by Kitty Thomas
Annette had always been prone to cabin fever. She hated being stuck in the house. She liked to be out and about. If she went longer than a week without going somewhere, she felt like she would lose her mind. When she’d made the trade for her sister, she’d tried not to think about that part. All she’d been able to think about was that somehow it was her fault her sister had been taken and that she couldn’t let some stupid lie she’d told some horny guy in a club end Janette’s future or her life. But the thought of never leaving the giant white house had pressed at the edges of her mental landscape, making sleep the first night difficult.
Now, here she was, just a full day into whatever she’d signed on for, on a fancy private jet actually going someplace. Realistically, she knew he could be taking her anywhere. He could sell her to someone, or share her with someone or several someones. Right now the thought of calling him Master in front of his friends was about to send her into a panic spiral. That one thought kept crowding out all the other things she knew she should be more afraid of.
“How is your food?”
She looked up suddenly, startled. “Perfect. Thank you.” It felt weird being polite to him under these circumstances, but she’d agreed to this, as absolutely insane as it was. It had seemed so much less crazy to her the night before when things had been more desperate.
“Good. I wasn’t sure how you liked your meat cooked.”
Annette was surprised he cared how she liked her meat. She’d only had this cut of beef once before at the wedding of some very wealthy friends of her father’s. She hadn’t grown up poor by any stretch of the imagination, but filet mignon still hadn’t been in her normal dining repertoire. It seemed impossible to think that it might be now.
It felt almost as though they were on a date. It had been so long since a man had taken her out and tried to genuinely impress her that she’d forgotten what it was like. Why would he take her on a date? Only a few hours ago, he’d calmly watched Brian hit her with a belt. He’d let her cry and had appeared completely unfazed by the whole affair. If she were being honest, that was the moment the real fear had kicked in. In that moment, she’d been one hundred percent sure her future would be nothing but threats and pain.
She’d half convinced herself that it wouldn’t even matter if she was perfect and never told another lie or displeased him in any way. She felt sure he’d find some excuse to hurt her. But now she was less sure. Things were peaceful now, and she didn’t know if it was a calm before another storm or if it meant something more.
The bravery of the night before had mostly run out. The only thing fueling her now was good old-fashioned stubbornness and not wanting to look weak in front of him. And it wasn’t just about her ego. Annette had the strong feeling that if he smelled weakness he might pounce on her like a wild animal.
“I still don’t understand why we’re going to the ballet,” she said, looking at her food. She didn’t want to make him mad, but she couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He’d been so nice to her since they’d left the dungeon that there was this fucked-up part of her that thought she might someday feel something for him beyond fear and arousal.
Anton took a sip of wine and regarded her for a moment. “There are places I want to go which are best experienced with a woman on my arm, and you were the lucky winner.”
It might have been offensive if he’d said it in an arrogant way because Annette wouldn’t label herself as lucky. But he seemed to be making a strange joke which softened the barb a bit. It was clear he’d been in the country a long time since he used English as well as anybody else she knew, but the thick accent he still carried made it seem odd when he casually used sarcasm in the way an American might. It made the whole exchange feel extra foreign.
So they were going out regularly? At least she wouldn’t be stuck in the house all the time. She decided he could never know about the cabin fever. What if he used keeping her in the house as some sort of punishment? She promised herself whatever else happened, she wouldn’t trust him. On the outside she would become whatever he wanted, but on the inside, that would always be her private space he could never reach.
She’d never allowed herself to be truly vulnerable with a man, and she didn’t intend to start with this one even if the only thing she could truly safeguard from him were her thoughts.
Anton didn’t speak again, and she didn’t know what to say, either. Everything felt so awkward all of a sudden in the closed space. She didn’t know how to act. She didn’t know how he would act. She wasn’t sure she could count on him at all to protect her from Brian. Annette felt like she needed to win Anton’s favor or his attachment or something—even if she was determined that it wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything on her end. But didn’t she already have his favor a little bit if he was taking her out and buying her nice things and paying all her sister’s expenses? And feeding her extravagant meals like a queen?
It was so hard to know. He hadn’t tried to touch her on the plane even though she’d been sure while she was putting the dress on that he’d picked this gown specifically for the easy access. He could slip his hands underneath the many layers of fabric to find the shorter skirt underneath without any trouble. And there had been a note inside the box directing her not to wear panties. So what was this distantly polite charade, then?
Annette felt on a razor’s edge, not knowing if or when he would touch her. Why order her not to wear panties and give her a dress like this if he didn’t plan to touch her? He hadn’t even made a single suggestive remark. And given his strong grasp of the English language, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know the words to say.
After dinner, a fluffy raspberry cream pie and champagne were brought out. They ate quietly, silverware scraping and clinking gently against the china. She wondered if this was a comfortable silence for him, because it was anything but comfortable for her.
When she’d finished her pie, Annette wiped the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin and laid it over the plate. Her hand rested on the table. Anton’s hand suddenly covered hers, but still he said nothing and did nothing, and they remained in this suspended state of existence until the plane landed twenty minutes later.
