by Jane Henry
I brace myself for his anger. The Stefan I’ve seen in the past few hours is nothing like the man I thought I loved. He’s so much harsher. Cruel, even.
“Taara.” The gentleness in his tone surprises me so much, I whip my head back to look at him. “It was a mistake following me.”
I swallow hard. “I know that now. I’d have to be a fool not to have realized that.”
He shakes his head. “My men want you dead,” he says in a choked voice. I blink in surprise. Is he upset by this turn of events? In front of the others, I saw no such regret. “I have to prove your innocence.”
“Do you?” I ask. “And do you have to order me into silence and smack my ass and drag me around like a child?”
His brows draw down and he’s once again the formidable, fearless leader of the Bratva.
“If I have to? Yes. And much more, Taara. So much more.”
I look out the window. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I imagine I hear the regret in his voice. I imagine I even hear his remorse. But I won’t let myself even hope for more than eventual freedom.
I sigh. I will do what he says. Even if it kills me.
Do I have a choice?
Chapter 7
Stefan
We take my private jet to Boston. Taara sleeps beside me, and I’m glad she does. She might not even realize that her head falls onto my shoulder in slumber. The girl always looks a little tired, so it actually pleases me to see her resting beside me like this. And for one moment, I imagine she isn’t my captive, but my woman, and we aren’t going undercover and into the face of danger, but on a trip together. Just me and her.
We land after the sun’s set, and when I shake her shoulder, she wakes with a start and a little scream. It saddens me that she’s afraid. I wish our circumstances were so much more different than they are.
But I have a job to do, and I will not falter.
“You’re fine,” I say sharply, though what I want to do is gather her close to me and assure her she’s safe. I can’t, though. We are about to board a ship under the guise of being master and slave, and I need her to know her role here.
I watch her pretty, pouty lips turn downward while she schools her features. She hates me now. She should, but a part of me wishes this didn’t have to be the case. I liked the way she looked at me before, all sweet and eager to please. And though I love a good, feisty woman with spunk, her hatred of me is wholly different.
I turn her to face me. “We board the ship tonight. Remember who you are.”
It seems being woken has made her grumpy, for she frowns at me. I shake my head and remove the collar and chain I brought with me from my pocket. “You will pose as my slave.”
“I don’t know what that means. I didn’t even know people still had slaves. I seem to recall we abolished slavery back in, say, Lincoln’s time.”
“This is a different type of slavery,” I say, not liking the petulant tone of her voice one bit.
Her eyes grow wide. “Waaaait… ok, wait a minute. You mean… you mean sexual slavery, right?” I don’t respond, but my silence is answer enough. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Taara,” I warn. “Curb your attitude. We will join the others aboard the ship and find our room. Tomas handled the details, and he said he’d make sure we had the largest room possible. You will get some sleep shortly, but you must maintain your role in the meantime.” I scowl. “So, knock it off.”
We exit the plane and walk to the car that already waits for us. I stand her in front of me. Even disheveled and exhausted, she looks so beautiful to me with her dark black hair and petite, curvy, feminine body. In a move I hope I don’t regret, I brush her black hair off her forehead and tuck a stray lock behind her ear. Her deep brown eyes open wide, her full, beautiful lips parting. I long to bend and capture her mouth with mine, to kiss her until she moans and melts beneath me. To show her how much she means to me, even now. That my cruelty to her is of necessity and not desire. I’d so much rather treat her with tenderness.
Without explanation, I unclasp the collar and fasten it around her neck. She blinks and looks down, then lifts her eyes back to me.
“What is this?” she whispers, her brows drawing together in anger. Her moods shift so quickly, I can hardly keep up.
“A reminder to you of your subservience to me, and a declaration to anyone who looks at you that you are mine.”
A shadow crosses her features, unmistakable pain she can’t hide. I wonder what saddens her in this moment. I imagine there are many things, but I can’t allow those to be my concern.
“We will speak more freely once in the privacy of our room, but until then, you are to walk beside me and keep your head bowed. Speak to no one and remember your place.”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
I’m pleasantly surprised by how easily she assumes her position by my side, humble and meek. Our driver takes our bags and I ease her into the car.
“We’re only a few minutes away from your port,” he says to me.
I’d have preferred a night alone with her, just one night to ease her into this next stage of the plan, but we have no time. We drive in silence, and she shivers. Without thinking, I draw her closer to me, focusing on my new role:
She is my slave now and I her master, so in these roles it’s not out of the ordinary for me to care for her.
“Come here,” I murmur, tucking her against me. “It’s colder here than in Atlanta, isn’t it?”
She shivers again, her body rigid beside me. “Yes, sir.”
And right then, with her pressed up to my side, I don’t regret any of this. Not what’s happened tonight. Not having taken her. Not even her pretending to be my slave. For having her in my arms is worth it all.
But as soon as the thought comes to me, I dismiss it. I can’t allow myself to grow sympathetic. It isn’t like me. And masters must be firm and unyielding.
“Are you—” she pauses and bites her lip but stops. “I am to only call you master?” she asks in a whisper so low I hardly hear her. “Do they know your name?”
