Claimed by the Thief

by Eliza Lockhart

  Why couldn’t people be more like animals, I thought as I locked him up for the night. The animals listened and cared. Even Levin sensed when something was wrong.

  With a sigh I returned to my bedroom, but I quickly realised that I wasn’t ready to sleep. Instead I needed to unwind, and there was only one way I could easily do that.

  I quickly changed my clothes, picking an outfit more appropriate for a club than my father would normally tolerate. It didn’t take me long. There were always several outfits stashed ready near the stables. I then hurried past my horses, giving my favourite a quick stroke to quiet her.

  At the end of the stables was a small door that led to the paddock. I unlatched this door, knowing no one would notice at this time of night. Once in the paddock, I hurried to the far corner, carrying my high heels so they wouldn’t get muddy. I had my riding boots on my feet instead, something that could get as dirty as necessary.

  At the far end, near the corner, the fence had two loose wooden panels. I swivelled one left and one right and squeezed through the gap in the middle. On the other side I stashed my boots, put on the heels and stepped into a small clearing. Under a cover, about fifty metres away, was a small car.

  The keys were in my jacket pocket already, and I’d made sure to top up the fuel last time I took it out. I got behind the wheel, already feeling better, more free than before.

  One day, I knew Father might find out about all this but it had been a couple of years now. I reserved sneaking out like this for the worst of days, and learning that Vasily Petrushkov might use threats and force to get me to agree to be his wife was definitely one of those days.

  There’s no guarantee he will, my brain reminded me as I backed out onto the road and sped towards the centre of the city.

  No guarantee he won’t either, I mentally replied, shuddering despite the warmth inside the car. It was the last time I’d think about it tonight, however. That, I promised myself.

  It didn’t take long to get to the club I wanted. A private one near the edge of the city. It was run by a man who knew how to keep secrets. It was rumoured that he’d betrayed Mikhail Petrushkov, despite knowing him well, and aided the change in power to Vasily, but I didn’t buy it.

  He was the sort of man who prided himself on not getting involved, not taking sides and never giving up the information he knew, especially about his clientele. It was exactly why I came here. He knew who I was, knew who my father was, yet he’d never told my secret. Every time I’d come here I’d felt free. Completely free.

  The bouncer on the door gave me a nod as I strode up, opening it to let me in, no questions asked. Another benefit. No matter how infrequently I came and who was on the door, new or not, I was always recognised and admitted without trouble.

  The music blared from the main room, a heap of young people writhing on a dance floor, a bar lining one wall and many booths and more secluded areas where women danced on poles, tables and laps. It was more seedy than I’d have preferred, but given who I was, I knew I couldn’t be fussy with my safe haven.

  The bartender placed my usual drink in front of me as I sat down, already putting it on the tab I’d clear at a later date. I carried only my car keys and wouldn’t be driving home at the end of the night. If need be, the club would call me a cab and get the bill. They’d done it before—again, no questions asked.

  The owner, Yazov, gave me a nod of recognition as he moved through the room to have a quiet word with another patron before leaving together. As I watched, I noticed I wasn’t the only person alone, sitting back, surveying the room.

  Over, beyond the other end of the bar, sat alone in a small booth, was a young man, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to show a smooth muscular chest, black hair cut short, but not short enough to look like he belonged in the military still.

  There was a light in his eyes and a small smirk on his face as he surveyed a couple having a bit of a disagreement on the dance floor. I soon found myself watching too.

  Something had made her angry, and she stood up close to him, yelling words that couldn’t be heard over the pounding beat of the music. Her fists were tightly clenched but he was as calm as they came, a laugh evidently escaping him. This only seemed to make her worse.

  Eventually he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her and her clenched fists in tight against his chest. Then he tilted his head down until his mouth was near her ear and told her something that seemed to calm her almost instantly.

  Less than a minute later they were dancing together like nothing had happened.

  April 13th – 0:21am

  While I drank and unwound from my frustrations of the evening, I continued to watch the dancers, checking in on the amusing couple now and then to see if they did anything else of interest. By the time I had been there another hour I had a comfortable buzz and I’d finally relaxed.

  Before I could decide what I wanted from the rest of the night, a guy came up close beside me—tall, muscular but older, and with a stomach that protruded over his belt as if he’d once worked out lots but no longer cared as much. As he got the bartender’s attention, one arm came out behind my back, although it didn’t touch me. Yet.

  “Double vodka,” he said in English, his accent American, “and whatever the lady has been drinking.”

  “Thank you, but there’s no need. I can buy my own drinks,” I replied, using his own language. His cologne was overpowering, almost making me cough as I rocked to the side a little, but by now his arm had come in closer and his hand prevented me from pulling away as far as I’d have like.

  “I’m sure a gal like you can do all sorts, but no one should be alone on a night like this.” He smiled at me, showing perfectly white teeth.

