Kilty as Sin

by Amy Vansant

  “You’re a fighter, yes? So we fight. You are very strong girl. I can tell. What you did to Peter.” He laughed with what sounded like genuine mirth. He poked her on the nose. “You’ll be the best one yet. A real challenge.”

  Catriona jerked her face away from him. “You want to box me?”

  “Kickbox, right? I can fight in many styles. I want you to fight in the style that suits you. That’s why I ask about your hands. I want you to be comfortable. The way you usually fight. I want this to be fair.”

  “Fair.” Catriona repeated the word, baffled that Volkov thought fighting a girl a fraction of his size, who hadn’t eaten since the night before, in an unfamiliar underground gym, was fair.

  She rolled on her side to better see him without straining her neck. “Why?”

  “Why do I want it to be fair?” He pulled a pocketknife from the waistband of his shorts and cut the ties from around her ankles. Tilting her to a sitting position, he cut the ties around her wrists.

  Catriona rubbed at her wrists as Volkov took a step back, placing himself between her and the ladder. She guessed that meant the other two archways only led deeper into his lair, not to additional exits.

  He smiled down at her, as if she were a work of art he’d finished. Removing his silky red robe, he allowed it to slip to the ground and land beside her feet, revealing a muscular physique dotted with black tattoos.

  Catriona looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her attention. She rose to her feet, wobbling on the matt as she struggled to find her balance. “If I win, you’ll let Mo and me go?”

  Volkov barked with laughter. “If you win it means I’m dead, so you can do whatever you like. See there?” Volkov pointed to one of the archways. “My pistol is in there. If you knock me unconscious, you take the gun. Kill me and any men in the house. Take Mo and go home.”

  “And if I lose?”

  He shrugged. “If you lose, Mo will return to her husband as soon as he provides me with the network for the clothing.”

  “And me?”

  He smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Volkov rubbed once at his crotch, as if something had stirred there.

  Catriona’s limbs tingled a second time. Electricity provided by fear.

  A silence fell as Catriona’s gaze swept over the room, searching for any advantage.

  Walls. Mats. Video cameras. Lights on the ceiling. A classic brass boxing ring bell gong mounted to the wall. Archways to other places I don’t want to go.

  Behind Volkov stood the ladder to freedom. She needed to move him away from it.

  She licked her lips. “Do you have any food? I haven’t eaten in over a day. I don’t think that makes for a fair fight.”

  Volkov frowned. “Peter did not feed you?”

  “I didn’t eat the sandwich. I was afraid it was poisoned.”

  Volkov nodded. “Smart girl. I have poisoned the food before. Though this time, no.” He held up a finger. “I have an energy bar in the other room.”

  He walked to one of the opposite archways, glancing back at her often.

  “Stay there.”

  Catriona offered a slight nod of her head.

  Sure. I’ll stay right here and wait for you to beat me unconscious.

  As he ducked through the arch, she bolted for the hatch.

  Hope proved short-lived.

  The moment her fingers found the ladder, Volkov slammed into her from behind, pressing her body painfully against the rungs. She cried out as he pulled back her arms, using his weight to pin her. The zip-ties tightened around her wrists once more.

  She felt his lips brush her ear. “I knew you would run. I’m so glad you did.”

  “Help!” Catriona screamed towards the hatch hovering feet above her head. She bobbed her head, trying to rid her neck of his hot breath.

  Volkov leaned back, wrapping one hand across her mouth and another around her waist. She tried to bite him, kicking at his shins with her heels as he dragged her back into the larger room. He threw her to the mat.

  “Scream all you like. No one can hear through the stone.”

  Catriona fell on her shoulder, scrambling to find her feet beneath her again. She tried to stand and he kicked her back to a sitting position. When she tried again he stepped on her leg and she cried out.

  Volkov dangled a wrapped energy bar above her.

  “Wrapped. Untampered.”

  He removed his foot from her leg.

  Catriona sat, breathing heavily. She tried to flip the hair from her face as he opened the energy bar and broke off a piece.

  Stepping to the side to avoid potential kicks from her unbound legs, he squatted down and put a hand on the back of her head, pushing the bar into her mouth.

  She spat it out.

  He snatched the food from the mat and pushed it down on her chin with the butt of his palm. The pressure proved more than she could bear. She opened her mouth, terrified he’d unhinge her jaw. He shoved in the chunk of the energy bar, closed her jaw and covered her lips with his palm.

  She heard him whisper behind her. “Swallow it.”

  He pressed his thumb into the tender spot at the base of her skull until she chewed the bar and swallowed.

  He moved in front of her, victorious.

  She stared at him from beneath a lowered brow, her jaw aching. “You think it’s a fair fight because you force-fed me half an energy bar?”

  He held up the other half of the bar. “Are you going to finish the rest the easy way or the hard way?”

  He held the bar to her lips. She could feel her body shaking with anger and humiliation.

  Might as well get what energy I can from this.

  She bit off another piece and chewed. When she was done, he popped the last piece into her mouth.

