by Lisa Lovell
Sold
by the Killer
***
Perfect Monsters - Book 4
Lisa Lovell
Copyright © 2021 Lisa Lovell
All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
A Note From Lisa
Other Books by Lisa Lovell
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Chapter 1
Kayla Hastings
It’s like a bad dream.
My hands are cuffed behind my back, and I’m being frogmarched down a long hallway by a pair of men in dark suits. I’m dimly aware of plush carpeting beneath my dragging feet. There are gilt-edged paintings along the walls.
I regained consciousness minutes ago in a sumptuous room. Half-naked and filthy, I bear the bruises of the fight I put up when they dragged me into the car. My first instinct had been to start screaming until the door swung open and Giselle walked in. If there’d been relief to see her, it evaporated when the man with her pinned my hands while she poured some noxious fluid down my throat. Minutes later, I was looking at the world through a haze as a slow warmth built within me. A warmth that touched parts of my body I didn’t want to think about.
My world has been shattered.
Farrell!
My heart lurches. I give a whimper at the memory of him going down in the gunfight. At the sound, one of the men beside me tightens his grip and tugs me more firmly. It’s not the first time in the past weeks that I’ve been drugged and then hauled around by goons. But these men terrify me. One look at them, and I know that fighting for freedom would be a very bad idea.
Giselle is walking ahead of us with brisk, precise strides. We reach a large, ornate double door at the end of the hall, and she pushes it open.
The room beyond takes opulence to heights that are almost ridiculous. There are gold-framed pictures of historical battle scenes on every wall, including one over a huge marble fireplace depicting a general on a rearing horse. The thick carpet is cream and gold and matches thick velvet drapes that shut out the light. There’s more velvet on the furnishings, with huge, overstuffed couches and chairs arranged around the room. It’s like I’ve been delivered into some kind of insane military bordello.
“Mr. Yakovich? She is here,” one of the men says.
There’s a red velvet sofa facing the fireplace. I catch a glimpse of a man sitting there, his attention on something in front of him. The bent head gives me a sense of thick golden hair and broad shoulders. But it’s only when he stands that I get a clear view of the beast who has murdered my lover and dragged me here.
Holy shit!
The man who stalks toward me has got to be the most beautiful human I’ve ever set eyes upon – male or female. He’s golden. Thick waves of tawny hair are swept back from a broad forehead and almost impossibly symmetrical features. His eyes are insanely blue, and as they meet mine, I feel that swirl of warmth in me grow hotter.
I know it’s not me feeling this way – it’s whatever Giselle forced me to drink. But it’s unsettling. I want to look away.
He’s wearing loose black pants that hook over lean hips, and a matching black satin shirt is open to reveal more golden flesh. His bare chest is smooth and beautiful – silken skin over hard, sculpted muscle.
And yet, he is the devil himself.
“Hello, Kayla,” he says as he stops in front of me. “I am so glad you could finally join us. I have been waiting for such a long time to meet you. In the flesh.”
He runs those sapphire eyes over me, and I cringe. For all his beauty, there’s no mistaking the intent in him. He’s cruel. It’s in the curve of his lips and the amusement in his eyes as he takes in my appearance.
“I am Kasyanenko Vasiliy Yakovich,” he says, with a strange formality. “You will call me Vasya.” He smiles and reaches a hand to my chin. He tilts my head from side to side as if examining my features. I bare my teeth and hiss at him like a cat. He chuckles but doesn’t seem affected.
“You are quite a lovely thing,” he says. His voice is crisp, slightly accented. “I had a feeling poor Farrell would succumb to your charms, eventually.” He chuckles again, and rage surges within me. I make a low, agonized sound and spit straight at his face.
Before I know what has happened, his hand has swung up and connects sharply with my cheek. My head spins, and I taste blood. His expression has barely changed. But there’s a narrowing of his eyes that warns of a darker danger.
“Don’t do that again, Kayla,” he says softly. My spittle still gleams on his high golden cheekbone. He raises his arm again. I flinch, but he’s just using his sleeve to wipe his face.
“What do you want from me?” I finally raise the courage to speak. It’s a stupid question. He responds with warm laughter that seems at odds with the situation.
“Oh, Kayla! What do you think I want from you?” His eyes remain on mine as he traces a finger down my chest to the top of my shirt and down between my breasts. Even with the fabric covering me, I feel his touch there and shiver.
I look around at his world of wealth and abundance. At his physical beauty. And it makes no sense. “You could have anyone. Why me?”
“Because I want you. And I get what I want. The fact that I got to snatch you from that arrogant idiot only makes it all sweeter.”
I know who he’s talking about, but I don’t want to hear it.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“Insane?” he says. “For taking Blackmore out of the picture? There are others who would disagree.”
