by Bailey, Fawn
She had dark hair just like mine, and unusual eyes that now haunted every dream I had—one blue, one brown, always staring up at me adoringly. She’d always loved me most out of all our siblings, stuck to my side, held my hand and followed me everywhere.
I would never forget seeing little Vlada die with the rest of the family, her lifeless body piled on top of the others like she hadn’t mattered at all.
But now there was the possibility she had survived, that she’d somehow made it out alive. And I wanted it to be true so desperately it had taken over every aspect of my life, filling me with the hope that I shouldn’t have felt.
It was too soon to be hopeful, and I knew one man’s papers didn’t prove anything. Michael’s records stopped a couple of years after the massacre, after which, Vlada disappeared off the face of the earth. But I still had that sliver of hope that she was alive and well somewhere. Now we just needed to find her.
“I know what’s on your mind,” Kain told me, his fingers tracing my jaw. “I know you’re thinking about her, dolly. But there’s nothing we can do just yet. We need to wait until we find out more. It’s no use worrying about what you can’t change yet. Please, just give it some time.”
“I’m trying.” I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked deeply into his eyes. “It’s just the possibility that she’s out there, after all this time, and I haven’t done anything to help her, to find her. I just want to know she’s okay. I want to see her. Take care of her.”
“I know.” He nodded. “And I promise you, once we find Vlada, we will both do everything in our power to bring her back.”
I offered him a grateful albeit shaky smile, and he kissed the top of my head.
The scent of grapefruit wrapped us up in its embrace. I’d started wearing the lotion again, showering with the gel that he loved so much. He even got me another bottle of the perfume I’d broken months ago, though the sight of it still filled me with anxiety.
Kain and I hadn’t really spoken about what had happened between us, the moment that had broken me completely. He’d skirted the issue, but I avoided the topic like the plague, unable to face my demons just yet. I knew I’d have to deal with it eventually, but at least for the time being, it was easier to just ignore the problem.
As he moved away after the kiss, I grabbed onto him and pulled him back, tumbling on the bed and forcing him on top of me. His eyebrows shot up, and he grinned at me as his hand slipped between my thighs, touching the spot that was aching for his attention.
“Wet for me?” he rasped in the voice that drove me utterly crazy, and I nodded, my eyes wide open and demanding his attention.
“Always,” I responded honestly, making him smile even wider. “Touch me, Kain. Please. Just touch me. Make me forget it all.”
He stared into my eyes. This always happened since… well, since he’d hurt me too much. He was trying to find a reason not to do it, and it made me so angry I had to swallow back a retort.
We needed to talk about what had happened - sooner rather than later. But neither of us was going to bring it up, so for the time being, I needed to take matters into my own hands.
I pushed him back, and his eyes found mine, his surprise evident as I climbed on top of him. My fingers found his cock, both my hands wrapping around his impressive girth and I pointed his throbbing head at my dripping entrance.
“You should take what you want,” I told him. “Otherwise, I’m just going to do it for you, Master.”
“Got a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you?” he growled, his voice getting deeper as I pushed just the tip inside my soaking wetness, feeling how good he filled me up, making me finally belong.
“I do,” I hissed in response, my eyes closing as he throbbed barely inside me, both of us eager for him to be deeper. “Aren’t you going to fuck me, Master?”
“If you beg nice enough,” he retorted, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled at me.
I was consumed by love for the man. Feelings like I’d never known existed threatened to eat me up whole, demanding I give him anything and everything he wanted. I belonged to him now, in spirit and in body.
I was his.
“I don’t have to beg,” I told him plainly, and he groaned as I sank down on his cock, full to the hilt in moments. “I can just take what I need.”
He didn’t argue.
His hands found my hips and held me still as I rode, firmly holding me down until I found my groove and bounced on top of him. Our eyes connected in a silent battle, him demanding I give him my all, and me refusing his orders.
“You need to let go,” he growled at me. “Let go of your fucking demons, dolly. I’m here now, and I’m going to take care of you. Don’t you know that?”
His words became more and more strained as I rode myself to an orgasm. A helpless mewl escaped my lips when I came, almost making me collapse on top of him with his cock still throbbing deeply inside me.
But he wouldn’t let me.
He held me up, turned me around so I was under him. His eyes were thunderous as they met mine and he started driving his thickness into me, unforgiving thrusts punishing me for trying to give up.
“You keep fucking disobeying me," he told me in low, measured tones not meant to intimidate, but instead make me remember whom I belonged to. “You’re going to have to live with the consequences of your actions, dolly. Because I’m going to punish you. And I’m going to punish you fucking hard.”
I breathed heavily as he drove his cock into me. My body pulsed around him, ready and desperate for him to fill me up. Yet I still wasn’t willing to admit it, still wouldn’t tell him I was his, wouldn’t let go of the demons that held me tethered to my past.
“When, Ophelia?” he growled. “When the fuck will you learn to let go?”
I didn’t know the answer to his question, and the sensation of being fucked was getting to be too much. I closed my eyes and let him fuck me—the only way we really knew how to communicate.
Our relationship was all kinds of fucked up.
He’d kidnapped me.
