by Monica James
“Shh, shh,” I coo into her ear, removing my hand from her mouth, only to bring the blade to her throat. “It can all be over with. All you have to do is tell me the truth.”
She thrashes against me, but I have a tight hold on her. Her heart thrashes wildly against my arm across her chest, as do her tears as they wet my hand when they tumble down her chin.
“Why did Serg send you?” I ask, pressing the blade over the dip of her throat. It would cut through her soft skin like a hot knife through butter. “Answer me!”
She trembles uncontrollably, sobbing and gagging, words escaping her. She’s scared, which is why my methods are usually not this uncouth. Seduction is far more effective than fear.
When she doesn’t reply, I realize I’ll have to try another approach.
Walking us toward the bed, I toss her onto it, facedown. When she tries to get up, I press my body over hers, pinning her to the mattress. “Maybe I can get you to talk another way.”
With the blade still pressed to her throat, I lift the hem of her dress and yank down her underwear. She squirms wildly, her cries muffled into the pillow as I restrain her with my weight. I feel sick to my stomach doing this, but I need her to talk.
I would never take from her without permission, but she doesn’t know that. I need her paralyzed in fear. I need her to know that I’m done playing. Whoever she thinks I am, I’m far worse. I’ve brought her to her knees and tried to subdue her, but it hasn’t worked.
So this is the last resort.
Twisting my body, I bring my hand down on her supple ass and spank her hard. There is no pleasure behind this, though. It’s purely punishment to degrade and break her so she tells me the truth.
Her body jars up the bed from the force of my strokes, which I continue delivering until she gasps for air. “P-please s-stop,” she begs, growing limp.
Her flesh is on fire beneath my hand. I know that I’ve won.
“Why are you here?” I repeat, revealing that is the only option when she tells me the truth.
With a guttural sob, the truth comes spilling from her. “Because he h-has my best friend. He k-kidnapped us both. He let me go but is holding her r-ransom. He made us call our families, saying that Olivia and I were fine and that we decided to extend our time abroad. He lets us ‘check in’ every so often so as not to rouse s-suspicion.
“If we didn’t do what he said, he would threaten us with punishment or worse. We had no ch-choice. That’s why my social media looks normal. No one knows we’re m-missing.”
This is far worse than I ever anticipated.
“My job was to seduce you into telling me everything and then relay everything back to Serg at the m-meeting.”
“So there is no meeting between him and Raul?”
She shakes her head, weeping. “It was a trap. I was to bring you there, thinking you’d have the upper hand. But in reality, he would.
“He knew you were coming for him when he didn’t hear from his friend. That’s why he let me go. He knew my similarity toward the woman you love would tug at your heartstrings and you’d show me mercy.”
That son of a bitch.
“I was to find out everything about your connections so he could exploit them. His allies aren’t allies anymore because their loyalty is still with you…and he hates it.
“But you clam up. I can’t get anything out of you. I tried to seduce you, but your interest lies elsewhere, doesn’t it?”
And she’s right. On all accounts.
“So you and Raul?”
“All bullshit,” she confirms softly. “But what I said about being tied to that radiator, I wasn’t lying. It didn’t matter that the rope burns were so bad that I could barely move; Serg still used me and Olivia for his pleasure day after day.”
She said he never raped her. Was that a lie too?
I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick.
Getting off her, I run a hand down my face, disgusted beyond belief by what she just shared.
Renata’s raw ass stares up at me, confirming there is no redemption for me because I believe her. This tale makes more sense than her escaping with the help of Raul. And the reason I believe her is because I once hatched this exact plan.
Didn’t I hold Zoey for “ransom” while I forced Saint to retrieve Willow for me? His reward—I would let Zoey go.
Love is a dangerous tool, especially if it falls into the hands of a villain because it almost always can be used as collateral. Just how it has now.
Serg has mimicked every single move of mine, and why wouldn’t he? I’ve laid down the blueprints. This is my karma for Saint and Zoey.
“My friend is still with him. Please help me help her,” she pleads, gripping the bedsheets in anger. “He is a monster. Please don’t k-kill me. If I don’t succeed, her blood will be on my hands.”
I should, but I won’t. This shows weakness, but I like to think of it as compassion. Besides, I still need her. She will still lead me to Serg.
Placing the knife into my pocket, I walk into the bathroom, wetting a hand towel with cool water. Renata is still lying on her stomach, sniffling when I reenter the room and sit on the bed beside her.
“And so am I,” I state, referring to her comment about my half-brother as I gently apply the cloth to her behind.
She hisses, and I know it hurts. The imprint of the ring I wear on my pinkie is clearly visible on her skin.
She doesn’t deny my claim, and why would she? I am a monster. “I will get your friend back,” I affirm, tending to her wounds. “We will attend that meeting as planned. And I will have the upper hand, not him.”
The details will need to be discussed with Pavel, but Serg has gone to this effort because he realizes his days on top are numbered. He will be the reason for his own demise. His carelessness, his cockiness will be the cause of his death.
And I will be there, looking on with a smile.
However, when I hear a voice behind me, that smile won’t come for a long while.
