by Lana Sky
I swallow the fear back and put all of my effort into trying to decipher our surroundings. Gray skyscrapers tower above, blocking out what little remains of the overcast sky. Suddenly, the car turns and the interior plunges into darkness before I can make out what exactly he entered. A parking garage? The place appears to be a single level, devoid of any other cars.
“Come.” He parks and climbs out, leaving me to follow him through the metal fire exit that opens onto a narrow hallway.
The air tastes like rust here, and I find myself shivering as he leads me through a maze of corridors and finally into a large, open room I don’t recognize.
The walls are black. The floor is bare cement, and in the center of it, someone spread out a large square of plastic tarp. Not just any quality, either—it’s the kind butchers use when they cut up an animal. I know only because Melanie dated one once upon a time. The back of his shop resembled this room in a way: cold and semi-dark. The only difference is that, instead of carcasses of cows, hunks of stone in various stages of sculpting linger around the corners.
“Strip,” Maxim tells me as my eyes blink rapidly to adjust.
Confusion weighs my veins down like lead; I’m too slow. It feels like an eternity before I finally manage to bend and remove my shoes first. Then my dress. Panties. Bra. When I’m naked, Maxim leaves my clothes untouched and jerks his chin toward the tarp.
“Lie on it.”
I’m allowed only two seconds to comply on my own before he grabs me by the shoulder and drags me closer to the edge of the tarp himself. One shove and I go down hard, landing on my side, tasting blood. I must have bitten my cheek.
True terror creeps beneath my skin as I watch him through a jagged fringe of my hair. With an almost beautiful elegance, he heads for a corner of the room, where tools hang from the wall. They’re sharp, glinting in the dim lighting. After a moment’s observation, he grabs one seemingly at random—but it just so happens to be the sharpest: a knife. When he turns to face me again, my entire body tenses up in recognition.
I know that look.
“Face the wall,” he commands, his voice strained and gritted. His boots thud against the floor as he advances step by goddamn step. His shadow dances over the floor behind him, beautiful broken wings. “Now.”
Choking a question down, I obey, facing darkness. The only light comes from a naked bulb dangling from a chain in the ceiling. Even so, I can still make out his silhouette—every thick, brutal limb. Every ounce of lean muscle. Looming over me. Swallowing me.
“On your knees.” His footsteps trail off a few feet away.
My ears pick up a noise my brain races to identify: something moving through the air. Cutting through it. I flinch before I feel the burning sting between my shoulder blades.
“Ah!” My gasp slips out despite how I bite my lip to seal it back. Already, something warm drips down my lower back, pooling at my waist. God, I can feel it.
Drip.
Drop.
“I said on your knees.”
Another rush of air ruffles my hair, but I still don’t expect the second blow. It catches me across my hip, biting deeper than the first. Another cry escapes my throat, and a second later, I hear a metallic cling as if something struck the floor. From the corner of my eye, I catch the knife rolling into a corner. The brief moment of distraction costs me: Maxim lunges. One firm nudge against my ass—his foot—and I lurch onto my hands and knees, slamming my forehead on the floor.
“Now…” He breathes heavily as pain shoots through my skull. “Open your mouth.”
He circles around me, wrenching at the fastenings of his pants. His jaw is clenched, his eyes shielded by his wild hair. He pulls twice on his fly, and I brace myself when he finally frees his cock. Like always, he’s breathtaking—but this time for an entirely different reason.
Nestled in that thatch of golden hair, he’s not hard. I blink to make sure. Again. Nothing changes before the pressure on my hair tightens. He yanks my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. The crazed expression I find is nothing like the cold Maxim I know. I don’t think he even fucking sees me.
“I told you to open your goddamn mouth.” He drags me forward, forcing his limp cock against my parting lips.
I try to obey, take him in, but…it doesn’t feel right. He cringes from the contact, even as he pulls me against him, shoving his length deeper into my mouth. My tongue reacts instinctively to cradle him, and vibrations run through my teeth—he’s shaking.