Killed my family.
He’d ended my life.
But I hadn’t expected to begin a new one under his supervision.
I thought Kain had clipped my wings so I could never fly again. But maybe he was the one who showed me I couldn’t just fly… I could sing, too. Sing like a beautiful nightbird.
Under his hands I became alive, and my song was sweeter than ever.
His mouth latched onto mine, and we kissed deeply, sharing our darkest secrets in whispers meant for nobody but us. We were meant to be together. Meant to exist in harmony, taking and giving to one another. We were lovers, soul mates. We were a couple. Always and foremost a couple. There was no Ophelia without Kain, and there was no Kain without Ophelia. It was a love born of trouble and pain, but it was a love that withstood anything. Any obstacle, any problem thrown our way, could be thwarted because it was us.
“Come inside me,” I breathed, and he drove deeper into my pussy, his feverish eyes focusing on mine as he fucked me into oblivion.
“You want me?” he grunted. “You want that seed you’ve been working so hard for, dolly? You want me to mark you?”
“Yes,” I begged. “Please, let me have it, Master.”
“You know what you have to say,” he got out through gritted teeth.
I let out a cry as he hit a wall inside me, and then my mouth opened, and the words spilled out as if they’d been waiting on the tip of my tongue the whole time. “I’m yours, I’m just yours. I belong to you. Fill me up, Master. Show me you want only me. Paint my pussy with your seed. I want to belong to you. I want you to own me.”
“All of you?” he asked.
“All of me,” I nodded.
He came with a shuddering cry and my pussy convulsed for him. He showered me with his orgasm, and I milked it from his cock.
Once it was done, we lay back, breathing heavily with his fingertips gently stroking my skin.
&
nbsp; “So you finally admit it,” he said triumphantly, and I rolled my eyes, trying to get out of bed. Before I could, his hands wrapped around me and he pulled me back, his mouth turned upwards in a smile when he kissed me.
This time, I didn’t object.
Chapter 3
Ophelia
5 years ago
“Slatkaya.”
She ran up to me, those big eyes open wide. I could never get enough of them, of how unique they made her. They glowed with the innocent thoughts of a five-year-old girl. She was unspoiled, unbroken. She was just a little girl.
Which is why I needed to warn her.
I touched my fingertips to her plump, young skin and she looked at me with trust in her eyes. “Today is an important day,” I told her in English. The little kids mostly spoke English, though my father liked to test their knowledge of Russian by testing them on random occasions.
At five years old, little Vladislava was too young to experience the full extent of his wrath, but that day, she was going to get the first taste of what her life would be like in the future. And I had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it much, just like I hadn’t.
I also had a feeling my father’s punishments hadn’t changed one bit. He was going to be harsh, unforgiving, and cruel. And Vlada wasn't ready for it at all.
“I know,” Vlada replied in Russian, making me give her an affectionate smile.
Papa loved Vlada because she always preferred Russian to English. Even when she didn’t have to, she used the Slavic language, and he loved it. He said it filled him with pride.
“Are you ready for your birthday?” I asked her in Russian.
“Yes,” she replied, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to open my presents.”
“You know today isn’t just about presents,” I reminded her. “There will be other important things happening. Mamochka told you, right?”
She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t paying close attention. Her eyes were focused on the porcelain doll in her hands.
Gently, I pried the doll from her fingertips.
It was a gift Papa liked to give his daughters. A gorgeous, expensive doll that looked just like us. This one was made in Vlada’s honor, matching her down to the last detail, even the different colored eyes.
I’d had one too when I was younger. I was so afraid of breaking it, I didn’t even play with it. Vlada, on the other hand, carried her little doll around everywhere. But she took good care of it, which made me feel better.
“Slatkaya,” I repeated her nickname. She was sweet, like a little piece of candy. Such a sweet little girl. “Today, Papa’s going to announce your engagement. You’re going to meet the boy you’re going to marry someday.”
“Marry?” This time, she’d replied in English. She looked into my eyes, and I was happy to find excitement in her gaze. She was looking forward to this. She had no idea what I’d gone through because of Papa’s scheming.
“Yes, marry,” I repeated. “You’re going to meet your future husband. Just remember, Slatkaya, even if you don’t like him, try not to upset Papa, okay?”
She stared at me with those big eyes, and I felt tears in my own.
“You know he gets angry really fast,” I said, my voice soft. “I don’t want him to get mad at you. You remember what he does when he’s angry?”
She looked away, her bottom lip wobbling. Of course she remembered. As much as we all tried to forget the screaming, the crying, the thuds, the proof was there the next morning.
Missing men, bruises on our mamochka, the way she wouldn’t quite meet our eyes when she came into the room. Papa beat her, and he hadn’t hesitated before slapping the kids, no matter their age. But I couldn’t let anything bad happen to my little Vlada. I needed to warn her before it was too late.
“Promise me you will listen to Papa,” I begged her desperately. “Promise you’re going to give him what he wants,” I repeated, this time in Russian, wanting to make sure she really understood. Finally, she gave me a bright smile and nodded, and I smiled back. “Good girl,” I told her, giving her the doll back. “Now go play. Papa will call you when he’s ready.”
