Chapter Nine - Bric
“Hey,” I say when Jordan answers his phone. “You busy?”
“I’m in court today, so yeah, kinda. Why?” he asks. “What’s up?”
“Did you talk to Nadia last night? After we dropped her off.”
“No.” He laughs. “Sorry. I meant to, but I made the mistake of checking my email when I got home and…” He sighs. “This fucking job, ya know? Kinda interfering with my sex life.” A small chuckle escapes at his joke.
“Hmm,” I say. I cannot get that sneaky bitch out of my mind.
“I will though, Bric. Don’t worry. I’ll call her at lunch. You want me to set something up for tonight?”
“No,” I say. Then, “Yeah. I mean I just wanted to know if she called you and you guys had…” Jesus. I cannot fucking believe I fell for her shit.
“Had? What?”
“We had phone sex last night.”
“Fuck, she’s good at that, right? We’ve done it a couple times too.”
“She was trying to control me, Jordan. And she lied. She told me she called you first and you guys played the same little game.”
“Well, we’ve done it a few times. But not last night. Like I said, I got distracted with fucking work.”
“And she’s always the one who initiates?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Why? I just told you why. She’s using it as a way to control us.”
“Maybe,” he says. I can practically feel him shrug. “But it’s pretty fun.”
“This is a big deal, Jordan. She came to you as a top. She cannot fucking have control in this arrangement. Fuck that. And what she did last night was manipulative and sneaky. It breaks the spirit of the rules.”
“Spirit of the rules?” He bellows his laughter this time.
“It’s not funny. I’m pissed off. I don’t want to play with a girl who’s trying to control me, OK? And if she gets away with this once, she’ll try it again.”
“She submits when you ask for it. She’s just putting up a fight, Bric. What’s the big deal? I thought you liked the fight?”
“I do,” I hiss. “With the understanding that I’m the one in control.”
“So you’re pissed because she got the better of you last night? You feel like you lost the battle?”
“You should be angry,” I say. “I don’t understand why this doesn’t bother you more. If she did this to Smith or Quin, they’d be calling an emergency meeting to set her straight.”
“Well.” He sighs. “I’m not Smith or Quin. I like Nadia. I like her fight. I like pretty much everything about her. So…” I feel the shrug again. “What do you want to do about it? Cane her ass until she has welts?”
“No,” I say. “I have something much better in mind.”
“Good, text me the details and let me know when this is going down. I gotta get into court. Later.”
He ends the call and I set my phone down. I’m in Smith’s bar checking out the people down below. It’s busy this week because New Year’s is this weekend. People love this fucking party. Almost every member shows up. Of course, Smith usually doesn’t. Not anymore, anyway. But Quin almost always does. But not this year. He’ll be home with Rochelle and Adley. Or they will get a sitter and go out alone. Or maybe they will double-fucking-date with Smith and Chella.
Assholes. They’re all a bunch of fucking assholes.
I spend the whole day stewing about Nadia and her covert attempt to take back control. I have gone through every emotion. Anger came first. Bitch. Why is she even playing if it’s just gonna be a mind fuck?
But then I got to thinking about that. The mind fuck part. Because I’m kind of an excellent mind-fucker. I mean, shit. I went to school to be a psychiatrist. I got pretty far into it before I dropped out. I have a medical degree. I run a sex club. I’ve been playing this goddamned game for more than a decade. And even though I’ve been on a losing streak for a while now, I’m damn good. I’m due for a win. I will win this.
The key to a proper mind fuck is the element of surprise. The target thinks they’re ready for the unexpected, until they’re not.
Nadia was probably pretty pleased with herself last night. She probably ended that call with a huge smile on her face. One hundred percent satisfied.
And she’s expecting retaliation. She had to know I’d tell Jordan about it. She had to know I’d find out she never called him. She had to know I’d be pissed off today.
When I realized that… well, that’s when I calmed down and started piecing together a psychological profile on her.
Nadia Wolfe. Twenty-something. Beautiful. Talented. Ballerina. Control freak. New in town. Rising star. Player of games.
She’s so stupidly simple to figure out, I almost feel sad that she’s not more of a challenge.
I decide the ballerina aspect is my best first move. They are a different sort of person, so most of what I just described probably stems from her choice of occupation. She likes control because she’s forced herself to be in control of things to get where she is in her art.
Think about it. Ballerinas, right? They get up early to go to class or rehearsal or whatever the fuck it is they do first thing in the morning. They have to control themselves in very specific ways. They have to control their muscles, their emotions, their pain threshold, and the pleasure center in their brains. They have to psych themselves up to fit their bodies into the mold of dancer.
They have to conform in many ways. Deviation from the standard is unacceptable, even though they are expected to excel and stand out.
They must look a certain way, behave a certain way, and submit to the whims of those who control their future.
Success, therefore, is not defined by their own perceptions of themselves, but by the perceptions of others. And those perceptions are directly related to athletic skill, beauty, and youth.
It’s a trifecta of psychological disorders waiting to happen.
I smile.
I’ve got you, Nadia Wolfe. I have your ticket, darling. I know what drives you now.
But the key to a proper mind fuck is, again, the element of surprise.
She’s expecting something from me tonight. Something pretty specific, I’d imagine. Something that involves pain, and sweat, and sex. Maybe punishment in the form of denial.
I press her contact number on my phone.
“Mr. Bricman,” she says, breathing hard and heavy into the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“What are you doing?” I ask, wondering about her breathing.
“Dancing,” she says, still huffing.
“I thought this was a teaching week? Jordan mentioned something—”
“I still dance, Bricman. Every day.”
Of course she does. I smile, because…yeah. She has no idea what’s coming.
“Anyway,” I say. “I guess you felt pretty good about last night, huh? Lying to me. Getting me to submit to your game. Getting me off.”
She’s silent, except for her now more controlled breathing. But I know she’s smiling as she pictures it in her head.
“I liked it though.”
“Good,” she says. “I wanted you to like it.”
“But I’m not happy about it.”
“Of course not. I played you, Elias. And you hate being played.”
“So you want the punishment coming tonight. You do this on purpose.” They aren’t questions.
“I like challenge,” she coos into the phone. “So I upped the stakes.”
“Jordan will pick you up at seven-thirty. Be ready. Wear something black. Slutty, you know. You’re really good at looking the part of a slut. So do it up right, Nadia. OK?”
“Sure thing,” she purrs back. “I can’t wait to see what your next move is, Elias. Don’t disappoint me.”
I end the call and smile, looking out at the golden dome of the capitol building. Then I text the details to Jordan.
He doesn’t answer back right away. Must be in court. But when he does, the only message he sends is a little devil emoji.
I never disappoint, Miss Wolfe. Ever.