by Jane Henry
“We’ve got them,” Erik says behind me. “They’re kneeling before us.” He lifts his shoulders with pride, puffing himself up. I want to break his nose.
I can see the profile of Tomas. My future pakhan. I don’t know him at all. I’ve worked under two pakhans: my father, and Demyan. Demyan still resides in Moscow, and my father in Atlanta. Demyan is stern but fair and loyal, my father well-respected and brilliant. I don’t know what to expect from Tomas, but he’s demanded the entry fee of a virgin woman, and that’s telling.
“Show me,” he orders. He’s sitting at a chair at a desk, facing us with one ankle resting on his ankle. He sips from a beer bottle, places it down, and crosses his arms on his chest. He’s a large, burly man with longish brown hair that curls around his ears, and sober, dark brown eyes. He wears a sleeveless shirt, revealing the signature Bratva tattoos that line his entire upper body.
Erik holds the phone up, giving him a full visual of the women kneeling before us.
“Excellent,” Tomas says. “They look lovely, but I didn’t expect anything less. You underestimate my request, though, Erik.” Tomas takes another pull from his beer bottle and he smiles. “I don’t want to see them clothed.”
I have to will my hands not to clench, so I don’t hurt one of them. Erik grins at the camera, and walks toward the women. I almost level him right then and there. If he touches her, I’ll murder him.
“I’ll help you with that,” I tell him, trying to come across as nonchalant but failing miserably. My hands shake with rage at what I’m about to do. I stand in front of Marissa.
“Head up,” I order. “Lift your arms.”
She obeys, keeping her eyes cast down as she does so. I don’t want to do this. I’ll fucking kill Tomas for making me. For laying eyes on my woman.
But if I don’t comply, I’ll never be able to get her out of here.
With a firm tug, I remove her sheath. I ball the fabric up in my hands. I want to wrap it around Erik’s neck and pull, until he writhes in my death grip and his body slumps lifeless to the floor. I step back, allowing the motherfuckers to see her naked, swallowing the anger that threatens to strangle me.
The other two do the same. The women barely react, clearly accustomed to being humiliated in front of others. The realization stokes my anger.
“Beautiful,” Tomas says, and I swear I can see his fucking hard-on from where I stand. “Fucking gorgeous. Well done, boys. Erik, get a close up of each of the women.” Erik stands back and holds his phone above his head, to give Tomas a clear view.
“Yakov purchased the blonde,” Erik says. “I was partial to the little Asian girl. And Aleks secured the brunette.”
“A nice variety,” Tomas says with a mirthless chuckle. “Veritable fucking smorgasbord.”
Oh no this is fucking not, I think. The brunette is fucking off the table.
“Are they well behaved?” Tomas asks. He has only a trace of the Russian accent I’m familiar with, but there’s something about him that screams pakhan. A ruthlessness to his eyes I’m woefully familiar with.
“We haven’t had them long enough to know,” Yakov says, his eyes focused on the blonde kneeling naked before him. “But time will tell.”
“I want them trained before you bring them home,” Tomas says. “We have no use for defiant women. You bought them as slaves, to obey their masters, and that’s exactly what I expect.”
Yakov and I nod, and Erik mutters, “Fuck yes.” The girls don’t move.
I want this conversation to end. If Erik doesn’t end the call soon, I will tear the phone out of his grasp and break it.
“Make them stand,” Tomas says.
“On your feet,” I bark out, before anyone else can tell my woman what to do. The three girls quickly get to their feet. Erik steps around them, his phone held high.
“The blonde is neatly shaved,” Tomas says approvingly. “I like it. She’s got perfect breasts.”
“She does,” Yakov says tightly. Seems maybe I’m not the only one who wants to stake a claim on a girl.
“And the middle one with the black hair has beautiful eyes. So petite and lovely.”
“Isn’t she, though,” Erik says. He runs the tip of his boot along her naked foot.