Ah. She wonders if I’ll need to change my identity at all.
“Yes,” I say to her. “Though the others call me Stefan, you may only refer to me as master.” It’s answer enough. I will not hide my true identity, because there’s no need to. Pakhan of any brotherhood is allowed to take a slave, and many have done so. It will be easier to maintain my role as Stefan, pakhan of the Atlanta brotherhood, than feign any other identity.
We arrive at the port, and I watch as Taara’s eyes grow wide when she takes in the magnificent ship in the harbor.
“Oh, wow,” she whispers. “That’s beautiful.”
And it is. A luxury cruise ship, our destination is lit with vibrant purple and yellow lights, lending it an almost majestic air.
“Have you ever been aboard a ship?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. It seems tonight is a night of many firsts for her.
“The quarters are rather cramped, but this ship has a reputation as one of the finest.” I say this as if it makes any fucking difference, like we’re on vacation, and that’s such bullshit. I look away from her, not able to meet her eyes.
Still, we only have one day here before we head to Russia, so we need to make the most of it. I wish we weren’t so rushed, moving from one place to the next so rapidly. But we will do what we have to.
She follows like a good little girl as we board the ship. And as soon as we enter, we can see why this is no ordinary cruise ship.
The entry room is teeming with people. Many of the men wear suits, the women wearing skimpy sheaths or nothing at all. Taara’s lovely wide eyes take everything in in silence, from the crush of guests to their unusual attire. It’s soon clear she’s far from the only girl collared.
What she doesn’t know is that some of these men came alone, many having recently acquired their new partners. They’ve completed their auction, and we arrive just in time to witness the new couples in
teracting. I honestly am not sure what we’ll see when we board, all I know is that I should be able to find a clue regarding the Thieves trade.
And I get Taara alone. That could either prove helpful or lethal.
“There’s a guest reception tonight in the lounge,” the woman greeting us tells us. She’s tall and thin, her blonde hair tucked into a clip at the back of her head, wearing simple pearl earrings and a black dress. She looks like a stewardess. It’s hard to imagine she knows exactly what happens aboard these ships. Working here, she’d have to.
“Please join us and get to know your fellow passengers a bit better.”
It’s the last fucking thing I want to do, but it’s foolish to ignore an opportunity to find out what I’m looking for.
Thankfully, Taara walks by my side and says nothing at all, obediently following me like the good little girl she is. A bellhop brings our bags to a room at the far end of the hall, and we follow in silence. But when we open the door, I don’t see the large room I was told Tomas booked for us, but instead a tiny room little larger than a closet.
“What the hell is this?” I ask. “This isn’t the room I requested.”
The bellhop frowns. “So sorry, sir.” He glances at a piece of paper in his hand. “This is the one we were told you wished for?”
I frown, looking at the interior. There’s one tiny bed, one little bathroom, and a large window overlooking the sea. I didn’t want to be in such tight quarters with Taara, not so soon.
“Transfer me to the bigger room I requested, please,” I say, keeping my temper in check with effort. I’m trying to stay patient, but this is bullshit.
“I’ll—see what I can do, sir.” And then he’s gone, and I’m standing there awkwardly with Taara.
She looks about the room. “So much for the biggest room they had,” She mutters. “Though this does have a sort of quaint appeal.”
“You like this room?” The girl baffles me.
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t say like. I mean, it would be nice to have a little space…” her voice wanders off and she bites her lip. “I mean—yes, sir,” she says.
The bellhop is back in the doorway.
“I checked, sir, and unfortunately this is the only room we have left.”
I curse under my breath. “Very well.”
“But for your troubles, we’ll be sure to grant you a bottle of champagne on the house. That will arrive shortly. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.” And then we’re alone, just the two of us, in this tiny space. As master and slave.
But I’m tired. So very tired.
“Sit, Taara,” I tell her. I see our luggage by the door. They’ve had it brought here ahead of us. When she does what I say, I get up and quickly unpack the luggage. Her clothing is simple and elegant, alongside some silky, sexy little numbers. Christ. She’ll have to wear the sexy things aboard this ship. If anyone looks at her, if anyone touches her…
I’m suddenly glad we don’t have the large room. She’ll need to learn to get accustomed to being practically fucking attached to me.
When I finish unpacking, I cast a glance her way. She’s sitting with her hands in her lap, looking about the room. Her bottom lip captured between her teeth, her eyes wide and curious.
“I do know a little bit about master and slave, Stefan,” she says, then her cheeks color. “I’m sorry, I—”
“You may call me Stefan in private,” I allow. “And what do you know?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know how accurate it is, for I’ve only read fiction, but…” her voice trails off. “Well, let’s just say it’s intriguing.”
“Intriguing is a good word,” I say, putting the luggage away. “What else do you know?”
She sighs. “A slave obeys her master. A slave’s number one job is to ensure that she serves her master’s every wish, with no thought to her own.” A short pause, then she continues. “And a—a slave trusts her master to care for her every need.”