  He walked away from her, brushing the granola from his hands. “I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”

  She curled her legs beneath her. “If you really want to be beaten by a woman, why don’t you just ask me?”

  He chuckled. “It isn’t that.” He leaned back on his heels, rocking, his hands behind his back. “I tried putting the woman in power. I tried a dom...domin...what is the word? The women with the whips?”

  “Dominatrix?”

  “Yes. I didn’t like it at all.”

  “So it’s hurting women that turns you on.”

  He smiled. “Da. But I like a challenge.”

  In his words, Catriona spotted a glimmer of hope. “What if I refused to fight?”

  He shook his head. “I said I don’t like a pushover, but I’ll make do with one if I have to.”

  Catriona took a deep breath and expelled it. Her attention drifted to the roll of tape he’d presented to her earlier, now laying a few feet away on the mat.

  She looked at Volkov.

  “I’d like my hands taped.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Catriona held out her hands as Volkov wrapped them in flex tape. She detected his skill at the job.

  He must wrap hands as often as he zip-ties.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to explore any more of his unusual skill sets.

  He had to be a fighter. The mats, the professional-looking bell, the tape, his sinewy body—the man had spent some time in gyms.

  She couldn’t let their battle begin on even ground. She’d have to find a way to take him by surprise. Now wasn’t the time. He’d untied her hands so he could wrap them, but he’d zipped her ankles to make up for it.

  It didn’t hurt to get her hands taped. Maybe she could avoid a few broken knuckles. Maybe it would relax him...allowing him to run through a ritual with her. Maybe even soften him to her, if that was possible.

  Most importantly, the taping of her hands gave her time to think.

  Sean had said he and she and Kilty somehow inspired people to be their best.

  She couldn’t help but feel her little super power had left her.

  She looked up at the cameras in the corners of the
room.

  He records everything.

  If she could see one of the recordings, maybe she could get some insight into his ritual or fighting style.

  He finished her right hand and she flexed it, checking the tightness. It felt perfect.

  “Do you keep the recordings here?” she asked as he tapped her left hand, asking her to raise it.

  Volkov’s brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”

  She nodded to the cameras. “The other girls.” She chose her next words carefully. “Can I watch?”

  Volkov appeared surprised. And, something else.

  Flattered?

  Perhaps.

  Pleased.

  The corner of his mouth curled. “You want to see the other girls?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  Because I want to know how to beat you.

  She did her best to look titillated at the prospect of watching his amateur films.

  “I want to see you in action,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper. She hoped it sounded seductive. In truth, her voice had simply failed her, the depth of the lie nearly too far to reach her lips.

  Volkov finished wrapping the tape on her right knuckles and stood. He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “Put out your hands.”

  She hesitated. She hated permitting herself to be bound again, but watching his videos could be her best shot at beating him.

  She held out her hands. Volkov slipped another zip-tie from the pocket of his robe and locked her wrists.

  Slipping a hand behind her knees, he lifted her, carrying her through the archway into a new room, roughly ten-by-ten feet. The floor and walls had no padding. He set her down in a large leather chair positioned in front of a television. Against the far wall, a laptop sat on a small desk. Long orange extension cords led from a power strip up through a hole in the ceiling.

  A small fishbowl sat tucked on the lower shelf of a wooden plantstand beside the television. Volkov bent down to hook a finger in it before holding it out to her.

  He shook it. Inside, six or seven thumb drives rattled. “Pick one.”

  These are the recordings?

  “Da.”

  The drives were all black but for one red. She wasn’t sure if it mattered which she picked. She wanted to watch the one that exposed the most about his fighting style and tricks, if there were any.

  Chances were good the better he thought he fought, the more he’d favor that movie.

  “Do you have a favorite?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  She hoped his apathy meant all the clips were similar. If his beatings were ritualistic, maybe she could find a pattern. Anticipating his moves could be the difference between escaping, or dying at the hands of a sick freak in an underground cave.

  She looked out into the fighting chamber.

  No one will ever find me.

  She suspected each drive held the final moments of a young woman’s life. It was possible Volkov’s victims were all out there somewhere, alive, too traumatized or frightened to go to the police. But probably not. Volkov had to know his odds of remaining free sank each time he sent a girl home.

  Catriona forced another playful smile and reached in to grab one of the black thumb drives, reasoning if the red was an anomaly, it would be less useful to her research. She handed the drive to him and he smiled, rolling it through his fingers before plugging it into the back of the television.

  She watched him. He appeared pleased with himself. Relaxed. On a small table next to her chair sat a remote control. Volkov snatched it and hit play.

  Catriona pulled her eyes from him and pointed her attention at the screen.

  She recognized the room when it appeared. The clip had been edited to include angles from each of the four cameras she’d seen mounted in the corners.

  The next shot focused on an Asian woman. Catriona guessed her to be in her early twenties. Her tight-fitting, braless spandex top and leopard tube skirt said hooker. Maybe just stripper. Maybe just a girl on her way to the club. It was hard to tell these days.

