The Beast

by Jaden Wilkes

  She stayed in the tub until the water cooled and the oily bubbles dissipated. She pulled the plug and stepped out into a plush robe hanging on the back of the door. It was ridiculous, this juxtaposition of sensations, places and emotions. She waited until the water emptied, took several other bottles of product and poured them down the drain. It was stupid, a childish rebellion, but she felt like she had to have some control over her predicament. It was better than cutting her skin, and made her feel satisfied in some small fashion.

  She found a walk in closet bigger than her bedroom at home and dug through several different sizes until she found pyjamas that would fit. She got them on, pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed. It felt nicer than she could have imagined. She’d watched a tonne of reality television shows over the years, and never understood how big the gap between the rich and the poor was until now. Her father had a love for any one of those real housewives shows and she would watch them with a detached curiosity. She never could have known how much she had been missing out living in a shitty little house in East Vancouver.

  She snuggled under the covers and reached over to flick the light switch. In the darkness her brain would not slow down. Devoid of stimuli, her thoughts raced through her head like panicked rabbits, darting and running into each other until she bit her lip just to call them to attention.

  First and foremost, her captivity. Mere hours ago she had climbed out into the kitchen and expected to make heroic demands on a wealthy developer. How had she ended up here? Had Debbie set her up on purpose? She didn’t think so, as initially this was going to be Edward’s assignment and she’d stupidly volunteered at the last moment.

  Conversely she luxuriated in her surroundings, feeling guilty at finding pleasure from the rich bedding and soft clothing. The sheets must be a thousand thread count, she thought, although she didn’t really know what that meant. Should she be allowing herself to relax? Once she was free, she should tell a brave story of how hard she fought for her life, not how long she’d bathed and how well she’d slept.

  She hoped Eden was ok. She was staying at a friend’s and would be safe from harm until tomorrow evening at least. Columbia glanced at the clock on the night table. It was nearing five in the morning; she had twelve hours to get back and save her sister. She dreaded what would happen if she weren’t there to intervene between Eden and her father. She knew Eden was much stronger than she was, but she still carried the sickening worry that she had failed her sister somehow. Eden would be sleeping comfortably and unaware that her life might change dramatically.

  Speaking of sleep, she needed it and her eyes closed on their own accord. The final and most prominent thought in her mind at the moment was of Dimitri though. The mysterious, dangerous man who now held her life in his hands.

  She’d lived for years as a prisoner to her father’s needs and desires, so naturally she would be ripe for captivity. That must be what it was, she was predisposed to some kind of mental problem that made her fall for her kidnapper. She’d read about it before, but this felt like something bigger, something more meaningful than Stockholm Syndrome. Surely the way he made her feel was more than a psychological break from reality. She was so twisted up in knots that she found herself thinking the same things again and again, a circular mental discussion that always took her back to the same place. In spite of his ability to kill her, he’d kept her alive. In spite of her scarred and ruined body, he obviously found her appealing…. and in spite of the fear he drove through her body like a deep river of adrenaline, she felt safe in his presence.

  She was being ridiculous, she knew it. She was falling for the criminal sociopath who snatched her from the kitchen, that’s all it was. But the last thing she thought as she drifted off to sleep was what if he had let her finish?

  Chapter Fifteen – Dimitri

  He left her in one of the guest rooms so he could confer with the concierge and clean himself up. It had been an intense night, and he could tell Columbia needed to process what was happening to her.

  He was excited, he felt like a child with a new toy, he wanted to keep playing but was afraid to break her. He wanted her to come to him fighting; she was no good to him if she had no spark left.

  The concierge would return in two days, then preparations for the move would be finalized. Dimitri attended to a few quick transactions, things that required his signature...or that is Jarrod Jacob’s signature. Jarrod would soon fade away or die tragically, leaving his companies in shambles, easily taken over by others. Of course this was all on paper; Dimitri was behind it all.

  He went to his room, paced back and forth in front of the window, a few anxious passes. He paused and looked out across the ocean to the North Shore Mountains and the lights below. He didn’t know how the time had passed so quickly, he regretted never taking advantage of the natural beauty right outside his building. How had he become so introverted and dangerously introspective? Decisions were difficult for him now, the options muddied by his lack of stimulation and his single-minded obsession with Sergei.

  And now this obsession with Columbia. He rubbed his hands together and caught himself in the window’s reflection. He looked like a Bond villain and laughed at the sight. He remembered his fingers inside of her and held them up to his nose. He inhaled the scent of her cunt, the pungent tang of her that excited him to no end. The thought of his cock pressing up against her back, shooting spurts of cum on her skin, it was enough to make him masturbate immediately.

  He wouldn’t though; he wanted to wait until he could release himself on her body, or inside of her. He imagined her eyes widening as he came hard, deep inside of her, tightening her cunt walls around him, pulling him deeper as he held his hand on her throat.

  He had a quick shower and climbed into bed. Sleep came to him faster than it had in months. Sleep meant getting back to Columbia faster, and he could not wait to find out where their next encounter would take them.

