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CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Flynn

I stick around in the studio after rehearsal Thursday, trying out some new riffs on the guitar. What we’re doing with the band doesn’t feel like enough anymore. What I’m doing with my life doesn’t feel like enough, either.

Knowing Nadia’s walking around trying to rebuild her life after having so much taken from her suddenly makes my lackadaisical approach to living feel empty.

I carried the weight of Nadia’s pain all week. It’s not a burden. I know I chose to pick it up. But, fuck, if I could help it! My eyes burned, and I wanted to cry like a fucking baby when she told me.

And then when she asked if we could try again, I was even more conflicted. On one hand, it seemed like even my mom was right. Nadia had way too much going on emotionally to forge any kind of relationship with someone right now, particularly not a sexual one.

But, of course, like the first time she asked, I was also incapable of denying her anything at all.

She wants sex from me? She can have it. As much as she needs for as long as she needs. I will make it my life’s mission to ensure she gets exactly the kind of sex she needs to recover from her trauma.

But I can’t pretend that knowing her story didn’t change me. It did.

“You staying?” Lake asks me when I don’t pack up.

“Yeah. Oh, hang on, Story. I need you to use your keycard in the elevator, so I can pick Nadia up.” I unplug my guitar and shove it in its case.

“You’re picking Nadia up?”

Damn. Ty, Lake, Story, and Oleg all stare at me now, wanting the full scoop.

I shrug, forcing myself to look casual, which is usually my only way of being. “Yeah, she wants to see the burlesque show at Rue’s.”

“She does?” Story’s brow wrinkles and I suddenly realize that she might know Nadia’s story. Damn her for not telling me although I guess it’s not her story to tell. No pun intended.

“Yeah. She might make their costumes. And she wants to style us if we do another video.”

“What?” Lake asks. “What does that mean?”

“She’s a fashion designer. That’s what she did in Russia. She has ideas for the band.” I don’t know why, but it seems desperately important that I help define Nadia as something other than a victim to everyone around her.

“That’s cool,” Ty says.

“Wow, I didn’t know that,” Story says, getting in the elevator with Oleg. I follow them on. Ty and Lake wait for one going down.

When the doors shut, Oleg inserts his key card and presses the button for Nadia’s floor. When the elevator starts, Oleg signs something to me.

I look to Story for interpretation, but she makes an impatient sound. “You won’t learn if you don’t try, Flynn,” she says. Oleg, her giant bratva fiance, had his tongue cut out by his old boss. Story has insisted that we all–Oleg included–learn American Sign Language, so we can communicate with him.

I’m not around him enough to have picked much up yet.

“Okay, try it again,” I say, watching intently.

The elevator stops on Nadia’s floor. Oleg blocks my path and repeats the sign.

The only thing I recognize is the sign for

sorry.

“He says, sorry, but he has to accompany you until he knows you’re authorized to be there since it was his keycard.”

“Huh,” I mutter. The three of us walk down the hall together. “Let me ask you this, Oleg. If Adrian tries to beat my ass for taking Nadia out again, whose side are you on?”

Oleg’s face remains impassive, which is normal for him. I know it drives Story crazy because it’s part of his non-communicative thing. When he catches Story looking at him expectantly, he signs something.

“He says he won’t let Adrian hurt you.”

“Okay, I wasn’t asking for a bodyguard. I was just wondering if I had to worry about two of you now.”

“Oleg wouldn’t hurt you,” Story says immediately.

I’m sure she believes that. I know Oleg would never hurt her, and that sentiment may extend to me as her brother, but I also suspect bratva loyalties run deep.

I knock on Nadia’s door, and Adrian answers it with a glower. “I brought Oleg to kick your ass if you punch me again,” I say.

Adrian’s gaze jerks to Oleg’s.

“Just kidding. He’s here because I’m not allowed to roam free in the Kremlin.”

Adrian lifts his chin at Oleg, which I interpret to mean that he’s taking over the watch now. It’s funny how just because Oleg doesn’t speak, people don’t speak much to him, either. I think it drives Story crazy. That’s why she pushes us all to learn sign language.

“Did you punch Flynn?” Story asks, sounding shocked. She searches my face, her gaze locating the yellowing bruise on my jaw.

“Uh uh,” I cut off her questioning. “I don’t need you to stick up for me.” I lean over and kiss the top of her head because my big sister is much shorter than I am. “You guys can go now–

bye

,” I say pointedly.

Adrian steps into the hallway and shuts the door like I’m not allowed in their apartment.

