by Box Set
“She’s stronger than she thinks,” Kristoff states and a door is closed. A bolt slides in place.
Kristoff walks over to the side of the bed again and sits down. “I have to rub this on your back. It’s going to sting,” he says, showing me the tube of ointment the doctor gave him. He sounds sorry already and he hasn’t touched me yet.
“Okay,” I nod, but he keeps staring at me.
His lips crack into a gentle smile. “You have to roll onto your stomach, Magdalena,” he says.
Right. I knew that.
I manage the feat without causing more pain to my aching muscles and sink into the pillow once I’m face down.
The blanket is pulled down and I fist the pillows. I jump at the first touch of his finger to my skin.
“No!” I yell and scramble up to my knees.
“Magdalena, it’s just me and it’s okay. See, just the ointment.” He holds up the tube again. “Just the medicine to help you heal.”
I shake my head, clearing away the fuzz.
“Right. Yeah. Okay,” I say and slink back into position.
I clench my eyes while he liberally applies the ointment to the welts. There has to be many of them because he curses when he sees my back.
“I will kill them all.” His vow is spoken low and in Russian. This wouldn’t have happened if he had been here. He would have stopped them. I can feel it, know it deep down. He wouldn’t have let them hurt me.
“Where were you?” I ask, swallowing over the soreness of my throat.
“On a fool’s errand,” he says with heat. “I have questions for you, but it will wait until tomorrow.” The definitive tone doesn’t suggest I push for more answers, and I’m too tired to argue. Too sore to tempt his anger. Though a sense of safety spreads through me with his touch. He’s being gentle and when I hiss from his touch on a sensitive spot he apologizes.
“Will the man I’m sold to do this? Will he do what Andrei did?” I ask softly, feeling the tears wet my lashes. I don’t want to know, but I have to ask. I can’t go around blindly anymore. The hope I held onto is gone, and I can’t be foolish enough to try to regain it.
Kristoff doesn’t answer. The cap snaps closed on the tube of medicine and he pulls the sheet over my naked ass. The ointment sticks to the sheet, but I don’t tell him. He’s giving me privacy, at least a small pinch of it, and I’m going to take it. Because I know in a few days I won’t have any.
“I’ve heard of Maksim. My sister’s mentioned him.” He’s a monster is what I want to say, but I don’t. I had called Kristoff a monster, but I had been wrong. His father, the men who hurt me, they are beasts from hell. Maksim is more like them.
“Don’t worry about that Russian fuck. He won’t get near you.” He gives me another vow. But I know he can’t keep these promises.
“Another buyer?” I ask. I’m talking about my one sale like I’m inquiring into the sale of a car.
“No.” The word is said with force, a finality.
But I guess I still haven’t learned, because I press on. “So, then Maksim will buy me, and he’ll do what these men did.” I close my eyes. “And more,” I whisper.
He wipes the hair from my face and brings his nose to touch mine. “No. No Magdalena. No one will hurt you. Never again. I promise. These men that did this - I will kill them all. Maksim will never see you, never touch you.”
His breath is hot against my skin. I take a deep breath, willing my heart to believe him. To find the speck of hope I’d been holding onto. But it’s gone. He can’t promise these things, even if he means them.
“In two days, I’ll be sold,” I say softly, leaning into him, wanting his touch to wash away the bad memories, to take away the feeling of grime those men put on me.
“No. You’re mine, Magdalena,” he says harshly. “You aren’t going anywhere, with anyone.”
His lips press to mine, stealing away my next sentence. The contradiction to his promise, the truth. I will be sold and taken away from him. But his kiss is more powerful. He’s twisting my thoughts, turning them away from the fear and pushing them to him.
“You aren’t going anywhere. I swear it to you,” he whispers in English. “I will kill anyone who touches you.” Another vow, another promise for him to break, but I can’t take away the hope from him. I don’t want him to feel this despair, this emptiness. So, I say nothing.
