by Maggie Ryan
Zoya didn’t say a single word, but didn’t resist at all. When her delicate hand touched his and he could feel her tiny trembles, his heart went out to her. She had no idea what was going on and had to be so very scared. The original plan was to continue to make her believe she was a sex slave until they were back at the ranch. Terrify her into submission. It would be safer that way. They couldn’t risk her blowing their mission. But at the same time, he couldn’t be so cruel as to do that to her. She deserved to know that she was safe. That everything was going to be all right. He was known for going rogue a time or two on missions, and his family hated it. But there was a good reason for this. Even Anson—Mr. By The Book—would have to agree on this. He just had to hope his little Russian vixen with the filthy mouth could become a really good actress.
When they all three crossed the threshold of the hotel room and locked the door behind them, Stryder could almost hear the relief. Even Zoya seemed less scared, although she stood with her back to the wall, waiting to see what would come next. Placing a finger to his lips, he kept it there as Anson removed a black box from an inside pocket of his jacket. He saw Zoya’s eyes widen a bit but evidently she understood not to speak as Anson flipped a switch and slowly began to walk around the room. Stryder’s heart skipped a beat when his brother hesitated, running what they referred to as the “bug-zapper” over the floor length curtains covering the windows not once but three times, his arm high to make sure he captured the iron rod that held the fabric. When he stepped onto a chair and examined the rod, Stryder watched as he tugged at the cap on the end and ran his hand and the zapper along the rod. Evidently satisfied, he shook his head, jumped from the chair, and continued his circuit. Returning to them, he switched off the unit.
“Got a spike but it’s not a bug. Someone did a sloppy job repairing a break in the rod. The room is clear.”
Stryder nodded and turned his attention to the girl. “We aren’t going to hurt you, Zoya,” he began, slowly reaching for her hand again. “Come sit down.” He led her over to the edge of the bed, but then thought it might give her the wrong idea. So, he pulled out the desk chair and had her sit there while he sat on the bed across from her. Anson stood up against the wall, letting Stryder handle it from there.
“Who are you? I heard him call you Stryder earlier. I thought your name was Michael,” Zoya said boldly, yet he could still see the fear.
“My name is Stryder Steele, and this is my brother, Anson. My family runs a place called The Black Stallion Ranch. We provide rescue and safekeeping to those in need. Sort of a witness protection program for those messed up in the darker side of things. We are trying to bring Vasily Poplov down and hope you can help us in that mission.”
“Help you? How?” Her fear was now replaced by confusion. “Why me?”
Stryder didn’t have a good answer as to why her and not one of the other tortured women. “Vasily has done a lot of awful things to people we care about. When we learned of this auction, we knew we needed to get closer to his fucked up empire. Our plan is to get you back to the ranch and see if you can give us any information that might help us end this sex slave business—as well as Vasily—all together.”
“I don’t see how I have anything to offer.”
Anson cut in. “We don’t want you to worry about that now. We will deal with everything when we get back to Texas.”
“Texas! I don’t want to go to Texas. My family, Russia—”
“Are over for you right now,” Stryder interrupted. When he saw pain flash in her eyes, he softened his voice. “We need to get you to a safe place. If word gets out that you are still here, Vasily will kill you, or even worse. You can’t stay. We have to make it look like I own you, and I am your Master.”
Zoya took a minute to process all the information being thrown at her, and then her eyes narrowed. “You whipped me.”
Stryder nodded, not regretting his decision one bit. “I did. Would you have rather I fucked you?”
Her eyes bulged and her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out.
“I take that as a yes?”
The look she gave was by far the dirtiest Stryder had seen given by a woman, and he had been on the receiving end of many a sour look in his lifetime. It was actually hard not to chuckle. She was cute when she was angry.
“Moudak,” she mumbled under her breath.
“And your mouth is getting really old,” Stryder warned. “I can only be called an asshole so many times before I show you what happens to women who call me names.”
“Stryd—” Anson began.
Stryder raised his hand, silencing his brother. “She’s my save, Anson,” he said in a warning voice. His brother needed to back off, and now. They had rules, and if the save belonged to one brother, the others stepped down.
Zoya glanced at Anson and then back at Stryder. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m your save? So you really do believe you are my Master? Fuck off!” She stood up only to have Stryder put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her back in her seat.
“Call it whatever you want. I really don’t care. All I do care about is getting you back to the ranch and completing this mission. So until that time is over, you will do what I say.” He stood up and walked over to his suitcase and rummaged through it for a black tee shirt. “Here, put this on. It will give you some length, keep you warmer, and no one will really be able to tell it’s just a man’s shirt. Plus, you can also wear one of my wool coats when we board the plane. We fly out tonight, so there is no time to shop. I want us out of Russia and Poplov’s grasp as soon as possible.”