“What…I…oh, god.” Turning over my shoulder, I see Ella standing feet away, looking at a sight which could be misconstrued in a dozen ways. But considering her ass was raw down here just days ago, she has jumped to the most obvious conclusion.
“Ella—” I start, but she violently shakes her head, not interested in anything I have to say.
She takes one last look at Renata on the bed before me, ass bared, before she turns on her heel and races up the stairs.
It seems a locked door doesn’t mean anything to the curious sister.
Renata has witnessed it all. When I open my mouth, she nods toward the stairs. “Go. I want to be alone anyway.”
Of course, she does.
Passing her the hand towel, I leave Renata alone and chase after Ella. I’ve hidden my valuables behind the far brick wall. The loose bricks were the perfect place to hide one’s possessions. Just because Renata has shared the truth doesn’t mean I trust her.
If anything, it just makes me more guarded around her.
I may have uncovered the truth with Renata, but at what cost? The look on Ella’s face confirmed her utter disgust in finding me in a compromising position with another woman. No matter how hard I push her away, she comes back, twice as hard. I don’t know what to do anymore.
I know Ella is repentant for her sins, so there is only one place she’ll be. Opening the chapel door, I see her in the front pew, kneeling and praying to her God.
Closing and locking the door, I walk down the aisle slowly. She knows I’m coming because I don’t mask my footsteps. I’m prepared for anything.
She doesn’t turn around when I sit in the pew behind her. She continues praying with her rosary beads clutched firmly in her hands.
Looking up at the crucifix on the altar, I confess to my god or, rather, goddess. “Please let me explain. It’s not what it looked like.”
She doesn’t reply.
“Okay, I guess it was,” I backtrack because those welts were ther
e thanks to my hands. “But it wasn’t because I wanted to…not like I did with you.”
Her shoulders rise in anger. I’m suddenly tongue-tied, making no sense.
“Ella, please look at me.”
“I don’t want to look at you. You disgust me. But worst of all, I disgust myself more.”
Fair enough.
“You have every right to hate me,” I say, coming to kneel on the pew cushion and reaching into my pocket for the postcard. “You need to stay away from me. I hurt everything I touch.”
Carefully unfolding the postcard from Willow, I realize due to the insanity over the past few days, I’d completely forgotten to read the one she just sent. This isn’t like me. Maybe this is how letting go starts?
I trace over her handwriting with my fingertip, wondering what she’d say if she saw me now.
“Why did you come down to the basement? I assume you used the master key to let yourself in? Why? Why can’t you stay away?” All I have are questions because I don’t understand this pull between us.
She knows what I am. And I know who she is. Yet none of that seems to matter when we’re together. It should, but it doesn’t.
“You merely use and abuse people for your gain,” she spits, eyes still focused on the altar. “I’ve tried to ignore you because Alek, you’re a dishonorable, sinful man and…a killer.”
I hang my head in shame.
“The things you’ve done to me, the things you’ve made me feel, I should be ashamed that the hands of a monster could feel so good. But I’m not…and that’s the problem. If I don’t seem to care about all the vile things you’ve done, then what does that say about me?”
Slowly lifting my chin, I measure my breaths because I don’t know where she’s going with this.
She turns over her shoulder, her attention riveted to the postcard in my hands. She knows who the sender is. “You’re like this because of her. You’ve shut yourself off because you fell in love with someone who didn’t want you. And for someone who is so accustomed to getting everything they wanted, she not only broke your heart, she broke your pride.
“You’re cruel because of her.”
I grit my teeth, my temper spiking when she speaks such things about Willow. “You know nothing about her,” I warn, wanting to do horrible things to her for insulting my дорогая.
“That may be true, but I do know that you never want to be vulnerable ever again because that makes you human. That makes you susceptible to being hurt again.”
Before I have a chance to condemn her for tainting Willow’s name, she lunges for the postcard, yanking it from my hands. She slides across the pew and rushes toward the altar, using it as a barricade between us.
I chase after her, heart in my throat, but when she waves the postcard in the air, I come to a sudden stop, glaring at her over the altar.
“A…fucking postcard elicits more of a response from you than when you robbed me of pleasure. That was cruel. Do you see how messed up that is, Alek?”
“Yes, I do,” I say quickly, agreeing to anything she says. “Just give it back to me.”
“This?” Ella smartly replies, waving it high in the air. “You made me feel like nothing but a whore. Do you know that? You take from me, but I can’t say no. And I’m sick of being weak.
“I want to know why you do that. Why do you show compassion, only to then overshadow it with cruelness? I don’t understand it.”
“I don’t either,” I confess, looking at the postcard clutched tightly in her hand. It feels like she’s squeezing my heart. “Don’t you see? I need you to be the one who walks away because I can’t do it. I need to leave you be, but I can’t.
“And the last time I felt this way…people died. People left. I was left alone to pick up the pieces. I was weak. I can’t be that ever again.”
“Why did you do that to Renata?” she asks, appearing to gag on her name.
