“They believed in him like they believed in a deity, and if Pablo Escobar spoke, the people of Medellín carved his words in their bodies. That is real power, Naomi, and it requires more than merely money but a spiritual connection between you and the people around you. The Bratva once existed like that for the people around us but it has backslid, concerned more about personal wealth and gain. The current pack of Petrovichs take things, never giving, treating all of those around them like . . . toys.” I spit out the last word, feeling revulsion curl around me like a snake, threatening to choke me. “I do not know if I care about the principles of Escobar, the giving, the Robin Hood, mentality. But I know that if I get this Madonna, the Bratva will coalesce behind me and I will not be subject to the whims of the Petrovichs again, because I will be the one who holds the power in his right hand and the sword in his left.”
Kilometers pass. Village after village flits in and out of our windows, and then she finally speaks. “But what if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” It must. For this woman beside me to be safe with me, for my sister to live openly and without fear. It must. If I have to burn it all to the ground and rebuild it stone by motherfucking stone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NAOMI
I run my fingers along the keyboard of my new laptop, thinking. Keyboards are filthy things, but this one is practically from the factory, and I wipe it down prior to each use. No germs have touched this but mine.
At the thought of germs, I think of my volk. I ache between my legs from our marathon of sex. As Vasily likes to point out, once I have a new toy, I am not easily distracted, and sex with him is my newest fascination. Even right now, I feel the urge to find him and put my mouth on his cock and see his reaction. He tells me it’s time to stop because his body aches, but I think this is a specious argument for someone that likes pain during sex. It’s more likely that I’m costing us valuable time to prepare.
We’re going to the house of perversions tonight, to find Vasily’s mark. Our trail across Italy leads to one particular pervert, and once we find him, Vasily can return to his Bratva and make a difference in Russia, and I will go to his dacha in the woods and . . . what? Relax? Hide from the world and code? Two weeks ago, I would have been fine with that, but two weeks ago, Vasily was not my volk. Two weeks ago, I had not found my G-spot. Two weeks ago, everything was different.
I’ve been abandoned several times in my life. Never by my parents, who love me, and my brother, who is smart and responsible and has never treated me like I’m weird. But beyond that trio . . . I’ve always been abandoned. Friendships are fleeting, relationships even more so. College was just as lonely as grade school. There is no club, no sorority, no activity I can join and not be an outsider. No matter what I do, I am rejected by those I want to share my life with. I’m used to it by now. It still hurts, but it’s an expected hurt.
But the thought of Vasily using me until he gets his painting and then tossing me aside while he reconquers Russia fills me with anxiety and unhappiness. I understand his motives. I felt a twinge of pride in my heart to hear his plans—to rebuild the Bratva into greatness and to make a difference in the lives of everyone. It’s noble. But I’m pretty sure there’s no place at his side for a hacker geek who drifts off on tangents on a whim and who can’t be around crowds. If he’s to take up the leadership reins, there’s no room for Naomi in the picture. Naomi will be at the sad little dacha in the woods, isolated and safe and utterly forgotten. No one will touch her G-spot or ask to be bitten during sex.
If there’s no room for me at his side, though, I can at least help secure his empire. I flex my fingers before I begin typing again. I start a myriad of searches on the Internet and a second one on my deep web. I’m looking for crime families in Russia, mentions of Mafia or organized crime, and family names. Once I have the information I need, I’ll run a cross-check against clearinghouse deposit records, looking for bank transactions. Once I’ve narrowed down where Vasily’s rivals are storing their money, I can simply peck away, using script after script, until I empty their accounts, one by one.
Money greases a lot of wheels, and if I can cripple Vasily’s opponents by removing a tool from them, I will. I’m not like Daniel, who came after me, guns blazing. I’m not good with firearms—the noise sets off one of my spells and I go deep inside myself. But I can be fierce and protective. I can perform my own form of combat on his behalf.
He’s my volk.
—
“You must not show alarm tonight,” Vasily coaches me as we get dressed for the Pervert House. “Do you remember all we have talked of?”
My fingers move up the hooks of my corset, but when I can no longer reach, I pat Vasily’s arm. As if we are an old married couple, he spins me around and finishes the hooks for me, without a word passing between us. I think of our preparations for this party. “No blindfold this time. If I get anxious, I am to use my safe word, since that will not cause any alarm amongst the partygoers. Submissives often get nervous in new settings and cling to their masters for reassurance.” I parrot the words he told me earlier in a bored voice. “There will be many kinds of scandalous actions there tonight, but I am not to get distracted. I am to look for a man who seeks the attentions of animals. If there are more than one of these kinds of men, we are to look for signs of wealth. Jewelry, servants, etcetera, etcetera.” I even use the same hand motions Vasily did when telling me these things.
He chuckles. “You are getting quite good at mimicking me. And here I thought you were not paying attention.” His hands finish the corset and glide down to the satin panties covering my ass, as if unable to help himself.
I don’t mind this touch. Anything Vasily sends in my direction, I accept happily. Well . . . unless it’s on another dirty mattress. I push that thought aside and turn around, gazing up at Vasily. He’s in a dress suit with tails, and we’ve fixed his eyebrows so they match his hair once more. With the dark brows and hair, he looks saturnine and forbidding. “Is there danger tonight, do you think?”
