Thirty Days of Shame

by Ginger Talbot

  “So that’s it?” she says to me. “The end of your mission?”

  There’s a couple more loose ends that will be taken care of shortly, but the less she knows about my business, the safer she is.

  “All wrapped up with a nice little bow.”

  She leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder. Sweet and soft and trusting. “Stay with me? Just for a little while?”

  I shouldn’t, but with Willow, my behavior has never been rational. Not since the first moment I saw her, badly hidden behind a cluster of potted palms in her uncle’s house. Slim, trembling, eyes huge with fright. Something about her called to me on an animal level, and I fell into her web without even realizing it. I stalked her like prey, but who’s the prisoner now?

  Ever since that day, I’ve been lying to myself. I lied to myself when I demanded that her uncle give me one of his children as collateral. I always knew it would be Willow who’d submit her tender flesh to me as a sacrifice. I lied to myself when I told myself that I’d destroy her just for fun, as collateral damage in my war against the Toporov men. I lied to myself when I pretended to believe that it would be easy to walk away from her when I was finished with my campaign of revenge.

  And now look where my lies have gotten me.

  Hopelessly obsessed with the kindest, strongest women I’ve ever met, and with no hope of a future for us. It’s a horrible fate that I richly deserve.

  Always a glutton for punishment, I peel back the covers and slide into bed next to her, pulling her slim body up against mine. I wrap my arms around her and breathe in her honeyed scent. Her small, round butt is pressed up against my crotch, and my erection throbs in response.

  “How did you find me at Vilyat’s trailer?” she murmurs. “You didn’t follow us there. So how?”

  I dodge the question. “I’m good at what I do.” I stroke her slender arm, trailing my fingers along her silky-smooth skin.

  She won’t let me distract her. She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow. “No, that’s not an answer. I know what you’ve done. I even know when.”

  “Is that so.”

  “After you went crazy and sent in that nurse to treat me…she gave me some kind of shot and knocked me out. You had a GPS tracker implanted in me while I was unconscious. That’s how you found us in Ohio – you always knew where I was. From the minute I ran away.”

  She’s a clever girl. “Maybe,” I acknowledge.

  “So why did you wait two months to come get me? All that talk about how much you needed me. Either you wanted me back or you didn’t. It doesn’t make sense.”

  I shift in the bed and sit up again, avoiding her gaze. I don’t want to answer her, because it exposes a weakness, and I despise weakness. But she deserves the truth – as much as I can afford to give her, anyway.

  “Because you terrify me, Willow. Since the day I lost Pyotr, I haven’t let myself need anything or anyone. And then you came into my life, and when you aren’t with me, your absence burns the thoughts from my brain. I hoped that with time, my desire for you would fade, but it got worse. Every single minute of every single day, I ached for you, until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  She manages a shaky laugh. “That’s equal parts romantic and demented.”

  “An apt description of me, I imagine. Actually, that’s giving myself too much credit in the romance part of the equation.”

  “So. The GPS tracker. Where in my body is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  She stiffens with resentment, turning her battered face towards me. “It’s my body, so yes, it does matter. Take it out.”

  I bark a disbelieving laugh. “Hello, my name is Sergei. I thought you knew me, but apparently you don’t know me at all. I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  She lets out a sigh of exasperation. “All right, I will ask you nicely then. Please take your spy device out of my body. Sir.”

  Oh, I missed hearing that. But I’m not going to budge.

  I stare into her blue-gray eyes. “No. It’s how I keep you safe.”

  “It’s how you keep me under control!”

  I shrug. “Does it matter why? It’s not coming out.”

  Her gaze drops, and she shifts in bed, turning her back to me. This should be my signal to go, but I can’t summon up the will to leave her. Not yet.

  We lie in silence for several minutes, and I watch her chest rise and fall.