“Because she lied to me. And I don’t like liars. Are you lying about anything, Sister?” I know Ella isn’t an angel; as a nun at twenty-eight years old, there has to be a secret she guards for her to be here.
“No,” she replies, her chest rising and falling with her labored breaths. She’s lying. Her sisterhood isn’t merely because she fell in love with the wrong man.
A sinner recognizes a fellow delinquent, and Ella is just as wicked as I am. I’ve met my match—in more ways than one.
“I don’t believe you,” I challenge with a grin.
“I don’t care what you believe,” she spits, cheeks reddening in anger.
The sister has a nasty temper. And when it rears its devilish head, I respond in ways I shouldn’t.
“I believe you’re jealous over what you saw. You wished it was your superb ass I was lashing.”
She clenches her jaw.
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” I taunt, enjoying this banter way too much.
Ella tongues her cheek, before she reveals just how much it can hurt. “It sure does, Aleksei.” And with one smooth motion, she rips the postcard in half.
I simply stare at the postcard in her hands, ripped in half, like my heart. It wasn’t merely a postcard to me. It was the meaning behind it; the fact that Willow, after everything I did to her, still cared enough to send me something to show she’s thinking of me.
And now, it lays ruined in the devil’s hands.
“Oh”—I tip my face to the ceiling, inhaling deeply—“you’re so going to regret doing that.”
Leveling Ella with nothing but a predatory glare, she knows it’s game on—no holding back. I don’t care that we’re in a chapel or that Jesus Christ is looking down at me from his burdensome cross; I am going to bend her over His altar and fuck her until she’s crying out for another god.
Me.
A startled whimper escapes her before she takes off toward the sacristy door but been there, done that. She isn’t getting away this time.
Breaking into a sprint, I round the altar and tackle her before she has a chance to open the door. She thrashes wildly as I wrap my arms around her, securing her back to my front. Her scent is amplified tenfold, and my mouth salivates, wanting another taste of her.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” I goad against her cheek.
“I don’t want you!” she cries out, fighting like a wildcat.
I cluck my tongue as I walk us toward the altar, lifting her off the ground when she continues to fight me. “You lie, Sister. I bet your pretty pink cunt can show me otherwise.”
“You animal! Put me down!”
I do as she asks when I wedge her against the edge of the altar. She can’t move because I am pressed up against her. “Bow,” I order, pushing between her shoulder blades.
“Fuck you,” she spits, exciting me further.
“Father Anton would have you saying ten Hail Marys for speaking such blasphemy in this place of worship,” I quip, chuckling when she attempts to break free.
When she continues to struggle, I apply a little force, and she slumps forward, pressing her chest over the edge of the altar.
“Arms above your head.”
She does as I command.
Lifting the hem of her tunic, I round her hip and don’t bother with formalities. I bypass her underwear and sink two fingers inside her. We both hiss at the connection.
“Told you,” I smugly say, when the walls of her wet sex suck my fingers into her sinful warmth.
She moans, clutching at the altar cloth as she rolls her hips.
She is primed and ready for my cock, and I don’t think I can wait a moment longer. I need inside her, and I need it now.
But she surprises me when she pants, “I want to suck you. Let me. Please.”
O Боже…
Who am I to deny such a beauty?
With one final circle of her clitoris, I remove my fingers, missing her warmth instantly. She sags forward with a grunt, gasping for air with her cheek pressed to the marble.
Stepping back, I wait for h
er to catch her breath before she rises slowly and turns around. Her gaze drops to the huge erection tenting the front of my trousers. Reaching for my belt, she draws me closer toward her and commences unbuckling it.
Once my belt is undone, she flicks open the button, lowers my zipper, and slips her hand into my boxer briefs. She isn’t shy and grips my shaft, familiarizing herself with my girth. I dare not move in fear I’ll come in her hand.
She begins to work my length, rubbing her thumb over the head of my cock. She does all this with her eyes locked on mine.
The feeling is beyond words because my body is aching for her, but this is her show. I allow her to use me. I want her to.
She chews her bottom lip, gauging what I like as she continues to stroke me up and down, up and down. I remain unmoving, but an inferno rages inside me. I want her so badly that I don’t think I can stand a second more.
But when she removes her hand, only to drop to her knees before me, I focus on the magnificent sight of Ella in her full habit about to take my cock into her exquisite mouth. She lowers my pants and boxer briefs to free my straining cock.
Her eyes widen when she sees me in the flesh. I’ve been blessed by the gods as I am well endowed. That is one thing I can thank them for. However, make that two things because when Ella licks her lips before leaning forward and taking me into her warm mouth, I need to thank them for bringing her into my world.
A string of Russian leaves me as she takes me deep, not intimidated by my size. I peer down, the sight utterly wicked as she works my shaft with her supple pink mouth and tongue. I run my hand over her head scarf, wanting nothing more than to tug at her soft hair. But this will do because I don’t think what we’re doing could get any more sacrilegious.
She braces both palms against my upper thighs, arching her neck and bobbing her head so I slide down her throat with ease.
“ох блять. вот так. Work my cock.”
She moans around me, gripping my legs. “You like when I speak filthy words to you in Russian, красавица?”
