The Beast

by Jaden Wilkes

“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice was low and throaty. A bedroom voice, a sensual voice. Dimitri immediately knew the kinds of noises that would erupt from her throat in the act of pleasure. He wanted to make her moan, sigh, scream his name and beg him to never stop.

  But he still didn’t know who she was or if she had been sent here to kill him. He said nothing, did not move.

  “Is anyone there?” she called out again, louder this time. “I know you’re there, fucker! Who the fuck are you? Why am I tied up?” she continued. “Hello,” she said, her voice drawn out into a near whimper. Dimitri felt a slight tug of empathy for the girl on the platform, but it was lost immediately under his need to learn more about her intentions.

  “Listen, asshole,” the girl said with a determined tone, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but people know I’m here. They’ll come for me.”

  Her chest rose rapidly with her breathing, panic was creeping in as she realized the extent of her situation. Dimitri stayed still for a few breaths and finally walked to her side. She heard him and turned her face towards him. “Who are you?” she asked, tension thick in her words.

  He leaned close to her, inhaled her scent, vanilla and flowers, and said, “I think the real question here should be…who are you?”

  She flinched at the sound of his voice and ineffectually tried to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m in the wrong place,” she replied, her voice cracking with pent up hysteria. “I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  He moved slowly to the other side of her head and whispered, “So you weren’t sent here to kill me? I find that hard to believe.”

  She flinched again and edged away from the sound of his voice. She was breathing rapidly, her skin was flushed and her voice trembled as she said, “No, I don’t even know you. I just wanted to talk to Jarrod Jacobs...but I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

  It was Dimitri’s turn to react. He stood up straight and looked down at the small figure laid out in front of him. Jarrod Jacobs was his most recent alter ego, the wealthy playboy son of a Texas billionaire, owner of several multi national corporations. Jarrod Jacobs didn’t exist though, not outside Dimitri's private accounts and online world. Jarrod only existed on paper, and only to protect Dimitri from Sergei while providing a name to run Dimitri’s legitimate businesses.

  “What do you want with Mr. Jacobs?” he asked from high above her.

  She craned her neck and tried to pinpoint the location of his voice. “I, um...I’m here on behalf of the Mount Pleasant Community Protection League. We are protesting his proposed development at the corner of Main and Twelfth,” she said, her voice was small in the large room. She gained confidence again as she recited her obviously pre-rehearsed speech.

  He rocked back on his heels of his feet and laughed. “That’s it? The only reason you’re here?” he demanded.

  “Why else would I be here?” she asked, her voice quavered again and she was losing her confidence.

  “Don’t you find it odd that somebody would sneak into my private quarters in order to deal with an issue that could be brought up at City Hall?” he replied. “Of course I’d wonder what brought you here.”

  “Wait, are you Mister Jacobs? You should know that they never listen to us at the City,” she said, trying to sit up. “We tried that, but you’re tearing down the neighborhood to put in four square blocks of towers. You’re ruining it for those of us who live there.”

  “Then move,” he said and wondered if this meant she really was just an innocent girl who managed to stumble into a wasp’s nest. It didn’t matter at this point; she was not going to get out of this unscathed.

  “It’s not that easy,” she said and curled her lip in the smallest of sneers. This only served to enhance her full lips and Dimitri leaned down close to her again to drink in the sight. “Not all of us are loaded, it’s not like I can pick up, move to another country and make a new life for myself,” she continued.

  “What did you say?” he said, standing straight again and frowning. She must know something, why else would she have brought up his own flight from Russia and subsequent name change?

  “I simply pointed out that most of us aren’t rich enough to move when some asshole decides to tear up our neighbourhood,” she replied. She was moving her head slowly as if listening for his slightest movement. She licked her lips, a simple action but one that triggered something deep inside of him. He wanted to take her; he wanted to see her struggling at the end of his cock, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with lust. Every cell in his body vibrated with his need.

  “If your house is in the development zone, you will be compensated for it. Fair market prices,” he told her, leaning over her again to watch her mouth as she spoke.

  “We aren’t being compensated for having a twenty five storey tower thrown up across the street from us,” she replied, “It’s my family home, where I grew up. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think,” he said and thought about his own childhood home. A four-storey apartment building outside of Moscow, long demolished to make way for new development. In an odd way, he understood her emotional attachment, even though he had been gone from his own home for years before it happened.

  “Where are you from?” she asked, her voice was sharp in the silence of the room.

  “What do you mean?” he replied. “I’m from here.”

  “You sound Russian,” she stated and was still.

  Dimitri was taken aback for the second time that night. He had been coached by the best vocal experts in Moscow years ago, to lose his accent. He knew it wasn’t perfect, but he had assumed in the years since he’d been living here that it was almost undetectable. How had she picked up on it? “Yes, I am,” he said, doing his best to stretch the vowels out and keep his voice even.

  What was he going to do with her? Even if she wasn’t sent to kill him, he couldn't have her running back to her group and tell them all that Jarrod Jacobs was a Russian. The thing was that he didn’t fully believe her story; he couldn’t believe her story. If he believed her, then he was going to torture and potentially kill an innocent girl. Although women were regarded as property in the Solntsevskaya Bratva, he had only killed those who deserved it.

