Page 7 of Punish Me, Daddy

I couldn’t look away. My heart was pounding like he’d punchedmealready and I hadn’t even spoken to him. He didn’t know I existed, but I felt like I already belonged to him in some sick, twisted, terrifying way.

I hated it.

I folded my arms across my chest, and forced myself to look somewhere else—anywhere else.

Becausenope.

I didn’t do that. I didn’t get starry-eyed over men with perfect jaws and murder in their eyes. I didn’t get weak over muscles and tattoos and haunted looks.

I didn’tneeda man.

Not even one who looked like a dark Russian god.

I didn’t need him.

I didn’t.

But I looked back anyway.

And my whole body lit up like a match.

CHAPTER 2

Nikolai

There’s a rhythm to it.

The moment before a fight.

The crowd was electric, the ring already drenched in sweat and oversized egos from the fights before mine. Every step I took toward that rope was calculated and deliberate—the kind of slow that made men nervous and women hold their breath.

I lived for that moment. That heartbeat where the world narrows to just me, my opponent, and the part of myself that I didn’t show anyone unless they’re stupid enough to step in front of me in the ring.

I stepped into the light and the noise hit—shouting, stomping, the metal thrum of music pulsing through the floor. I scanned the crowd like I always did, not looking for faces, just exits. Weak points. Any sort of trouble.

And then I saw her.

Fuck me.

I stopped mid-step. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the punch to my gut that has nothing to do with fists.

I saw her leaning against the barricade, arms crossed under that little leather jacket, like she was daring anyone to get close enough for her to deliver a punch of her own. Eyes dark-rimmed, mouth painted in a shade that was begging to be smudged. There was a slit in her black dress that rode high up her thigh, like she wore it knowing someone was going to get caught looking.

I’m that someone.

She wasn’t like the others here. Not pretending to be tough. Not trying too hard. She looks like she came for blood, just to see what it tasted like.

And she wasyoung.

But not sweet. Not soft.

She was trouble.

Mykind of trouble.

I forced myself to breathe, to move one more step into the ring, but I had to look at her again. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just her looks or her attitude, or the legs that went on forever.

I knew her.

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