by Box Set
“I asked if you’re ready,” I say again, firmer, and pull out the knife I’ve brought with me.
“I was only doing what your father told me to do! I followed orders!” he cries, tears are already falling. Fucking pussy.
His legs have been cuffed to the cell bars, spread wide open for me. I reach between them and pull his cock back toward me. I squeeze the soft shaft and pull downward.
“No! No!” he screams and tries to wiggle away. He’s fighting hard, and if he weren’t restrained so well, he might actually get away. But I’m not a novice. And he’s earned every bit of this.
The knife slices easily through him, and his dick falls to the ground. His screams are deafening now, but I’m not done. Blood pours out, and if I take too long, he might pass out from the blood loss before I finish. And I don’t want that to happen.
Magdalena didn’t get to sleep through the five men raping and beating her. They will not get the convenience either.
I pull one ass cheek to the side and line up the tip of my knife to his clenched ass hole. He’s still hollering over losing his cock, I’m not sure if he even realizes what’s coming next.
“Shhhh,” I say soothingly. “Shhh, Matvei. Almost done.” He stills for a moment, like he’s trying to hear me, trying to figure out what’s next. And he does, as my knife slowly begins to enter his ass.
“No!” He bucks again, but it’s no use. I had planned to go slow, but he’s getting annoying, so I shove the knife up into him.
“Does that feel good, Matvei?” I ask, reminding myself of how scared Magdalena must have been. How much pain he and his friends brought her. I twist the knife and pull downward, toward his dismembered cock. The knife tears him apart, his balls are ripped open and blood splatters over my boots.
I wait for him to stop shouting and collapse into his binds. He probably still has a pulse, but not for long. I remove my knife, wiping it on his shirt until it’s clean and step back.
Lifeless, he dangles from his binds.
I step out of the room, signaling one of my men to clean up the mess. I have three more rooms to play in. I sheath my knife and roll my shoulders. It’s going to be a long morning.
18
Six Months Later…
The beat of the music mirrors my heart pounding in my chest. It’s not my first time at The Dungeon, my favorite play space in New York. I’ve been here every week over the past two months. There’s no reason for my nerves to be so on edge.
It’s been six months since I woke up in that damn hospital bed. Alone and scared.
Physically, I’m all healed. It’s the rest of me that’s fucked up.
Kristoff abandoned me - threw me away.
His men tried to explain things the way he’d told them to, I’m sure. He’s paid for an apartment, that I won’t stay in. He’s hired the best therapist in New York for me, who I won’t speak to. And he’s taken care of all my sister’s estate issues leaving me with an overflowing bank account - which I won’t touch.
I didn’t lose a sister when his knife penetrated her heart, I’d lost her years ago. I don’t know everything; the government doesn’t like to admit it when one of their own goes off the grid and joins a human trafficking ring. I learned everything I needed to know when I got my hands on her laptop. She’d joined up with Andrei over a year ago. Just when the investigation turned to focus elsewhere. How convenient.
Kristoff had been right about the trust fund. On my twenty-fifth birthday, I will gain full access to it. But he was wrong about the amount. Interest compounds and it’s been sitting there for ten years. It’s close to five million now, and I’ll have it in another month.
When I questioned the attorney in charge of the funds, why I hadn’t been notified when I turned eighteen, he didn’t have an answer. Danuta knew who to pay off.
Officially, Danuta was killed while investigating Andrei Dowidoff - who had been killed by one of his own men. Matvei’s picture had been plastered between Danuta and Andrei’s in the NY Times. While my sister was being touted as a hero, I was piecing my life back together.
“Hey, Mags,” Bobby, a Dominant I played with casually before, says. Before Kristoff. Before everything.
“Hi.” I force a smile. We’ve played several times over the past weeks, and I’m looking forward to tonight. He promised a hard session, and I’m going to hold him to it. I need the bite of pain and he’s been holding back, afraid I wasn’t ready. He doesn’t know anything about what happened in England. But he thinks the death of my sister is taking me a while to work out.
His brown eyes dart toward the lobby. “Did you make plans tonight?”
“I don’t have any plans,” I insist. “If you want to play with someone else, that’s fine—”
“No, it’s not that.” He looks over my outfit - a short cut black dress and bites his lip. “No, it’s not that at all. But there’s a guy at the entrance looking for you.”
I turn to see what he’s pointing at.
Dr. Morrow.
My stomach flips. Something’s happened to Kristoff.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Bobby asks in that protective tone of his that used to get me wet just listening to. But, like everything else we’ve done over the past weeks, it’s not enough.
“No. I know him. He’s a friend. I’ll just talk to him real quick and come back.” I keep my eyes locked on Dr. Morrow and leave Bobby standing near the bar.
Dr. Morrow cracks a gentle smile when I approach him.
“Sorry, Magdalena, he’s not vetted,” John, the guard at the door, tells me.
“I know. It’s fine. I’ll step out.” I walk past Dr. Morrow and motion for him to follow me to the lobby, and out to the street.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately once we’re outside. I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill.
“I don't think Kristoff would approve of your dress,” he says and shakes off his coat, draping it over my shoulders.