Aw, fuck. Is he going to try to keep me from seeing her altogether?

“I’m not going to apologize for hitting you,” he growls, which actually relaxes me. It means he at least knows he

should

apologize.

“Nah, you do you, bro. I understand. Nadia told me what happened.”

This changes him. I suddenly see the full weight of the horrors she endured in the lines of his face, the weight on his beefy shoulders. Just like I’d carried the weight of her pain all week–willingly. This guy’s been living with it 24/7 for so much longer than I have. Who can blame him for lashing out and trying to erase any additional stressors that come her way?

“So you see why this can’t happen–especially not with you.” He points back and forth between me and the door.

I take exception to the

especially not with you

part.

“She’s not ready. She doesn’t leave apartment.” Adrian’s accent has grown thick.

“She does. She did.” I spread my hands. “She leaves it with me.”

Adrian opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but I plow on.

“Listen, I know you’re holding her up–you’ve been holding her together ever since you rescued her. But at some point, you have to see that you’re also holding something in place.”

Adrian jerks back like I punched him. “What thing?”

“Who you think she is right now. Nadia wants to change. She can’t do it if you’re keeping the broken version of her in place.”

Adrian’s brows slam down, and his upper lip curls, but just then Nadia throws open the door and demands something in Russian. “Hi.” She turns that moonbeam smile on me, and my insides bunch up in my chest. She looks breathless and happy to see me. I want to kiss her senseless.

“Hi. You look great.” She has on knee-high boots with a pair of black jeans and a sweater that criss-crosses at her throat, leaving both shoulders bare. Her new shag bob with the copper highlights perfectly frames her face. She looks

hot.

Adrian grumbles something in Russian and stalks back inside. I take it as his acceptance of our date.

“I’m sorry about Adrian, he didn’t threaten you again, did he?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s cool.”

“Um.” She rubs her lips together. She’s wearing lip gloss, and I already want to know how it tastes. “I’ll just grab my jacket.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” she echoes, a secret smile on her face as she slips back inside. Then she immediately throws the door open, grabs my hand, and pulls me inside. “You don’t have to wait in the hallway. You’re welcome in our home.”

“Hey, Flynn,” Kat calls out from the kitchen. Her accent is an interesting mix of British-English and Slavic. Like she learned English in the UK not here. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, licking a spoon with peanut butter. She wears her long, dark hair in pigtails and has on white thigh-high socks and a plaid schoolgirl skirt. Adrian hovers near her, indulgent, but protective.

Now that I know their origin story, my interest is piqued.

“Don’t worry about curfew.” She beams a wide, saucy grin. “We trust you completely.”

It’s funny because we all know the opposite is true–at least from Adrian’s point of view–so I chuckle, immediately liking Kat. “Yeah, I really got that,” I say drily.

“I’m ready.” Nadia has put on a bright red woolen jacket, belted at the waist, and she tugs me toward the door.

Nadia calls out something in Russian, and I give Adrian and Kat a wave as we leave. I catch her hand in mine on the way to the elevator. I don’t see any of the nervousness in her that I saw the last time we left the apartment. Her hand isn’t clammy. She’s not relaxed, but her manner is more excited than scared.

As if reading my mind, when we get in the elevator, she says, “I think I’m going to be fine. I feel fine!”

“You’re totally fine.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it, inhaling her butterscotch scent. I don’t know what I’m doing. We’re supposed to be friends. Friends who have sex.

Do friends with benefits hold hands and exchange little gestures of intimacy? I sort of doubt it, but I don’t want to stop. It feels too right to hold Nadia’s hand in mine. To receive the pleasure of her company. To have the honor of my lips on her skin.

“If not, you already know I’m cool chilling in the back of the van for as long as you need.”

She laughs, which was my intention. “I won’t need to.” She seems confident, and I take in the new Nadia. I’m not sure what changed her, but she definitely seems different. Much happier.

There’s a lifeforce fizzing and bubbling in her that I didn’t see so much before.

I take her to the parking garage, and we ride to Rue’s in the band’s van. It belongs to both Story and me because it was a hand-me-down from our dad when we formed the band because it’s big enough to haul sound equipment and instruments. I usually drive it, but I also have a motorcycle, and Story has a small Smart Car.

“What kind of music do you like?” I ask, changing the dial on the radio.

“I like your music,” she says.

“Aw, you

are

a peach, aren’t you?” I keep fiddling with the dial until I hit a pop station where I leave it. “What did you listen to in Russia?”