  I think she’s fallen asleep, but then she rolls over and looks at me again, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

  “I want you to know, when you punished me…I was a willing participant,” she murmurs. “You like to hurt me. I like pain. I was horrified to realize that, and I tried to blame you for creating that perverse desire, but it’s not your fault. It’s just how I’m made. Pain gives me pleasure. I don’t ever want you to feel bad about it.”

  I won’t let myself off the hook that easily. Neither should she. “Hurting your flesh was all right, because I knew it was what you wanted and needed. Hurting your feelings wasn’t.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she agrees. “But I think we’re better now. The two of us, together. I know you hate to hear me say nice things to you, but too bad. I forgive you for the things that you did, and I understand your motivation, even if you shouldn’t have done it. And I appreciate everything that you did for my family. I don’t think you even let yourself acknowledge how generous you are. You act like being decent is a character flaw, but it’s not. All those things you’ve done for people, for no motive other than giving them what you knew they needed? It means that you didn’t let my family corrode your soul. They lost. You won. You’re still good.”

  That snatches my breath away, and I sit in stunned silence. Once upon a time, those words would have sent me into a burning rage, but that was before I met Willow. Now, I can let her stroke salve onto my wounded soul and not lash back.

  How did she look into the toxic wasteland inside me, and see the bright shining threads of humanity still glowing? Only she could have done that. Nobody else.

  I close my eyes, and realize that there are tears burning my lids.

  “Thank you,” I husk, floating in a sea of gratitude and sorrow. I don’t dare move. Time passes as I drift in a bubble, weightless and without care.

  “What happens now?” she asks me. And I crash back to earth, and it’s every bit as painful as I imagined.

  “We take it one day at a time,” I say, and kiss her forehead.

  But I’m lying. Because I’m filth. Lower than low.

  I already know what’s going to happen. Soon, I will have to do a terrible thing to her.

  To the woman I love.

  I admit that now. I’ve fallen in love with her. I need to leave now, to carry on my plan. I need to keep moving forward, through the pain and the self-hatred and the nuclear fallout I’ll create with my final betrayal.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Day twenty-nine…

  Twenty-two hours since I’ve let myself see Willow. That shouldn’t matter, but it does. I’ve checked in on her every day. I’ve told her that I can’t be with her more often because I’m busy wrapping up an enormous project for work – the first time I’ve ever felt the need to explain my actions to her, or anyone.

  It’s 7:30 in the morning in California, 6:30 p.m. in the Pevlova Oblast.

  The media room is our war room today. We sit there by the computer, taking phone calls, reading emails, watching video feeds. Coordinating with our men on the ground.

  Yesterday we did something truly evil – even for us. We opened up the whorehouse that we’d spent the last couple of months building. It’s in a tiny, remote town, an hour from the city of Pevlovagrad. Cataha recently rounded up a new shipment of girls. We hijacked his shipment and took them to our own brothel, and handed them over to the eager clients from all over the Pevlova oblast, the men who think their money and connections confer the right to rule over lesser mortals like cruel gods.

  Ther
e was no other way to shut down the trafficking in the area for good. The mayor and the police chief of the central city of Pevlovagrad, both of whom were in power when my brother and I were taken fourteen years ago, were still in power, and still addicted to abusing women. They were also addicted to taking bribes from traffickers and wealthy clients in exchange for protection. As long as they were still in office, the trafficking business in Pevlova would never end.

  So we let the men in our new whorehouse have their way with the women. Just one more black mark in my book of sins. We needed the men’s crimes on video.

  After a few hours, when we’d gotten enough video on the secret surveillance system that we’d installed in the building, we contacted Akim. If we’d just contacted the local police department, there wouldn’t have been a raid at all. But with the media alerted, the police had no choice.

  The police called ahead at the whorehouse to let the security detail know they were coming, so the place could be cleared out of girls and clients. But the security detail work for me, and so, oops, the warning never got passed along.

  So the police swooped in and were angry to see that everyone was still there. Reluctantly, they rescued the women, and they made half a dozen token arrests of the least important men there, and they let the police chief and the mayor go.