  “Really. I’m not interested.” As I felt my anger growing again, I struggled to think of the words I wanted to say in English. Not only did I not find him attractive, his brightly patterned shirt, oversized Rolex, rings and necklace were all screaming that he was trying too hard to look like he had money. On top of that, I hadn’t spent the majority of the evening fending off advances from potential suitors to have some foreigner in a club get pushy about talking to me. This part of the night would be on my terms.

  The bartender had the sense to hold off pouring me another drink, his eyes looking to me, not the American.

  “Come on, hurry up and get the gal’s drink.”

  His arm tightened around my back. Instantly, I tried to get up, pushing against him with one hand and the bar with the other.

  “Yasmine, my dear,” a smooth Russian voice exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Want to join me or should I come sit here with you?”

  I looked in the direction of the voice, meeting the eyes of the handsome stranger I’d noticed sitting alone earlier. His eyes sparkled and a slight smile played across his lips.

  “Beat it, pal. I was here first.” The American didn’t seem to want to give up, but I pushed away again, practised enough at manoeuvring around overzealous men that I was soon out of his grasp.

  “I don’t think my sister is interested. You’re just not her type,” the stranger added, moving closer, almost protectively. I grinned at the respect he’d given me. Most men, when they tried to rescue a woman being bothered, acted as another lover. This guy had given me the opportunity to keep him at bay as well. Of course, it could have been a seduction technique all of its own, but if so, it was one I respected.

  “Your sister?” the American asked, doubt finally showing on his face as he backed up a little. Stranger nodded, still just standing there beside me.

  “Right…” Without another word he picked up his drink and walked off. I shook my head in disbelief at the rudeness.

  “Do you want a drink?” I asked my make-believe brother. He immediately chuckled, the sparkle flaring in his eyes again.

  “Why not. But no pressure to actually join me. I’ll take it as a thank you.”

  The bartender had stuck around long enough to witness the outcome an
d quickly poured another pint of the beer the stranger had been drinking. As he poured my vodka of choice he flicked me a subtle wink.

  “Well, thank you, brother,” I said as I pushed the beer closer to him.

  “Everyone calls me Al, Yasmine. You should know that. And you’re welcome.”

  He looked at me with that lopsided grin on his face, expectant for me to introduce myself, but when I opened my mouth the usual alias just wouldn’t come out.

  “Is that offer to join you still open?” I asked instead.

  “As long as you’re okay with ferrets.”

  “Ferrets?”

  “Yeah, I keep them as pets. One in particular is a bit like a trained parrot. I left him on my jacket when I came over. I should get back to him.”

  Intrigued, I merely followed as he took his drink and headed back towards his booth.

  Sat right where he said it would be was a ferret. I opened my mouth to tell him about all the exotic animals I had as pets before closing it again. I couldn’t. It would be obvious who I was if I did. How many women in Moscow had a wolf called Levin?

  The creature scampered up onto his arm as he held it up, coming up close against his neck.

  “Mitka, this is…” he looked to me to fill in the blank with my name. Once more I hesitated. Why couldn’t I spout my normal fake name? What was so different about this guy? Why did I want to tell him the truth?

  My hesitation had become apparent. He raised his eyebrows but waited, letting the silence between us be all the pressure it needed to be.

  “Everyone who comes here has their secrets,” I said, trying to explain and not sure I was.

  He nodded, but for a second that brightness in his eyes disappeared. A second later it was back.

  “I’ll call you Yasmine, then.”

  “Yasmine?” I said, laughing.

  “Why not. If you cannot give me your real name. It’s what that foreigner thinks is your name. We shall be Yasmine and Al for the night.”

  “Sounds like a fairy tale,” I replied, thinking of the Disney movie. Suddenly the smile vanished from his face.

  “I’m no hero.”

  “No one here is,” I said, picking up on his discomfort. “As I said, everyone here has their secrets.”

  He nodded and then the serious moment was gone as he introduced his strange pet once more, calling me Yasmine this time.

  As soon as we were introduced, I reached forward, holding my hand out for the ferret to sniff. It eyed me warily before curling up on Al’s shoulder.

  “He’s not much of a people person, but he won’t let me go anywhere without him. He needs to be able to see me.”

  “He’s cute,” I replied, already hoping he’d get used to me and let me stroke him before the night ended. Al pulled a face at my words.

  “Cute wasn’t exactly what I was going for,” he complained, sounding like he didn’t really mind at all.

  I laughed.

  “Got an image to maintain?”

  “Not a hero, remember!”

  “You might want to not rescue women from other men if you don’t want anyone to think you’re a hero,” I replied sitting down on the nearest seat, just close enough to his we’d be almost touching but not quite when he joined me. He needed no encouragement.

  “Oh, that. I only rescued you from him so I could take you home and fuck you myself. Once you’re drunk enough to think that’s a good idea, anyway.”

  Every word he spoke sounded perfectly serious, matter of fact, but the mischievous twinkle never left his eyes and I found myself not sure how to read him. Was he serious? Did he really just want to screw me? Did I even care if he did? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d left the club with a guy I just wanted to have sex with for a night and blow off steam in another way. And he was attractive, amusing and far more interesting than anyone I’d met in a while.

