by Brynn Ford
“Move the chair and sit,” Nikolai insists, “or…if you prefer to watch her bleed, I can give her yet another scar.”
Ezra moves without hesitation. I’m relieved for his compliance, though the fear of pain washes over my sensibility all the same. I watch, feeling like I can’t catch my breath, as Ezra drags one of the armchairs from in front of the fireplace and positions it just behind Nikolai’s back. I look into his eyes as he lowers to sit. He’s shaking his head with a tense jaw. He looks hopeless and I don’t like the way it shadows his green eyes. I need them bright for me.
My breathing turns shallow as I feel the tip of Nikolai’s blade dig into my skin. I yelp when I feel the sharp pinch of it puncturing my skin, and I look down to see a drop of blood pool and rise to force its way out. My breath catches on a gasp as I realize he’s still pushing. It’s not the first time he’s cut me here and it won’t be the last. But it hurts like new every single time he does it.
I don’t dare protest. If I tell him no or stop, it will only be ignored. I know that because I’d earned harsher punishment in the past for fighting it. I know it’s better to just take it, hold in my protests and tears for later, and purge them alone on my pillow. Still, fear floods through me and makes my body react. My muscles twitch, I breathe too fast, hot tears prickle at the corner of my eyes.
He’s marking me with another scar. There’s over twenty of them on my left thigh and his blade cuts between two of the white lines. He’s looking up at me, smiling, taking such pleasure in my torment. It burns like fucking fire the way he slices into my skin, but my body remembers the feel of it. As much as it hurts, I find I can retreat from the sharp sting. I can hide from the physical pain, focus on something else, sneak my way around it. But I can’t hide from the eyes that are searing hatred into Nikolai’s back.
Ezra is glaring. If looks could kill, Nikolai would be sliced into pieces and scattered all around the room. Ezra looks as though he’s going to pounce, and though I wish he could drag Nikolai away and save me, I know it’s simply not possible.
I lock in on Ezra, staring him down until I can capture his attention. After what seems like forever, he finally tears his deadly stare from Nikolai’s back and looks up at me. His eyes widen briefly before softening.
I need to hold him here, keep his attention on me. I can’t risk what will happen if I lose control of him now.
In an unexpected move, Nikolai pulls his knife away and wipes the flat end of it across his slacks. He smears my blood into his clothing like it’s nothing, as if painting the expensive fabric with my life force is merely a convenient way to clean off his weapon. He folds it and puts it away in his pocket. A rush of air escapes me as the tension of immediate danger lessens it hold on me. He’s still dangerous, of course, but at least the blade is gone.
Nikolai bends to land a soft kiss on the top of my leg, brushing across my old scars there. He slowly works his way up to the freshly smarting wound, which is far too close to the apex of my thighs. He licks his tongue flatly across the cut, lapping up the blood as if it were some rare delicacy.
I shudder.
I shudder because it’s demented.
I shudder because he’s sick and twisted.
I shudder because no matter how hard I try to fight it, the heat of an attractive man so close to my sex, sensually licking the inside of my thigh, still triggers my body into reacting pleasurably.
And it makes me hate myself.
My mind and body are out of sync.
Ezra’s eyes narrow on mine as he watches. I think he can see inside my soul right now. I think he knows everything I’m feeling and exactly why I’m feeling it. I expect to see judgment reflected there in the emerald green, but instead I see acceptance, perhaps even understanding. It makes me sigh from the relief of his empathy.
Nikolai is taking his liberties with me as his lips and tongue move closer and closer to my opening. My heart beats fast, both for the sensual, languid way Nikolai drifts across my skin and for the way Ezra holds me with his gaze.
I won’t look away from him as long as I can help it. His stare is everything that’s holding me together. It’s everything that’s maintaining my sanity. It gives my mind something steady to anchor to, even when my body reacts outside of my control.
My body jolts and I sigh when Nikolai licks across my folds, all the way up and over my clit. He wraps his lips around it, lightly sucking before sticking his tongue inside me.
I fight my eyelids when they threaten to close. Normally, that would be the thing that saves me—that ability to stop looking at the Devil before me and pretend that it’s anyone else. But all I want is to stay locked in on Ezra’s green eyes. I want to watch him watch me.
As Nikolai begins to draw unwanted pleasure from me with his skilled tongue, there’s a moment. A brief, fleeting moment where I lose myself just a little, just enough that I nearly forget it’s him between my legs. That moment belongs to Ezra and the way he watches me. My eyes roam over his face to see his whole expression has changed. Everything is still carved from rage, but the rage has lessened with the rise of something else.
Interest.
His curiosity is piqued, and I can’t fault him for that. I won’t. We’re only human after all, and I’m not a complete fool to pretend he hasn’t shown interest in me before. What surprises me is how it changes my emotional response.
Nikolai is raping me, for the thousandth time, touching me and trying to pleasure me without seeking or considering my consent. It’s vile and filthy, and I fully expect this man to go to hell. I would send him there myself if I could.
But Ezra…
Ezra is right there and his presence changes everything. It shouldn’t, but it does. And because it does, I slip.
I moan.
Unsurprisingly, Nikolai thinks I’m enjoying him.