When I try to suck, he shoves me away.
“Fuck!”
The shout rings out as I fall back, hitting my head on the floor. Stars dance before my eyes, obscuring the figure hovering above me. Or maybe it’s the tears? I still see the shape of his arm move though. It whistles through the air like a missile a heartbeat before the bitter sting sears through my cheek. Wham!
Shock renders me paralyzed. Pause. Rewind. Play.
He hit me.
My brain barely registers the blow before his fingers are in my hair again, tugging, pulling. He grabs my hand in one of his, forcing me to grip his cock. A growl rips from him at the contact, but it’s not out of pleasure. His hips buck away from me. His fingers tremble, struggling to maintain their grip. When he attempts to make me stroke him, he lurches back on the balls of his feet, knocking me away again.
“Stop! Do not touch me.”
I blink, staring up at him as every ounce of air in my lungs shrivels into nothing. His eyes are wild. Haunted. Insane. They drift over my body and find the knife again. He steps toward it and I know that this time…
This time, just drawing blood won’t be enough. My screams won’t be enough.
God, I know that look. It’s hatred, violent and unrestrained. It’s the way I look whenever I think about Melanie. It’s loathing. It’s pain.
My lips flutter apart. I mean to say the safe word. I try to choke it out—but different words spill from my tongue instead.
“You hit me.” I sound so goddamn pathetic. So fucking surprised. A man who pays me for violent sex hit me when he felt like it. So hard that I bit my tongue. So hard that I saw black. So damn hard. “You hit me.”
He blinks, caught off guard, and staggers back a step, staring around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Then his eyes return to me, resigned. “So what if I did? You are a whore. Suka. I give you money, you do anything. Do you really think you mean more than that?”
Do I? Did I?
My head is an endless rush of a million different thoughts. It hurts. The world isn’t spinning anymore—the merry-go-round is in fucking flames.
He’s not the first man who’s hit me. He won’t be the last.
But he’s the only one—no. I dig my nails into my palms to cut the thought off, but it’s too late. Too painful. Too pathetic.
He’s the only one I didn’t expect it from. Not like this.
“I’m…” I suck in air, struggling to choke the words out. Just two. “I’m—”
“Happy?” he finishes for me. “You think that will be enough? That it will be that easy?” He laughs, throwing his head back with every broken chuckle. “You think I really give that much of a damn about some stupid little bitch? I will kill you, and do you want to know what I will do after that? I pay off the police. I dump your body. At most, it will cost me a day. Nothing less. Nothing more.”
He’s still laughing as he says it. It’s the truth. Knowing that churns my stomach. It cuts me into pieces. And I wish it were because of fear. I’d give anything to scream. To run. To say that fucking safe word.
I’m in his head again—and I know why he brought me here: the sick, violent reasons. I know what he wants to prove to himself. Like the night when Melanie left again, Daisy was sick, and Ainsley was a baby. When I was a fucking baby. I didn’t know what to do. How to cope.
So I turned my pain on the only fucking person who deserved it. I took a knife from the kitchen sink. I cut myself deeper than I ever have. More than I ever ha
ve. I lost so much blood. I even lost consciousness.
The only thing that saved my life was that I didn’t nick an artery.
And even after all that, the next morning, all I could do was wrap an old pair of stockings around my wounds and get the kids ready for school. I kept going. Kept living.
Maxim Koslov isn’t living. He’s playing with the edge of the knife, toying with how deeply to cut himself this time. How much of a mess can he make before it all becomes too much? Game over.
Whatever happened within the past few days snapped something inside him. He’ll kill me now. I know it.
But I can’t run. So I wait, letting those black eyes stare dead into my own. With every second that passes, they grow brighter. Crazed. Maddening.
It’s like looking into a goddamn mirror.
