by Coco Miller
I consider the charge made against my father by Mr. Monster and wonder if it’s true. I highly doubt my father borrowed or stole money from his gangster boss. One thing my father isn’t is stupid.
Yet anger bubbles inside of me when I think about my dad and the position he has put me in. He may not be guilty of taking the money but just the fact that he works for a man who would take his daughter as collateral speaks volumes.
The only ounce of hope I can cling to is the fact that Isanov is a businessman and wants his money. Hopefully, my father will find a way to buy me back. I laugh to myself although it’s far from funny.
Cattle.
I am fucking cattle.
The monster stops the car along the path and turns to me. “I’ve never bought anyone before in my life, especially a woman.”
“Until tonight,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you’re correct. Until tonight.”
I cross my arms in silent defiance as he continues down the road. When he steers the car around a slight bend in the road, a mansion comes into view. I can’t help the ‘wow’ that escapes my lips. A breathtaking, multi-storied, stone house, on a huge expanse of land, stands before us. Light from the numerous windows spill onto the lawn.
Inside, I can see a few rooms with older artwork lining the walls. He parks under a huge stone awning, and when he exits the car, I survey my surroundings. Maybe I could escape. Doubtful though. Even if an escape were possible, I wouldn’t know where to go. We haven’t passed anything for miles. This property is completely isolated.
He opens my door, offering his hand. Ignoring it, I step out of the car.
He moves to the trunk to retrieve my bag as I wrap my arms around my cold shoulders to ward off the chilly night air.
“This way, Kai.”
I’ve been called Kai by my friends and family for years, but something about the way he says it makes it sound naughty. Like he wants to see how good I can be.
He opens the door for me, and I brush past him. As the wood door slams shut, my insides churn, and the finality of the moment sets in. I was here, in a stranger’s home. Would I basically be his slave for the next few weeks? Or worse yet, a sex slave?
I push those frightening thoughts away as he leads me down the darkened hallway. “You’ll be staying upstairs. I have a guest room up there.”
My pulse calms a little knowing I wouldn’t be staying in his room. “What will I be doing while I’m here?”
He stops mid stride, and his eyes rake over my body. The t-shirt I’m wearing suddenly feels two sizes too small. His critical stare makes me nervous, and I tug at the cotton of my yoga pants.
“I haven’t decided yet, Kai.”
My eyes enlarge as I try to think of all the possibilities of things I could be expected to do.
He leads me to the upstairs level of the massive home. My eyes try to take in everything all at once. I want to make sure I memorize as much of my surroundings as I can, because I read once that victims should do that– and I am most certainly a victim.
There are lots of pictures hanging all over the walls. Some seem personal and others are pieces of famous artwork which I sort of remember from art history class in high school. His house is tasteful, and rustic, and it reminds me of a museum. I won’t be touching anything. I can tell he’s the type that would be like, “if you break it, you bought it.”
I follow along behind him as he leads me to a white door at the end of the hallway. When he opens it and ushers me into the room, my jaw drops.
“Wow,” is all I can say.
A huge sleigh bed stands strong and proud in the center of the room. A large sliding glass door, which leads out to a balcony, is off to the left, and more paintings adorn the white walls.
“I hope this space is to your liking.”
What did he care about my liking? I was being held as a prisoner, and all of a sudden he cared about whether or not I’d like it?
“Well, my room at my own house is better.” I move toward the bed fully aware that he’s watching me.
“Don’t test my patience.”
I spin around and our eyes lock. His seem intense as they hold mine, and then I remember why. He’s ruthless. He’s dangerous.
I break my eyes away first and glance at the large closet. He drops my bag to the floor with a thump and steps closer.
“I know it’s late, kotenok. So I’ll let you sleep.”
“How thoughtful,” I deadpan.
He moves even closer to me. The silence between us is deafening as he literally stands inches from me.
“Go to bed,” he demands cooly. “I’m not going to warn you again.”
His distinctive cologne permeates the air, and I want to take a deep breath of it. It smells of earth and woods and all man, and it flames a desire in me that I find appalling. What is wrong with me?
This man is not to be trusted. He is a wolf and I am his prey. I need to be reminded of that. My sassy comebacks are probably not winning me any points with him, and my primary goal is to stay safe until my father can get me out of here.
I nod my head towards the monster in understanding and obedience as he stalks away. Once he leaves the room, I drop to the huge bed. Sleep swiftly pulls me under as soon as I snuggle underneath the covers.
If only for a moment, I need to forget this day ever happened.
Chapter Three
The next morning, I wake to sunshine streaming into the room. It feels like a warm, soothing blanket, until the moment hits when I actually remember where I am.
Oddly enough, I worry for a moment about the library, and the fact that Isanov made me leave my cell phone at home. I have no way to let them know that I won’t be there today (or God knows when), although I’m sure my mother would tell them some sort of convoluted story to get me out of work. She’s pretty good at that.
I don’t want to move from the bed, but glancing at the antique clock hanging on the wall, I notice that it’s already eleven in the morning. Gah! I guess I was more tired than I thought.
