Thirty Days of Hate

by Ginger Talbot

  With a scream of rage, Cataha throws his phone across the room and pounds his fist on the desk. He punches the side of his head, trying to shake the voice loose.

  And now his fucking phone is broken!

  He storms out of the room. He just needs a fresh new plaything to torment for a few hours. That will take his mind off things. It always does.

  Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone!

  Cataha’s howls of fury ring off the concrete walls, and after he’s gone, his men exchange uneasy glances.

  * * *

  Day one…

  WILLOW

  As I wake up, I realize that my whole body aches, but in a pleasant, delicious way. Sergei hand-fed me dinner last night, while Darya was being whisked away to her new life in St. Petersburg. And when I tried to argue and feed myself, he bent me over the table and spanked me, hard. Then he spent hours alternating between spanking me, fucking me, kissing me, and tasting me everywhere. He was like a man feasting after being starved.

  And then, when I was limp and dazed with pleasure, he scooped me up in his arms carried me to his room. His bedroom. He let me sleep in his bed. He never does that. I fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me.

  When I sit up, I look around and realize that I’m in bed alone. It’s an enormous four-poster with hand-carved columns. The furniture in the room matches the bed, heavy hand-carved wood with a classical look to it. The room is a long rectangle, with a sofa in the middle and a desk, chairs, and book cases on the other end.

  I see that he’s sleeping on the sofa, wearing boxers and nothing else. Sergei has terrible nightmares, and he’s afraid he’ll hurt me if he actually sleeps in the same bed with me.

  I take a deep breath and summon up my willpower.

  So what if sex with him is so amazing that I lose my mind? So what if he’s letting me sleep in his bedroom? I’m his prisoner. Again. And I’m done with this. He can’t send me away and then reel me back in whenever the mood strikes. And I can’t forgive him for how he ended things between us last summer. The cruel things he said to me, every word slashing and scarring like a glowing hot knife’s edge drawn across my heart. And what followed after. The weeks of crying, the dull pain that’s taken up permanent residence inside my tired, battered soul.

  I shove the covers aside impatiently and head to the bathroom. “The bathroom window’s not locked,” Sergei’s voice calls out to me. “Do you want to know why?”

  So he isn’t sleeping.

  I turn and look at him. “Because you’ve got guards outside?”

  “I’ve got guards. I’ve got dogs. I’ve got cameras. Barbed wire. Landmines.”

  “You do not!” I stare at him. I can’t read his expression. Does he?

  “Try it and see.”

  “Yeah, whatever, I’ll keep that in mind. And after this shower, we’re going to talk. And you’re going to explain yourself.”

  Sergei has never done well with taking orders. He sits bolt upright and fixes me with a look that’s supposed to scare me. “Try that again?”

  I glare at him. “Why? You heard me the first time. After everything you did to me, I’m through being nice.”

  I march into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

  After I use the toilet, I get in the shower.

  A minute later he joins me.

  He pushes me up against the wall. He’s naked – and holding a silk tie.

  He loops my arms up over the shower head and ties my wrists. I don’t fight back – because he’d win, and because my body is already melting with pleasure.

  He washes me slowly, intimately. Running the warm soapy sponge over my entire body, massaging my breasts, sliding it between my legs.

  Then he washes himself while I watch. I stare unashamed as he washes his cock, the water gleaming off it as it juts up straight and proud.

  Then he unties me – and gets out of the shower without a word. Without touching me.

  Without fucking me.

  I bite back a curse and follow him.

  He’s not having sex with me because he loves to make me burn for it. And he’s punishing me for talking back to him.

  In the past, when he made me wait, I let it drive me crazy, but now I have learned to compartmentalize. I’ve had to. To survive, I’ve had to take the pain of Sergei’s betrayal and wrap it up and shove it into the darkest recesses of my mind.