  *****

  Dimitri regretted leaving the windows clear before he went to sleep. Usually he would hit the control that polarized the glass and blocked the sunlight, but he wanted to wake early to start his training with Columbia.

  The bright light hitting his lids did not put him in the best of moods; he stretched and almost growled his unhappiness. Usually Dimitri slept on a cycle of a few hours here and there as he needed it, so the length of his rest wasn’t at issue. He simply objected to waking with the sun in his face.

  He cleaned himself up, grabbed the iPad and placed his breakfast order for himself and Columbia, and got dressed. He didn’t know why he felt so self-conscious about his attire, but he wandered aimlessly in his closet room, fingering fabrics and planning his choice with the attention he would normally give to a formal evening. He finally settled on a simple linen shirt and black dress pants. He was barefoot, as he preferred when he was at home.

  He went down the hallway to the guest room and rapped softly on the door. He heard her inside, so he opened it and went in.

  She had chosen a loose fitting white cotton dress with no bra. Her hair hung thick and wavy around her face and down her back, and her face lit up when he entered the room. The moment she realized it was him, the expression passed to darkness and she looked away.

  “Good morning, little dove,” he said, looking at his watch and adding, “although I suppose afternoon is more appropriate in this case.”

  “Yes, good afternoon,” she replied softly, looking down at her hands. He was confused momentarily; during their time away he had assumed they were on the same page regarding their arrangement. Her reluctance now puzzled him, then he realized that she needed to be schooled again in terms of his expectations.

  “Shall we go have breakfast?” he asked and held his arm out for her to hold, “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering ahead for you. I assure you there will be more than enough to choose from.”

  “Yes,” she said and placed her hand on his offered arm and they wound through the apartment to the dini
ng room. The cart was already there, stacked with plates of eggs, bacon, toast, oatmeal and fresh fruit.

  “Do you have any dietary issues? Are you a vegetarian?” he asked politely as he made up a plate for her.

  “No,” she replied and sat down in the chair he gestured to, the one next to his at the end of the great, carved, wooden table.

  “You can do better than that,” he said as he set the plate in front of her, “I know I might have been a little harsh about the rules yesterday, but you don’t have to strictly stick to yes or no answers.”

  “Yes, I understand,” she replied and waited for him to sit down with his own plate.

  “See? You’re being cheeky, I like it,” he said and picked up a carafe. “Coffee?” he asked and poured her a mug when she nodded yes. He poured himself one and set the container down. “I think you’re doing it on purpose, you know,” he continued, “I think you want to be cheeky. I think you want to be punished.”

  “Really,” she said, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “So I want to be beaten and almost choked to death, then played with and abandoned just as I was about to finish. Interesting perspective.”

  “I did not mean those other things, and I believe it is a matter of perspective,” he said and looked her up and down, “for having survived all those terrible things, you certainly look healthy.” He reached over and lifted her chin up, exposing her neck. There were definite finger mark bruises reaching around, from both times he had choked her into unconsciousness. “A bit of bruising, but nothing you can’t handle,” he added.

  “I know,” she replied, locked her eyes on his face and did her adorable defiant stare down thing again. Dimitri realized how easily she was getting under his skin, when all along he thought he was getting under hers.

  “Why do you do that-” he waved his hand up and down her torso, “to yourself?”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked at him with suspicion. She looked like she didn’t know if he was being sincere or ready to mock her and turn it into a training session. He couldn’t blame her, sometimes he didn't even know what would precipitate one of his rages, and she might end up severely harmed in the event of one.

  “I don’t know,” she replied at last, her voice even and emotionless.

  “How long have you been doing it?”

  “I don’t know, maybe ten or twelve years,” she answered and took a bite of scrambled eggs. He was pleased that she wanted something that he had chosen for her. These marginal gains in her acceptance of him were driving him forward.

  “How do you do it?” he asked and took a bite of his own meal. He chewed and watched her compose her reply.

  “I use a razor blade and slash, that’s it,” she said and nibbled on a piece of toast.

  “I don’t think that’s it,” he said, “I cut myself shaving and it never looked like that. You must have a lot of force behind it to get that deep. And those,” he indicated her wrists, “those were done for a purpose. Do you want to die?”

  She deliberately took a bite of toast and chewed slowly, unwilling to answer he supposed. She surprised him when she finally did say, “I did, yes. I thought I did.” She glared at him accusingly and added, “That doesn’t mean you can strangle me to death though, you psycho.”

  He stared at her until she looked away. He was guilty of her accusation, he had snapped yesterday and thought he would kill her, but he did not like hearing about it. Truth be told, he liked her fiery side and didn’t want her to ever become a timid creature around him. It wasn’t fun to play with her if she went limp and did exactly everything he asked of her. “I did try, but I stopped,” he replied in an even voice. He took a sip of his coffee and said, “I chose to keep you alive, never forget that.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry,” she said, looking up at him again. She mirrored his action and took a sip of her own coffee. A good sign if some article on human behaviour was accurate. It indicated she was attracted to him. “And don’t you forget that I could have killed myself, but I chose not to. I am as much in charge of my life as you are.”