“Approve?” I shake my head. “What’s wrong, why are you here?” I ask, more demanding, but I’m trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest.
“Nothing is wrong. I promise,” he says in that gentle voice of his. How anyone so calm and sweet could work for the Dowidoff family makes no sense to me.
“Then why did you just try to get into The Dungeon? And break up my date?”
“That man was your date?” he asks with raised brows. “He didn’t seem very - well, your type.”
If he means Bobby’s nothing like Kristoff, he’s right. They couldn’t be more different. One believes in consent and limits, while the other just takes what he wants when he wants.
“Kristoff wasn’t my choice, Dr. Morrow,” I remind him.
His lips press firmly into a straight line. “Yes, I know, but you came to care for him anyway.” I didn’t need that reminder. Not tonight.
“If every thing’s okay, why did you track me down?” I push for an answer. It’s cold, and I don’t want Bobby to find another partner.
“Kristoff is in town. He wants to see you,” he says on a long breath.
“So, he sent a messenger?” I laugh. “I have nothing to say to him.” Or everything. I have everything to say, to cry, to feel with him, but I can’t do it. I can’t allow myself to fall into him again. It was wrong, having feelings for him. He was my captor. It was sick and twisted, and now I’m home, I’m free, and I’m not going to fall for him again.
“No, not exactly,” Dr. Morrow says as a black SUV pulls up to the curb beside us. My stomach twists and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The back door opens, and Kristoff is sitting there. His expression dark, like he’s not as happy to see me as Dr. Morrow’s tone suggested.
“Magdalena. Get in,” he says and waves me to his side.
I laugh again and slip Dr. Morrow’s coat off me. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I hand the coat back to the doctor who looks worried now. When I turn back to Kristoff,
I can see why. He’s taken one look at my outfit and is climbing out of the car.
“I asked you to get in the car.” Kristoff yanks the coat back from the doctor and throws it over my shoulders.
“No. You told me. And I’m not getting in the fucking car, Kristoff.” I stand my ground but keep the coat. He’ll be easier to deal with if I’m covered up.
“Who are you here with?” he demands and looks back at the entrance to the club.
“No one.” It’s not a complete lie. Bobby and I had planned to play, but we aren’t a couple. He’s probably found someone else to play with by now.
“Then why won’t you get in?” he asks. I don't think anyone has ever told him no and gotten away with it, he seems confused by the concept.
“Because I’m not ready to leave yet, and I don’t want to see you.” I keep my eyes averted from his gaze. Being caught in that dominant glare of his will make my resolve weaken.
“Maybe, Magdalena would agree to meet for dinner, tomorrow night?” Dr. Morrow interjects.
Kristoff glares at him until he steps away.
“Is that it? Are you afraid of me?” He sounds torn up at the idea. I don’t remember him caring much about my fear when he first met me.
“I’m not afraid. I’ve moved on from—” What? Our relationship? Stupid. “I’m moving forward, and I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”
“You love me,” he states like he’s telling me I’m wearing shoes.
“What?” I can feel the heat in my cheeks and take a step back. “No. I cared for you because you showed me a very small amount of kindness in a really bad situation. After you made my life hell, I’ll add. But no, I don’t love you.”
“You won’t see the doctor I set up for you, or take the money that belongs to you, and you haven’t moved into the apartment. How can I be sure your safe if you won’t do what I tell you?” I see the little tick in his jaw and know he’s getting upset, but he’s holding himself steady.
“I don’t need any of those things. I’m fine. I have a new job at a photography studio and I’m working on several projects on my own. I don’t need your money or your help.”
“You’ve been here every weekend for two months, playing with someone,” he says in the most jealous tone I’ve ever heard him use.
I smile. “Yes. An old friend.”
“I don't like it,” he admits, and I laugh.
“I’m not your prisoner anymore, Kristoff. You can’t just pull up and demand I do everything you say. This is real life now. I have a life and I’m living it,” I say, taking a long breath. Unless he wants to take me prisoner again. There isn’t anyone on the street to stop him. It’s late and the traffic is slow at this time of night.
The idea of being shuffled into his car shouldn’t make me so damn tingly. But it does.
He takes a deep breath through his nose. “You’re right. Let my driver take you home at least. I’ll get another car.”
“I just got here,” I say.
“You’re done for tonight.” He shrugs. I suppose I should be happy he’s not dragging me off to the car.
“And how do I know your driver won’t just take me to some warehouse and lock me up?” I ask, half joking but mostly not.
His eyes darken. “You don’t. But I give you my word, he’ll drive you home.” He’s asking me to trust him. He abandoned me. If he’d wanted to keep me locked up in his basement, he wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of sending me back to the states in the first place.
Of all the things Kristoff has done to me, lying isn’t one of them.
“You’re not going to leave if I stay, are you?” I already know the answer.
“No, and if you go back inside to have some other man touch you while I’m standing here, I don’t promise that I won’t go in after you,” Kristoff says with a grin. He knows he’s winning.
“That’s why Dr. Morrow went in?” I ask.
“He was afraid I’d lose my temper.” Kristoff comes as close to rolling his eyes as I think he ever would. It’s endearing.