  Eyes red and swollen from crying, she sobbed, staring at the boxing gloves on her hands. The next shot showed Volkov looking very much like he did now, wearing only wrestling shorts. His body appeared oiled, his skin glistening beneath the lights.

  He’ll be hard to grapple if he’s covered in baby oil.

  She noticed he wore no gloves.

  “Aren’t you going to put gloves on?” asked the girl, as if reading Catriona’s mind.

  “I choose not to.”

  The angle switched to a camera pointed at Volkov’s face, though there was no cameraman to zoom in on him.

  He knows right where to stand for his close up.

  On the screen, the corners of Volkov’s mouth pointed down. The playful attitude he’d copped while interacting with Catriona was nowhere to be seen. This Volkov meant business.

  Great. My power to encourage the people around me only inspires him to whistle while he kills me.

  The girl’s eyebrows raised. “Is that right? I mean I thought whatever I chose you had to—”

  “I never said that,” said Volkov off-camera.

  Volkov glanced at Catriona and she did her best not to react.

  There it was, hint number one.

  Don’t choose the gloves.

  Most people, when handed gloves and told they were about to fight, would put on the gloves. There was no way for them to know Volkov had no intention of padding his blows.

  Volkov’s attention returned to the screen. He must have watched the movie a thousand times, but his expression was as eager as that of a child about to experience his first summer blockbuster.

  On the screen, Volkov walked to the bell on the wall and, following a dramatic pause, rang it.

  The girl melted to her knees. “I don’t understand. I don’t want to do this.”

  Catriona could barely make out the words through her sobs.

  Volkov approached her.

  “Please. Fight,” he coaxed her.

  “I, I don’t—”

  He slapped the girl so suddenly and with such force, Catriona sucked in a breath. Volkov looked at her, eager to see her horror. She dropped the hand she’d raised to cover her mouth, angry at herself for giving him what he so clearly wanted.

  He paused the movie. “You don’t approve?”

  She shrugged and motioned to the screen as if she were dismissing an unproductive employee. “I’m disgusted she didn’t fight back.”

  He smiled. “Da. You understand. I knew you would.”

  Volkov moved to Catriona and put his hand on her head, stroking her hair once before hitting play again. Catriona’s mouth went dry.

  The movie continued that way; the girl crying, Volkov slapping her to the ground and demanding she get back up. At one point she weakly pounded her fists on his chest, which he allowed her to do, his head back as if he were basking in the sun. When her arms grew tired and she stopped, he punched her in the face. She spun like a top and fell to her knees, ending on her back. She didn’t move.

  On the screen, Volkov straightened her legs and laid her arms to her side, posing her on the ground. He stood over her, hands in the air, nodding to an audience not there. He made a muscle with his right arm, his fist hovering near his temple. He lined himself up with the girl on the ground and fell on her, leading with his elbow, smashing into her mouth.

  The girl awoke with a start, screaming, flipping to her side. Catriona saw her spit teeth to the mat.

  It took every ounce of strength to keep herself from covering her own mouth in horror.

  The interaction between the two people on the screen grew darker. Volkov tore away the young woman’s clothes. After that, Catriona pretended to watch, but averted her eyes, humming a song in her head to drown out the girl’s shrieks of pain.

  When the screaming stopped, she turned to Volkov.

/>   “One more?” she begged. Her chest felt tight with nerves and nausea. She felt sure he could see through her frozen smile.

  He did not.

  Instead, he grinned and held out the fishbowl. “One more.”

  The chance to watch his previous victories with his future victim was too good for Volkov to deny himself. After all, these weren’t the sort of movies you could invite anyone to come watch.

  If he sensed her fascination with his videos was a lie, he chose not to admit it to himself.

  Catriona picked the red drive this time.

  Volkov popped it into the back of the television and she watched a very similar story unfold. This girl also appeared to be a lady of the night. It made sense, of course, as fewer people would ask questions about missing hookers. This young woman was larger, possibly of mixed race. She fought hard, but still, Volkov outweighed her by a good seventy pounds. When he decided to attack, it wasn’t long before she lay on the ground, groaning, unable to rise.

  He ended the fighting portion of his ritual with the same elbow drop. As soon as he posed over the girl, preparing to fall, Catriona averted her eyes.

  Her skin crawled. Anxiety dreams of losing teeth were not unfamiliar to her, and the idea that it could happen for real—

  “Again?” she asked, hoping to push her fate at his hands farther into the future.

  Volkov moved between her and the television to place a hand on each of her cheeks. She felt the muscles in her face twitch with revulsion.

  He spoke in the low, soft tone of a lover. “No. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

  Volkov removed the drive from the television and dropped it back into the bowl.

  Catriona motioned to the screen. “What happened to them?”

  Volkov opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a bottle of baby lotion. He poured some into his palm and began to rub it on his arms and chest.

  His tattoos were easier to see now: Eight-pointed stars at the tips of his clavicle, an enormous church spanning from belly to chest, coffins lining the front of the church. Over one kidney, a woman stood holding a fishing line, the hook grabbing the back of her dress to expose her legs. Two mermaids frolicked over his left hip.