by Alta Hensley
“Both sound like something Jennie would approve of,” she said, shocked that she was able to tease even a bit.
Anson joined them and chuckled. “Already warning her about our Jennie?”
“As Pops says, forewarned is forearmed,” Stryder replied, helping remove dishes from the tray his brother held and placing them on the table as the two took their own seats. “Besides, we’re going to be stopping for BBQ on the way to the ranch.”
“Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while,” Anson said, smacking his lips in an exaggerated manner. “Just wait, Zoya. Once you’ve sunk your teeth into a chopped beef sandwich or a perfectly smoked rack of ribs, you’ll experience a piece of heaven. And don’t even get me started on thick slices of homemade bread smeared with butter, or mounds of potato salad.”
Zoya smiled again as the two brothers rolled their eyes before dipping their spoons into bowls of soup. Lifting her own, she began to eat, the warmth of the soup and the crisp greens of the salad not only satisfying her hunger, but easing her fears about being thousands of feet above the ground. They drank water while she sipped from a glass of milk. As she ate, she listened to the men, thinking of questions she wanted to ask and yet unable to pull her thoughts together.
“Zoya?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re about to face plant into your soup. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Blinking her eyes and sitting upright, she shook her head. “Bed?”
Stryder chuckled. “Yes, bed. There’s a room in the back. The flight is about twelve and a half hours. You’ve got to be exhausted, and sleeping will help pass the time.”
She’d not even considered the distance but suddenly any thought seemed to take energy she simply didn’t have. When he extended his hand, she took it.
“Good night, Zoya, sleep well,” Anson said.
“Good night.” With her hand securely held in Stryder’s, she followed him to the back of the plane where he opened a door. “Wow, I’ve never seen a real bed on an airplane,” she said and then giggled. “Of course, I’ve never been inside an airplane before, either.”
“Most planes aren’t anywhere near this luxurious,” Stryder said, leading her into the bedroom.
Suddenly a thought crystallized and she paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. “Will he… will Poplov know where I am? Can’t he, I don’t know, track the plane or find out we went to Texas?”
“No. Not only is my family very good at concealing our travel plans, this plane actually belongs to a friend of ours. By the time we were eating dinner, any official documentation had this plane landing in Dubai. Don’t worry about a thing. Just get some sleep. There is clothing for you on the bed. It’s not much but enough to be comfortable sleeping, and a dress to wear when you awaken. If you need anything, just press the button on the nightstand. It’ll ring in the cabin.”
“Oh, all right. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a huge yawn.
“Well, that’s not quite as good as Master but it’ll do.” Before she could respond, he’d stepped back through the door, closing it gently and leaving her alone.
Stepping to the bed, she had to smile. Three pair of panties were lying on the navy blue comforter. They were all white but as she looked closer, she realized the man had covered his bases. She could choose between small, medium or large. Picking up the small pair, she stepped into them, covering her nakedness for the first time in hours. Not questioning her choice as to why she left the white nightgown lying on the bed, she instead moved to slip beneath the sheets. With a click, she turned off the small lamp and turned onto her side, her nose pressed into the sleeve of the tee shirt she hadn’t removed. With an inhale of a scent she had come to associate with Stryder, she discovered that she did indeed have tears left to shed. As they slid down her cheeks, she thought that with each tick of the clock, she was moving further away from her home. With a sob, she buried her face in her arm, thinking that her parents, her beloved babushka must be terrified. By trusting Katarina, by allowing the woman total control over her choice of apartment, her every activity, she’d not once called her family. They must be so worried and scared that something had happened to her. Little did they know that she’d even arrived in Moscow. They’d not know she’d been kidnapped or that she’d been auctioned like some animal. They’d never dream that the child who had convinced them that she was a grown woman who only sought to make her life more exciting was being taken thousands of miles from the only country she’d ever known.
“Shh.”
With the softly whispered words, she wasn’t truly surprised to find Stryder by the bed. What did surprise her was when he moved to sit on the bed and drew her into his arms. “I promise you that it will be all right—”
“No, it won’t. My fam… family…” Sobs didn’t allow her to continue, but his arms never loosened.
“Shh, I’ve got you. What about your family?”
In fits and starts, words often undecipherable, it took her several minutes to explain that her family was totally ignorant of anything that had happened since the day she’d left the farm.
“We can fix that,” Stryder said, his strokes against her arm gradually calming her. “You can call or send a message once we’re at the ranch. You can’t tell them where you are or what happened, at least not yet—”
“I-I don’t want them to ever know. It would… kill them.”
“Then they won’t,” he assured her. “But you can at least assure them that you are safe.”
“You’ll… you promise they’ll never learn…”
Her chin was lifted by his fingers until she was forced to look into his eyes. “I don’t say things I don’t mean… ever. I understand you want to spare them, but I’m sure your family is far stronger than you seem to believe… after all, they raised a very strong, brave woman. But it is your choice when, if ever, you tell them the truth. So yes, I promise they won’t hear it from me or my family. Trust me; trust us, Zoya.”