“Do not…” His voice shakes as if he’s struggling to maintain control. “Do not think that I will not hurt you, kotyonok.” He lashes out, grabbing my throat before I can react. Gradually, his grip begins to tighten, cutting off my windpipe. “Because I will. Make no mistake about that.” More pressure is added to prove his point. “Weakness is always exploited. Never forget that. Before you could ever be used against me, I would eliminate you myself.”
As soon as I begin to sputter under the pressure, his hand jerks free and I’m left panting, trying to grasp what the hell just happened.
Weakness. The word reverberates through my mind. Weakness. His own words break loose from the tangled mess of my thoughts. To teach me. I was too soft. He hired men…
“Your family…” I choke out on another gasp of air as more twisted puzzle pieces fall into place. That distant look in his eye. The way he reacted when I mentioned his uncle. The violence now. “You think they will hurt me.”
Maxim goes rigid. His arms fall flat at his sides, his eyes wide like I slapped him this time. Two steps backward carry his body into the wall and the blow resonates throughout the entire damn room. Slowly, he sinks into a crouch, his back braced against the wall. His voice cracking, he commands, “Get out.”
But I can’t fucking stop.
“They hurt you before—” Horror robs me of my voice. I just whisper, dragging my gaze down to his hip. Oh god. His pain seeps into me and everything feels too clear. I picture the way he reacted when that man—his uncle—touched him, and my stomach starts to crawl up the back of my throat. “Did he do that to you? Your uncle—”
“Leave!”
I should. My limbs unfurl as blood sticks the tarp to me. When I finally gather up the strength to rise on my hands and knees. I’m shaking too badly to even attempt to walk, so I crawl.
In the wrong goddamn direction.
He watches me with every inch I gain, like a volcano ready to erupt. My cheek still stings with the memory of his slap, but I can’t stop. The moment I’m close enough, his hand flies out, clenching my throat instead. Tight. He chokes me so hard that I see black. I’ll bruise. Seconds pass. I’ll die…
“Am I supposed to cry now, kotyonok?” he asks me mockingly, sounding miles away. “Tell you my sins? Beg for your forgiveness?”
Air floods my lungs as he shoves me aside like trash. I go limp, my cheek pressed against the ice-cold floor, his hate basting my skin. It feels different this time—everything. It’s too real. Too sharp.
His voice inflicts more pain than any knife. Go figure.
“Please…” My throat aches in the wake of that word. What it means: pleading. I’ve begged before. I’ve begged Melanie not to go. I’ve begged men not to hurt me. I’ve begged landlords not to kick us out.
No one ever listens.
Maybe I never really meant it before now.
“What?” Maxim demands. “Please don’t hurt you? Please don’t kill you?” He laughs again and the vibration runs through the floor as he stands. Two steps bring him close enough for his foot to nudge my side. Hard. “Pleading didn’t save my mother from her fate—”
“I’m not her—”
His foot rams into my side, knocking me onto my back.
Gasping, I can only stare up at him as he glares down. “You’re not him.”
“I’m not?” Slowly, his eyes track over the length of my body, narrowing as they reach the space between my legs. One of his hands reaches down to palm his cock, while the other…
From one of his pockets, he pulls out a knife and flicks his wrist, springing the blade free. Then he sinks to one knee, capturing my thigh in his other hand before I can attempt to scuttle away. In retaliation, his nails dig in, his breath searing my flesh, and he drags the blade between my legs.
There’s no teasing this time. No taunts. He slides the blade along the outside of my pussy, nudging me open. A strangled gasp trickles between my lips as my hand flies out to bat his away.
“P-please.”
He jerks his grip on the knife and the blade bites into my inner thigh, drawing a stream of blood that dribbles down, slicking his way.
“Spread your legs,” he grates, his voice ragged. A hiss of anger leaves his mouth when I don’t move quickly enough, and the blade cuts me again, another fiery line. “Do it.”
The tarp clings to my skin as my legs drift apart to let his bulk fit in between them. He risks letting me go to grab his cock again, but even from this angle, I know he’s still not hard. Not even when I flinch. Not even as tears sting behind my eyes and slide down my cheeks.
