Chapter Nine
Jon sat anxiously in his seat of the Lufthansa flight 120 direct to Kiev, wringing his hands nervously. He had no idea if his hunch was correct or if he was about to embark upon a wild goose chase after a woman whom he barely knew. That’s not true. You know her. She is kind, loving and your fiancée. She is in danger and you must find her at once. Still, there were nagging doubts in the back of his mind, ones that reminded him about Amber leaving for Europe and Simone’s drug addiction. You may be going after a woman who does not want to be found. And if that’s true, you’ll look like a crazy stalker. But in spite of all his doubts, his history of being manipulated and used by women, Jon’s gut told him that he was doing the right thing, that Marika needed him. Moreover, he realized that the time he had to find her was limited if she was in fact in danger. He wondered how he would find her once he landed but if he had timed the flight properly, flight 120 would be landing at the same time as Marika’s flight with a few minutes to spare. He prayed he would have enough time to find her at the gate and learn the truth of what was happening. He understood that the time did not allow him much wiggle room but he had to try. Jon looked down at his palms and realized he was trembling. Come on, stupid plane. Let’s get the show on the road, he silently willed the aircraft. Don’t be detained, just start the engines and fly outta here. Marika’s life depended upon it.
“Get up.”
Alina blinked, slowly waking. She hadn’t even remembered falling asleep wedged between the meaty bodies of her husband and Leonid but at some moment she had drifted off, drained from the events of the past twenty-four hours. She hadn’t even realized that the plane had landed in Paris but as she looked around, she saw that the craft was grounded and people were disembarking.
“No. I will stay here,” she told Leonid but Petro smiled coldly.
“No, my love. This is a seven hour layover. Anyway, you have always loved Paris. We haven’t been here since our honeymoon. You will come.”
“Petro, we only have a few hours here. It’s hardly enough time – “
“I said get up.” His tone was like icy steel and Alina inhaled sharply. There was no room for argument. She glanced at Leonid who stood in the aisle, a caustic smirk upon his face and she had a terrible sense of danger. He is going to kill me here. He’s not even going to wait until we get home, she concluded as she slowly rose to her feet. Petro firmly took hold of her arm and the three walked off the plane, into Charles Le Gaulle airport. Alina looked about desperately.
“I have to use the washroom, Petro,” she told him as they walked through the bustling terminal. His blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he exchanged a glance with Leonid. A mirthless smile touched his lips.
“That didn’t occur to you on the plane?” he asked in a joking manner which did not reach his eyes.
“I was sleeping!” she protested. He seemed to accept the excuse and he shrugged.
“If you have to go, I cannot very well refuse you that, can I?”
Alina offered him a weak smile and he nodded at Leonid.
“Alina needs to use the washroom. You will accompany her.”
“Yes sir.”
Leonid gestured for her to move and she did not hesitate. She located the restrooms and was at the ladies’ door in moments, not checking to see if Leonid had caught up. I must find a way out of here. I will escape the airport and find my way into Paris by subway. From there I will devise a plan. But first I have to figure out a way to get away from Petro and Leonid. She made her way inside a stall and sat heavily on the toilet, peeking through the slat in paneling. Of course, there were no windows in the bathroom. It was a security breech in the middle of an airport terminal. But she looked up onto the ceiling and her heart skipped a beat. The bathroom roof was made of particle board. I just have to ensure that I am alone, climb onto the toilet and push one of those boards aside. Then I can crawl through and find myself in a different part of the airport. Excitement mounting, Alina waited until the woman in the neighboring stall finished her business and washed her hands, exiting the bathroom. She listened, hearing no other signs of life in the huge, sterile room. Cautiously, she opened the door to the cubicle in which she sat to double check her solidarity. The blood drained from her face. Leonid lounged against the sink, looking at his nails.
“All done?” he chirped sarcastically. “I didn’t hear you flush the toilet.”
“Jon? Can you coming here please?”
Marika’s voice filtered into his office and Jon pulled his eyes away from the computer screen where he had been working.
“One sec! I’m almost done.”
“I need you now, please!”
Instantly, Jon was out of his chair, alarmed by her tone. He rushed into the living room but Marika was not there.
“Where are you?”
“I am in bedroom,” she called back. Jon jogged back toward the rear of the apartment. He pushed open the slightly ajar door and smiled slightly. Marika stood dressed in a black leather bodice, her ash white hair pinned up in a severe bun atop her head. Her ripe, full breasts were a breathtaking mountain of cleavage against the suffocating outfit. Impossibly long legs were accented by black fishnet stockings and seven-inch platform stilettos, studded in silver bullets. In her pale hands, she held a horsehair whip which she ran playfully through her fingers.
“And what is this?” he drawled, his deadline forgotten in the next room.
“Shut up.” Her voice was like whiplash and for a moment, Jon was scarred by her tone but as she approached, she licked her lips making him recognize that they were in the middle of a role play session. Marika had slowly begun introducing him to new ideas in the bedroom, toys and positions, things he had not even read about. She approached, gently using the whip to stroke his face.