Instead of assuring him she did, she sobbed into his shirt as he held her. It was only when the cloth was sopping that she lifted her head. After he’d handed her a tissue and she’d blown her nose, she hiccupped. “What are you? A bat?”
The surprise on his face was followed by a quick grin. “While I appreciate you not calling me an asshole, why a bat?”
“Because you have the ears of one,” she said.
“No, not really, that’s more Anson’s gig,” he said cryptically, giving her a squeeze.
“I-I don’t understand.”
“You will,” he said, again not really explaining anything before he said something she could comprehend. “Babe, you were crying rather loudly, both in the bath earlier and now.” When she tried to pull away, his arms tightened. “No, don’t be embarrassed. Believe me, I understand. Don’t ever worry about allowing your emotions to show. I don’t want you to keep them bottled up.” He paused and loosened his hold. Lifting her chin with his finger, he grinned. “I don’t want you to explode… especially not before you’ve sampled Texas chow.”
She could think of nothing to say and just nodded, repeating the gesture when he asked if she’d be all right and thought she could sleep. He slid her from his lap and once she was on her side, he pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking her in like a little girl.
“Try to sleep,” he said softly.
Uncomfortable with the tone and the care she could see in his eyes, she said, “Is that an order?”
He grinned and shocked her by giving her bottom a swat, his aim perfect despite her being curled up beneath the covers. “Yup, now close your eyes.”
It was easy to do while she considered his reaction to her question. The single swat certainly hadn’t hurt. Reaching back, she rubbed her ass and then smiled. Stretching her arms and legs, she realized she was not only warm, she was going to sleep unrestrained for the first time in a week. Curling
up again, she took a deep breath of the fabric beneath her face and obeyed, falling into sleep, the sense of safety finally overcoming her fear of the unknown.
Chapter 7
Zoya must had been exhausted because once she fell asleep, she remained so for the entirety of the flight. Not that Stryder could blame her. She had gone through quite the ordeal, and she had experienced things that no human should ever have to. It pained him to think about how it was just beginning for her. Yes, she would be safe at the ranch—he would make damn sure of it—but she was going to have to relive her nightmare over and over as he and his family pumped her for information to bring Vasily Poplov down. There was no other way, and they couldn’t afford to protect her feelings at this time. Normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck about what he had to do to complete a mission, but something about this woman made him care.
She made him weak.
What the fuck was he doing getting into the shower with her? Holding her? Caring for her? Sure, he was a gentleman. Any respectable Texan considered himself as such, but this was different. He was crossing a line, and he knew it. And the way that Anson had kept shooting him knowing looks ever since they had Zoya in their possession told Stryder that the fact that she had his balls in a vice was fucking obvious.
“The truck is over there,” Stryder said as he placed his hand on Zoya’s lower back and guided her to their pickup where Anson and he had left it before flying out to Russia. “It’s about a three-hour drive, but we will stop at a favorite joint of ours on the way. Will that be okay with you?”
Zoya nodded, still looking tired and not fully awake. It had been a long trip, and with the time change added to her ordeal, he was surprised she was even walking straight.
When they got to the truck, Anson went to the driver’s side while Stryder helped lift Zoya into the back seat. He was grateful when he saw an old flannel blanket folded on the floor. Unfolding the blanket, he placed it over Zoya after she buckled herself in.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
By the time he got into the passenger seat, snapped his belt and glanced over his shoulder at Zoya, she had already snuggled under the blanket, pressed her head against the window of the door, and was sleeping again.
“She’s been through a lot,” Anson said as he started the truck.
“Yeah, fucking Poplov treated her and those other women like shit.”
“I can’t get those other girls out of my mind, bro,” Anson admitted. “Their faces are haunting me. When I think about what their new Masters are doing to them right now—”
“Don’t,” Stryder interrupted. “And those weak sonofabitches don’t deserve the title of Master.”
Stryder never kept it secret from the women he dated that he was into the BDSM scene, but he had never made anyone call him Master before. Not because he didn’t like the term, but rather it just never seemed necessary or right for him. He much preferred “Sir” and even had a lovely brunette call him “Daddy” once before. He preferred to be dominant, but never to the level of Master and slave. But he did know a lot of good men who earned the title of Master, and all those filthy rich fucks at that slave auction gave the true Masters in the BDSM lifestyle a bad name.
“Very true,” Anson agreed as they drove off the airport grounds and headed toward home. “That woman we let go to Montez—Natalia. I’m never going to be able to live with myself if we don’t rescue her.”
“We will,” Stryder said, although he knew there were no guarantees. Even if they found all the women, there was no telling if they would all be alive or even in what condition they would be in once found. “I could tell she got to you.”
“She did. I don’t know why, but I can’t get her out of my mind. I’m fucking pissed at myself that I let her go with Montez and didn’t do a thing about it other than watch like a coward.”
“You couldn’t have helped her then, bro, and you know it. We had to be smart, calm, and stick to the plan. You out of all people know that.” Stryder understood Anson was having a hard time, and would until they rescued all the women, but especially Natalia.
