Chapter 12. Skye – “Mashenka”
I stretched catlike before getting out of bed. Yesterday’s session had drained me. I all but stumbled onto my yoga mat. I desperately needed twenty minutes of meditation to get my head straight. As straight as it ever got these days. I could feel there was something at the edge of my memory, something important I should remember, but I never ever did.
Getting my head straight meant getting ready to be Aleksei’s eye candy for the day, which was a whole different thing from what he needed me to be at least two nights each week.
Aleksei was a bad boy who needed a lot of tough love. He craved the discipline I provided, but he was so used to power, I had to prove my dominance to him every time. There was no relenting with him. There was no easy session, no chaining him to a pole and lightly flogging him until he came.
That was another thing. Aleksei never came, no matter how much he enjoyed the game, he never spontaneously came. He could store desire like a camel stored water. He controlled himself with such unrelenting determination, it fascinated me.
Once every few sessions, I gave him detailed instructions on what to do at home to get himself off. I could sense that his resentment was as intense as his gratitude. After each orgasm, I expected him to have me killed. He needed me to take charge of his life for a few hours and he hated me because I did.
I prepared my tea thinking of the man who needed me to run his world as mercilessly as he had to run his empire.
Yesterday, he gave me a whole day. For the first time in our professional relationship, he took the plunge for a twenty-four-hour total power exchange.
Even then, once every few hours, he tugged at the chain. Sometimes at the actual chain, sometimes metaphorically. He couldn’t help testing me, couldn’t help looking for a chink in my armor. Oddly, it made me enjoy our sessions all the more because of it. Whenever I brought him to heel, a serene expression would spread over his angular features. Even his square jaw seemed to soften and a dimple appeared at the corner of his lips.
The massive silver samovar shimmered in the stern morning sun. A glance out the window told me that the harsh winter hadn’t disappeared overnight. Thick white snow covered the inner courtyard, and heavy grey clouds covered the sky.
I filled the samovar with water, and silently thanked whoever furnished the apartment that they went for an electric model. The original version would be a pain to use, what with all the building a fire and stuffing it with kindling. This one looked gorgeous and all I needed was a power outlet. I plugged it in and went to the cupboard.
The fine china teapot waited next to the wood box. I put them both on the table and waited for the water to boil. When I heard the familiar rumbling, I poured some hot water in the teapot and swished it around before emptying it in the sink. The china needed to be warm when I added the magic tea leaves.
I puffed a breath when I saw that the tea box was almost empty. Annoyed, I poked with the scoop at the dry black leaves. Enough for two or three days, at most.
When I went shopping with Aleksei the other day, I smelled a dozen tea boxes and left the fancy tea room empty-handed. None of those teas even resembled this one. Too bad I couldn’t do a google search for smells. The best option would be to get access to a sophisticated, CSI-style lab that could identify the tea for me.
Oh, well, I’d have to get a few varieties of lesser tea next time we went shopping, and hope for the best.
This was my special morning time. I filled the kettle with hot water and set it aside to steep while I changed my clothes.
In the bedroom, the gym clothes I had picked last night were folded on a chair. I dropped the robe to the floor and stood naked in front of the full-length crystal mirror.
So many scars crisscrossed over my skin. I didn’t remember getting some of them, but I didn’t care. The memories I did have seemed unimportant. Why would I give a damn how I got them? My leather outfits were tailored to hide them in the dungeon. My haute couture dresses and my gloves covered almost every inch of skin. My training gear consisted of long pants and long sleeve T-shirts although there was hardly anyone at the gym when we got there.
When we went out, even my face was partly concealed. The fringe went past my eyebrows, covering my eyes. I kept my short hair straight and shiny. It shimmered like a wisp of silk, hiding my ears and the sides of my face. Scarves and high collars concealed my neck and my chin.
Aleksei wanted me to be a mystery. Was it just to protect his secret? In public, I was his property, so no one would dare to kidnap me and use me against him.
For all the world, Marion, now called by Aleksei Stepanov with the pet name Mashenka, was a slave in a gilded cage. For us, Mashenka was the title I allowed my beast to use in public to address me.
Having my tea ceremony in training gear was an exception but I couldn’t leave the house without at least a cup of the delicious brew.
The delightful scent flooded the kitchen as I poured half a cup. I adored the rich flavor of this mysterious tea. I diluted it with hot water from the samovar to the concentration I learned to love.
When I picked up the delicate porcelain cup I noticed that one of my nails was chipped. A Domina’s work was never done. I texted the salon and asked my girl there to find me a slot before or after my hair appointment. Aleksei was taking me to the opera tonight for the first time, and I had to look flawless. I always had to look flawless for him.
In a few minutes, Aleksei would arrive to pick me up to go to the gym. He liked to see me train hard. My hair was going to be a complete mess.
After the first cup of tea, I went back to the bathroom to fix my minimal gym makeup. Makeup was essential. Without it, he looked at me with a different kind of hunger. Once, I made the mistake to remove all my makeup and join him in the hot sauna after training. His reaction beneath the towel was very obvious. Apparently, he had a different hunger for cute girls than his appreciation for sophisticated women. That spelled trouble for me.