  But we had captured it all on video, and now we’ve struck our final blow. We’ve sent the video to Akim, and it’s exploded. It’s gone viral on social media. It’s front-page news all over the world. The federal police storm in, and the mayor is dragged out of his house in front of the news cameras, in his pajamas, screaming and crying. The police chief knows what he can expect in prison; rather than submitting to a lifetime of being beaten and ass-raped, he opens fire on the men who have come to take him in, wounding several before they kill him. Much too merciful and fast an ending, but at least it is an ending.

  Even better, it sends a message to the smaller police departments throughout the entire oblast, and the surrounding districts as well. They will be less likely to take bribes from traffickers, or even to allow the traffickers to operate in their districts, because now they fear suffering the same fate. When they are notified of trafficking operations, they’ll be obligated to act, or risk exposure.

  I could take this news to Willow to reassure her that she’s right, that there is still some human decency in me.

  But instead, I’m going to tell her something else. I’m going to twist it around. Make myself a villain. I’ll tell her some lies, I’ll tell her some truths.

  It’s the only way to save her.

  She’s the only thing that matters.

  WILLOW

  It’s warm this afternoon, about eighty degrees, which is rare this far up the coast. The sun has burned away the last wisps of morning fog. I’m outside in the xeriscaped portion of the garden, strolling along pebbled paths among the cactuses and succulents.

  I can’t believe I’ve made it to thirty days this time.

  I smile ruefully at the thought. Once upon a time, I couldn’t wait for my captivity to be over. Now I can’t wait to see what Sergei has planned for us next.

  Anastasia hurries up the pebbled path, waving a fat sheaf of papers.

  “It’s all here!” she cries out.

  “Say what, now?”

  “The deed to this house. In your name.” She grins at me, her eyes dancing with excitement.

  Uneasiness prickles me.

  Oblivious, she chatters away. “This house was purchased with legitimate money. He told me that he offered you the house, and you said you’d only take it if he could prove he didn’t buy it with dirty money.”

  I shake my head in denial. That isn’t exactly what I said. He offered me the house, and I said I wouldn’t take anything purchased with dirty money. I didn’t say I’d accept the house.

  Anastasia continues. “I’ve read through all the paperwork, I made phone calls and went online to look at property records to verify it. He owned a chain of warehouses nationwide, and he sold that company to purchase this property. And now he’s transferred it into your name.”

  “What? But I don’t want it!” Full-blown panic is blooming inside me. This is bad. This is wrong.

  “But why?” Anastasia’s smooth brow wrinkles in confusion. “The money that Vilyat gave me? You were right, Willow. That money is filth, and it’s wrong for me to keep it. I talked to Helenka and Yuri about it. We sent the money as a donation to Operation Salvat.”

  “You know what it is? We couldn’t find it anywhere online. How did you find out?”

  At that, her smile falters. “I called an old friend of mine in St. Petersburg, Raisa. She was one of the little girls from the whorehouse where I was taken. One of the few survivors. Poor girl was there getting screwed a hundred times a week until she was fifteen and managed to escape. She’s scarred up inside, can’t have kids. Now she’s an anti-trafficking activist. Operation Salvat is a secret group that helps victims of human trafficking. They’re kind of like a modern day underground railroad. They hide them, buy them new identities, give them money to buy a new start. So now Vilyat’s filthy money is being given back to his victims. Poetic justice, yes?”

  “Yes. I just…I don’t feel right taking this house. Or Sergei’s money.”

  Anastasia looks worried now. “Without it, we literally have nothing, Willow. The IRS are crawling all over Vilyat’s finances. They’re going to take every asset we ever had.”

  I make myself nod my head. “I see. Then…I guess we have to stay here. I mean, it does have those great rooms he set up for the kids… It’s beautiful, it’s safe here…”

  If he’s giving us the house, what does that mean for him and me?