A sob bubbles up at the mention of Farrell. Of all that could have been. “I don’t…I don’t want you,” I force the words out past the band that seems to have tightened around my throat and taken my voice. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”
He laughs again. I’m beginning to hate the sound. “What home, Kayla? When I first saw you, you were a cheap stripper touting your tits for dollar bills. Now look at you. You would fit into any high-society gathering. You should be thanking me. And you probably will, once I show you the pleasure I am capable of giving you.”
“Pleasure? You’re an animal. A murdering rapist who steals girls and kills good men!” I risk the insult. Between the pain of loss and the callous cruelty of this man before me, I’m almost ready to face the worst.
He
laughs out loud at this. “Kayla, I have never fucked a woman who did not beg me for it. And if you are referring to your dead hero, I have news for you. Farrell Blackmore was no better than I. And if you think, by some miracle, he’s survived and coming back for you, you can put that right out of your mind. This here…” he sweeps an arm to indicate the room around him, “this is all that’s left for you.”
“I don’t want it,” I whimper. “I don’t want you!”
Chapter 2
Vasiliy Yakovich
“Kayla, I am a reasonable man. I do not want you thinking you do not have options. If this life is not to your liking, you may choose to be sent out with the other girls. My auctions are well-attended. You will soon find an alternate situation.”
There is horror on her face. I don’t wait for her to respond. It seems she doesn’t have words.
“That would be such a pity, Kayla,” I continue, glancing down at where her lush flesh spills from her ruined shirt. I cup my hand around her breast and feel her nipple hardening against my palm. There is alarm in her eyes as she realizes how her traitorous body is responding. “We could have so much fun together.” I watch her battle with herself. It will be entertaining to see her resistance crumble.
She is better than I remembered. She’d been lush and undulating when I’d seen her dancing at that filthy club. I had suspected I would find her even more appealing once she’d been stripped of the cheap tricks of the trade. Just because I run a sex ring doesn’t mean I like my women to look like whores. Looking at her now, I see that I was right. I’m going to enjoy breaking her to my ways.
But I have other matters to attend to.
“Enough small talk. There will be plenty of time for that once you are ready for me. In the meantime, you will be bathed. I cannot touch a woman who still bears the stench of another man.” Giselle, who has remained silent during the conversation, nods curtly.
I snap my fingers and turn away as the girl is dragged out. I resume my seat on the sofa facing the fireplace. Stretching a hand along the back of the sofa, I tip my head back, musing over the ways I will entertain myself with her during these next few days. It’s always interesting when they tell me they’ll resist me.
They never do.
Yegor, my second in command, has watched the proceedings without a word. Tall, tattooed, his silver hair cropped close. Even when he is silent, his presence is impossible to ignore.
“The men are waiting, sir,” he says.
“Send them in,” I say, reaching for a cigar I’ve left smoldering in an ashtray on a side table. It’s a habit I picked up from my father. He had learned it when mimicking his own father. The fragrant smoke wafts about me as two of my men shuffle into the room. I feel an urge to sigh as I recognize them from before.
“Boris. Sergei,” I say, taking another puff and blowing it in their direction. “It seems you were successful. Well done.”
The pair exchange glances. Boris remains silent as Sergei steps forward. “Thank you, Mr. Yakovich. It went down as expected. The safe house was exactly where his man told us it would be. We followed them into the town in the early hours of the morning. There were no witnesses.”
“Good work, Sergei. You have his hand?” I ask. They blink at me like owls.
“His hand, Mr. Yakovich?” says Sergei.
“A hand, a head, some proof that he was dead.” He stares as me and his face suddenly goes pale. “You did not examine the corpse, Sergei?” I raise an eyebrow. He swallows hard enough for me to see his throat move. “How can you be sure that you killed him?”
“I… Sir, I…” He shifts uncomfortably. “He was shot in the chest at least three times, Mr. Yakovich.”
“And you think that was definitive proof, Sergei?” I ask. He says nothing. “Come here,” I say quietly. He hovers, and I can see his body fighting his brain’s instruction to move forward. “Come here,” I repeat.
“Yes, Mr. Yakovich,” he mumbles. I hear his shoes drag on the plush pile of my carpet as he comes toward me.
“Give me your hand,” I say. After a moment’s hesitation, he extends it, and I take his wrist. “Do you think it is possible that he survived those bullets?” I ask. He shakes his head, staring down at where I have his hand in my grip. I take a deep draw on my cigar, then put the lit end into his palm, twisting it against his flesh as I extinguish it. He jerks against my grip as skin singes and the stench of burning flesh fills the air. He does not pull away.