Speak of the beast. I smiled myself at the sound of the front door opening.
“I’ll be right out,” I said loudly.
In five minutes, I was in the living room, wearing understated lipstick, a bit of blush and waterproof mascara.
Aleksei sat in his favorite armchair, browsing the book he had left on the small table at his previous visit. His hair had grown longer than his usual short buzz cut. He looked almost sweet, with his tousled hair and his nose in the book.
“Do you want tea?” I asked going toward the samovar.
“No, thank you,” he answered.
There was a shade of weariness in his baritone voice. I was pleased that he showed up at seven o’clock, no matter what he’d been up to the night before.
A good workout would do him good. I hurried into the kitchen to rinse my cup before leaving. I squealed in delight at the sight of the box on the kitchen table. I picked it up and smushed my nose against the delicate cardboard, trying to breathe in the scent of the tea through it with my eyes closed.
“You were running low,” he said behind me.
I turned on my heels. The warm look in his pale blue eyes surprised me. I had to override the unexpected urge to hug him. It wouldn’t do to be friendly.
“I was,” I said. “It’s an excellent tea.”
He bowed his head a fraction, accepting my unspoken but sincere gratitude.
“What is it?” I asked, turning around the plain box, looking for the name or a company logo. “Who makes it?”
“It’s aged Narcissus Wuyi Oolong Tea,” he said. “You can’t find it in the shops.”
“Oh?”
“It’s collection tea,” he said. “Fifty years old. A business partner bought the only existing crate.”
I gaped at him. Fifty years?
“Collector,” I said. “Would he be appalled I’m actually drinking it?”
His eyes crinkled and he suddenly looked unbearably young. His unexpected s
weetness was so endearing, it almost made me forget that I should fear him.
“Yes, he probably would,” he said.
“He’s an idiot,” I said emphatically, and his eyes sparkled with delight. “Come on, let’s go,” I said.
Aleksei picked up the bag containing my gym shoes and the change of clothes. A timid sun ray glinted off the screen of my cell phone. For a moment I considered taking the phone with me, but I left it on the table. The only person calling that number was going to be with me.
Chapter 13. Nick – Old Ghosts
Two weeks had passed since my talk with Stone. My analysis of their mission must have been way off. Once a day, I checked Skye’s file. Status: active. No flags raised anywhere. I had asked Stone to tell me when he had news. He had agreed and seemed to have meant it.
Even with my clearance, I couldn’t check on an ongoing mission of that level. As long as she was still in the green, I didn’t give a damn what happened to their operation.
Christmas had come and gone. I spent New Year’s going over research in the history of the Spice. I allowed my new job to occupy all my time. I worked with broken agents, getting them out of the fog step by tiny step. Sometimes the little progress I made faded and they forgot themselves again.
It was a blessing and a curse that we had a constant influx of new cases. The larger the sample, the better we understood the insidious mechanisms of the drug. I couldn’t be happy with that. Each new case was a new life torn apart. A new battle I had to win.
On that dreary January morning, when I was in the depths of frustration and despair, a light turned on inside me.
How was what I was doing all that different than raising a child with the mental issues I feared so much? If I could do this, if I could deal day after day with people who didn’t remember their real names, their real families, who wanted to harm themselves to get away from the chaos inside their mind, I had the strength to help and love my child.
Our child.
When Skye came back, I would go to her. She wouldn’t have to make any compromise. If she wanted, she could go straight back into the field after we had the child. We’d be there, waiting for her each time she returned.
With that bright hope burning in my chest, waiting for news became harder.
#
The number calling me at 6 in the morning wasn’t familiar, but I would have recognized the voice even if he hadn’t introduced himself.
Viktor Petrov.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Can I come up?”
“Sure,” I said.
The intercom came to life before I set the phone back on the table. The urgency didn’t surprise me. Petrov didn’t like me any more than I liked him. If he needed my help, he must be desperate.
“She’s in trouble,” he said instead of hello.
I stepped aside to let him come in.
“Over there.” I pointed him toward the living room.
He flipped open the cover of the tablet and entered his code. I went to the kitchen to get us a couple of beers. It had nothing to do with the rules of hospitality. It was still dark outside and this was not a social call. I needed a few moments to collect myself before learning the details of Skye’s trouble. When it came to her, trouble meant danger.
When I went back to the living room, my gaze was drawn to the image on the tablet’s screen. A woman in a long sable fur coat looked straight into the camera. Her short black hair was straightened to a glossy perfection. Her dark cherry lips and the intense shades of grey on her eyelids contrasted with her pale skin. The frozen frame caught her with her eyes closed and for a moment I failed to recognize Skye.
“Her partner was killed ten hours into the mission,” Petrov said. “Minutes after they made the first contact with their target.”
He took the beers out of my shaking hands. He put one on the table and kept the other one without opening it.
“She was there to support Agent Szeleky’s cover as an American crime boss. He was supposed to gain the trust of the head of the St. Petersburg organization. This is a recording from the first week,” he said, pressing play. “Six days after Szeleky’s death.”
