What was she doing right now? Would she come back alive? If old enemies could track her down in the heart of the Agency, with her handler running interference, how long would her luck hold?
Not luck. I had to remind myself that luck was something Skye said as a joke. That was her way to brush away questions about her success.
Earlier that week, I had checked Skye’s file. From the note about her impending mission, I dug deeper and found the documentation for her mission.
The move to Professor Cole’s department had upgraded my clearance even more. It was almost worth giving up the “auxiliary” status. I was “active”. Theoretically, I could be sent on field operations again.
I was active. Like Skye.
Why was I so edgy? Skye was on what we called a soft mission. Those were the ones in which you weren’t the main piece of the operation. You were there for support. To add credibility to the star. To run errands. To be part of the background. All missions were potentially dangerous but in soft missions, you weren’t in the front line.
No matter how much I told myself she was going to be fine, I couldn’t regain my calm. When I picked up the phone, it wasn’t to call the woman I loved.
Ben Stone picked up on the second ring. I flinched when he agreed to meet me the next day. That could not be a good sign. I didn’t even pack a travelling bag. I got off the couch, grabbed my wallet, cell and keys and left the apartment. I drove to the airport forcing the fear down.
#
Stone showed up half an hour early. He was wearing a light suit, with a brightly colored shirt. He blended well in the crowd of brightly colored people on Venice Beach promenade. I sat on that bench, looking like a stranded polar bear, with my snow boots and thick woolen sweater. I had been there two hours before the agreed time.
“Are you hot enough?” Stone asked when he sat next to me.
Sweat trickled on my temples. My undershirt was sticking to my back. Inside, I felt unbearably cold.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“They landed in Russia a few hours ago,” he said. “Why are you so freaked out?”
“What the hell do you mean?” I exploded. “You agreed to see me immediately. Why would you do that if there was nothing wrong?”
He seemed genuinely confused.
“I agreed because you reached out to me,” he said. “You usually just check her file, but this time you called. So tell me. What did you see in the operation that has you in such a state?”
My temples pounded. Could it be true? A simple misunderstanding. My inner compass had been affected by our meeting. Before, whenever I read her file, I managed to assess her missions impartially. I was thinking of her as a superhero, just like my students did. After seeing her in the flesh, I saw the fragile girl behind the superhero mask. I was taken in by the outer doll. Inside that doll, there was another one, and another one, all the way to the unbreakable core.
“I’m an idiot,” I said.
I had been blinded by how much I still loved her. There’s no fool like an old fool.
“No, you’re not,” Stone said. “Set aside the emotion and think about the operation again. You saw something that puts her in danger, even if you don’t realize what it was.”
“You overestimate my abilities,” I said.
Stone shook his head. He swept his unfocused gaze over the crowd of tourists and street performers.
“I’ve been reading up on you, Mr. Woods. Duncan had five people of your caliber under his tutelage. You’re the only one who didn’t go bad.”
All those years ago, I had been sent to catch my former colleagues. Nearly a quarter of a century had passed since I set out and hunted down my mentor’s other students.
The two-year long investigation took me to some dark places in my mind. I found all four of them. Only three of my former colleagues faced charges. The other one had been the ultimate test: kill or be killed.
“I need you to tell me where the flaw is.” Stone’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Let’s go to the office. Look at the details again to tell me what triggered the alarm. We’re still in time to fix it.”
Chapter 11. Skye – “Miss Marion”
From the basement of the Crown restaurant, Aleksei drove me to his house. I had a pretty good idea what to expect. He would keep me safe, for a price.
At least he was handsome. Paying might not be so bad. What choice did I have? My bag with my cell phone and my credit cards was at the restaurant. The passport was in the safety box at the hotel. The only thing I had were the leather gloves I found in the pockets of the coat.
I put on the gloves, and pulled the coat tighter around me. My body wasn’t accustomed to the harsh Russian winter. Aleksei turned up the heat in the car without a word.
“Thank you,” I said, but I didn’t take off the gloves until my hands warmed up.
At least I was beginning to enjoy the fairytale landscape. He drove patiently through the crowded center of St. Petersburg. Big fluffy snowflakes danced in the multicolored lights from shop signs and the pale lights of the cars around us.
I drifted asleep in the passenger seat, feeling warm and safe.
“We’re home,” Aleksei said.
The Russian accent and the rich baritone voice tickled my ears. The engine was purring, but we were no longer moving. I opened my eyes and straightened up. He got out and strode over to my side of the car. I waited for him to open the door and accepted his hand to climb down from the SUV.
The garage door was open. Snow fell incessantly from the black sky, concealing most of my surroundings. If I wanted to run, my high heel shoes wouldn’t take me as far as the gate I could barely see in the distance. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t ruin my precious Louboutins even to save my own life. Those heels made my legs a sight to be worshipped.
Judging by the spark in his eyes as he admired my legs, he clearly had similar thoughts. Good to know he was a man of exquisite taste.