“You will bring me his hand,” I say softly when I look up at him. He nods quickly. “If you do not do this, you will bring me Boris’s head.” I look over at Boris, who has turned a pale shade of gray. I release Sergei’s wrist and sink back into my seat.
They leave so silently that I don’t hear them.
Chapter 3
Kayla Hastings
A few days later…
I stumble slightly as Giselle leads me into a room filled with sunshine and surrounded by greenery. I’ve not been to this part of the building before. But then again, I’ve barely made it out of my suite these past days.
Vashya. He insists that I call him that. My only attempt at resistance earned me another blinding slap that left a palm print on my face. He has visited me in my room these past days but has never done more than touch me. Each time I’ve been foggy with Giselle’s drug, which leaves me strangely desperate to feel his hands on me. Each time, he’s left me burning. Although I can’t tell if my body is responding to him or to the drugs.
The fog has diminished today. Giselle has been giving me less of whatever is in that bottle. But he’s still not happy with the result. When he left yesterday, he’d stopped Giselle with a hand on her arm.
“If she’s like this when I see her again, I will kill you,” he’d said softly. It was a voice as smooth as silk, but she’d blanched. This morning, when I’d woken, she was standing at the bedside with a teaspoon. Just a sip.
“Drink,” she muttered, and I diligently swallowed.
The warmth would flood me soon, but this time, I could make sense of my surroundings. A day without oblivion brought other things, though. I’d wept again at the memory of the man they had stripped from my world. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s harder than before.
What I’ve lost. What lies ahead…
And what lies ahead this morning is yet another moment of confusion for me. I step into the room and look around. In a sunny alcove is a round table set with white linen and silver cutlery. On one side, Vashya is seated, dressed in white linen and reading a newspaper. Sitting across from him is a small dark-haired child toying with a plate of eggs.
“Ah, Kayla,” he says as I arrive beside them. “We’ve just sat down to breakfast. Please, would you join us?” He pulls out a chair for me and then sees that I’m settled before resuming his own. I could be part of a small family group at a high-end hotel or in some upmarket suburban home.
The child turns curious eyes to me as I sit down, and I’m grateful they’ve dressed me in something more suitable than the satiny robes I’ve worn these past days. Today I’m in a crisp cream linen lounge suit. My hair has been brushed into golden waves over my shoulders.
“Kayla, I’d like you to meet Lily. She’s my very special guest,” says Vashya. I turn to smile at the child. Her elfin features are dominated by intense dark eyes that unsettle me a little.
“Hello, Lily,” I say, smiling gently at the little girl. There’s an air of fragility to her that tugs at something in me. Beyond this, however, is the bizarreness of the situation. I’ve spent the past few days seeing the dark underbelly of this sprawling mansion. Here, I’m confused. This child, this room, this moment… Nothing fits.
Vasya has waved to a nearby server in crisp livery who seems to have been waiting for me to arrive because the dark-haired man snaps to attention. He heads over swiftly with a tray bearing a variety of breakfast choices. I realize that I’m expected to make a selection.
“I thought you and Lily might spend
some time together,” Vasya says as I reach for a bowl of granola and yogurt. I nod, though I’m confused. Why would he want me to spend time with a strange child? “Lily has been very sad these past days. Haven’t you, Lily?” he addresses the last to the child. She’s still dragging a fork through her eggs, which she’s barely touched. It occurs to me that her face is pale and drawn. Dark smudges shadow her eyes, which continue to draw me.
“Will you tell Kayla why you are sad, Lily?” Vasya asks, reaching for a piece of bacon, popping it into his mouth. He licks his fingers.
“My daddy went to heaven,” Lily says simply, and I feel my heart clench.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s awful. I’m so sorry,” I murmur.
“And will you tell Kayla what happened to him, Lily?” Vasya prompts, reaching for another piece of bacon.
Lily’s lips pinch together. I wonder why he’s making her go through this. “He was running away from the men. So they shot him,” she whispers. I set my spoon down with a clatter and stare at her.
“And why can’t your mama take care of you now, Lily?” Vasya asks. I’m still blinking at the child, but I spin my head to shoot a look at him. His smile is cold and cruel.
“She’s in heaven too,” says the child quietly.
“Oh, Lily…” I say. Those eyes. I know those eyes.
Lily looks up and stares at me. And something is sinking in.
“Will you tell Kayla what your mama’s name was, Lily?” he asks.
“My daddy said her name was Abby. I don’t remember her much anymore.”
I’m still silent. My head is weaving through a tangle of knotted threads as I pull details together.
“And what was your daddy’s name, Lily?” he asks. “Your daddy who got shot by the men.”
“Farrell,” Lily whispers. “Farrell Blackmore.”