  He laughed, a short bark, and said, “I won’t forget that, little dove. I promise.” He raised his coffee mug in a mock toast of her spark and took another sip. He meant it though; he really did admire her fortitude under the extreme circumstances she had been through in the past day. She took a sip from her mug and he smiled to himself as he watched the steam curl around her and cling to her skin, as though reluctant to leave the beauty of her face. She was mirroring him, and she did find him attractive somehow, in spite of his monstrous behaviour and equally monstrous appearance.

  “How did it happen?” she asked, breaking into his reverie. She meant his burns, obviously, but now it was his turn to stall in order to find the words to tell her.

  He pushed his eggs around his plate, looked up at her and said, “I was attacked.”

  “Well, duh, I figured that out,” she smiled at him, and immediately looked fearful. She lowered her eyes and rubbed the silver cuffs on her wrists. She was amazing when she was conflicted, but he wanted her to relax around him and open herself up. She loved her little joking mannerisms.

  “It’s ok, you can let your guard down,” he reassured her, “When we are like this, taking our meals, enjoying our conversations, you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

  She looked up and gave him a weak smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said and picked at the melon on her plate.

  “It was an attack, but it was unexpected,” he told her. He wanted to share this with her suddenly, as if exposing himself would bring her closer to him. He thought that’s how it worked; he had never been in a position to interact on this level. From early on he’d learned that to be guarded meant safety, to keep oneself disconnected from the rest of humanity meant survival and made his assignments easier. One did not scramble up the ranks of Sergei’s Bratva by weeping like a woman every time one was overcome with emotion.

  “I guess that’s kind of the meaning of attack, right?” she smirked and traced her finger along the edge of the bowl of oatmeal.

  “Yes, it was very unexpected,” he agreed, “It was my mentor and boss who decided to listen to the rumours, to accept the word of those who were poisoning his ear with dark tales of my treason.”

  “Were you plotting against him?” she asked, obviously hanging on his every word. He was uncomfortable with this level of engagement but pushed forward to reward her for relaxing around him.

  “No, in fact I was not. I viewed him as a father, he saved my life and I planned on serving him loyally until it ended,” he told her and watched her face. She looked sincere, so he continued, “I think he was feeling intimidated by my successes within the Bratva...I believe the word is “gang” in English. I was very good at what I did and I was very good at garnering support for him from all around the world. I believe he chose to listen to the lies because that is what he wanted to believe. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to kill me.”

  “What kind of gang were you in?” she asked.

  “I guess the best way to describe is like a mafia, a criminal organization. We were mostly Russians, with some members from other former Communist states. It was more like a family though, made up of men who were closer than brothers,” he told her. “Sergei was my mentor, he is the one who planned to murder me.”

  “How did he do it? Were you burned?” she asked and reached for the carafe. He took it first and poured her another cup of coffee, watched as she added a dab of cream and a cube of sugar, then stirred it daintily. Every one of her small movements had him entranced, he could feel himself lowering his guard and he almost liked it.

  It made him feel twitchy and uncomfortable though, like an awkward lover trying to impress his date. He pushed through this foreign territory and said, “Yes, I was burned. It was the most ridiculous of contraptions; I think that’s what made it worse. That he insulted me with the kind of strange device you’d see in a spy film. It was a desk that shot flames;
we had seen it in South Africa the year before. I never imagined he had actually ordered one.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and watched him.

  “I survived, that’s all that matters I suppose,” he replied and waved off her concern. It touched him though, in the years since the attack, he’d never heard that from a single person.

  “Did you kill him?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, “and I suppose that’s what drives my need for survival, I want to hunt Sergei down like a dog and put a knife in his heart.” He watched her for signs of repulsion, but she simply nodded in agreement, like he’d just said the most reasonable thing in the world. “Doesn’t that disgust you?” he asked.

  “Not at all, why wouldn’t you want to take your revenge? I assume you’ve killed before, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for you to do it again,” she said.

  “Yes, I have,” he replied, “I’ve killed many times and I will kill him eventually.”

  “Can you get it…”she trailed off, looking up and down his scars.

  “Do you mean to ask if I can get it fixed?” he said, she nodded so he continued, “I can, not perfectly but less noticeable. Then I could start going out again without frightening children and alerting Sergei’s allies to my whereabouts.”

  “I don’t think it’s as bad as you imagine,” she said and paused, “so you don’t ever go out? Like never?”

  “No, I do not,” he said, “I have everything I could possibly want right here.” He was lying but there were limits to how much of his weakness he would expose to her. It was bad enough that he had shared so much already; pathetic and weak were the words rising to the front of his brain at the moment. He decided to change the topic and asked her, “Are you done with your breakfast?”

  “Oh, yes, I am,” she said and turned around to look at the food tray. “What a waste, why do you have them make so much food for just one man?”