I turned my attention back to the guests. Ryker and Max were lost somewhere in the midst of things, but for once, I wasn’t worried about the twin brothers. My mind was solely on my little sister and protecting her from my father’s wrath.
The party was in full swing. These birthday get-togethers were held almost every month with the number of my siblings, and I loved them… unless it was time for one of Papa’s announcements. I was old enough to know they only met trouble.
None of us, not even Mamochka, had met the man Papa had picked for my little sister. He was probably just a little boy, anyway, but papa was keeping everything under wraps until the party.
I trusted him to make the right decision. I was just worried about Vlada’s reaction. If she cried, my father would see it as her disrespecting the groom and his family, and he would punish Vlada accordingly. I couldn’t let that happen.
About an hour or so later, we all gathered in front of the podium where my father would make the announcement. Max was standing next to me like he usually was with these announcements, and I was holding his hand so tightly my own knuckles turned white.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered in my ear, and I gave him a defeated smile, my eyes scanning the crowd for Ryker as always.
My father tapped the microphone and grinned into the camera. “Hello, guests,” he said with a broad grin. “I’m so excited you’ve joined us today for my daughter Vladislava's birthday. S dnyem roshdeniya!”
Everyone cheered.
“Vlada, join me up here,” he said.
My sister left my mother’s lap, and Papa helped her climb on the podium. She was still clutching her doll, her little fingers holding her tightly. Vlada wasn’t the kind of child I’d been. I was adventurous, wild. She was more timid and preferred to keep to herself. She didn’t have many friends because of her shyness, which was why I was especially protective of her. She was such a fragile little thing.
“With Vladislava’s marriage, we’re going to celebrate the alliance between us,” Papa carried on, “and the Americans.”
A murmur went through the crowd.
The Americans had been a constant pain in our side since we’d moved to the States.
I knew Papa’s plan all along had been to overturn the monopoly of the Americans on the drug market. He’d pretty much succeeded in doing that, so what was the point of their alliance? Besides, there were only two people running the business, and it was an older married couple.
Now, my eyes found them in the crowd. They were Mr. and Mrs. Nobleman if I recalled correctly, a couple in their forties. She reminded me of Ryker and Max’s mom, and he was a sleazy old guy who always tried to feel me up on these occasions.
Vlada was sucking on her thumb as my father carried on speaking.
“We’re happy to announce Vladislava will marry Gerald Nobleman on her eighteenth birthday.”
Mamochka paled, and so did I. Vlada sucked on her thumb, probably not understanding a thing.
Mrs. Nobleman let out an outraged cry.
“How is he going to marry this child?” she cried out. “He’s forty-five years old, for God’s sake! And married to me!”
Instead of giving her a reply, my father clicked his fingers.
The guests watched in horror as my father’s man approached Mrs. Nobleman, their faces filled with menace as they glared her down.
“Get your hands off me,” Mrs. Nobleman snarled at one of the men who’d grabbed her arm. “You don’t get to touch me! Gerald, stop them!”
Her husband watched the men impassively, and she seemed to realize just how much danger this put her in.
She was now an unneeded piece in a chess game, one that could, and would, be swept off the board with the click of my father’s fingers.
“Do something, Harold!” she begged him, and my blood ran cold wh
en her voice turned to panic, her last words desperate cries that became garbled when a plastic bag was placed over her head, wrapped tightly around her neck and her last breath choked out of her.
Her husband, present for all of this, stood watching with a glass of champagne in his hand. He took a long sip after her body was tossed to the ground, but not before toasting the dead body.
He was a short, stocky man with dark hair, peppered with streaks of white. He was a fucking monster. And now he’d turned his eyes to my little sister, grinning widely at her innocent face.
And my father stood there watching, not doing a thing about the old man’s leering gaze.
“Go to the nice man, Vlada,” he told my sister, and I wanted to fucking scream when she turned her bright, trusting eyes to my father’s.
“Papa?” she asked, her tone frightened.
He touched her forearm gently. “Leave the doll,” he told her, and my heart shattered for my sister.
It was like she was leaving behind the last shred of her innocence.
But she wouldn’t let go of her dolly.
Papa started to pull on it, and I watched in horror as the doll fell on the floor between them, my father having had ripped her arm clean off.
They stared at the broken porcelain doll, Vlada’s bottom lip quivering with unshed tears while my father’s fists shook with rage.
“What did you just do?” he growled at her in Russian. “What did you do, you fucking stupid little thing?”
I ripped my hand from Max’s, ignoring his warning. My little sister was in trouble. Papa was angry, and when he got like this, I knew someone was going to get in trouble. But I couldn’t let it be Vlada. I couldn’t let that happen.
I ignored my fiancé’s cries behind me, walking right up to the podium. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I grabbed my little sister, my arms wrapping around her waist as she started bawling. My mamochka was there to take her, her arms outstretched, covering Vlada’s eyes so she wouldn’t see what Papa would do to me.
His fists rained hellfire all over my skin. I crumbled to the floor as the crowd watched. The Marinos, that bastard Vlada had just been engaged to. Every one of them watching how my own father beat me.