Fucking bastard. Like she’s a fucking car he wants to buy and he’s kicking the tires.
“But the brunette…” Tomas voice trails off. “She’s stunning.”
Marissa lifts her head so quickly the others jump, startled.
“Eyes down,” I bark. I do not want her fucking drawing any more attention to herself than necessary. But she doesn’t obey, panic flitting across her features. I can feel the stern disapproval over the phone, my two future brothers watching me to see how I’ll handle her. When I don’t make a move, Erik lifts his hand to strike her, and I react so quickly I have to school my features so I don’t snarl at him.
“I’ve got it,” I say to him, grabbing his wrist raised above her ready to strike.
He nods and winces. “Alright, alright,” he says. “Fucking let go.”
I release him so quickly he stumbles, rubbing his reddened wrist. I take a step toward Marissa. I know I’m on display for Tomas and Yakov and Erik, and I better not fucking mess this up. If he thinks she’s untrained, we’re fucking screwed.
Tomas chuckles on the phone. “Easy, Aleks.” He’s amused, the bastard.
I reach for Marissa’s chin and yank her eyes to mine.
“This is your last warning, slave,” I say, my voice tight with anger, though not at her. “Did you hear your instruction?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, nodding her head.
“Do you know what happens if you disobey a master?”
“I—I’m punished, sir.”
“Do you wish for me to punish you?”
She shakes her head rapidly. “N—no, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Step forward.”
She steps toward me so quickly she wobbles a little on her feet. I right her by grabbing her arm, then swing her out and slam my palm against the curve of her ass. She cries out. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself, because I like this. I like staking my claim on her and dominating her in front of a crowd.
“Apologize for your disobedience,” I order.
I despise what I’m doing, even the knowledge that this is for her own good no longer holding the weight it did just moments ago.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “So sorry, sir.”
“Fucking stunning,” Tomas repeats. “I’m jealous she’s under your charge, Aleks.”
His voice is thick with arousal, like he’s stroking himself off in the shower, and I fucking hate him. “You know, she doesn’t seem too subdued. Ask her if she likes to be punished, Aleks.”
My voice shaking with fury, I address her. “Do you, slave? Do you like to be punished?”
Her eyes close and she whispers a brutally honest, “Sometimes, sir.” Her answer surprises me.
Sometimes?
Tomas chuckles. “Good answer, little slave,” he says. “I’d love a chance to make that always.”
Oh he fucking will not. There is no fucking way I’m letting him touch her.
“I like that one,” he repeats. “There’s something unique about her.”
Unique? She’s fucking one of a kind, her worth beyond anyone who’s ever stepped foot on this earth before and ever will again.
“I’ll be sure to train her well,” I say through clenched teeth. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. I briefly consider where we are in the ocean, and if it’s at all feasible to leap off this ship with her strapped to my back and swim to a distant island. It’s as likely as waving a magic wand and transforming into a unicorn.
“Keep me updated,” he says. “I want pictures. Well done, brothers. I’m pleased with your choices and how you’ve followed instructions.”
My eyes are on Marissa, making sure she doesn’t step another toe out of line. I’m so dist
racted that I almost don’t hear what Tomas says next.
“You’ve done so well, brothers, I’d like to give you another task. This one both a reward and an instruction.”
My spine goes rigid. “You’ve purchased virgins and you’ve chosen well. You may have the privilege of breaking them in before you offer them to the brotherhood.” He sobers. “Take their virginity before you return. It’s the only privilege I’ll grant.”
Erik hangs up the phone and slides it into his pocket, grinning.
At first, I don’t understand why a leader like him would grant that “privilege.” Wouldn’t he want them untainted when brought before the brotherhood? But no, that isn’t his ultimate purpose. He wanted to be sure we had what it took to acquire them, and he intends on using them.
I look at the wide-eyed women standing before us. The blonde is breathing heavily, as if to steady her nerves. The woman in the middle fidgets but doesn’t say a word. Marissa stares at the floor as if looking into the distance, detached from where she is and what she’s doing.