Her red lips were mesmerizing. I forced myself to take in all of her appearance. I tried to catch a glimpse of the truth behind her dark eyes.
My heart struggled under the chains of objectivity I forced on it. The woman I loved was in danger. I should have been with her. Why was I watching images of her on a screen? She should be in my house, in my bed, in my arms. She shouldn’t be in harm’s way.
“Freeze frame,” I told Petrov. “Go back a little.”
He went back a few frames. I saw her bewitching mouth shape the word. She looked directly into the camera, said one word, then she walked away without turning her head.
“Again,” I whispered hoarsely.
Petrov played the sequence again. He and his team must have deciphered what she said. I appreciated that he wasn’t saying aloud what they thought she was saying. He left me to work it out for myself without influencing me. Or maybe they were desperate to be wrong.
I watched it again, and again, and again as if the word would change if I watched it enough times. I had no doubts what the word was. I was, however, shocked to my very core.
“Do you know what she says?” I asked him after the tenth time he played the sequence.
“Yes,” he said.
“What do you think she says?” I asked, unwilling to accept the blinding truth.
“Leo,” Petrov said.
He stared at me with cold intensity.
“We looked into everyone and everything connected with the case,” he said, his tone growing more agitated with every word. “It’s a message to us. She walked straight to the American consulate in St. Petersburg just to say one word into the camera outside, and we have no clue what she’s trying to say. We couldn’t find anyone with that name connected to the case. We even looked into birth signs.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze from the screen. Raven hair and dark red lips. She looked nothing like my Skye. My beloved Skye was sunny even in her darkness. She managed to look like a fallen angel when she was chained in my dungeon.
“Do you know what it means?” Viktor asked, losing his patience.
“Yes.”
“Spit it out, Woods,” he said.
In all our time together, I never took Skye to the point where she needed to utter this word. I’d done things with her I never dared to hope I could do with someone in a healthy relationship. We’ve both had to do and to endure many horrors while we worked undercover. We were painfully aware of the risks we took. We both found release in edge play.
This word never passed her lips when she was gasping for air. I lost count how often I stopped the game because I feared for her safety. Her trust in me went deep.
She had chosen her safe word, the name of the serial rapist we arrested together. The name of a man who had held her in his arms, brought her to orgasm and bit her the same way he bit all his victims.
“It’s her safe word,” I said.
My voice sounded casual. I sometimes loathed myself for my ability to deceive. I had done it automatically this time. I had no reason to lie to Petrov. He’d know from the long pause before answering, and from the answer itself our dark secret. And because he knew Skye, he could easily guess that our games went beyond satin blindfolds and bare bottom spanking. After all, Viktor Petrov was the first man to have tortured her.
He cursed profusely in Russian.
“How long ago was this?” I asked.
My voice sounded no different than on any other case. I had to treat this like a case if I wanted to be of help. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to fall apart in terror for what this might mean.
“Three weeks,” Viktor said. “We just got it yesterday. No one noticed it when it happened. They found it during a routine weekly check. The guy who found it didn’t have clearance to know abo
ut the mission, but he put in a report. His supervisor didn’t know about the operation either. Fortunately, he had the common sense to show it to the cultural attaché, who was the one man in the Consulate who knew about it.”
“Is this the last footage you have of her?” I asked.
“The last of any use,” Petrov said bitterly. “She never came out on her own since then. She’s always in the company of Aleksei Stepanov.”
“Let’s see them.”
His big hand trembled slightly when he brushed over the screen to find the next file. Viktor Petrov, a man who spent fifteen years in the belly of the Russian mafia, was disturbed by the situation. If I held out any hope that things were not as bad as I feared, that obliterated it.
HD surveillance footage from a casino started playing. A tall, broad chested young man with chiseled features and an expensive suit stood out from the crowd. Waves of fear rippled over everyone around him with one exception. A step behind him, raven haired Skye walked like an ice queen. Her long black dress trailed the ground. The lace of her high collar covered the lower part of her face up to her dark red lips.
Her cheekbones were razor sharp, reminding me of the mission that nearly killed her. She had needed me then in order to stay sane in the world of violence in which she had to live. Back then, Skye had managed her fear through sex. Saying her safe word was her way to call for my help.
If she could, she would have run from her mission to submit to me. The only thing Skye had taken when she left, apart from the things she had brought with her, was the steel collar. The tangible representation of our bond. I couldn’t help wishing that under the lace collar of her dress, she wore the steel ring.
The sound of the collar snapping shut around her neck was one of the forbidden memories. It released a wave of arousal in me even now.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think about her that way in so long, and there I was, staring at the screen at my partner, my slave, my soul mate and hardly recognizing her.
I had only seen her undercover twice, and both times she’d been perfectly in character. She could be just maintaining her cover. Why were my temples pounding? Why this unrelenting dread? Why couldn’t I shake the fear that this time, something had gone horribly wrong?
In Chaos (Undercover Book 3) Page 8