Anson looked over his shoulder quickly to make sure that Zoya was asleep before saying, “I didn’t get to tell you this yet, but you did good back at that auction. I know it wasn’t easy for you to use the whip on her. But you impressed me with your expertise. You didn’t harm her.”
Stryder shot daggers his way. “Did you think I would?”
Anson shrugged and smirked. “I don’t know, man. It’s not like I pay attention to your bedroom antics or anything. What you do in our dungeon is not something I’ve ever really thought about, for Christ’s sake.”
The playroom he and his brothers had set up on a dare many years ago had truly become a favorite of Stryder’s. He liked the kinkier side of things, and had no shame in admitting it. Vanilla sex wasn’t for him, and he had figured that out a long time ago. He liked submissive women, and he craved their utter and complete surrender before he fucked them into oblivion. But he had no idea his lifestyle would actually come into play in aiding them on this mission. As beautiful as Zoya was, naked beneath his lash, Stryder had hated every minute of it. He believed in consensual. He believed in firmness followed by tenderness. And he believed in pleasing even more than in giving pain. He had wished desperately that he could have shown Zoya all of that. It was a shame that her first experience with dominance and submission—or at least what he assumed was her first—was that unfortunate incident. And it sickened him to think that she may never actually give him or anyone the chance to see that there was so much more delight that could come from the bite of leather.
“Yeah, well, the whip used to be one of my favorite implements. Although after Moscow, I think I’m going to have to retire it. I don’t ever want to fucking relive that nightmare again. I’m sure Zoya would never want to…” He stopped talking when he realized he was thinking about being intimate with Zoya again in the future, almost as if that were the natural way of things. Why the fuck would he ever think such a thing?
Was it because he had seen her naked? Was it because he had held her, caressed her, cared for her as any good Dom would do? Was it all because he had already done more with Zoya in the last forty-eight hours than he did with most women, unless you counted the meaningless one night stands? While he always offered aftercare and tenderness to a partner after a scene, Stryder wasn’t one for giving love and attention to women. Not that he had never done so with anyone else, but it was rare. Yet with Zoya, they were practically in relationship status based on all the things he had already done with the girl. If he were being honest with himself, he was already seeing her as his. Not just his save, but his.
And it fucking pissed him off.
It had to be because of Maddox and Adira. Their last save was a lovely Arabian beauty by the name of Adira Nazar, and his brother had fallen in love. Hell, he had even married the girl. It wasn’t the way they did things—crossing personal with business, but Maddox had broken all the rules. Could it be that his brother’s antics were wearing off on him?
“You seem different around her,” Anson said casually as he pulled onto the highway.
“What are you talking about? I’m just doing my job.”
“Nah, she softens you. You aren’t such an asshole.”
“Fuck off.” Stryder looked out the window, happy to see the Texas scenery pass them by. It was good to be home. They were alive, unharmed, and so far the mission was going according to plan. He always liked when everything was in order. It gave him a sense of accomplishment.
Anson chuckled. “I’m just saying—”
“Shut up.” Stryder leaned his head against the window like Zoya had and closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion take hold. “I’m going to catch some shut eye until we get to The Flying Pig. Can you shut your trap until we get there?” He smiled, knowing that Anson was finding this all amusing. Both his older brothers always did like trying to get under his skin. Luckily for them, his love for his siblin
gs always overpowered his annoyance for them, or there would be a lot of busted lips. “Are you all right to drive?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I wasn’t up all night taking care of my save.”
It was as if he could smell the juicy, mouthwatering meat in his dreams. Stryder woke up as they were pulling into the parking lot of their favorite—but secret from Jennie—restaurant. It was a reward they usually granted themselves when they traveled for work. They sure didn’t get greasy, heart-clogging BBQ like this at the ranch. A small price, of course, for Jennie’s love and her taking care of them all, but he sure did look forward to these stops. Jennie was their free- spirit, hippie, vegetable eating, quinoa cooking, Mother Earth, pot smoking, bee dancer. She was one of a kind, and if it meant he had to eat food that tasted like hay to have her in his life, he would gladly chomp on the dried grass any day.
“I can taste it now,” Anson said with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Stryder unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to wake Zoya up. She was already stirring when the truck came to a stop. “Zoya, we are here. You better wake up, because you sure as hell don’t want to sleep through this meal.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled softly. “BBQ time?”
“Oh yeah,” Anson said as he hopped out of the truck and slammed the driver’s door.
Stryder got out and opened Zoya’s door. She was sitting up and combing her fingers through her hair.
“You look just beautiful.” Beyond beautiful, in fact. “This place is nothing but a hole in the wall dive, but man oh man can they cook.”
Zoya placed her hand in Stryder’s when he offered it to help her out of the raised cab. “I’m actually really hungry. I smell smoke but also something beneath it—”
“That is the aroma of heaven. Spices, chilies, peppers, tomatoes, all slathered onto meat that’s been smoking for hours.”
“Hours? I’d think that would dry out the meat.”
“Nope, perfectly prepared BBQ is like great sex—low and slow is the key to an experience you’ll never forget.”