“You’ll each keep your own woman for the night,” I tell them. I steel myself for what has to happen next. “You heard what he said. Be sure they’re properly trained for our arrival in Boston.”
Erik snaps the leash back on the collar of the woman he purchased, who follows him with her head bowed. Yakov snaps his fingers at the blonde and beckons her to come. Marissa stares at me, bewildered.
“Stay,” I tell her. “Do not move until I tell you.” Something flashes through her eyes.
She’d better not fucking recognize me now. The timing would be fucking brutal.
I have no doubt that if they hadn’t fucked with her mind, she’d have recognized me by now, but the combination of my different appearance, our circumstance, and the abuse she’s suffered have affected her perception. Soon, though, I have hope that the cloud of deception will disappear, and she’ll recognize me.
The way she’s looking at me now, though, I’m afraid she’s going to say something that risks us both.
She opens her mouth to say something, and I snap my fingers at her. “No talking,” I command, so harshly she flinches. Erik and Yakov have already begun to leave when she takes a step closer to me, defying my instruction to stay.
“What did I tell you?”
She halts at the harsh tone of my voice.
I hate the idea of punishing her. Of “training” her. I hate that other men have hurt my woman. But Khristos, if any one of them suspects who we really are, she will be taken back into their custody and I’ll be ripped from her grasp forever.
Erik raises a brow at me. Questioning if I’ve got the balls to train this woman. Yakov looks at me in solidarity, then shoots her a stern look as if to silently warn her to obey. Then they’re gone, but their rooms are on either side of mine. They’ll hear everything.
I have to keep our cover, even if it kills me.
She doesn’t know me as Nicolai, but she knows me as master.
It’s where I’ll have to begin.
Chapter 13
Marissa
I feel like I’m walking in a dream or a nightmare or something. I’m not sure which it is, but there’s an element of the surreal about this I can’t shake. It terrifies me. The only comfort I’ve known in my captivity has been the anonymity of obedience. If I make a move out of place, I draw attention to myself, and I learned quickly that moving a toe out of line would bring about disastrous results.
I didn’t mean to defy my master. I meant to do exactly what he told me, but when he instructs me, halting sentience stops me. I’m trying to understand, but the harder I grasp the further awareness moves out of reach.
The others leave the room, and now we’re alone. I look to the floor, unable to look in my master’s eyes. He will punish me for not obeying.
And somehow, deep inside me, a very small part of me wants him to. Why do I want him to?
I shiver, confused by the fear and anticipation that wrack my body.
“Come here.” He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to loosen his tie. I walk toward him, eager to obey. To earn his praise. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not allowed to speak unless he gives me permission.
When I reach him he points to the floor by his feet.
“Kneel.”
I drop to my knees, eager to please him.
“Yes, master,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, master.” It feels good and right on my knees before him, like I’m supposed to be here, to show my sincere repentance. But he’s angry, so angry. The heat vibrates from him in waves that make me cower.
I flinch when his hand comes under my jaw and draws my eyes to his.
“Look at me.”
Why does he keep making me look at him? They rarely demand eye contact , but this one is bent on keeping my eyes on his.
“Sir?” I whisper. And this time, kneeling before him, when I look in his eyes, something shifts in me, like sun breaking through clouds. For one brief moment in time, I see everything, my thoughts on the very edge of remembrance. But then the clouds shift, and darkness covers awareness again.
“When I give you an instruction, you will obey,” he says. His voice is calm, but stern, and my body begins to respond with instinctive arousal. I’m not sure why, but I can’t control it.
“Yes, sir.” Will he punish me?
I need him to punish me.
I’m so confused, I feel as if I could laugh and cry, or sit and hide, all at once. Shouldn’t I be avoiding punishment? Why, then, do I need this from him? He removes his tie, his eyes never leaving mine, then lays it on the bed folded. Next, his suit coat. That joins the tie on the bed. He’s rolling up his sleeves, still watching me. I risk a glance at his corded forearms, thick with tattoos on either side. Are they familiar to me? I’m not sure. And I’m not sure why I expected they would be.