“Rock.” She looks over at me. “Did you always want to have a band?”

I shrug. “It just seemed like something I would naturally do because of my dad. It was less something I wanted and more just inevitable. Ty and Lake and I all went to high school together and started the band. We thought a female lead singer would be a good draw, so we talked Story into fronting for us.”

“She’s good,” Nadia agrees. “But I would like to see you on lead vocals.”

“Nah.” I immediately dodge that expectation like I dodge relationships. I wouldn’t want to be pinned down or try too hard. That’s been my life’s theme.

But Nadia presses me. “Why not?”

“I’m not lead singer material.”

“Flynn, you know most of that crowd is there for you now, don’t you?”

Something uncomfortable shifts through my mid-section.

“Those are girls,” I say, like those fans don’t count.

“So?”

“So, they’re not obsessed with my talent, they’re obsessed with some idea they have about me.” I flash a grin her way. “They think I’m hot.” I wink.

“You are hot.” Her return smile gets my dick hard. This whole idea of knowing Nadia and I are going to have sex sometime soon makes it very difficult to have the “just friends” feeling around her. I may or may not have spent extra time in the shower this afternoon jacking off, so I could get sex off my mind. Even so, I have to work hard not to remember how fucking perfect she looked in nothing but her panties.

I hadn’t absorbed it during the moment because she was upset, but that didn’t mean the image of her glory hadn't been seared on my eyeballs. In my brain. There for me to pull out every night and every morning as I lay in bed with my dick in my hand. She had pale skin, peach-pink nipples, and a red birthmark on her hip. Her breasts were ripe peaches, her belly soft.

There’s room in the parking lot when we get there. “The show doesn’t start until nine, but I thought we could go in now, so you can meet the performers. Then we can grab some food and come back to watch the show if you want.”

Nadia draws in a breath and nods. “Sounds good.”

We head inside. Rue’s is a small venue–an old Chicago building with exposed brick walls and lofted ceilings. The dancers are on the stage marking their places for a dance. There’s no one at the door yet, and Rue, the owner, is behind the bar, her blue mohawk making her a good six inches taller.

“What’s up, Flynn?” she calls out.

I love Rue. The middle-aged bar owner has the mama hen vibe to everyone who comes into her place. Her support in the way of rehearsal space and a standing gig was what got The Storytellers going. Rue’s was also the only bar Ty, Lake, and I could get in before I turned twenty-one because Rue would vouch that we were in the band, even if it wasn’t a night we played.

Consequently, I know all the regulars and staff here.

The burlesque night is more her scene because she’s been in a long-term relationship with Danica, the director of the Black Velvet Burlesque troupe for as long as I’ve known her.

“What are you up to?” she asks when I lead Nadia to the bar.

Her hand is clammy this time, but the place is mostly empty, so I’m thinking she can work through it.

“I brought Nadia down to meet Danica. Nadia designs costumes. I thought maybe they could collaborate on something.”

“Oh, sure.” Rue sets a cocktail napkin in front of each of us. “What are you drinking?”

“Just a bottle of water for me for now,” I say. “We’ll be back to see the show later.”

“Water is fine for me, too,” Nadia says.

Rue grins. “Another Russian? I love my Saturday night Russian contingent. I always feel safer when Oleg is around.”

“Yes, he’s fearsome,” I agree.

Nadia smiles and nods.

“I would ask him if he wants to moonlight as a bouncer when you lot play, but I figure he’s already doing the job for free.” Rue cracks two bottles of water and puts them on our napkins, and I toss a five-dollar bill on the bar.

“Right.”

Music starts up, and the dancers take their places. Nadia and I swivel in our seats to watch. It’s a sexy piece with a Cabaret vibe that involves giant feather fans the dancers use to cover various body parts as their clothes gradually come off. The clothes stay on for now, since it’s just a run-through, but we get the general idea.

Nadia is enthralled. I watch her, checking to see if the sexual nature of it triggers her, but it seems to be the opposite. Her eyes shine with delight, and a smile plays around her lips.

When they’re finished with their dress rehearsal, they come over to greet us.

“Flynn!” Amy, one of the members who–full disclosure–I’ve hooked up with, calls out, waving as she comes over. She isn’t the only one I’ve had sex with. There’s also Rebecca. And I haven’t hooked up with Jane, but the vibe is there.

Nadia tenses as they approach, but her breath remains normal. I get hugs from Amy and Rebecca. Jane gives Nadia a nasty look.