Without a word, he guided her off the plane and to a waiting car that whisked them a few miles away to the theater the ballet was being performed in. Every nerve ending was on fire, a live wire, sparking at the ends. Why was she so nervous? She didn’t learn the name of the theater because they were swept in through a back door with Anton’s quick flash of a VIP pass.
They were just in time. The lights had dimmed and the orchestra had already started to play the opening strains of the prelude. An usher with a small flashlight quietly led them to a private box that seemed to hang directly over the left side of the stage. She felt as if she were on the stage—as if she were part of the show, and that the audience might watch her as easily as any of the dancers on stage.
Anton said something to the man before he left them alone and then joined her. The chairs in the box were an exquisite luxury far beyond the comfort of the seats in the rest of the theater. She was sure she’d never sat in a chair this comfortable in her life. It seemed an impossible and bizarre fact to contemplate; nevertheless, it was the only thought she could grab onto that didn’t send her mind spiraling into panic.
Annette had been to live shows before, but there were always other people’s heads in the way. The floor was never slanted up enough so that you could gain a pure unobstructed view. But from the box, it was different. When she looked at the stage, she felt as though it was only her, Anton, and the performers with the rest of the theater empty. A private performance. But as soon as she looked away from the stage, the immediacy of the audience and that sense of being watched as much as the dancers rushed through her again.
The Russian nudged her arm. She looked down to find a program and a tiny flashlight on her lap. Annette skimmed through the description of Giselle.
When she was finished, she
looked over to find Anton engrossed in the ballet. He genuinely enjoyed it. She’d never before met a straight man who loved the ballet. It seemed like such a waste for him to be with her, a woman who knew little about it and couldn’t fully appreciate the prize sitting in the chair next to her.
For several minutes, she found herself watching her companion more than the ballet. The concentration with which he watched the dancers was only rivaled by his concentration with her in the dungeon earlier. There was something deeply intense about this man that unnerved her. Now that she wasn’t in a drunken vodka haze, she could feel things in him that should have scared her. A roiling sort of black energy that pulsed off him and felt like a burn against her skin when she got too close.
It was obvious he knew this ballet by heart and this particular choreography. She could see it in the way he studied the dancers’ feet. It was almost as if he were counting the beats and movements in his head—like he knew the precise moment a lift should end, and the exact spot a girl should land after her turn, and he would only be happy if each movement meticulously obeyed the set script.
A sliver of light moved into the box, breaking Annette’s concentration, though Anton’s never wavered.
She turned to see a dark-haired woman had parted the curtain and come in. The strange ethereal creature slipped up to the side of Anton’s seat and bent to embrace and kiss him. It was only then that he finally took his eyes from the stage, and the force of that concentration and attention turned to her, leaving Annette in what felt like a circle of dark, chilled air.
He touched her arm in a familiar way. Where else had he touched her? She spoke low in Russian. He answered in kind. She giggled. He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it then rose from the chair and left the box without a word of explanation.
The woman took his vacated chair.
Annette felt a strange buzz of jealousy skate along her skin, wondering who this woman was to him. But why should she feel jealous? It wasn’t as though Anton was her boyfriend or husband. He’d made no promises to her—not really. The promise had been to free and provide for Janette in exchange for her obedience. Nowhere in that contract was there love or kittens or unicorns or promises of fidelity or happiness. It had been a cold and flat ‘You do A, I’ll do B, or else C’.
She turned in time to see the curtain fall back into place, wondering if he’d return or leave her alone with this stranger. The woman was petite and very thin, like a bird. Annette imagined she was probably strong enough to fling this delicate interloper out of the box. But she was sure if she did so, the woman would sprout wings and gracefully glide to the stage unharmed.
The woman had long, dark hair swept up off her neck in an updo and a long, shimmering pale pink evening gown. Annette wasn’t sure if she spoke English and didn’t know if she was supposed to ask, so she just sat there awkwardly, the ballet long forgotten even though she pretended to watch.
The woman leaned in closer to Annette. She spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “I was supposed to be dancing tonight, but I sprained my ankle, and the director thought I should rest. Anton is disappointed, of course. My understudy is going on instead. I understand you are Anton’s new pet. I’m Katya.”
“I’m Annette.” It took everything inside her not to ask for more details about the clearly cozy state of the ballerina’s relationship with Anton.
“It’s wonderful to meet you. Anton hasn’t had a sub in a long time, but he says your relationship is serious?”
“It’s very serious,” Annette said. But she knew they meant very different things. Katya meant it in the way normal people meant it. Annette meant it in the being someone’s prisoner is pretty serious way. She wondered if this was some sort of test, Anton leaving her alone to see if she would try something stupid—to get help or escape. She still wasn’t sure what it was she was supposed to escape from. The rich, hot man who’d set her body on fire with his hands the night before? The guy who’d bought her a beautiful dress and taken her on a private jet to the ballet? The man who was paying for her sister’s schooling?