“I am Bratva. There is always some danger, Naomi. It is never far behind.”
This is not an answer that makes me happy. “The train was supposed to be safe and men with guns came after you.”
He frowns. I know he doesn’t like this reminder. “There will be no men with guns tonight, Naomi.”
“There weren’t supposed to be men with guns on the train, either,” I tell him, frustrated. There is a piece of lint on the jet-black lapels of his suit and I idly pick at it, then dust my fingers over the seams, ensuring all the fabric falls beautifully on his big body. “Who sent those men? The assassins in the train car?”
He is silent.
I press on, because I refuse to take silence as an answer. “Golubevs? You said it wasn’t them. What other enemies do you have? What about Hudson’s men?”
“It was not them,” he adds after a moment. “They did not seek you. I think their plans were simply to kill me.”
“So who wants you dead?”
He bares his teeth at me. “Everyone.”
This is not an answer I like. I continue to fuss with his suit to keep my hands busy. “Do we have weapons planned?”
“The invitation was clear, Naomi. We will be thoroughly searched, and wanded with metal detectors. There will be no room for weapons anywhere. I will rely upon garroting anyone that needs killing.”
I touch the necklaces at my neck. Each one has a purpose. One is the tiny gold chain with the tracking device coded to my computer. Another is a thick metal “slave collar” band that wraps tight around my throat. It will protect my throat from similar attacks if anyone should retaliate. Another necklace is made up of multiple thin wires that have a decorative bead but will serve as Vasily’s garrotes.
I’m not satisfied, though. “I feel we are not utilizing our costumes to their full ability.”
“Oh?” His fingers caress my jaw. “What would you like to add to yours, then, little slave?”
>
It’s something I’ve been considering all afternoon, ever since I came to the full realization that Vasily would be going into the Pervert House weaponless. I don’t like seeing my volk without a gun. “I am thinking I should be a naughty slave.”
One of those falsely dark eyebrows goes up. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I tell him, with growing enthusiasm for my plan. I want to impress him, to please him with my ingenuity. “Many vibrators and dildos with a vibrating function have a screw base where the batteries go. We can purchase a large one, remove the battery packs, and place a thin, small knife inside. We would have to wrap it with fabric to ensure it did not rattle in the case, but it should work. Then we can return the lid and insert the dildo into my vagina. Once we are inside, we can remove it and extract the knife.”
Vasily’s face is as unreadable as ever. “Do you propose that you enter this den—”
“The Pervert House,” I chime in, since I like my nickname for the place.
“—with a knife in your pizda?”
“We should make use of all orifices,” I tell him thoughtfully. “Do you think one in the anus as well would be too much?”
“You would do this for me?”
I give him a puzzled look. “Of course I would.”
He leans in, cups my face, and gives me a fierce kiss. He mumbles something in Russian that sounds like an endearment, and his thumb brushes across my lips. “Clever Naomi,” he says at last.
“It will seem natural,” I tell him, since he’s not running out the door with credit card in tow just yet. “If I’m your slave and I’m misbehaving, you can punish me. If this is a club of perversions, it won’t seem out of place.”
“And you are sure you wish to do this?”
I’m not sure, actually. Entering a sex den with a dildo pushed into my vagina seems like a scream for attention, but the alternative is Vasily with no weapon other than a thin wire. “I’m sure,” I tell him. “You should go buy me a dildo. A really big one. Big enough to fit two knives. One for me and one for you.”
He snorts at this. “Two knives.”
“Two,” I agree. “If they are thin enough, you should be able to fit two.”
“If the blades are discovered, it will be chaos.”
“They won’t be discovered,” I say boldly. “It’s the safest place on the planet. You would kill any man that got within an inch of my cunt.”
His breath hisses, and I’m not sure if he’s laughing or shocked. But in the next moment, his mouth bears down on mine in another fierce, possessive kiss that leaves me shaken. Then, he releases me and heads for the door. “Wait here, Naomi. I will return quickly.”
“Quickly” turns into an hour, but he arrives soon enough with a small pink bag, and my heart hammers at the sight. He pulls the toy out with a flourish—hot pink, bulbous, and with a screw-off section like I suggested. For a few tense minutes, I watch as Vasily removes the working parts from inside and pushes two thin, deadly-looking blades into the pouch created. He tucks a handkerchief around them to ensure there’s no telltale rattle, and then screws the end back on. He eyes the object, and then looks at me. “Are you wet enough to take this?”
“Not just yet,” I tell him, and strip off my panties. Then, I gesture at my now-exposed pussy. “Come give me one last kiss. Then I will be.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
VASILY
I know I should not kiss her on her bare cunt. We will be late and I do not want to walk into that den of iniquity aching for another touch of her body or the taste of her against my tongue. “You must not touch me, Naomi. This is only to help you. I cannot be distracted tonight and you are a very dangerous distraction.”