Because for this moment, I have him. And I don’t hate him. I lean into him and he climbs into the bed, cradling my head to his chest.
“Sleep now, Magdalena,” he orders in that overbearing way of his, but even if I wanted to disobey him, my eyes are already closing.
15
I bring up a tray of scrambled eggs and yogurt for Magdalena the morning after my father’s men sealed their fates. No servants are allowed in my apartment now, no one here is to be trusted.
Dr. Morrow found the spray to help numb her throat, but she won’t let me give it to her. She swears it’s not so bad this morning, but I think she’s relying on the pain for a safe place to hide.
She didn’t fight me when I reapplied the ointment, or when I helped her to the bathroom. I was both pleased and worried. It seems the fight has left her completely. No matter how much I try to pull her back from it, she’s comfortable sitting in the darkness.
I showed it to her when I took her ass, and now she finds it comforting.
When I enter my bedroom, she’s standing by the windows, her arms crossed over her chest. Every angry welt is on display. They are already turning to ugly purple and blue streaks crisscrossing her shoulder blades and her ass. I see at least two across the bottom of her back and grind my teeth together. They could have damaged her kidneys with their carelessness.
“I’ve brought breakfast,” I say when she doesn’t move to look at me. Her hair is damp.
“I’m not really hungry. Is it okay if I wait to eat?” she asks softly. Where is the feisty woman who would simply tell me to fuck off with the tray?
“No, you need to eat something.” I’m taking advantage of her warped sense of submission, but I don’t care. She’s lost weight since she’s been with me, and she’s been battered and bruised.
She sighs but comes to me anyway. I can see the movements still pain her, but she doesn’t comment on it. I help her sit in the chair at the table and hand her the spoon. “At least the yogurt. It’s softer and shouldn’t hurt your throat too much.”
“Okay.” She sinks the spoon into the vanilla yogurt.
I take the chair across from her and study her eating. She’s taking small bites and each time she swallows, I can tell it hurts. She’ll have ice cream for lunch, I decide. And I’m going to rip out the fucking throats of those men.
“I need to ask you a few questions. You need to be honest with me,” I say with a hardness forced into my tone. She responds better to it, and I need her cooperation if I’m going to sort out everything and get my plan into action.
She nods and takes another bite.
“When is the last time you spoke to your sister?” I ask, folding my hands in my lap and crossing my ankle over my knee.
“I talk with her every day. So, the day before I was taken.” Her voice is still hoarse but at least she doesn’t wince every time she speaks.
“I mean talk. When’s the last time you talked?” I ask again.
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean? I just told you.”
“I looked through your phone. You’ve texted her almost daily, but I didn’t see her in your call list. So, when’s the last time you actually talked to her, heard her voice, saw her?” I have information for her, and it’s going to hurt. She’s going to be knocked for a loop, so I need to bring her to the conclusion herself, or at least as close to it as possible. Maybe it will soften the reality. Though nothing has been soft about her reality since she’s come into my world.
“She’s busy,” she says defensively. “She’s not even in the country most of the time,” she goes on to explain.
/> “When?” I ask again. My patience is slipping.
She heaves a heavy sigh and takes another bite of her yogurt. “Why does it matter? She won’t find me in time.” Does she think that I’m trying to track down Danuta because I’m afraid she’ll show up and ruin everything?
“It matters because I’ve asked.” I manage to keep my voice even.
When she looks at me, it’s with a serene acceptance. The hope that burned so annoyingly in her days ago has fizzled out.
“A month, maybe more. But she texts back most of the time.”
Most of the time? After skimming through her phone, I’ve become more obsessed with her relationship with her sister. Every day Magdalena texts her sister with an update on what she’s up to and asks Danuta about her day. Maybe - and I’m being extremely generous - Danuta answers her a quarter of the time.
“Your sister’s older than you and your parents died when you were young, is that right?” I ask.