“Anya,” he growls against my clit as he brings two fingers in beneath his tongue.
I’m struggling to stay upright as pleasure builds within my core, intense and unwanted. Nikolai reaches up with his free hand, shoves between my breasts, and I fall backward onto the bed.
“No.” I slip again, protesting the absence of Ezra’s comforting face and everything stops.
Ezra pushes to his feet and I lift my head off the bed to look up at him. He takes a step forward, but Nikolai is already whirling around to stop him.
“Go and sit behind her, mal’chik, on the bed.”
I don’t want him to sit behind me.
I do want him to sit behind me.
I want him here, but I also want him nowhere near this sexual nightmare.
I’m more conflicted than I’ve ever been, and Nikolai knows it. He’s done this intentionally to torture me and he’s successful.
It’s all so much worse that I can’t move. I’m literally helpless laying on the bed right now. I could kick if I wanted to, perhaps break Nikolai’s nose, if I get him just right.
But what good would that do?
Ezra sighs as he moves around to the side of the bed and I turn my head to look at him, trying to tell him I’m sorry without a word. He shakes his head and climbs onto the bed behind me.
“Pull her all the way back and sit her upright between your legs.”
“No,” Ezra spits out the word harshly. “No, I’m not helping you rape her.”
“You will or I will make her bleed. Would you prefer that?”
“Why are you doing this? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I’m caught between two towering infernos, blazing high and hot and completely overwhelming.
“The same thing that’s wrong with you and all other men. Don’t pretend you aren’t hard right now. I can see it. Lay her down against you and she’ll feel it,” Nikolai sneers. “We’re all fucking monsters. Some of us just found a way to get paid feeding the other monsters. Some of us have learned
to enjoy the rewards of being a monster. Anya is my right and my reward, and I will do whatever the fuck I want to do to her. I’ll do the same with you. Don’t let her make you think for a second that she doesn’t want this, that she doesn’t enjoy this. I have the taste of her on my tongue that proves how much she wants it. In fact, why don’t we let her tell you what she wants you to do? Anya…” he stands to hover above me and I’m already shaking my head, “would you prefer that I cut you, make you bleed again? Or would you rather I fuck you?”
“What the fuck kind of choice is that?” Ezra shouts and I flinch at the unexpected force of his voice above my head.
It’s no choice at all.
“Quiet,” Nikolai broods. “Let her choose.”
I press my eyes shut and shake my head, feeling the rope over my shoulders rub uncomfortably against the sides of my neck. Obviously, I want neither choice. He’s a sick fuck who has given me an impossible choice to make.
He leans down over me with a sinful smile, leaning on his hands which press into the mattress on either side of my hips. “Use your words, Anya. Would you rather I cut you or fuck you?”
Both will hurt me. I’m partially tempted to tell him to cut me, but I fear he’ll take it too far, that he might stab his blade into my gut to spite me and I would die right here on his bed. That doesn’t sound like a half bad idea to my fucked-up sanity, but Ezra changes everything. I wouldn’t want to make that choice to leave him alone here. At least with me here, I’m the buffer between them—I’m the object of Nikolai’s abuses.
When did I become so willing to put myself on the line for someone else?
I suck in a quick breath, blow it out hard, swallow, and bravely dare him, “Fuck me.”
“Louder, please, Anya. Convince me you’d rather be fucked.”
I spit the words out with hateful passion, “I’d rather you fuck me, khozyain.”
“Tell Ezra.” Nikolai’s voice is smooth and even and filled with amusement. “Tell him you want him to help me fuck you.”
My eyes feel hot around the edges. “Ezra, I want you to…” I stutter as a tear slips down the side of my face, catching me off guard, “to help him fuck me.”
Nikolai bends and kisses my belly button. “Good girl.” He looks up at Ezra. “Pull her back and settle her between your legs.”
Nikolai steps back and works his belt buckle and I hear Ezra’s breath catch and stutter.
“I can’t,” he whispers, filled with heartache. “I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.”
I tilt my chin up toward the ceiling, lifting my eyes to look at Ezra as best I can from where I lay in front of him on the bed. His hands are on top of his head, fingers laced together, and his body trembles. As horrifying as this is for me, it’s not a first.
But for Ezra, it is.
“Mal’chik,” I say, “do as you’re told.”
I hope my calm command can ease him enough to do what has to be done.
“I can’t do this,” he protests.
“You can do this, and you will. Pull me back between your legs. Do it now.”
There’s a long pause and I hold my breath.
Ezra has to do this.
I have to do this.
Finally, he gives up, gives in, and I sigh a breath of relief that he understands.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Anya. I don’t know what the fuck else I’m supposed to do.”
He sounds so…broken.
Oh, God.
He slides his hands beneath my back, grasping at the rope and yanking me backward along the bed.
This.
This moment.
This is my undoing.
Chapter 17
Anya
Never have I ever felt so completely ripped apart. I’m struggling against every fiber in my being not to cry, not to scream, not to fight and beg Nikolai to stop.
My hands are untied. All the ropes have been pulled free from my body, though I still feel them there as a phantom scratch, the threat of dragging burns striking up again every time I move.