I followed him inside the house. High ceiling rooms. Minimal furniture. Antique if I had to guess, not merely vintage. Everything was spotless, but also joyless. I didn’t have time to take in many details, but I got the sense of profound isolation. I could work with that.
To my surprise, instead of going up the marble stairs toward what I imagined to be a sumptuous bedroom, he walked straight ahead.
Oh, no, not the kitchen, I thought to myself. And he seemed so refined. Sex on the kitchen counter was something you did with your girlfriend, not with someone like me. But, what could I do? The customer was always right.
The kitchen turned out to be quite nice, from what I could glimpse in passing. My heart stopped when I saw the row of stairs leading down. Even so, I didn’t hesitate. I followed him, and waited patiently when he entered the code to the door.
He might have filled his house with antique furniture, but this was high tech security, including an iris scanner. When he turned to me, inviting me to step through the open door, I understood why he hadn’t used it. Half of his irises was swallowed by his dilated pupils.
There was no mistaking this room. Maybe it had once served as a bomb shelter. Now, it was a dungeon.
The door closed with a soft click. Gears whirred somewhere as it locked, sealing us off from the rest of the world. In my mind, a scrap of a memory pinged. A steel ring closing with a metallic click around my neck.
I brushed away the uncomfortably vague memory. I had to focus on the here and now. In the present, a false move would condemn me to the same fate as that man in the restaurant basement.
I strolled the length of the dark room, taking in the decor. Shackles affixed to a wall. Crops, paddles, floggers, canes and whips were carefully arranged in a frame on another wall. I trailed my gloved fingers along the length of the obedience bench. Fine leather by look and smell, not the usual PU found in commercial grade furniture bought online.
Aleksei stood motionless in front of the closed door. He was wear
ing the dark grey pants of his bespoke Savile Row suit, having abandoned the jacket in the car. The sleeves of the white shirt were rolled up, revealing thick, scar bearing forearms.
He observed me with a trace of curiosity as I made my way past the various BDSM accoutrements. The terror inside me lessened the more I took in the inexplicably familiar objects.
My own curiosity was aroused by the perfect cleanliness of the room. I couldn’t imagine him doing the necessary scrubbing of floors, conditioning of leather and polishing of steel implements.
The brutal mating habits in the Russian gangs were not news to me. I’d just barely escaped them the last time. From a corner of my frazzled brain, I remembered a kiss and the fear of impending death. I would have sex with him if that was the only way to save my life. Being tortured for his pleasure was also an acceptable tradeoff for my life.
Yet this place… It was too deliberate. Too refined. Too… unused. Aleksei Stepanov was six feet tall, with the build of a prize fighter and the face of a Hollywood movie star. He was young and good looking, but most of all, he was rich and powerful. He lived in a world where a woman’s consent was optional.
Why was this dungeon so pristine?
He could afford cleaners whose silence was guaranteed with their lives. He could have it cleaned by the very women who were abused here. Women or men, I amended my thoughts.
Yet, everything from the gorgeous glass dildos in their transparent display case to the stockade I nudged with my foot, every damn thing whispered at me they had rarely been used.
I finished my tour, ending up in front of him. Time to see what Prince Aleksei wanted from me.
When I raised my eyes to him, I planned on not showing fear or desire. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew that not all Doms want to see fear in their slaves. And others were turned off by a too willing slave.
“What do you crave, Aleksei Mikhailovich?”
He tilted his head to the side a fraction. The thin smile on his lips didn’t reach his icy blue eyes. I wondered for a moment if using the patronymic was a mistake. In this place he probably sought the absolute control he didn’t have in his real life. Not as long as his father was alive and reigning.
“Tears,” he said.
My chest rose unwillingly. It would take a lot to get me to tears. Out of my many talents, crying on demand was a skill I never mastered. I could well up with unshed tears to influence someone in a conversation, but that wouldn’t satisfy someone who craved tears on a deep and dark level of his tortured soul.
The cold blue stare fixed me without wavering. I tittered on the edge of showing fear. The tension around his eyes told me this moment was important. Crucial. He was waiting for my reaction, almost not daring to hope I’d get it right.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not it.”
Anger flared in the blue eyes. He rested the barrel of the gun on my throat.
“Really?” he said, sliding it down my throat.
He slowly pushed the dress off my shoulder with the muzzle.
I wrapped my hand around his, covering about half of the huge fist. He didn’t pull his hand away. He let me nudge his hand aside. He didn’t protest when I pushed his hand gently down until the gun pointed toward the floor.
“Did you ever get,” I said in the same throaty whisper, “what you really yearn for?”
He seemed to have stopped breathing. His pupils started expanding in the bright blue irises. The tension ratcheted up on his attractively angular features, as if he didn’t quite dare to hope.
“Have you ever dared to ask for what you want?” I asked. “For what you need.”
He shook his head a fraction while his body stiffened even more.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “We’ll find out together.”
It was hard to keep my voice to that level of cold yet empathetic confidence. I had never done what I now knew I should do with Aleksei. My only experience came from being at the other end of it. It would have to do.