I rise from the mattress and grab my duffel bag. After using the lavish en suite bathroom, and getting dressed in my skinny jeans and oversized pink sweater, I decide to leave the room.
I tiptoe down the stairs and try to find the kitchen since my stomach is growling something awful. Turning a corner, my eyes grew wide when I see Isanov in the kitchen cooking.
“Are you hungry, Kai?” he asks in a low, husky voice without even turning his head away from the stove to see if it’s me. I guess he knows it’s me. I’m the only captive in the house.
“Yeah, a little.”
He finishes up in the kitchen and points to a small wooden table, drenched in sunshine, off to the left. I sit down quietly, and afterward he produces a plate of eggs and bacon for me.
The food smells delicious, but the smell of earth and woods and man overpowers the breakfast. Who on earth smells this good first thing in the morning? My stomach is in knots, so all I can manage to do when he sits down beside me is push my scrambled eggs around on the plate with my fork.
“Eat.”
His deep one word command startles me, and I respond respectfully to it, even though he doesn’t deserve my respect.
“Okay.”
I spear a piece of bacon with my fork and bring it to my lips. After I take the bite, Isanov growls deeply from his chest. I stop chewing and then I stop breathing as his eyes closed. I wait with bated breath for him to open them. When his eyes spring open, they are heated and my insides warm immediately.
“Take another bite, kotenok.”
This exchange between us is totally weird, but I comply anyway, and am met with the same reaction as before. When I swallow, his eyes open and he leans in closer.
“You’re pretty enough to eat,” he breathes softly across my ear.
My spine straightens in the chair as I try not to let his heavily accented words affect me. There’s no way I’m going to be the captive who suffers from s
ome sort of Stockholm syndrome. As far as I’m concerned, while he may be a beautiful man on the outside, he is a monster on the inside and is also my kidnapper. Plain and simple.
He resumes his position at the table and finishes his meal as if the moment had never happened. God, he’s unsettling.
“What is a kotenok?”
“It’s Russian for kitten.”
Kitten?
“I rather you call me Kai.”
“Kotenok is term of endearment.”
“It’s A term of endearment,” I say correcting his half broken English.
“That’s what I say.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Are you English teacher now?”
“Aren’t you a business owner? You should really brush up on your English.”
“All my employees are family. Russian. No need to.” He grins. Seemingly enjoying this moment of banter between us.
“My father’s not Russian.”
“Which was my mistake.”
“You’ve only made one mistake, huh?”
I roll my eyes and move onto another subject.
“So what will I do today?”
He places his fork down, grabs his white linen napkin, presses it to his lips, and then stares at me for a moment.
“What would you like to do?”
“Go home.”
Hey, it was worth a shot.
He laughs for a quick second.
“Out of question. Anything else?”
I think about it and then mention the only thing I love to do.
“Can I read?”
“You’re in University, da?”
“No, I took some time off.”
“I have nice library I think you’ll love.”
After breakfast, Isanov gives me a tour of the house, and then he introduces me to some of the staff who work in his home during the day. He made sure to prep me beforehand to keep my mouth shut about being held a prisoner. Basically, he warned me that if I said anything to anyone that I’d be punished. I have no interest in finding out what kind of punishments a man like him prefers to dole out, so I feign a smile and wave hello to whoever I meet. It’s all very fake and forced, but I play the role. I’m just passing time until my father gets me out of here.
Later, he takes me to see the grounds. He walks me to a stable of horses, and then leads me into the barn. A beautiful grey gelding peeks its head over the metal gate. Long eyelashes blink over big brown eyes.
"That's Rosebud," he says, stopping to give a caress down her long nose.
"Why Rosebud?" I ask.
The name seems a bit too gentle for the restless horse behind the gate.
"Because she's beautiful but prickly as thorn.''
He gives her another pat and then turns to me.
"Like you."
My breath catches as his eyes sweep down my body.
"You would be prickly too if someone kidnapped you," I spat.
Rosebud whinnies in her stall as Isanov steps closer, reaching up over my shoulder. "That mouth is going to get you in trouble, Kai."
My eyes widen at the short leather riding crop he holds in his hand. "Maybe you need discipline, da?"
“Maybe you need to stop taking girls as payment, da?” I say doing a bad imitation of him.
His face hardens as he runs the tip of the crop across my shoulder and down my chest. My nipple pebbles as he grazes over it with the small paddle.
"Maybe you need to be tamed, domashneye zhivotnoye."
My eyebrow arches in confusion at his use of yet another Russian term I don’t know.
“Pet.” He translates.
“I’m not your pet,” I say defiantly.
“Net?”
“No.”
The air around us crackles with tension, and I try to ignore the fact that my body is reacting to the way his eyes are lingering on my breasts. I don’t want to feel moved by him in any way at all, but it’s as if my body is betraying me.
He moves the crop down my stomach and between my legs. I gasp as he strokes it against my pussy.
"Maybe lesson in obedience," he says gruffly.