Suddenly remembering Maddox and his father, who would be anxiously awaiting news, he reached for his phone and texted:
Phase Three complete. All went well.
We have Zoya and are flying out tonight.
Tell Jennie she is about the same size as Adira, maybe a size smaller.
No hippie clothes.
See you soon.
S
“So I have no choice in this matter. Is that what I’m hearing?” Zoya’s voice rose as she had time to really think about all that was happening. Stryder feared hysteria would soon take over. “What about the police? Why can’t I go there?”
“Zoya,” Anson cut in. “You are a smart girl. Do you think that Vasily hasn’t lined their pockets? Do you really want to take that risk?”
She let out a sigh. “How long?” Looking at Stryder, she asked, “How long do I have to stay in Texas and be your fucking save?”
Even though he was growing tired of her language, he really did want to smile at her spunk on that question. He liked her. He would never admit to that fact. But this blue-eyed, blonde-haired bombshell had some kick.
“Until we save those women back there. And until we see Vasily Poplov pay for all he’s done.” Stryder knew that he had to swallow some of his alpha personality and soften towards her a little, or risk scaring her away or causing her to rebel. He tentatively reached for Zoya’s hand and kneeled before her. “I know you want those women saved. I know the thought of what is being done to them is killing you inside. It is doing the same thing to me. We plan to help. My family has made it their mission to help. I know it’s asking a lot for you to trust me. But I need you to. Can you do that?”
Zoya looked up at Anson and then down into Stryder’s eyes. “Yes. For my friend Natalia and the others, I will give you that. For their sakes. But only if you promise me you will save them.”
“I give you my word,” Stryder said softly. “I may be an asshole, a dick, and someone you will want to say fuck off to many times. But I am a man of my word.”
“Then let’s get to this horse ranch you speak of… Master.” Zoya gave a small smile, and present in her azure eyes was a little twinkle of hope.
Both Anson and Stryder chuckled.
“I like the tone of that,” Stryder said playfully, grateful that the mood of the room had changed. “Master has a nice ring to it.”
Chapter 6
Mission. One meant to end the very practice of what she and Natalia and the others had just undergone. Thinking of her friend, Zoya felt her heart ache. Where would she be taken? Zoya had seen Natalia’s eyes, wide with fear and humiliation at being mauled and forced to grind against the obese man’s crotch. What more would she be forced to endure? And the others? What level of hell would they descend to at the hands of the monsters who had purchased them? She’d stood on that stage and had been forced to acknowledge that there was nothing she could do to save them. But now, here in this room, she’d just been assured that she did possess the power to help. Could giving these men any information she remembered really help them complete the mission, and Stryder to keep his promise to save the other women? Save them and prevent Poplov from abducting and forcing even more women into sexual slavery?
Fatigue flooded through her as her hands worried the black tee shirt she’d been given. No matter how confused she might be, no matter how scared she was or worried that these men weren’t being truthful, she knew that for tonight, she had no other choice but to trust them. Stryder had had every chance earlier to force himself upon her as the other men had those women they’d purchased, and yet he hadn’t. Though her back and buttocks were tender, she should have been unable to walk or sit without excruciating pain, and yet she had done both. Looking up, she met Stryder’s eyes and saw the spark of amusement at her granting him some idiotic title. It wouldn’t do for him to think she’d been serious.
“Well, I don’t care if you like the sound. Don’t get used to it,” she snapped. He simply chuckled as if not too concerned. “May I use the bathroom?”
“Of course, it’s right through there,” Stryder said, indicating a door opposite the window.
Standing, she moved towards the door, pausing when he said, “Oh, wait.” Turning back, she saw him rummage again in the suitcase before walking towards her, holding something out. “Here.”
Looking down, she hesitated and then took the toothbrush that was still in its wrapping.
“You’ll find a tube of toothpaste on the sink, as well as a comb. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about bringing a hairbrush.”
“That’s all right,” she said quietly, a bit surprised he’d even thought of bringing any extra toiletries. “I don’t suppose men are accustomed to using a brush.”
This time, he and his brother exchanged a quick glance, both of their mouths turning up in smiles as if sharing some secret.
“Believe me, the men in our family all own several brushes.” Before she could ponder the significance of that statement, Stryder continued. “You have time to take a shower if you make it quick. Our flight leaves in a couple of hours.”
Zoya just nodded, moving into the bathroom and closing the door. She felt a brief moment of regret that there was no window in the room until she remembered they were on the tenth floor. Even she wasn’t quite desperate enough to attempt to escape from such a height. Spiderman she was not.