“This place is safe,” I said.
He nodded.
“You made sure there are no microphones, no cameras, nothing to let anyone know what goes on here,” I said.
He nodded again. My lips quirked in the first smile of the evening. I made sure I let the satisfaction shine in my eyes when I spoke.
“You are a good boy, aren’t you?”
Aleksei closed his eyes. His sharp intake of breath let me know I’d done well. He tried and failed to contain the shiver of pleasure.
There we were. A man who had craved submitting but never did, and a woman who never played the dominant role.
If this were a regular relationship, this would be a good moment to talk about rules and limits. As things stood, I couldn’t afford much normality or he’d have me killed for guessing his secret before we ever acted on it.
“Yes,” he said.
His beautiful baritone voice was strangled with emotion.
“You may call me Miss Marion,” I said.
He swallowed hard, scrunching his eyes tighter.
“Look at me,” I said adding a harsh undertone, “and say it.”
When he opened his eyes, there was hardly any blue left. I had to make an effort to mask my emotion at the sight of such intense desire.
“Yes, Miss Marion,” he said. “I am a good boy.”
“Good,” I said. “Good boys get to play nice games.”
I tugged at the hand in which he still held the gun and he followed me like an oversized but obedient hound across the dungeon. Out of all the many complicated things there, the throne-like bondage chair seemed to be a good start.
“Sit,” I said and he obeyed without hesitation. “We won’t need this.” I took the gun from his unresisting hand and placed it on the mantelpiece without breaking eye contact with him.
“Lean back,” I said, and he complied, tension coming off him in waves. “Good,” I praised him. “Now put your arms on the armrests and don’t move them until I tell you to.”
He did, but his gaze strayed from my eyes to the leather straps affixed to the armrests at the level of his wrists.
“We will not use restraints,” I said. “Tonight.”
Muscles twitched in the strong forearms at that last word. He gripped the edges of the armrests. His broad chest rose up and down faster and faster. I didn’t want him to panic. Not yet.
I tapped with the pointed tip of my pumps on the ankle-height leather fastenings.
“Beautiful,” I said.
I ran my gloved hand over his right shoulder, carefully avoiding touching the skin of his neck.
“Do you trust me?” I asked.
The chair creaked audibly as he tightened his fists on the armrests.
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yeeees…” I let the word trail, inviting him to use my title.
“Yes, Miss Marion.”
I leaned over him until my lips almost touched his ear. I saw the goosebumps on his neck when my breath touched his skin.
“Liiiiie,” I let the whisper roll off my tongue. “You do not trust me.”
His huge pectoral muscles shifted under the fitted Hermes shirt. The sleeve threatened to burst at the seams when his biceps curled and grew. If this were a regular chair, he might have ripped the armrests off, but this throne was built to resist extreme strain.
His labored breath made me dizzy. For a moment I slipped into his mind. I remembered the wild urge to disobey and take what I wanted. For me, the dark mist descended after hours of being teased, tormented and frustrated. For a man used to commanding, obedience must be next to impossible. I almost faltered at the thought that he could easily push me to the floor and fuck me bloody.
“But you will,” I added with all the control I had left.
I straightened up, and took a step back. He relaxed a tiny, tiny bit. He still looked like he fought the urge to surge out of that chair, but
he was winning against it.
Another step took me to the display of whips and canes. I held his gaze while I slowly reached out toward it.
“I am not going to touch you tonight,” I said in a level tone, and broke eye contact to pick the right instrument.
Out the corner of my eye, I surveyed him, afraid he might erupt out of the chair like a volcanic eruption. I pushed down the fear. Fear would get me killed. I had to keep my gestures calm. Had to exude confidence in everything I did. Prince Aleksei yearned to submit, but I had to earn my dominance over him beyond the first thrills of curiosity. He had to believe I was his Mistress.
I chose a thin cane that looked like a black rapier. My skin flushed momentarily at the memory of the extreme pain a very similar cane inflicted on me. Aleksei was strong and used to fights, but if I knew anything about men, he’d need months of training to get to the point of enjoying the sharp, intense pain this toy provided.
Tonight, I would use it as a teacher’s aide.
“Now I want to see more of you,” I said, tracing the buttons of his shirt with the tip of the cane. “Unbutton it.”
He flexed his fingers when he released his grip on the chair. He stared intently at me when he undid one button after another. My eyes followed his progress, my hand tightening involuntarily on the handle of the cane.
He pulled the shirt out of his trousers to undo all the buttons. He was about to push the sides apart, but he stopped when I rested the cane on his fingers.
“Hands back on the chair,” I said.
The massive hands hovered for a moment over his chest, but he obeyed. I nudged aside the edges of the shirt with the cane.
Tattoos and scars and muscles. He was gorgeous.
“You are beautiful, beast,” I said appreciatively.
The broken smile on his face more than made up for the lapse in concentration. I had time to worry about the honesty of my reaction once I was out of that scene.
In Chaos (Undercover Book 3) Page 7