He loosens his collar before he crosses his arms on his chest.
“Stand.”
I stumble awkwardly to my feet. To my shock, he takes hold of my waist, his hands spanning my small frame, and bends me over his lap. I flail at first, taken aback at this weirdly awkward position. I’m falling, my head tipped down toward the floor, so unaccustomed to this.
His hand slams against my ass. “Stop that,” he orders. “Lie still.”
I immediately freeze when recognition dawns on me.
I’m over his lap so he can punish me here? But this is intimate and almost comforting, his warmth beneath me while he holds me down. Again, the clouds part and awareness threatens to surface, but as soon as I try to grasp hold of it, he spanks me again.
“You are mine now to do with as I will,” he says, holding me over his lap firmly. His voice tightens. “And you will fucking do what I tell you.”
I’m bared to him. Cool air sweeps across my skin. I submit to this. I welcome this. When he touches me, it isn’t the vicious pain I’ve undergone in captivity, but possessive and impassioned. Somehow intimate. Reminiscent of something we’ve shared somehow, awareness fading in and out like waves lapping on a shore.
Authority… protection… And hell, my body’s on fire. Punishment at his hands is deeply, undeniably erotic.
I need this.
With fluid grace, he captures my flailing wrists and with one swift movement, pins them to my lower back. I close my eyes, bracing for the punishment he will give me. Punishment hurts, and even though my body somehow longs for just this, my mind warns me to brace.
Holding me over his lap, my belly pressed against to his firm thighs, I can feel his strength beneath me for one split second before he whacks his hand against me again. And again. And again.
It hurts, but instantly arousal sweeps through me. Punishment and pain. Bliss and pleasure. My body’s been trained to crave this, and as pain builds, one stroke after another landing, pressure builds between my thighs. But I’m warring within myself to accept my punishment and grasp the edge of awareness. Something is just beyond my reach. Right there
. Something that will make all of this clear to me.
I feel him hard beneath me, but it doesn’t surprise or shock me. He’s aroused from punishing me. This is what masters do. They crave inflicting pain, and will demand pleasure next. The slaps ring through the room, his voice harsh and corrective. Anyone on either side of us will hear my punishment.
“I will not tolerate disobedience from you. You will learn your place as my slave, or the next punishment will be worse than this.”
Too soon, he stops, his hand resting on my heated skin.
I want more. Longer. Harder. This isn’t the deep cavern of pain that ultimately comforts.
“You will do what I say, slave,” he says, so loudly this time that it startles me.
“Yes, sir!” I say back, my words carrying through the small room. And that pleases him.
“Good girl,” he says lower now, approvingly. “That’s exactly what I want to hear from you.”
Something strange begins to happen. My throat is tight, my nose tingles, and my eyes burn. I’m losing control and I don’t know why or how, but as he runs his hand along my naked skin, murmuring soft words of approval, his voice catches.
“I…” I know him. He isn’t a monster. He hasn’t bought me to abuse me.
I’m filled with an unquenchable thirst to please him, to be the good girl he approves of.
But this isn’t part of the script. This isn’t how it should go.
I want to kneel at his feet and worship him. Grovel in my nakedness until I earn a crumb of approval. Debase myself until only he remains.
Why?
“Will you obey me?” he rasps out, but his harsh tone belies his tender touch. He’s holding himself back.
From what?
“Yes, sir. I will do whatever you tell me, sir. Thank you for punishing me.” The words tumble from my mouth like water over a cliff, uncontrolled and powerful. Once more clouds part, and this time, I see a face.
Nicolai.
I knew Nicolai once. Does this man know him?
My master stills, his voice at once harsh and commanding. He drops his body close to mine, his mouth at my ear vibrating with anger. “Do not ever say that name out loud again.”