I nod. “That was more than a little. Now go freshen up before we go to the guest reception and we’ll begin our task.” With a nod, she gets up and goes to the tiny bathroom. When she’s out of my sight, I drop my face in my hands.
I don’t know what will happen to us next. But I do know that if I’m honest? I’m not devastated about being Taara’s master and having her by my side as my slave. The knowledge that I’m going to fucking enjoy this may be the very thing I fear the most in any of this.
Chapter 8
Taara
It feels like I’m in a sort of dream.
Nightmare?
Dream.
Something in between, I guess. It’s hardly utopia here. I’m his slave, and he my master, but hell, there are worse things than being alone with Stefan.
God, I still have feelings for him. How could I? How could I not hate the man? But the truth is, a downturn of his lips, a shake of his head, a stern click of his tongue, and I’m ready and eager to obey him. When he smiles at me, my heart dances, my hope rises, and I know, I know I should be more cautious, that I should protect myself better. I should hate him.
But I can’t help it. My feelings for him run deep, and it seems impossible to eradicate all of them.
For now, my only job is to prove my loyalty to him. I trust that Caroline wouldn’t steer me wrong, and this is what she suggested I do.
I can do this.
Deep breath.
I can.
I return to the small room after cleaning up in the tiny bathroom. The boat suddenly sways, and I lose my footing. We’re so close, I practically tumble into his lap. He catches me with ease, his eyes doing that crinkle around the edge thing that kills me. How can he be so casual about all of this?
“You alright?” he asks in my ear, that sexy-deep grumble of his skating straight between my legs. I bet he knows how he affects me, the jerk.
“Of course,” I say. I try to push myself off of him, but of course he doesn’t let me go until he’s ready.
“Good,” he says. “You’ll have to learn to get your sea legs.” He laughs mirthlessly. “I guess you’ll have to learn a lot of things.”
Jerk.
He sets me on my feet in front of him.
“Wear this,” Stefan says, handing me a tiny black sheath dress that looks as if it’s little more than a tube top. I blink in surprise but take it and turn to go back to the bathroom.
“No,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing his arms on his chest. I look at him over my shoulder, confused.
“No what?”
“You may not get dressed in there. If we are to be master and slave aboard this ship, you’ll learn to be comfortable being naked in front of me.”
“I… oh, God. Seriously?” Is he going to go all controlling on me?
Well. Obviously.
Sigh.
I stare at him, at the man I once loved, the sexiest man I know, and I wonder if I can do this. How will I?
But then I think of Caroline. The stories she told me. What she’s endured. And I decide once again, I will not falter. I will not cave. I’m going to prove once and for all to Stefan that he can trust me, that I will do what he tells me. Because hell… if I’m really honest? I want his approval, and if that means sashaying my naked body in front of him, then… Well. It could be worse.
Lord, what my mother would say.
But something has to give between us. Something has to change. I can’t keep vacillating between hatred and want, and if I can show him I’m on his side… if we can both be on the same side… maybe I can turn this around.
So, I give it to him. My trust. My obedience.
My submission.
I don’t want to. But it’s the choice that’s best right now. And sometimes, you need to choose between two shitty options.
“Yes, sir,” I say, my voice humble and meek, while I strip out of the rumpled clothing I wore on the plane. My hands shake, the collar at my neck feeling suddenly heavy
with the weight of my new role. I grasp the hem of my red top and yank it over my head. Now I wear nothing but a plain white cotton bra and a pair of leggings. This would be sexy if we—no. There is no if.
Let’s be honest.
This is fucking sexy.
I watch as he shifts uncomfortably, his gaze molten when my clothing falls to the floor like the wrapping of a gift. It thrills me. It exhilarates me. Hell, it turns me on, and then I realize with sudden vivid awareness, I’m controlling this. He might be the one with overtly more power than I, but right here, right now? I’m the one commanding this energy between us, and I love that I am.
I step closer to him, watching his every move as I roll the top of my leggings between my fingers and begin to push them down. I step one foot out, then another, and without hesitation, remove my panties and bra. My breasts feel fuller than normal, my body tight with the tension that rises between us. This room is so tiny, there’s hardly any space between us at all, so when I stand in front of him, no longer clothed, he only has to reach out a hand to draw me to him. My breaths mingling with his, we’re sharing the same space, the same air, but more… the intimacy of this moment. And he’d have to be made of granite to be immune to this pull between us, our attraction as inevitable as gravity.
When he touches me, I lose my resolve to outwardly obey but remain detached. Hell, did I ever have that much control? I can’t be angry with him when he touches me like this, his rough hands at the small of my back, pulling me between his legs, as if he’s meant to touch me there. To hold me like this. As if I’m his, like my body’s grooved to fit his touch and when he holds me, we’re one. My throat tightens and my breath hitches. I’m dancing between logic, desire, and a need so desperate my heart is being rent in two.
Without a word, he dips his head to my shoulder and kisses his way along the slopes to my neck. My head falls to the side, granting him access to the tender skin. I moan when his tongue trails along my collarbone, followed by a sensual suckle I feel straight to my clit. The tenuous hold I had on my resolve crumbles.