  She babbles on. “He’s got a trust fund set up to pay the taxes and maintenance for this house, for the next thirty years. How wonderful is that? We can all live here. Helenka and Yuri and you and me. Nobody will be after us. We can live our lives. We can do whatever we want. Yuri is talking about designing cars. Helenka wants to open a chain of self-defense studios for women when she grows up. Isn’t that glorious?”

  I force myself to answer in a bright, cheerful tone.

  “It’s amazing! Really great! Wow, I…didn’t expect that at all.”

  I am getting colder and colder. I can’t feel the sunshine at all. I see Jasha heading towards us on the path. I don’t like the look on his face.

  Anastasia looks at me skeptically. “Willow? Why aren’t you happy? This is a party! This is time to crack open the champagne! Are you feeling all right?”

  “I don’t know yet.” No, I’m pretty sure I know. I’m pretty sure that soon, I won’t be in a mood to celebrate.

  “Hey, Jasha! Why the sour puss? We are all celebrating! Get us some champagne and come dance with me!” She does a little dance move, swaying her hips and grinning at him in a way I’ve never seen her smile at a man.

  For her, he manages to crack a smile. “I will in a little while. We’ll dance all night long, I promise.”

  “Woo-hoo!” she spins in a happy circle. “Willow, I’m going to cheer you up if it kills me.”

  Jasha gestures at me, and with a sinking heart, I hurry towards him, letting me lead me inside.

  He takes me to Sergei’s office. I’ve only been there once before.

  He’s on the phone as I come in. Waving his free arm around. For some reason, I notice that the braided bracelet that he always wore before is gone now. I’ve never seen him without it. The bracelet woven from the sinews of the wolf that killed his little brother.

  He’s shedding his past.

  Sergei’s voice booms through the air. “That’s great, Ludmila. You’re beautiful. Love you! I’ll see you soon. I can’t wait.”

  He hangs up and looks up at me as I stand there, swaying, in shock.

  As if I’m so stupid that I wouldn’t guess that he arranged for me to come in at just the right time, so I’d hear that phone call.

  “Oh, hi, Willow. I just wanted t
o make sure that you got the paperwork. Everything’s all arranged. I’ll be leaving tonight.”

  I storm across the room. “What the hell was that?” I demand. “Who were you talking to?”

  The words that he says are impossible words. They don’t belong in his mouth. “My wife.”

  His wife?

  I gasp. I stagger, and Jasha, who has hurried up next to me, catches me so I don’t fall.

  “You’re lying.”

  He shakes his head.

  “No. I warned you about me, Willow. How many times do I need to tell you what an utter bastard I am? But I do want to thank you You’ve served your purpose. You helped me find your uncle.”

  “This isn’t you,” I say desperately. “You said you cared about me.”

  He nods, and the pity on his face is a knife through my gut. “I do. I didn’t lie about that. I meant every word I said. You are a wonderful woman. A man can care about more than one woman, can’t he? But I have obligations. I need to get back to my real family.”

  Furious, I snatch a decorative inkwell from his desk and throw it at him, and it bounces off his forehead. Blood trickles down his face.

  Jasha just stands there. He doesn’t try to stop me, or to defend his boss.

  “This isn’t you, it’s not, it’s not!” I’m desperate for proof, something I can say that will make him stop stabbing me with hideous, brutal words. “You’re not evil!” I scream at him. “You…you’re running Operation Salvat! I know what it is, it’s a rescue group! You help take down traffickers, you help save the victims!”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “Not at all. I need to keep track of them so they don’t interfere with my own operations.”

  Is he trying to claim that he’s a trafficker himself? That’s madness. Why would he tell me such a sick lie?

  Tears pour down my face, and I’m shaking with sobs. “Now I know you’re lying. I know it! There are things even you can’t fake. You hate people who traffic in children. I’ve seen your physical reaction.”

  Sergei nods. Words march out of his mouth, strung together in sentences that must be, have to be, fiction.