No, you twit, the man who now thinks he owns you and is willing to hurt you if you displease him.
Katya leaned in again. “Will you play with me at the party after?” she asked.
“Play with you?” Annette didn’t bother asking for details about the party. She didn’t want to seem completely clueless. As far as Katya was concerned, Annette and Anton were in some sort of kinky relationship, and everything was above board. For some reason, she didn’t want this woman to know she and Anton had just met, and she didn’t know anything but the most vague mainstream thing about kink.
“I-I mean if you switch,” Katya said.
If she switched. Switched what? She couldn’t ask without giving some truth away she was sure Anton would later punish her for—or let Brian punish her for. The thought sent an involuntary shudder through her.
“Sure,” Annette said instead. Whatever the hell switching was. She was so far over her head here. Did Katya mean something sexual? It seemed equally crazy that she did and that she didn’t.
Anton returned then. He and Katya exchanged more quiet words in Russian. He kissed her on the cheek, and if it was possible, it seemed Katya blushed in the dark when his lips brushed her skin. His hand drifted down her side, lingering proprietorially on her waist for a moment. And that irrationally bitter stab of jealousy hit Annette in the gut again.
He’s not yours. You’re his.
The voice inside her head wasn’t her own. It was Russian and female. But of course Katya was engaged still speaking with Anton, leaning into his touch which remained maddeningly on her hip. After a few more moments, he kissed her again, they said something that sounded like a goodbye, then Katya squeezed Annette’s hand and left the box.
Annette expected Anton to say something to her or ask what they’d talked about, but instead, he took the seat that Katya had been in only moments before and turned his attention back to the stage—that deeply concentrated attention. She may as well not have been there.
She found herself angry all of a sudden. While she hadn’t been able to initially work up much strong emotion about her captivity and all its implications, being outside in the real world, so close to actual help and freedom, brought up a deep well of anger that he would bring her here and ignore her and flirt and touch some other woman right in front of her. Like she was nothing and would be nothing to him. Just an acquisition, a novelty he’d clearly already grown tired of. She was sure he’d be bringing Katya to the ballet if she wasn’t actually in it.
Then the anger turned into tears sliding down her cheeks. She wiped them quickly away, but Anton must have heard her. He turned, a question on his face that turned into words mere moments later.
He leaned close. “Did Katya say something to upset you?”
Annette shook her head. “No.” She felt so stupid—like those silly girls she’d hated back in high school.
Anton’s expression hardened. “No, what?”
“No, Master,” she whispered.
She thought he might ask her something else. He seemed like he would, but then he simply nodded and turned back to the stage.
Annette tried to watch the ballet, but she couldn’t focus on anything but Anton and the way he wasn’t focusing on her. Finally, the lights came up and people began bustling and milling about the theater.
“I need to use the restroom,” Annette said, even though it was a lie. She’d gone on the plane.
“It’s down the hallway to your right.”
He didn’t follow her out.
Chapter Six
Anton watched her leave the box. He knew it was unwise to trust her this soon—to give her this much free reign. She could go find help. Her sister could be in protective custody well before Brian could act out any threat Anton had made.
The truth was, he didn’t want to control her with threats. And maybe some sick part of him wanted to get caught. They hadn’t brought a
single girl to the house to train, and already this was a shit show. Brian would never give the idea up. Lindsay seemed equally committed. It would be so much simpler to just get caught and shut the whole operation down before it got a chance to get off the ground—before they’d committed more crimes and the stakes were even higher.
By this point, it was clear to Anton that Brian was going to kill people. He’d wanted to kill three people already. It had taken a delicate dance to keep that from happening. But at some point, the line would be crossed. Anton wasn’t sure he could live with that, even if he wasn’t the one doing the killing.
While he thought about all this, Katya returned to the box. With Annette gone, she spoke English. “Where did Annette go?”
“Ladies' room,” Anton said. “You know your understudy is shit. Really terrible. She’s practically tripping all over her feet on stage. The whole performance feels… congested. She doesn’t float like you do.”
Color bloomed out over her face at the compliment.
“It was too soon to put her on stage for a part so big,” Katya agreed. “The director is livid. He’s yelling at her backstage. I wish he’d let me dance. I’m fine.”
“No,” Anton said. “You are not fine. You turn your foot wrong just once, and that ankle will go again. You can’t afford it.”
Katya flopped into Annette’s chair in the least graceful movement Anton had seen from her. “The director is putting someone else in for the second act.”
“But not you?” Anton said.
“No, you don’t have to worry.”
“Good.”
“I thought you came to see me dance,” she pouted.
“I did.”
“But you don’t want me to dance now.”
“I don’t want you hurt,” he said as if that should be obvious. “There will be other performances. You will dance for me for a long time.”
“I miss you.”
Anton sighed. He knew this was coming. He hadn’t seen her since the night they’d taken things beyond his voyeuristic love affair with her movements on the stage. There had been a quiet flirtation between them for years, and when it had finally culminated in a physical act, it had been clear almost from the start—at least to Anton—that this was just not meant to be.