“You have been work too hard,” she told him. “I have warn you but you no to listen.”
“I am sorry,” Jon answered, suddenly feeling slightly guilty despite understanding they were only playing a game.
“Shut up!” she snapped again. “You vill only speaking ven I say.”
“Okay,” he agreed. The slap came without warning across his face and Jon reeled back, shocked. Marika’s eyes glimmered and Jon pursed his lips together, his heart racing. He was not sure if he was excited or angered.
“I say no speaking.” She slapped him again and he winced at the sting. Marika continued to circle around him like a lion on the prowl.
“All vork and no play makes Johnny very dull boy, yes?”
He nodded and stared at her beautiful face, suddenly a mask of sensual severity. This time the blow was administered with the whip and to his genitals. He doubled over. Suddenly, Marika slipped a collar around his neck and he was being led to the bed by a leash.
“You must be punished,” she told him and Jon was ready for the penance. A pointed heel pushed him onto his now firm belly and she yanked the leash back slightly, blocking his wind. Her hot breath was in his ear.
“You are naughty boy.” A wet tongue touched his lobe and a rush of heat flowed into his groin. She released the grip she had on him, her hand slipping under his pants to cup his swollen balls. Long nails racked into them, causing him to shrivel up and grow larger in his boxers. He moaned slightly and the whip pelted against his ass.
“Silence!” she hissed, pulling down his pants her claws scratching at him, tugging his cum filled sack. Her mouth was at his bare ass, teeth sinking into him, making him buck uncomfortably but within seconds, hot breath found their way to the no man’s land. Her licks were wet and sopping, her face underneath him as she began to blow him from the bottom up. Soon, his thick cock was fully in her mouth, filling her throat as she sucked mercilessly, both hurting and delighting him simultaneously. He could feel his load rising and he groaned heavily, ready to fill her saliva soaked mouth with his seed but she withdrew abruptly, slipping out from under him.
“Did I telling you to cum?” she asked. The whip hit his rear and he flipped over
in pain. She loomed above him on her knees, smiling as if she had anticipated the move. Immediately, she straddled him, her crotchless panties making her velvety depth accessible to take in his throbbing manhood. Leaning forward, she pinned his hands down, her luscious breast directly in his face, the head of his penis at the opening of her wetness. Marika began to partially ride him, her nipples now exposed, grazing his open mouth as she teased, allowing only the top of his shaft into her. Jon could take no more. With superhuman strength, he overpowered her, making her the submissive party. His hands pushed her into the mattress while he plunged fully into her roughly and relentlessly. Marika screamed out, taking his pounding to her throbbing cleft. Her nails were now digging into his back and Jon could barely feel the blood pouring from the marks. He was climaxing, juices squirting endlessly to meet Marika’s as she writhed beneath him.
Jon started awake. He did not know where he was immediately but he was painfully aware of the fact that he had a hard on. He had been dreaming about that last time he had held Marika, only three days prior. Was it only three days ago? I feel like I haven’t touched her in months. Will I ever get to smell her lavender shampoo in her hair again? I wish I had brought the pillow case with me. He stared out the window at the white clouds passing by sadness and nausea in his stomach.
“Sir, can I offer you a drink?” A pert blonde in the Lufthansa flight attendant uniform stood at the aisle. He looked at the drink cart and sighed.
“Double scotch,” he said. May as well. The pain is not going to mask itself.
“What are we doing here, Petro?” Alina asked nervously. He looked surprised at the question.
“It is the Eiffel Tower, Alina. You love the Eiffel Tower.”
She did not know how to respond but as the lift continued to rise, so did her blood pressure. Petro had ordered Leonid to wait at the base of the tower, ushering her into the building.
“Petro,” she began but her husband held his fingers to his lips, indicating the other passengers.
“I doubt very much that they speak Ukrainian,” she muttered but she did not speak again until they were on the top level. Petro offered his arm to her and they ventured toward the galley. He cannot kill me up here. There is no way for him to throw me from here, she tried to reassure herself but she knew that Petro was capable of awful feats.
There was a time when Alina Yarema had been very much in love with the intimidating figure at her side. She had met the dark and mysterious Petro Ivanko when he had come into her father’s shop one day. Alina had been twenty and Petro, thirty-five. She had lived in the outskirts of Kiev her entire life, both helping on her parent’s meager farm and tending to her father’s small store in Kiev. She was an only child, hopelessly devoted to her family but it was the dream of her parents that she would marry well and leave their impoverished life behind.
“We are no longer a poor country, Alina,” her mother would tell her. “You are not well educated but you are very beautiful. You should have no trouble finding a wealthy man to take care of you.”