  If he was being honest with himself, he killed men and women differently for a reason. There was a distinction between him using his knife on men and throttling women with his bare hands.

  And if he was being completely honest, he had to admit that there was a definite thrill to be gained from holding a woman’s throat in his hand and crushing the life from her body.

  But to kill a girl who’s only crime had been coming to the wrong apartment at the wrong time? Even he couldn’t convince himself it was a good idea. He would have to interrogate her to be absolutely certain that she was who she claimed, but he couldn’t make the decision to end her life until he got to that point.

  As he stood above her pondering the chance that he might spare her, she breathed in and said, “Mister Jacobs? Are you still here?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “You’re not really from here, are you?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “You’re not going to let me go, are you?” she continued. Her voice trembled with pent up emotion.

  “No, I cannot,” he replied and turned to leave the room. He heard a small noise, an echo of a sob and turned back. She had her face away from him, but the quiver in her limbs betrayed her emotion. She was doing her best not to cry. Dimitri did not want to let her tears influence his choice regarding her fate, he despised women who cried, so he simply left the room and clicked the lock shut.

  On the other side he turned back again and leaned his forehead against the carved wood. He heard her sobs from the other side and felt his chest tighten in response. Deep in his gut he was responding to this girl on a level he didn’t recognize and it made him feel unstable and a bit out of control.

  U
nable to process his confusion, he straightened his back and rapidly walked down the hall to his office to check for further information regarding the concierge’s travel plans. If only his friend was here, this wouldn’t be an issue. Captivity had turned Dimitri’s mind to mush and he no longer had the skills he had once possessed, the ability to discern danger and the decisiveness to carry out what needed to be done without hesitation.

  Chapter Eight – Columbia

  Her throat hurt and her arms were sore. These were the first thoughts surfacing as Columbia regained consciousness. The last thing she remembered was kissing Stuart in his truck, so why did she hurt? Had Debbie caught them and dragged her from the cab of the truck to kick her ass?

  It came back to her in a slow drip of information. The stupid plan to confront Jarrod Jacobs, the stupid need to impress Stuart, Stuart touching her arm and recoiling...and being attacked from behind in the kitchen of the multimillion-dollar penthouse she’d snuck into.

  She opened her eyes but only the smallest sliver of faint light appeared at the bottom of her vision. She was blindfolded, and she was tied down. She felt a surge of panic flood through her body but controlled the desire to twist and scream against her captivity.

  She tested her bonds, stretched against her bound wrists and determined she was tied at the feet as well. She listened and thought she must be alone, but where? How had she moved from the kitchen to wherever this was? It suddenly occurred to her that nobody would care if she disappeared. The thought made her tense up and race through the possibilities of how she was going to die. She heard the faintest movement somewhere in the space above her head. Years of waiting in the dark for her father had given her extremely sensitive hearing. No matter how quiet he attempted to be, Columbia always knew he was coming. Not that it mattered, no matter how hard she fought, he always had his way.

  She yelled into the room and heard an echo. It must be a large space. It sounded cold.

  Her bravado got the best of her and she threatened her captive with the fact that people knew she was here. He didn’t need to know that Stuart probably wanted nothing to do with her, and her parents wouldn’t give a fuck at her absence, other than somebody else having to cook. Her sister would notice, but she was powerless to do anything about it, and she didn’t know where Columbia was.

  Marco would want his phone back. That was the one lifeline she could hold on to. He would want to know what happened to her.

  The phone! She wiggled and felt it still tucked inside the cup of her bra, warm against her left breast. He hadn’t frisked her, or if he had, the phone remained undiscovered.

  Without her purse, he wouldn’t have found much. She called out to her captor and he responded. His voice was rich and deep, slightly raspy with the smallest hint of darkness in it. Had it been any other time in any other place, she might be listening to him selling her a luxury automobile or an expensive brand of cologne. As it was, the sound of it send jolts of adrenaline coursing through her body, it was the voice of a predator.

  Their conversation was short; he was curt with his information and accused her of wanting to kill him. Realization flooded over her as she listened to him speak. Along with his accusations, his voice did not match the gentle drawl of the Texan she was supposed to confront. She suspected he might be Russian mob or some kind of Eastern European criminal, but she had no idea who. He might have even murdered Jarrod Jacobs and taken over his apartment. Nobody she knew of had ever seen the reclusive American billionaire, so it could be easy enough to steal his identity.

  She heard him leave and held back her tears as best she could. She rarely cried as it always lead to worse things in her house, but the gravity of her situation couldn’t be ignored. She thought she heard him listening as she started to sob, but the door clicked shut and she was alone.

  At last she let the tears flow, her arms were aching, her legs cramping and now her face felt hot and itchy from the wetness on her face. She didn’t know how she would get out of this situation at this point. The possibilities raced through her mind; murdered and dumped, sold into white slavery...but with her body she might not be wanted. Death might be the better option at this point.