  I can feel a dull throbbing of need between my legs, but I won’t give in. Without a word, I dry myself, towel off my hair and get dressed in the light, floating white cotton dress and white sandals he’s set out for me on the bed. He’s still making damn sure I can’t go anywhere. We’re in the middle of the frozen spring in Russia, and he’s dressing me in gossamer and candy floss.

  As I finish getting dressed, he emerges from a giant walk-in closet, wearing dress slacks and a steel-gray silk shirt.

  “Talk to me,” I demand. “I need answers about…everything. Why you did what you did to me. How long you think you’re going to keep me here against my will.”

  He arches an eyebrow as he buttons his cuffs. “Are you here against your will? I seem to recall somebody screaming ‘please don’t stop,’ and ‘harder’ a whole lot last night.”

  “Yeah, that was fun. Thanks for the orgasms. I’m leaving now. Give me back my coat and purse, and call me a cab.”

  “Nope.” He’s walking towards the bedroom door.

  Sometimes I could literally murder him. This is one of those times.

  “I want answers!” I scream at him, my fists balling in rage. My face flushes, and it takes all my self-control not to fly at him and claw at his face.

  “After we eat breakfast.” He’s completely unmoved by my outburst. “And you will eat all the food that’s put in front of you. You’ve lost weight.” He’s moving down the hall, and I have to hurry to keep up.

  “Do you have to be such a control freak about everything?”

  “Do you have to ask?” he parries. “I mean, really, Willow, how long have you known me?”

  “Too long.” We’ve reached the dining room. He turns back to look at me.

  “Keep it up,” he smiles, and a gleam of challenge sparks in his eyes. The promise of future punishment. And I feel a pulsing between my legs, a hunger.

  Why does he have to be so perfect and so terrible for me at the same time?

  The mahogany table is exquisitely set with a lace table runner, cut crystal vases with fresh flowers, and hand-painted Wedgewood china. The silver carafe of coffee, sitting on a silver tray, has a laurel leaf motif.

  Silence fills the room, as he makes me wait to speak until after we’ve eaten our omelets, our blinis, and our freshly cut fruit.

  Finally he pushes his plate away and nods at me.

  “Go ahead.”

  Fucking controlling son of a bitch.

  “What was a lie and what was the truth?” I demand from him.

  He meets my gaze. “I am not a trafficker. And I have never been married. Telling you that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I needed to make absolutely sure that you wouldn’t try to follow me.”

  “Look how well that worked out.”

  He rakes me with a look of pure contempt. “You’re a stubborn fool. You could have volunteered for an anti-trafficking organization, donated—”

  I wave my hand to cut him off. “There are plenty of people willing to do that. There aren’t many willing to get out in the trenches. I’ve saved some girls. That means a lot to me.”

  “Willow the savior,” he mocks me. “Do you want to stroke your ego, or do you want to leave this to someone who can make an actual difference in this district?”

  “Oh, my God. Sometimes, for just a microsecond, I forget what a total dick you are. Thanks for reminding me.” I glare at him. “Every one of those girls who is safe at home instead of being raped, whipped, and murdered…that means nothing to you?”

  Sergei snorts in contempt. “Unlike you, I actually think thi
ngs through. I play the long game. The most effective way to end trafficking in this region is to get rid of the head of the organization. What did Ludmilla tell you about me and what I’m doing here?”

  I scowl at that. “Nothing. She was very closed mouth about who she knew. I found out you guys weren’t married by hacking into her laptop and looking through her computer at her apartment.”

  “Well, aren’t you clever.” Sergei refreshes his coffee.

  “Not clever enough to avoid falling for a psychotic lying pimping asshole.”

  “Ah, so you did fall for me. Thank you, that warms my heart.”

  Furious, I throw my lukewarm coffee in his face. And he smiles as he picks up a napkin to mop it up. He’s the ice-man. Nothing rattles him.