He stops the movement and presses the paddle against me putting pressure on my clit. My pulse races; my heart galloping in my chest. I stifle a moan.
He drops the crop and steps away from me with a somewhat satisfied smirk across his lips. "Let's finish tour."
After a stroll by the lake on his property, he asks or rather orders me to call him Sergei instead of Mr. Isanov.
“You call me Sergei.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to call you that.”
“Why?”
“My father doesn’t even call you that.”
“You don’t work for me. You’re guest.”
“That’s what we’re calling victims of abductions now?”
“I didn’t force you in car. Your father agreed to trade.”
“As if he had any choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Kai.”
Once we reach the house, Sergei takes me to the library as he promised he would earlier. It’s larger than I thought it would be with a wraparound bookcase built into all three walls. So many books. I’m like a kid in a candy store.
He hands me a book before he leaves, and as I glance at the title, I giggle. A rare edition of Beauty and the Beast. Very fitting. I sit in a large overstuffed chair and spend the remainder of the afternoon reading the book he selected. When the afternoon sun sets, I shut the book and return to my room.
I find a note on my pillow with a red rose.
Have dinner with me, Kai.
Is it so completely wrong that I want to have dinner with him? That I rather not sit in this room by myself and sulk for the rest of the night?
I grab my duffel bag and unpacked my clothing, hanging up a few things. I have no idea if there is a dress code for dinner in this fancy mansion, so I put on a skirt and a sleeveless pink blouse. I smooth out the wrinkles as I go into the bathroom to do my hair.
Why am I going through all the trouble to look nice for my captor? I’m not entirely sure, but all I know is that I want to. Perhaps it’s because his sheer size and dominating attitude intimidates me. Maybe it’s because of the way he touched me in the horse barn. Whatever messed up reason it is, all I know is that I want to be sure that I’m not underdressed.
As I make my way downstairs, butterflies flutter throughout my system.
He stands at the bottom of the stairs with a strange look on his face, wearing a black suit that clings perfectly to his sculptured body. He is refreshing, like a cool drink of water that I want to gulp down in one sip to cool the fire smoldering in my veins.
His bottom lip juts out slightly and then he sucks in a deep breath. When I reach the final step he grabs my hand.
“Kai, you’re beautiful.”
I blush. “Thanks.”
My nerves are shot. On one hand, I should demand to be taken home. I don’t have anything to do with my father’s bad business dealings. On the other, I want him to keep staring at me like he wants to take me right here, on the staircase. It’s flattering. It’s addictive.
His dark, penetrating gaze glazes over my body and stops along my chest. I think Sergei may just be a breast type of guy. The way his hot stare devours my curves leaves me in need between my legs.
He pulls a high-back dining chair for me to sit on, and I glance around taking in the elegant set up on the table. Soft flickering candlelight illuminates the dark room. The white chinaware is etched with a small SI emblem in black script.
The silver cutlery gleams in the glow of the flames, and as I sit down, Sergei’s hand brushes across the top of my shoulder.
I’m slightly startled, because I wasn’t expecting the whisper touch of his skin coming into contact with mine. I almost want him to do it again.
He sits down and the tension between us becomes almost palpable. A man dressed in a freshly pressed black and white butler su
it enters the dining room. He carries a silver platter, and I start to feel out of my element. My parents and I have been out to several high end restaurants before, but this feels totally foreign to me. Being waited on in someone’s house? Very different.
He sets the dish in front of me and lifts the lid. Beef Wellington and mashed potatoes in a fancy dollop decorate the plate. Sergei smiles at the presentation.
“Eat, enjoy.”
I lift my knife and fork and spear a piece of food, and before I take a bite, I ask, “Sergei, what happens if my father doesn’t pay?”
His eyes raise and I feel the heavy scrutiny of his stare throughout my bones. Then, he sets his fork down and gives me a wicked smile.
“Nothing you need to worry about, milyy.”
I sigh. “What is a milyy?”
“Term of endearment. I just called you dear.”
I hate being called dear. It reminds me of my father. The man who caused all this trouble.
“Please don’t call me that.”
Sergei picks up his fork and begins eating. “What? Call you my dear?”
“Yes, I hate it.”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“I don’t think we’re in the sort of relationship where you should be calling me anything other than Kai.”
He snickers.
“Not yet.”
“What do you do for fun?” I ask desperately trying to change the subject. “Seems like you have to work all the time to keep this sort of lifestyle up.”
I bite down on my food, and a delicious red wine flavor erupts in my mouth, making me moan.
“A lot of things, but my favorite is making women moan like you did just now.”
“So, you’re a chef then?” I smile. “Because that beef is to die for.”
“No, not chef. I use other ways to make women moan.”
“Oh,” is all I can say.
My insides tingle as his eyes met mine again. The dining table is long, and he is a good five feet away, but the way he stares at me, with the blaze of fire in his eyes, feels like he is right on top of me. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
“Do I make you nervous, Kai?” His voice is low but carries the distance between us, and I feel as though he’s just whispered it in my ear.