  She forced herself to calm down, took several deep breaths and concentrated on how she was going to get away. She would have to wait and find a weakness to exploit. She lay back and let her body relax. She would need to keep her senses if she was going to make it out of here alive.

  Chapter Nine - Dimitri

  Dimitri sat on the edge of a leather club chair in the centre of his bedroom. He had his hands on his knees to keep them from jerking. He felt a ball of nerves like snakes moving in the pit of his stomach. She couldn’t be left in there like that for long, but he was fully aware that he was in no state to finish her off.

  He knew he was a changed man. Without the constant dance of threat and avoidance, his skills had lapsed. He hadn’t realized how much until presented with this situation. Three years ago he would have had her throat crushed under his hand before she had a chance to take a breath in the kitchen. He would have deemed her a threat the moment she entered his space. He would have dispatched of the body with cool efficiency and thought nothing of it again. But now, after wasting all this time punching a bag and dreaming of killing Sergei, he’d let his killer instincts suffer.

  He used to have ice water in his veins. He wasn’t a fucking animal, like some of Sergei’s Bratva, the ones who would have raped her and cut her belly open while their seed was spilling out of her. He had always been calm about his work when it came to killing, and he had always been able to finish the job. He might gain a small thrill when choking the life out of the women, but the killing itself had always been professional and efficient.

  Not this time though, why not?

  He stood and paced in front of the window, back and forth, the multimillion-dollar view unobstructed, but a cage nonetheless. He wished his friend was here and checked his phone again. Still nothing from the concierge. He had hoped for some lifeline from the outside world, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this. He had hoped to ask his friend for his input.

  He knew the concierge would tell him to kill her, he was sure of it.

  So why did he give a fuck about her life? She was alluring, he’d give her that, but he’d been with women much more beautiful than she. How did she manage to wiggle under his skin? He didn’t even know her name. He rubbed his head and shook his arms out, attempting to release his tension and confusion.

  Like the moment the Tiffany lamp had hovered on the edge of the table, between perfection and destruction, Dimitri knew he was entering this sort of arrangement with the girl in the room. This new territory had the potential to be dangerous, and he didn’t have the luxury of time, but for now he would relish the moment and take his pleasure while he could.

  *****

  “I am going to untie your feet first,” Dimitri told the girl, “but if you try to run, I will kill you.”

  “Do you have a gun?” she asked, trying to sit up as far as her bonds would let her. There was a panicked edge to her voice and she moved like a trapped animal, slowly and carefully.

  “I don’t need a gun to kill you, little dove,” Dimitri said and laughed, a low, rich sound. “I can do it with my hands if need be. But there won’t be any need if you behave yourself, do you understand?”

  She nodded her head and emitted a small whimper.

  “Say yes or no so we’re on the same page,” he said again.

  “Yes, I understand,” she whispered.

  He grabbed her throat and squeezed until she coughed and whined at the pain. “I told you to say yes or no. There is no reason to get complicated. Do you understand?”

  He released her and let her take a few deep breaths before she replied, “Yes,” in a broken voice.

  Dimitri leaned down to untie her feet; she immediately stretched and brought them together. They were slightly bent at the knees and tilted to the side. Dimitri let his gaze travel
upwards, enjoying the angle of her twisted body.

  “I am going to untie your hands now. Do not remove your blindfold, are we clear on that?” he asked her.

  “Yes, we-” she replied and drew in a sharp breath. He realized she was holding it in anticipation of his touch, afraid he would choke her again, so he moved quickly to the head of the platform. He undid the knots in an experienced motion and she pushed herself to sitting.

  “I am going to let you move your legs to the side. Swing them towards the sound of my voice. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, rubbing her wrists and sliding her legs over the edge. He watched her wince at the pain in her wrists, but was unmoved by this. Captives often exaggerated their injuries to gain sympathy. It had never worked on Dimitri.

  “I am going to take you to the bathroom, just to the left of us. I will allow you five minutes to freshen up. You must keep your blindfold on.”

  “Yes,” she said and nodded her head.

  He led her carefully to the bathroom, guiding her through racks, benches, odds and ends of Dimitri’s playthings. She entered and shut the door behind her. He didn’t bother to tell her not to lock it; there was no lock. He heard her fumble with the handle, searching for one, then swear under her breath when she discovered the truth.

  He stood still at the door listening. After a moment, he heard her talking to herself and did a mental inventory of the items he had taken off her body. A cell phone wasn’t among them. He knocked on the door and asked, “Who are you talking to?”

  She went silent, and then said, “Nobody.”

  “I heard you talking to somebody,” he persisted. “Don’t make me come in there.”

  She exhaled loudly, blowing air through her lips. He would have liked to see that. “Fine, you found me out,” she said, “I talk to myself. I know it’s an annoying habit, but one I can’t control. Especially when I’m stressed.”

  He heard the accusation in her voice but suspected she was hiding something more. He wouldn’t allow himself to be manipulated by her emotions; he wouldn’t let himself lower his guard because she was upset by all of this. He hadn’t asked for her to drop into his world like this. He pushed the door open to catch her sliding the blindfold down over her eyes before he opened it fully.