“But mama! I will never leave you and papa!” Alina had proclaimed. Her mother Vira had smiled wisely and when Petro Ivanko had shown up unexpectedly one day, both Vira and Boris Yarema had known that he would be the one to marry their daughter. It did not take much persuasion. Alina was not only beautiful but her heart was pure. Despite her lack of formal education, Alina had a natural intelligence, most likely a gene she had inherited from her hardworking peasant stock kin. Rough circumstances breed resilient, malleable, seasoned people and Alina was all of those things. She was eager to please and soon Petro was visiting the small corner store almost daily to catch a glimpse of the stunning blonde. After a brief, whirlwind courtship filled with limos and glamor, Petro put a huge diamond ring on her delicate finger and pronounced her his. Alina had of course been smitten and flattered by the rich, obviously powerful man. She knew little of his business other than he worked with people and she had always surmised that he was a philanthropist of sorts. It was not until she had moved into his sprawling mansion in the swanky Pechersk section of the city, that young Alina began to realize her husband was not a nice man. At first, his treatment of her had been civil enough but soon a strange jealousy began to rear its ugly head and Petro became prone to burst of anger, especially when he thought other men were looking at her. He started to accuse her of infidelity and eventually assigned Leonid as her personal bodyguard. Leonid was worse than a shadow, following her to visit her parents, to the salon and on shopping trips. She had no privacy and no sense of security but she did have every material good that her heart desired.
“Petro, I am bored,” she had told him one day. “I need a job.”
“You need a daughter,” he had replied.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But until that occurs, I need to find something to do. I cannot spend my days gossiping with the wives of your business associates. I will go crazy.”
Petro had thought about it and finally came up with a solution. He gave her his books to look after. It was then that Alina realized just how big a monster she had married. The numbers told stories, disgusting stories of racketeering and murder but the worst fact she had discovered was that her husband was a trafficker. One who bought and sold young girls no less, some of them too young to discuss. It had been enough to keep Alina up at night, for sleep would bring with it terrible nightmares of teenage girls in horrible conditions. She felt as if she were constantly on the verge of crying, unable to look at Petro, let alone make love to him. If he sensed a change in her, he did not mention it but as the days passed, she became more and more determined to escape. She was smart enough to know that one did not simply walk up to a mob boss and ask for a divorce, hoping for an amicable split. She also knew that if she tapped into any of his resources, she would easily be tracked. Alina agonized for months on how to escape her evil husband. It wasn’t until having lunch with Svetlana one day that she figured out how to do it.
“Danya left for Australia yesterday,” her cousin told her.
“Oh?” Alina took a sip of strong coffee and raised an eyebrow with polite interest. The comings and goings of Svetlana’s friends was hardly earth shattering information to Alina. She was painfully aware of Leonid listening to their conversation.
“Yes. She is marrying a man there,” Svetlana continued. This time Alina’s interest was genuine.
“When did she meet a man from Australia?” She wracked her brain trying to recall any mention of this but could not.
“She met him online through one of those order-a-wife sites,” Svetlana groaned. “Can you imagine? Not knowing who you are about to marry but entrusting a stranger to send you money and a plane ticket with that promise. It’s positively primitive.”
“Yes,” Alina said slowly, shooting a furtive look at Leonid who finally looked as if he had heard enough and was dozing off in his chair. Yes, I can imagine.
She became aware of Petro’s arm encircling her waist as they stood taking in the view.
“Is this how you remember it?” he asked. Alina swallowed, trying to brace herself for her impending death.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “I was much happier when I came here last time.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Petro’s jaw clench.
“I don’t understand you, Alina. I rescued you from poverty, made you my wife, introduced you to my friends. I gave you everything you ever wanted and how do you repay me? By running off in the middle of the night with another man?”
“I didn’t run off with another man, Petro. I met another man after I ran off.” She watched as he ground his teeth, obviously steeling his temper. He would not make a scene in front of a crowd, of that she was certain.
“Why?” he finally asked. “What are you so unhappy that you felt like you had to run away?”
“Does it really matter?” she sighed. “I was unhappy. I wanted to leave. Would you have let me?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “You are
my wife. You cannot just walk away from our vows.”
Alina almost laughed.
“Petro, I know who you are now. I know what you do for a living!” He scowled, glancing around to ensure her words were not understood and Alina immediately lowered her voice.
“That did not seem to bother you when you were driving a Mercedes and wearing diamond earrings, did it?”
“I didn’t know you were a pimp!” she almost shrieked. “I didn’t know you were kidnapping children and selling them into the sex trade!”
His grip around her waist tightened and she was finding it difficult to breathe.
“You are my wife, Alina. It is your duty to stand by me no matter what,” he hissed, his breath hot in her ear. “Now say you are sorry for making me worry and I will forget this ever happened.”
“I am not sorry,” she retorted, her anger overriding her fear. “And I hope you don’t forget that it happened because given the chance, I will do it again!” The silence was thick and Alina wished she had not said so much. You have gone too far.
Romance: The Campus Player: A College Romance Page 63
