, flash in front of my eyes. Me trying to protect her as just a young boy. She thinks I’m a hero.
Am I good to Kayla? Pretty fucking far from it.
I’m only a shade different from my father. Or maybe I’m not different at all, it’s just Kayla who’s different. A woman who likes to be hurt. Who gets excited by the pain I deliver, who likes to be kept on her knees, servile and sweet.
I change lanes on the highway, driving too fast. “I should go, Mama, I’m driving. I’ll call you when I get back to Chicago, all right?”
“Yes, of course, Pavel. Be safe.”
The sludge in my stomach twists. “Same. Bye.” I end the call and grip the steering wheel too hard.
“Was that your mom?” Kayla asks.
“Da.” I answer in Russian because I was just speaking it, then I remember to switch. “Yes.”
“Is she all right?” Somehow Kayla got the essence of my mother, despite the language barrier.
“No. My mother is…” I trail off, not really wanting to have this conversation, but Kayla waits, those attentive eyes trained on the side of my face. “She’s alone. I pay her bills. She’s depressed, I guess. I had to leave her to come here, but I’m planning to go back.”
There. I said it. Did I say it to drive a wedge between us? To inflict more cruelty, as is my way? Or am I just being honest for once? I sure as fuck don’t know.
Kayla goes still. “When?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. It depends on a lot of things.”
Kayla is not one of those things. Or she shouldn’t be. Why does it suddenly feel like she is?
“What things?” she presses, her voice so quiet I barely hear it over the radio.
“My pakhan and the state of a murder case back in Moscow. And money, I guess. I’ve been saving to get myself set up there when I go back.”
I don’t say she’s part of the decision because she’s not, yet I sense her drawing back and register her hurt.
“I should have told you that sooner, I guess. I’m sorry.” I’ve owed her that apology for hours now—it feels like a relief to get it out.
“Well, how soon?” I hear a tinge of panic in her voice. “When do you think you’ll move?”
I shake my head. “Could be months; could be years. I’ve already been here for three.”
“Three years?”
“Da.”
“Because of the murder case?” she whispers.
A tight band cinches around my throat to choke me. “Don’t ask about that, Kayla,” I manage to say around it. My throat is scratchy and raw.
She looks away from me, probably fighting back tears. Blyad’.
I approach Venice Beach and luck into a parking spot near the pier. I get out and walk around to Kayla’s side to close her door after she climbs out. “Hey.” I press her ass up against the car door, pinning her with my body. “I’m not going to offer you an out again because you told me not to, but I want you to know…I will always respect your wishes.” In this one way, I can resist my genetic coding. I won’t ever keep a woman prisoner until death do us part.
I see a mixture of fear and revulsion on her face, but it’s warring with that misplaced faith she has in me, and I know the moment the faith wins out. She sort of firms up, the way she did last night after the convenience store. Like she’s somehow reconciled herself to what I am and decided she still has backbone enough to stick around.
Crazy, beautiful flower.
“I know.” She lifts her face like she wants to be kissed.
I mean to brush a kiss over her lips, but instead I find myself devouring her mouth with the most ruthless kiss ever taken. My cock thickens against her belly, and the desire to do all manner of terrible things to her over and over again for the rest of our lives makes me want to carry her away to some dark dungeon where I can chain her to my bed and feast on her delicate body.
I force myself back because it’s broad daylight, and there are people everywhere. Not that Kayla seems to mind. It seems she’d follow my lead regardless of how insane I am. And that’s one of the best reasons not to leave the status of this relationship up to her. For me to man up and end it before I hurt her.