“Why are you asking all this if you already know?” She sounds irritated. Good. “My parents were killed in an accident when I was in high school. Since Danuta was legal age, she was given guardianship, so I wouldn’t go to a group home. Once I went to college, she transferred out of the local police department and went into the CIA.”
All of this, I already knew.
“Did Danuta know you were coming to England to track down my father?”
She nods. “Yeah. I told her where I’d be, gave her the address of the apartment I found.”
“So, she knew you were coming to expose my father’s business?”
“Yeah. She didn’t like it, told me it was too dangerous. I explained I was only getting a story from the outside. I wouldn’t have any contact with him or any of his people.” She stops talking and laughs. “Which apparently was incorrect.”
I reach over the table and pat her hand. “Focus on me, Magdalena. Forget yesterday.”
Forget? She’ll never forget, but I’ll do my damnedest to give her something better to focus on.
She slips her hand out from beneath mine and picks up the glass of water I brought her. She wanted orange juice, but her throat is too raw, it would have been painful.
“When your father dies, and you take over the business, do you think you’ll keep the same business model?” she asks in prime journalist voice.
The question catches me off guard, but I quickly recover.
“I’m not going to take over my father’s business.” It’s not a lie. I’m not. I have other ventures that will make me just as much money.
“Hmm.” She sips her water.
She doesn’t believe me. Fine. She’s getting me off topic anyway, and I need to get this going or everything I have planned will be delayed.
“Have you thought about how my father’s men knew where you were? And who you were?”
“They thought I was my sister,” she shrugs.
“How’d they know where you were?”
“I don’t know,” she sounds annoyed with my questions. I can see the fatigue in her eyes, but I have to get this done before she can nap.
“Danuta isn’t coming to save you, Magdalena.”
A dark cloud crosses her expression. “I already know that.” She drops the spoon onto the tray.
My phone dings seven times in secession. I check the messages. Things are falling into place. Good.
“I’m going to move you from my room. I have a man coming who’s going to take you to a safe place. You have to stay with him until I come for you, okay? You can’t try to escape, and you can’t go with anyone else. Do you understand that?”
She shakes her head. Of course, she doesn’t understand.
I leave the table and bring her a pile of clothes. Some leggings and a sweater I snagged from Tricia.
“Clothes?” she asks like I’m offering her a million-dollar security bond.
“Yes. You’re back and ass will still be a bit tender, but I can’t have you walking around naked now.” I try to smile, but the fear in her eyes kills my attempt at levity.
“You’re sending me away. Does that mean the sale will happen now?” Her voice is shaking. How many times have I heard the same tremor and ignored it?
I deserve the hell I’m destined for.
“Magdalena, I told you. You aren’t being sold. You’re staying with me, but for right now I need you to go with Carlos. He’s going to keep you safe for me until I come get you.”
She blinks. “No.”
“No?” I can’t help the sharpness of my tone. She’s back to defying me again. While a good sign, still irritating.
“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going with Carlos or your father or anyone else. I’m staying right fucking here.” She slams her hand on the table and stands up.
“Magdalena, I need you to listen to me now. No fucking around. You have to do exactly as I say.” My phone chimes again. He’s early, but I can’t argue with the time. I trust Carlos. He’s the only one I can now. My father’s men - my men - could turn on me for this. I can’t chance her safety.
“Who is he?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.
“What?” I want to shake her; doesn’t she understand how much time we don’t have?
“Who is he?” she parrots herself.
“A man I’ve known for a very long time. He’s loyal only to me.” Well, and his own family who would gladly slit my father’s throat if given the chance. But we don't have time for all the particulars.
“I don’t want him touching me.” The demand is still there, lingering with the twinge of fear, but I know her little tells. And she’s avoiding my eyes, she’s staring at my chin again. She’s terrified.
“He won’t,” I promise. He might have to if she freaks out and tries to run, but I’m keeping that information to myself.
She stares at me, at the pile of clothes in my hands and after a long moment she nods and takes them from me. I try to help her, but she swats my hands away.