There’s no way around it: Since meeting him, my pain alone isn’t getting him off. His eyes are too haunted. I don’t even think he’s really here, but in the past. Trapped. Furious…
Terrified.
And I should say the goddamn safe word. My lips move, but nothing comes out, just whimpers. He lifts the knife and I raise my hand, pressing my palm against his cheek in one last bid for mercy. It takes everything I have to meet his gaze—to stare into his eyes and not cringe away at what I see.
“I don’t want you to hurt me like this. I don’t…I don’t want to be afraid of you.”
Confusion shatters the bitter expression, matching the emotion surging through me. It makes him look even more lost. Even more terrifying. More dangerous. He drags me beneath him, his weight crushing me against the hard floor.
“Do you think I won’t?” he growls into my ear.
“Don’t.” My knees rise up on either side of him while my other hand grabs his hip, breaking that unspoken rule. Bit by bit, some life returns to his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Then do not let me go back there. To that place,” he grits out. His eyes flutter, unseeing one second and alive the next. “Keep me here. I don’t… I’m not him.”
I don’t know what he means until he lunges. His lips latch onto mine, kissing me. Biting me. He’s ruthless, shoving his tongue into my mouth without giving me a chance to come up for air.
Benny only ever gave me one piece of advice when I started working for him: “You want to get it over with? Let those fuckers think you want it. That you need it. It’ll finish them off and you’ll probably get a tip while you’re at it.”
I could never really pretend.
I’ve never been that desperate.
But this time…I don’t have to think. Maybe I’m just too fucking chicken to die. I let myself cling to him, dragging my fingers through his hair, kissing him back—knowing that, at any second, he’ll push me off. Kill me.
But all he does is come back to life. Restless and ragged, the fallen angel returns from hell with a vengeance. My body is his tool. His anchor. His altar.
Maybe it’s way too easy to arch into him. Either way, I don’t give myself the chance to think on it.
When he flips me onto my stomach, his kiss becomes something else. The lips pressed against the back of my shoulder don’t reveal nipping teeth. They just graze my skin. They feel. They taste.
I don’t know how much time passes before something else stabs between my legs, guided by his hand. I barely register the familiar shape before he’s sliding inside me, fucking me d
eep with a groan: one part pleasure, one part relief.
Sweat and skin wrap me inside my own corner of the universe: a tiny sliver of hell. Warmth spills down my cheeks like fire as he finally thrusts in earnest.
Each slow buck of his hips desolates me. I was wrong. This isn’t fucking—it’s something else. Something more twisted than any torture he’s inflicted upon me so far: desperation.
“You keep falling deeper,” he murmurs into my throbbing skin, so softly that I probably imagined it. “Every fucking time I try to give you a way out. You refuse to take it.”
Any reply escapes me as my stomach bunches into knots, my insides swirling into jelly.
“And I’ve tried to show you mercy.” A hard, deep thrust sends my eyes rolling into the back of my head, making me cry. Making me scream around mouthfuls of plastic and blood. “I’ve tried… But if I can’t eliminate you myself, I’ll have no choice…”
With one last thrust, rivulets of heat spill into me.
All of him.
I’m swirling in a daze as his lips find my ear again, his voice rough. “I’ll have no choice.”
Chapter Seven
I wake up in my bed. No…his bed. When I finally peel my eyes open, there is no mistaking his domain. Ebony walls encase me, blending in with the black sheets and duvet that shield my body from the still air. One sharp inhale and I’m drowning beneath his scent.
Literally. Musk and sweat are a noose that asphyxiates me against layers of silk and satin. And blood.
I’m still bleeding from the cut on my back. Every part of me feels tender and sore. As cliché as the boast sounds, I won’t be able to walk right for a few days.
Because he cut me.
My fingers slide beneath the blankets to feel the wounds for myself. The marks still smart, weeping and fresh. Only a few hours must have passed…
Which gives me plenty of time to come up with a new plan of action. When all else fails, there’s always good old reliable plan B.