  “Good girl. I always like it when you give me a reason to beat your ass until it burns. Not that I need a reason, but it’s somehow more fun that way. Now, let me explain why I left you and came back to Russia. Why I drove you away. If you’ve been studying trafficking in the Pevlova Oblast, then I assume that you know that last August, right before I left you, there was an enormous raid in this region. My men and I were responsible for that. We didn’t just free a bunch of girls. We took down the politicians and cops who were enabling the operation. The old mayor, the former police chief, and a number of his men – they’re all either dead or in prison now. They were the last men on my list.”

  “The list of men who…abused you and your brother?”

  He nods, his expression gone grim. “Yes. They were both on your father’s payroll when he was operating in this area, taking his filthy money to look the other way. And sampling his wares. They liked to visit the house of little girls.”

  My breakfast suddenly rises in my throat, and I make a gagging sound. I can never forget that my own father not only trafficked women, he trafficked children as well.

  My father. The man who contributed half my DNA. I can’t escape the pollution that runs through my veins. I’m a toxic waste dump shaped like a person.

  “Sorry,” Sergei says. Then he shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not sorry. You need to understand the depth of evil that you’re dealing with here. Running around casually like it’s some kind of game.”

  “I’m not casual about it!” I snap.

  He ignores me. “Taking down all those men after I killed your uncle…that was the pinnacle. The culmination of my master plan.”

  “If that’s true, it’s amazing.” I hope so much that it’s true. I don’t want to believe that Sergei is pure evil.

  He doesn’t take the compliment. He shakes his head angrily. “No, Willow, it isn’t. The girls that we freed…we didn’t do it because we’re good guys. We did it for revenge, and no other reason. Freeing all those women cost the traffickers millions of dollars and ended their operations. It was pure selfishness.” Then his expression softens. “But you said something that meant the world to me. It made me want to try to live my life a different way. You told me that in the greater scheme of things, I’d won, because your family had failed to make me evil. I want that to be true. I want to be my own man, not what your family made me. I want to do good in the world, for the sake of doing good and no other reason.”

  He cups my chin ever so gently and makes me look him in the eye. “I’m trying to act like a good man, a moral man, who does something to make the world a better place. If I get rid of Cataha, it won’t benefit me at all, but the world will be better without him in it. Sometimes I feel like I’m just playing a part, like an actor studying a play and mouthing the lines. But I’m trying.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I can say, but I feel as if a tidal wave of emotion just swamped me and I strangle on a sob. It’s all I can do not to burst into hysterical tears, and I don’t know if it’s from love or gratitude or relief.

  When we were in California, I tried so hard to reach him, to break through his walls. I wanted him to see him how I saw him – as a miracle of a man who was still good, despite having been forged in the fires of hell.

  And it worked.

  Or did it?

  Sergei is the puppet master who knows exactly which strings to pull. Is this just another twisted game he’s playing with me?

  “There’s one more thing,” Sergei says. “I’m not telling you everything. There’s something that…I’m not ready to tell you yet. Someday I will. And I want you to know that, because I want us to be honest with each other from now on.”

  The feeling of gratitude and hope recedes. More secrets. Will there ever be an end to the secrets? My heart feels like a lead weight in my chest.

  “Did you ever act as a pimp or traffic children?” My voice quavers as I ask him, and I’m silently pleading for him to deny it.

  “No. Never,” he says calmly. “The thought disgusts me. The only time I’ve even done business with traffickers is when I planned to bring them down. And I did, every time.”

  “Were you married?”

  “Never.”

  “Is Lukas your son?”

  “No. He is not related to me in any way. I have no children.”

  “Then who is he? Why do you take care of him?”

  There’s a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “I’m not ready to tell you that. I’m sorry.”

  He’s sorry? He can’t possibly be as sorry as I have been for the last eight months of misery and crippling self-doubt.

  What is the truth? If I can’t tell when Sergei’s telling me the truth, can I ever trust anyone?

  I shudder and twist away from him, and the world feels wavery and strange. When I trusted Sergei, he was my anchor. Now I’ve been cut adrift and I’m floating away on an endless sea, and there’s no safe harbor anywhere, not in the whole wide world.