I shake my head. I can’t forget who and what he is.
“Is he your babysitter now?”
“He wanted to come with me to be sure you were healthy. He’s here in an official capacity,” Kristoff assures me, but after seeing Dr. Morrow’s eyes roll, I know the truth. He’s come to keep Kristoff under control. I don’t think any man would have that power, but this doctor seems to have Kristoff’s ear and heart.
I stare at him in silence. He’s changed somehow, the anger I was so used to seeing simmering just below the surface isn’t there anymore. He looks almost vulnerable while I’m deciding what to do.
Giving up, because I know he won’t give in, I agree. “Fine, your driver can take me home. But I do have to go back in to tell Bobby I’m leaving and to grab my purse.” I jerk a thumb at the door.
He raises an eyebrow. “Bobby?” he says the name with a forced American accent and I can’t help but laugh. “This man who plays domination games with you is named Bobby?”
“Domination games?” I ask laughing again.
“Yes, it’s a game here, yes? You play out fantasies and cuddle after?” His description isn’t quite the full reality, but not too far off either.
“It’s fun and safe,” I say to him.
He shrugs. “Get your things and go home. Will you let me have dinner with you tomorrow?”
Will I let him?
I don’t care for the term. He’d told me once I don’t let anything happen where he and I are concerned. That felt more natural than this permissive conversation.
“Dinner? Sure. I can meet you—”
He shakes his head. “No. My driver will pick you up at seven o’clock. Don’t be late, and don’t wear that.” He points to my dress. “Never wear that in public again. Burn the damn thing. I don't like it.”
A black sedan pulls up behind the SUV and Kristoff waves to it. He really is taking a separate car.
“Men love this dress on me,” I tease. I need to know where that line is, where is the Kristoff I met, and where is this man who stands in front of me.
“Exactly,” he says with a raised brow and tense jaw. “They shouldn’t need you to paint on your clothes to love you.”
I want to question him about his statement. But he walks over to the second car and gets inside.
As it drives away, I simmer inside. He didn’t even touch me, but my skin is hot.
“Well, that was odd,” I say.
Dr. Morrow laughs. “Go get your things. I’ll ride back with you since he’s forgotten all about me.”
I watch his car’s taillights fade into the night. He’s almost gentle now. Kind even.
I’m not sure I like it.
19
She’s going to be a little pissed off when she gets here, but I can live with that.
It wasn’t a lie about dinner, I just let her believe we’d be going out for the meal. Considering her first reaction to seeing me was to toss me to the side, I couldn’t give her any reasons not to join me tonight.
I even cooked. Burnt everything, then ordered in, but I made the attempt. And I’m going to be damn sure she knows it. Because she deserves better than a monster, and I’m working to be that for her.
I tried to forget her over the past six months. When I found out, she rebuked every attempt at making sure she was okay, the only thing I could do was set her free. With men keeping tabs on her of course, but I didn’t interfere.
I know about her photography job, and I know she hates it. She’s snapping family photos for shit’s sake. And her little projects are puff pieces on the New York socialites. She’s hiding from the world.
That stops now.
And if that means I have to go on dates with her to make it happen, I will. Because she deserves everything the world can give.
The front door of my condo overlooking Manhattan opens and I hear the click clop of heels on the tile. She’s dressed up for m
e.
I step out of the kitchen to greet her. She’s fucking gorgeous.
The dress she’s wearing comes down to her knees, the neckline plunges enough for the swell of her breasts to show, and the dark green coloring is perfect for her skin.
“If I’d known we were staying in, I would have worn jeans,” she says, wiping a loose hair from her eyes. She’s left it down and curled it. It’s longer than it was when we met, past her shoulders now.
“If you’d known we were staying in, you might not have come,” I counter.
“True,” she concedes. She looks around the condo. It’s an open layout, the only two rooms that can’t be seen are the bedroom and bathroom. “You live here now?”
“Only when I have to be in New York.” Which gratefully isn’t often. But if she lives here, I’ll be spending more time.
“You cooked?” she asks leaning to see into the kitchen.
“In a way,” I admit. “Burnt the spaghetti sauce, so I ordered food.”
“You burnt spaghetti sauce?” she asks unbelieving. “I would think if you’re going to cook, you’d cook something you’re used to. Like something Russian?” She tosses her purse on the end-table and walks past the living area to the large windows showcasing the evening lights of the city.
“I thought you’d like spaghetti,” I say. This feels wrong. Off somehow. Playful banter, casual talk. It’s nauseating.
“Kristoff, why did you come here? I mean why now?” She turns to me, her hands fisted at her sides.
“I have a meeting—”
“No! I mean why did you find me? Why not just leave me alone?” she demands. Months ago, I wouldn’t have allowed the tone, but this is different. I’m not on home ground here.
“You’ve never been alone,” I admit. “I’ve known every move you’ve made since you were brought back home. I know where you work, what you eat for dinner most nights - which is spaghetti—” I point a finger at her. “I know you have one friend you see on Sundays for yoga, and I know you want to enjoy all this freedom, but you’re not.”