“Ladies! This is Nadia. She’s a fashion designer from Russia. She’s interested in designing something for your show.”

“I would not charge you,” Nadia hurries to say. “It would just be fun for me to have a project for my portfolio.”

“Oh my God, really?” Amy gushes. She’s so close she’s practically sitting on my lap, which I notice is pissing Nadia off, so I give her a little shove away.

“Hi, I’m Danica,” their leader says, holding her hand out.

“Nadia.” She shakes her hand.

“We’d definitely be interested. We don’t really have a budget for costumes. Most of the dancers put together their own stuff.”

“I understand. It would be free. Just a project for me.”

“Then, you’re hired.” Danica gives her a smile.

“Wow.” Nadia looks at me with big eyes then back at Danica. “That was easy. Thank you.”

“Thank you. What do you need from us?”

“Nothing yet. I’m going to watch your show tonight, and then I’ll start on some drawings.”

Danica grabs a cocktail napkin and writes her phone number on it. “This is my number. You can text me or just come back here on a Thursday.”

“Sounds great. Thank you!”

Amy moves back into my personal space, seemingly oblivious to my disinterest.

I stand to avoid having her try to perch on my lap again. “We’ll be back to watch the show in a couple of hours,” I say.

Nadia slides off her barstool, and I settle my hand on her back to lead her out. As soon as we’re outside, she demands, “Okay, Flynn, how many?”

Nadia

I’m not jealous, I’m not jealous, I’m not jealous.

I had to tell myself that a hundred times in there.

“What?” Flynn asks innocently as he leads me to the street, but I know he already knows what I’m asking. He carries a guilty vibe I sort of hate.

I don’t want to make him feel guilty. And I definitely don’t want to be like every other girl who gets needy of his attention.

So I force some fake laughter out of my throat. “How many of those girls have you screwed?”

“Two,” he answers.

“Only two? Which ones?”

“Amy, the one who was trying to sit on my lap, and Rebecca, the redhead giving you the evil eye.”

“What about the pixie cut giving me the evil eye?”

“Well, she was going to be next.” Flynn flashes me his apologetic grin, and I melt despite my resolve to not fall in love.

“She’s cute.” I try to be objective.

The truth is, I hate her. With a passion.

On the bright side, my jealousy and irritation completely grounded me in there. At no point was I freaked out, even with everyone standing too close. We’re walking down the busy sidewalk now, passing people. There are cars zooming by, but none of it seems to be a trigger. I’m with Flynn. I’m fine.

“I’m sorry, did it bother you? Maybe I should’ve given you a heads up?”

I give a jerky shrug. “Of course not. We’re friends, remember?”

“Yeah, but friends don’t hurt each other’s feelings.”

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” I say immediately. I don’t want to be the kind of girl Flynn runs from. I want to be the one he gets to keep. As a friend, of course.

“I mean, you can have sex with whoever you want. With all of them.”

He frowns, like he doesn’t like me playing it cool. “Well, you’re also my sex partner for the night–I mean, if you want–so I don’t need you to play wingman for me.”

I imagine I hear a trace of irritation in his voice–like he’s annoyed that I’m not more jealous. But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Sorry? I didn’t think I was.”

He

is

annoyed. I can tell by the little furrow between his brows. He pulls me into an alley and crowds me up against a brick wall. I’m not afraid. Not triggered. I sort of love seeing this side of Flynn. The easy-going swagger is gone.

This version of Flynn seems hungry. A little mad. His hands are on my waist. His lips find my neck, and he bites the skin there.

Still not triggered.

“What are you doing?” I laugh breathlessly.

“I want you riding my dick. Tonight. Tomorrow night. I want to give it to you so good you fight the other girls off me.”

I let out a shocked laugh. “I thought you don’t like clingy.”

“You’re not clingy. You’re you. And I want you to want me.” His open mouth drags across the column of my throat. “I want you to want me so badly you forget everything else. Every shitty thing that ever happened to you.”

Not even his reminder of my imprisonment brings any of the sickness or fear back.

“Let’s go,” I say.

He pulls back to look at my face with a question.

“Show me your magic dick.”

He laughs. “Come to my place?”

“Yes,” I say immediately. I think this could be a

get back on the horse right away

thing. I would feel so much better if I just knew I could do it. That I’m not completely broken.

Flynn grabs my hand and tugs me back to the street in the direction of the van, running a little, like hopping in his bed is an emergency.

And it is.

Flynn Taylor is going to reinvent me tonight. I’m absolutely sure of it.

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