It took her only a moment to unbutton the suit jacket and shrug it off. Her skin instantly pebbled with gooseflesh in the chilly air. About to hang the coat on the hook on the back of the door, she paused, her attention diverted by her reflection in the full-length mirror. How could anyone have considered she was worth a single ruble, much less millions of dollars? Her hair was disheveled, most likely from the arching and whipping about she had done when her new Master… no! When Stryder had used the whip on her skin. The make-up that had been carefully applied was streaked, her eyes looking more like a raccoon’s than a woman’s. Or, she thought with a shake of her head, like she was wearing a mask like the men at the auction had been. Though she didn’t have a scale, she didn’t need one. She’d clearly lost weight since her captivity. Her captors hadn’t withheld food, but even when she’d overcome her fear that there might be poison or drugs concealed within the offerings, she’d been unable to keep down more than a couple of bites. Trepidation fought with curiosity—the need to know, to see, causing her to turn her back to the door and her head over her shoulder. Not sure exactly what to expect, she understood it wasn’t what she was seeing reflected in the glass. Yes, her skin wasn’t the smooth canvas she assumed it normally was, but it wasn’t the mass of welts she’d envisioned. Faint pink lines were visible and yet not a single one had overlapped another. Even the hillocks of her ass were marked with single lines. Though she’d never imagined being under the lash, she had to admit that Stryder had made sure she wouldn’t be scarred. In fact, she was sure that her body would soon heal completely, leaving not a trace of evidence that she’d been whipped. Whipped. A shudder ran through her, and yet she also remembered the terror morphing into her scattered thoughts of the leather stroking, caressing her flesh.
Not willing to question her responses at the sensation, she shook her head, moving to the shower, turning on the tap to start the hot water. Once steam rolled out of the stall, she stepped in, gasping at the heat but grateful for it. Without warning, suddenly her tears joined the water that was streaming over her head as she finally broke.
Within moments, she was sobbing, gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs. Stepping back, she pressed against the cooler tiles of the wall, sliding down them until her bottom met the floor. Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in her arms, not thinking, just releasing the emotion that refused to be damned inside her any longer. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there when she gave a small scream, her body jerking.
“Shh, you’re all right. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Zoya’s heart was pounding, and she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Her teeth were chattering hard enough that she was afraid she’d bite her tongue off. Before she could process the fact that she was no longer alone, Stryder had stripped off his clothes and had stepped into the stall. He pulled her up and turned her around, her back to his chest as he moved her beneath the water. Warmth surrounded her, the hot water steaming over her front, his body heat against her back.
“Shh, I’ve got you, honey.” When her shudders turned into only the occasional shiver and her tears stopped flowing, he took a washcloth, soaped it and began washing her gently. She didn’t know what to feel. Shock over the fact that she was standing nude, with an equally nude man, or the fact that he wasn’t attempting to do anything other than clean her. What did it truly matter? It was simply another question she pushed into the box in her head and slammed the lid shut. After he’d run the cloth over every inch of her skin, his touch as gentle as a feather on her back and buttocks, he reached for the small bottle of shampoo provided by the hotel.
“Lean your head back,” he instructed quietly. Once she obeyed, she closed her eyes and bit back a moan. This didn’t feel anything like her last shower, the one she’d taken under the watchful eyes of that hateful woman in that house. Strong fingers massaged her scalp and ran down her wet tresses. Once he’d rinsed her hair, he stepped from the stall and pulled a thick towel off the rack. �
��Come here,” he said, extending one hand to help her and then wrapping her in the white towel. He dried her as gently and as carefully as he’d washed her. Without speaking, he gently guided her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet but not before some part of her acknowledged that this man was incredibly fit, his body firm and his muscles defined. As before when she’d stood in front of the mirror, curiosity overcame her embarrassment as her eyes dropped below his waist. Amending her thoughts, she added extremely well hung to his attributes. She could feel her face heat when he gave her a quick grin before briskly drying himself and pulling on his clothes.
“This may hurt a bit,” he warned, taking the comb off the counter and beginning the process of combing out her curls. She wasn’t sure who flinched more with every tug—him or her. A few minutes spent with the hair-dryer had her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her skin. Helping her to stand, he picked up the t-shirt, rolling it up in his hands until only the neck hole was visible. He didn’t even comment when she stepped forward, letting him drop the shirt over her head before she let go of the towel and pushed her arms through the sleeves. She only spoke after he’d pulled the toothbrush from its wrapping and had run a line of toothpaste along the bristles.
“I can do it,” she said softly, reaching out for the toothbrush.
“All right. I’ll see you outside in a minute?”
“Yes…” She didn’t know what to say, though she supposed “thank you” would be appropriate. Before she could speak, he’d left the room as silently as he’d entered. Taking a deep breath, Zoya brushed her teeth and not for the first time wondered why this man seemed so very different than the others.
Once she left the bathroom, she saw that, like his brother, Anson was no longer wearing a black suit but had changed into jeans, a brown sports coat over his light blue shirt. With just the change of attire, they appeared far less menacing. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at a man wearing black again without a feeling of terror running through her.