“When this is all over and you’re back to yourself, we’re going to talk about appropriate behavior,” I mutter to myself, but make sure she overhears me. Her eyes snap to me, and for a moment I’m afraid I’ve made her retreat back inside herself. The soft blush blossoming on her cheeks tell me there’s hope. She’s still in there.
While she’s working her way into the clothes, I leave her to open my apartment door. Carlos is waiting outside looking as much of a bastard as ever. He has more tattoos than skin I think, and his shaved head shimmers from the overhead lighting.
“Fuck, you’re going to terrify her,” I say, slapping his back when he walks into my room.
“No more than you, my friend,” he says with a nod. “I have the place ready. Are those jackasses downstairs going to give me trouble?” he asks, jerking a finger at the front door.
“No. I’ll take you two down the back exit. If we run into anyone, I’ll handle it.” I look toward the bedroom door. I hadn’t locked it and now it’s opening. Magdalena is standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and her feet bare. Shit.
“Shoes.” I hold up a finger and run to the closet.
“You’re Carlos?” she asks in her journalist voice again.
“I am.” Carlos doesn’t move toward her.
“Why would you help Kristoff get me away from his father? From Maksim. You know either of them would kill you for doing it.” She’s not wrong.
Carlos isn’t the sort to let a little threat of death stop him. “I owe Kristoff my sister’s life, and my own. If I die helping him, so be it.”
I grab her shoes from my closet. Her clothes had been cut from her when she was brought in, but I saved the shoes.
“Why do you owe him?” she asks when I hand her the shoes.
“He’ll tell you later, get these on.” I point to the shoes. I move around the room, grabbing everything I need. A second gun, more ammo, and a burner phone.
“I think I should know now,” she says, still not movin
g.
My teeth snap, and I take a deep breath. “Magdalena, I’m trying here, baby. I’m trying to keep my cool, but if you don’t start listening to me in three seconds, I’m going to have to find a way to punish you. And I can’t spank you, so my options are going to be a bit more sinister.”
A shudder runs through her body. I saw it. Her pupils dilate, and her chest thrusts out. Ah. There’s my girl.
“Whatever.” She snorts and moves to the couch to stuff her feet into the shoes.
I grin at Carlos. “Call me as soon as you get to the location.” I throw him the burner. “I won’t make a move until I know she’s safe.”
“You sure you got this?” he asks me. “Going up against your father - you can’t come back from that shit.”
“I don’t want to. And I’m not going against him, I’m taking him down,” I explain.
“My men are waiting for your signal. Once you give it, they’ll charge in.”
I nod and grab his hand to shake appreciatively. He’s taking a big risk here. His men may not make it home after this.
I swirl the silencer into place on my gun and grab Magdalena’s hand, pulling her along through my apartment to the back hall. She’s never seen outside my bedroom, aside from the dungeon. And she never will. Once this is done, we are never coming back here.
We make our way down the back stairwell without any trouble. Carlos’ car is just outside the gates, and we manage to get there without meeting anyone. My father is confident that everything is going as planned. His stunt yesterday with Magdalena has him thinking he’s put me back in my place.
“Kristoff? What are you doing?” Viktor calls out to us. When my eyes land on him, the blood drains from his face. He knows I know. Frantically, he looks from me to Magdalena then back. “Look, man, she - fuck, your father said - I had no fucking choice,” he cries like a beggar.
I step away from Carlos and Magdalena, making my way over to him. He’s in a panic, and he fucking should be. He should be running away, but he’s a fucking idiot and stands still, waiting for me to come to him. Did he think I’d forgive him?
When I’m close enough, I throw the heel of my hand into his nose. The crunch isn’t satisfying enough, nor is the scream of pain he unleashes. Once he’s on the ground, holding his nose, I point my gun and shoot through his neck. His cries are garbled. Blood pours from his wound, but it’s not a fatal shot. Just enough to shut him up.