She nods, bright eyed, and holds her hands above her head. I pick up the thin dildo holding the razor-sharp and long, slender blades that are not much wider than a finger. A cut with these would need to be precise, along the carotid artery or Achilles if we mean to maim them. We are crazed. When I kneel down, I can see she is already wet. There is moisture glistening on her upper thighs. I spread her legs farther apart, the smoothness of the dildo pressing its shape into one beautiful upper thigh.
“Do you need my help?” she asks after a moment.
“Nyet, just admiring your beauty.” I stroke her lips, and pearls of her arousal bead on my fingertips. I lick the juice off and close my eyes, savoring the flavor. Above me she is having difficulty breathing. The air is releasing from her in short pants although I have barely touched her. She is quite responsive, my dear Naomi. “How long do you think I should lick you? How many kisses will you need, do you think, to come for me?” I ask, returning my fingers to her bare cunt, stroking her with a featherlight touch. She quivers and moans but does not answer. “I think you should count.”
I lean forward and place the broad flat of my tongue against her swollen sex.
“You are not counting,” I say, sitting back.
“One,” she replies hurriedly. “That is one. I’ve never thought about how long it would take you to get me off. I should, though. That seems eminently reasonable. Now lick me again. Two,” she orders even though I haven’t touched her.
“Are you counting in advance?” I say. “Because that would be an easy way to get confused. Start from the beginning.”
“Oh fine. One, damn it. One.”
I lick her again, only this time it is short, almost a flick across her clit.
“That’s not a full lick,” she complains. “I’m only giving you a half for that.”
“Count correctly or I won’t lick you again,” I say sternly.
“Fine. Fine.” She restlessly shifts in front of me, her cunt lips playing peekaboo between her thighs. “Two.”
I lean forward, press her legs apart, and lick her once forward and then back as far as I can go. Her weak legs cannot hold her, and she nearly collapses on top of me. “Three. Or Four. I don’t know. Vasily, just fuck me with your tongue already.” She hits me on my back with a tiny ineffectual fist.
I lift one trembling leg over my shoulder and with my palms braced against her ass, I hold her steady for my onslaught. There is no more time for finesse or games. I suck and bite at her sensitive flesh until I can feel her tightening like a coil. In a swift movement, I plunge the dildo in her cunt and she screams.
“My name. Say my name,” I order her, pulling the dildo out and pushing it back in. Her body sucks it in, hungry and grasping.
“Vasily. Vasily. Vasily,” she chants as she is undone by my mouth and the small toy. I catch her body as it slides down to the floor, unhooking her leg from my shoulder so she doesn’t tear a muscle. “I can’t stand,” she whimpers. “Hold me off the floor, please. There are germs there.”
Obediently, I lift her in my arms and then stride to the bathroom. Propping her up on the sink, I wet a washcloth and clean her off. The base of the dildo is still protruding from her. It is very thin and very small but I am unsure how she will walk.
As she leans against the mirror, I splash water on my face and wash my hands. I can still smell her scent, though, as if I’ve bathed in her.
“Will you be able to walk, Naomi?” I ask her, wiping my hands on a towel.
“Once my blood flow begins to normalize, I should be able to walk without problems. The dildo is small enough that it might chafe lightly but that should not be an impediment. Possibly I will walk with a strange, antalgic gait, but other than that I will appear normal.”
“It will look as if I’ve beaten you, then?” At this club that would indeed be considered normal.
“Or I could have a shortened leg. Many people who have single-leg surgeries to repair broken bones suffer from differing lengths of legs. It often leads to back problems. I wouldn’t want to walk around with a dildo all the time,” she explains.
“No,” I say with amusement. “That would not seem wise.”
“It’s possible I might orgasm and then because of the temporary ischemic mismatch between the oxygen my lungs ne
ed and the amount of blood that is pumping upward to my heart rather than downward, I might stumble.”
“Is that true?”
“No, actually I just made that up not about the ischemic mismatch because that’s accurate but I’m unsure of whether there is redirected blood flow during orgasms. I will need to research that.”
“Certainly, pet, but later.”
“Okay.”
—
I lead Naomi through a winding path of narrow alleys, covered paths and bridges until we arrive at Ponte delle Tette. The door is a dark metal, possibly iron, and there is no window. Above me I hear the whirring of a security camera as it tracks our faces. The masks we wear conceal our identity. I flash the medallion that I purchased from Guillaume toward the camera. A snick sounds, indicating the door is now unlatched.
Opening the door, I gesture for Naomi to go inside. The door closes behind us. In front, I see a wide glass or perhaps Plexiglas door and beyond that a thin wall separating the entrance beyond into two. The staging area where we will be searched individually. The door slides open and I push Naomi to the right while I step to the left. “I will be on the other side of the wall. I can hear you and will come to your aid if you call out.”
She nods tightly and steps forward. A black curtain is swiftly drawn by someone inside, blocking my view of her. If they find the knives in the dildo, will they stab her with them before I can reach her?
Quickly, I enter my own box. A man covered in black leather from head to toe closes the curtain behind me.
“Arms up,” he orders. Only his mouth, nose, and eyes are visible. I raise my arms and he frisks me. Satisfied I have no guns or knives on my person, he orders me to step through the metal detector. I have left everything off, even a belt. The metal detector is silent.
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