Page 105 of Deviant Need

Opening my eyes, I stare at them.

“You’re serious,” I manage to say.

“Completely,” my father replies. “Unless you have some objection I should know about. After all, you’ve had plenty of time to find someone suitable on your own. Since you haven’t, I’m handling it for you.”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to be looking,” I say carefully.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t think ahead. You react. You make decisions based on impulse rather than strategy.” He gestures vaguely with his glass. “This is me thinking ahead for you. Correcting that tendency before it becomes a larger issue.”

Tommy laughs, oblivious to the tension. “Siobhan’s a good girl. You’ll like her.”

“I’m sure,” I say, my voice flat.

My father’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’ll meet her here tonight, then properly tomorrow. Dinner at our estate. Be presentable.”

This fucking bastard.

My mother opens her mouth, looking at me, but my father’s hand clamps down on her wrist, and she closes her mouth. She shoots me a look with her blue eyes.

I’m about to pass out. My feet almost give in beneath me, and I walk off without saying anything, my mouth tingling with numbness the whole way.

People move out of my path as I push through the crowd, their faces blurring together. The music pounds in my skull and the lights are too bright, everything too loud and too close.

Yulian smirks up at me when I reach the bar, then his brows pull together when he sees the state of me. “What happened?”

Daniil turns around to look at me, and I take his glass, downing the alcohol in one go even though I know the benzos and alcohol don’t mix well. The burn does nothing to settle the panic crawling up my throat. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

He nods, already sliding off the barstool.

I pull him by the wrist, weaving through the crowd toward the back where fewer people are gathered. The sweat is soaking through my suit, my shirt sticking to my back. Someone tries to stop me to talk, and I keep walking, dragging Daniil past them.

“Mik, slow down.”

I can’t. If I slow down, I’ll collapse right here.

We finally reach the back corner near the emergency exit, and I let go of his wrist, turning to face him. “I can’t do this. I don’t⁠—”

The words won’t come out right, my throat too tight to get air in. The panic attack is already settling in, familiar and suffocating.

“What’s wrong? Everything’s going well. Yulian said the pla⁠—”

Before he can finish, I turn around and grasp onto the back of a chair, panting for air. My knuckles go white gripping the metal.

“Mikhail, breathe.” His hand comes to rest on my back. “Just breathe. In through your nose.”

I try. It doesn’t work. My lungs won’t expand, the air stuck somewhere in my throat.

“Look at me,” he says. “Misha, look at me. Our plan is solid, he will die. Just hold out longer.”

I force myself to turn, and his hazel eyes lock onto mine.

“Breathe with me,” he says. “In.”

“He wants me to marry someone,” I blurt out.

“What?” His eyes go wide. “Who?”

“That O’Shea girl, the one that just turned eighteen. I’m going to pass out in front of everyone.” The words tumble out too fast, and I can’t catch my breath.