  “What?” he asks.

  I slam my fists down on the table and look up again, scorching him with a look of pure hatred. “I’m so angry at you, Sergei! You have no idea how badly you messed with my head! I want to believe you more than anything, and I just can’t! Do you realize that I can literally never trust you again?”

  He reaches over and his hands gather around mine, squeezing them ever so gently. They wrap around my clenched fists like a blanket, like love, like safety.

  “Someday you will. And you will understand that I did it to save you, not to hurt you.”

  I try to pull my hand away, but he tightens his grip I can’t depend on him again. My heart won’t survive another blitz attack from Sergei. “Right,” I say briskly. “Well, I’d better be on my way, then, so I can get to work forgiving you. Give me a decade or two, and I might come close.”

  “Don’t you understand?” His voice is soft, but it’s that tone that Iies, it’s the velvet wrapped in steel. “I lost you twice. I won’t give you up again. You’re mine now, and you’re never leaving me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Once upon a time, those words would have meant everything to me. They would have colored my life like a masterful oil painting. They would have filled the yearning, empty spaces inside me, making me feel as if I were finally whole.

  From the moment I set eyes on Sergei, I wanted him to claim me. Love me. Protect me.

  But now that he finally has – it’s much too late.

  “How pathetic do you think I am?” I shout at him, so loudly it tears at my throat.

  He runs his thumb slowly over the back of my hand. “You’re not pathetic at all, Willow. You’re strong. You’re smart. You’re perfect. And you’re mine.”

  Pretty words won’t fix this. He’s broken what we had. I will not let him shred my heart again; I couldn’t survive it. “I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” I snap. “The thirty days are long in the past.”

  He nods. “Yes. And I have come to realize that thirty days would never be enough. I need forever. With you by my side.”

  I am so furious at this that I rip my hand from his grasp and throw the nearest thing I can grab. A salt shaker. It bounces off his forehead and clatters on the table, and he doesn’t eve
n blink.

  Because he can hurt me until my heart shrivels and dies, but I can’t even scratch his steel surface.

  “You son of a bitch!” I leap up and turn to run out of the room, and he’s on me like a flash, spinning me around, his massive arms wrapping around me, pulling me up against his massive bulk.

  I’m trapped. I kick and claw at his hands, and squirm, but his arms just tighten, pinning me like a butterfly in a collector’s glass case.

  “You know what happens when you fight me?” he breathes into my ear, his warm breath fanning the flames of my sick desire. “It turns me on. Is that what you want? Shall I fuck you right now?”

  Of course that’s what I want.

  It’s what I always want, with him. It never stops. Hot tears burn my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

  He can’t do this to me. I won’t let him! He can’t smash me to pieces and leave me crushed and crying…and then casually claim ownership of me, like I’m a pet that he can buy and sell.

  “I would have given you anything before!” I cry. “I told you I loved you, and you all but spit in my face!”

  He just looks down at me with love and pity. And doesn’t let go. “I can tell you why I had to leave you behind,” he says. “But it’s easier if I show you. Come on, we’re going for a ride.”

  He releases me, and I stumble back, away from him. I hug myself, trying to hold in all the hurt and hate and confusion that’s stewing inside me.

  “Like hell I’m going with you.”

  He gives me a look. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you are. You can walk, or I can carry you.” He stands there, waiting.

  I manage a shaky, hysterical laugh. “You want me to go out dressed like this?”

  “I’ve got clothing waiting for you back in our room.” Of course he does. Because Sergei orchestrates every facet of my life. And I didn’t miss out on the fact that he said “our” room. He’s the lord high king of emotional manipulation.

  But as usual, I have no choice in the matter. What Sergei wants, Sergei gets. So I march back to “our” room and dress in thermal underwear, white wool pants, a silk turtleneck, a white cable-knit sweater, and knee-high boots. He grabs a heavy wool coat and knit cap from his closet for himself, and hands me a puffy white down coat.