Nikolai has chosen to drag out our torture, taking his time fucking me every which way while Ezra is forced to hold me or move me or watch.
He has Ezra sitting in the armchair, wearing his underwear, thankfully for him. I’m on the floor in front of him, on my knees, bent forward over his lap.
I’ve lost all inhibition. I grip the top of Ezra’s thighs at the crease where they meet his hips, unsure of whether I’m hurting him with the way I dig in my fingertips. I have to hold onto something because it hurts so much. I lean into him, letting my cheek rest against his stomach.
Nikolai thrusts into me brutally from behind, taking the part of me where his dick absolutely does not belong. It doesn’t belong inside me in any way, but especially not there. I’m raw, dry, probably bleeding and damaged, and I just want it to stop.
I want it to stop.
I want it to stop.
I just fucking want it to stop.
The only comfort I have is Ezra. How I hate, hate, hate what this is doing to him. He’s forced to sit there and hold me while this torture takes place in front of him.
He held me on his lap, squirming and writhing as Nikolai made me come on the bed, a real-life pornography, as twisted and fucked up as it all was. I didn’t blame Ezra for being aroused by it, not one bit. But Nikolai made it all the worse knowing that what he was doing to me was affecting Ezra all the same. He used that knowledge to torture us both, by hurting me and making Ezra watch in his aroused state.
I felt horrible for the way my body shifted against Ezra’s erection with every one of Nikolai’s savage thrusts. Nikolai knew it was happening. He wanted to hurt Ezra in his own way, keeping him in a state of awareness and arousal throughout my torture.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into Ezra’s side as I grip him tighter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Ezra lifts a hand to stroke my hair, only once before it stills. His breaths are sharp and ragged. I know what he’s struggling against, what he’s fighting. I do everything in my power to lift my body from his lap, to limit how much I rub against him, but I can’t.
I just can’t.
The pain rips through me and it’s all I can do to endure it.
Nikolai moves faster, with sharper thrusts, over and over. I feel his heat invade me, his sweat sliding over my backside. He gives one final razor-like thrust and grunts low and long. I feel him spill hot liquid inside me. I let myself have the satisfaction of a single, biting scream as he finally pulls out of me.
And then I start to cry.
He’s hurt me like this before, but this is true hell. He’s taken me to a deeper level of torment for how he’s involved Ezra. Ezra was being raped as much as I was and as soon as the invasion of Nikolai’s physical presence is gone, it’s all I can think of.
I collapse to the floor as Nikolai puts his clothes back on, literally falling into a naked heap at Ezra’s feet. He shifts forward in his seat as I sob, clinging to his ankle as I fold my body around his leg.
He clears his throat and his voice is strained. “Please, let me take her now. She needs to rest.”
Nikolai laughs. “Fine. Take her and go, I’ve had enough of you both for one night.”
I’m rising into the air a second later as Ezra scoops me from the floor and I curl into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s a tidal wave of calmness crashing in, washing away the debris of this hurricane.
“Oh, Ezra,” Nikolai calls out as he carries me away, “don’t you want your photograph of Emma?”
I’d nearly forgotten about the photograph of his ex-girlfriend.
Ezra’s chest puffs higher as he sucks in a breath. “Keep it,” he barks out. “I’m sure you’ll be bringing me more.”
“Yes, I will.”
I know it the instant we’re in the hallway because I feel the demon presence of Nikolai fade away. The air is immediately lighter. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke and blood and sex fades with every step Ezra takes.
I fear someday Nikolai might try to do to Ezra what he’s just done to me and the thought of it makes me ill. I know Ezra must feel ill for me now.
Ezra carries me to my room and kicks the door shut behind us. He takes me straight to the bathroom and carefully lowers me to the floor. I squeeze his arms tight, just above the elbows, as he ducks his head down to catch my eyes.
“Hey,” he says softly, “I’m gonna put you in the shower, okay? Can you stand?”
I nodded slowly. Of course, I could stand. I’d had to carry myself from Nikolai’s room so many times before. I’d had to clean and care for myself in the aftermath so many times before.
But then, why is it so hard to let go of him now?
Why do I feel like I simply can’t survive this without him?
Have I grown weak, dependent, needy?
He reaches behind me to open the glass shower door, gripping my shoulder with one hand as if he just can’t let go of me now. He turns on the water and holds his hand beneath it as my sobs slow to occasional hiccups of emotion. Then he steps inside and pulls me in with him. He puts me under the spray and closes the door behind us.
I look up at him from beneath the waterfall that runs down my hair and though the water is warm, I shiver.
There it is, finally, thankfully.
A pause.
An offbeat count in the dance of torment that has become my life…our lives.
It’s a sigh, a breath, a brief reprieve from the pain of this night and the uncertainty of our future.
It’s Ezra I share it with.
And then it’s gone.
My pain comes rushing back like the volume being quickly turned up to full blast and I flinch.
“Tell me what you need me to do. How do I fix you? How do I make the pain stop?”
I shake my head. “You can’t make the pain stop.”
He looks down between us and my eyes follow, drawn immediately to the red streak flowing down between my legs, swirling crimson around the drain.