  “Well, if that’s what you intend to do, you’d best get me another drink,” I said, barely letting the silence develop. I downed the glass I already had to make my point. A little more vodka and I’d be at the perfect level for a one-night stand with my mysterious stranger.

  He flashed me a grin before heading back to the bar and returning with not one, but a tray of shots for us both. I laughed again as he set them down. This guy knew how Russians should drink.

  1:35am

  “Come on,” Al said. “We’re leaving now. You can come back to my place.”

  He lifted his jacket with one hand as he pulled me to my feet with the other. I swayed a little as my head struggled to keep up with the momentum, barely noticing as he put his jacket around my shoulders, not his.

  With his arm around my waist, we headed for the door and left behind us a table full of empty glasses.

  It felt like we’d talked for ages, the conversation not seeming to pause or stop but I could barely say what we’d talked about, both of us skating around any topics that would really identify us or make us too vulnerable. Typical club talk, but despite our guarded words I felt like we’d connected. Even if I hadn’t already implied I’d like to screw him too, I knew I’d want to by now. I’d not enjoyed a night out like this in months.

  The club bouncer beckoned over a taxi, letting the driver know the fare would be covered by them, although no mention was made as to which one of us, me or Al, would pick up the bill for it later. I didn’t care and it seemed neither did Al. Money evidently wasn’t an issue, but then the club wasn’t exactly cheap.

  His place was nearer to the centre than my father’s, and inside one of the many luxurious apartment buildings that lined one of the wealthiest streets in Moscow. Money definitely wasn’t a problem.

  As soon as we were in the lift and he’d pressed the button to head up to the top floor, I felt him push me against the wall.

  His hands came down either side of me as he came forward, pinning me in place. The ferret jumped off his shoulder, down to the floor while making a disgruntled noise, but we barely noticed, Al’s lips finding mine for the first time.

  I let out an uncharacteristic moan of desire as heat flushed through me and I fiercely pressed back. His lips moulded against mine for a moment, hot, firmer than I’d expected until they parted, his tongue coming forward, almost forcefully expecting me to yield.

  And yield I did, wanting to taste him, as he brought his hips forward, his whole body now pinning mine in place, making it feel hard to breathe and making it clear he was aroused, his erection almost painful against my abdomen.

  All too soon the lift came to a halt. I let out a gasp as Al pulled away as quickly as he’d pounced, and by the time the doors opened he stood there as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I still stood against the wall, panting, not sure how to respond.

  Thankfully, at this time of night no one else was around. A few seconds later I’d managed to compose myself, smoothing my top down as I unplastered myself from the side of the lift. By then his ferret was already scampering out into the hall and he was motioning for me to follow, a slight upturn to one side of his mouth the only sign of his amusement.

  Maybe I’d had a little too much to drink. He was holding it better than I was, and I wasn’t used to being at a disadvantage in these situations. He did warn you that he was going to get you drunk, my brain reminded me.

  As I walked out into the hall he came close again, slipping his arm around me. There was only one apartment door. His.

  A small ripple of anticipation ran through me as he swiped his key card and led me inside.

  The penthouse was smaller than I’d have expected, but open plan, the far wall completely glass, long curtains hanging open at intervals. The room was furnished in a modern style but in the low light it looked almost gothic.

  Coming further inside, I noticed an array of video cameras, tripods and different sorts of lights.

  “Bit of a film maker?” I asked, as much to break the silence that was about to get awkward as to satisfy my curiosity.

  “Something like that.” With o
ne swift motion he swept his jacket off my shoulders, suddenly making me feel exposed despite still being fully dressed.

  He chucked it onto the black leather sofa to one side and then fixed his eyes on me, running them slowly downwards and then back up.

  I tried to think of something to say or will my body to move, but it was like I was frozen, waiting for him to wake me up. Waiting for him to decide what should happen next.

  As he stepped closer he slowly traced a stray lock of my hair down my arm from my shoulder, his fingers making my skin tingle where they touched. Reaching my hand, he took it in his and met my eyes for the briefest moment. The command to follow came unspoken, giving me life back.

  Wordlessly I let him lead me, his movement precise, fluid, graceful, yet strong. Still neither of us said anything.

  The bedroom was as neat as the living space, but looked a little more inviting. The lights came on as we entered, casting a low light that seemed to accentuate the romance, although there was nothing romantic about what we were doing.

  This was about lust. This was about satisfying curiosity. This was about conquering and feeling conquered. This was about pretending nothing else existed. This was about trying to feel free.

  It was only as Al pulled me off balance onto the bed that I noticed an array of whips, canes and restraints in a glass-doored cupboard to one side. It was lit from behind like some eerie, gothic torture display.

  I pulled back a little as he came in for the kiss, my eyes fixated on it. He didn’t even need to check what I was looking at.

  “I told you I’m no hero,” he said, his voice deeper, husky, his body poised over mine.

  “You enjoy others’ pain?” I asked, a little more sober than before. For a moment he looked thoughtful, as if no one had ever asked him that before.