by Monica James
The fairest of them all is underlined twice. An arrow extends outward from this puzzle with six dwarfs written in block letters. Saint needs to touch up on his Disney because Snow White had seven dwarfs.
The next arrow simply says Shaken, not stirred, which is a James Bond quote, and seven deadly sins with +2 is the next thing circled.
What does this all mean? From memory, there isn’t a movie called Seven Deadly Sins with a sequel.
The last arrow is something I actually recognize.
A good friend will always stab you in the front.
It’s an Oscar Wilde quote. But what does it mean? These are connected to Alek and The Circle somehow, but I may as well be reading Russian because none of it makes a lick of sense.
More notes are connected to these points, but I decide to flip to a different page because the harder I think about it, the more confused I become. However, when I turn the page, I wonder if Saint was high when he wrote this because I find a hand-drawn sudoku puzzle, but the numbers don’t correlate.
Saint doesn’t make mistakes. I’ve seen him complete these puzzles with ease, so why is this puzzle riddled with errors?
The next page and the one after that are just rows and rows of numbers. They seem to be divided into sentences, which is ridiculous, seeing as there are no words. What is he trying to tell me? I flick through page after page of similar riddles. Some with numbers and the others with quotes or simple words underlined. And some are just symbols I’ve never seen before.
He told me this journal contained notes on The Circle, and to beat my enemy, I need to become them, but right now, all I’m becoming is delirious. Groaning, I stretch my neck from side to side as I’m sitting at an odd angle on the bed. My back is to the cameras, so anyone looking in remains clueless to what I’m really doing.
I wish Saint could explain this to me because I’m honestly baffled by what all this means. I toss the journal onto the bed, but when it opens to a page, and I see writing, sentences I can comprehend, I reach for it quickly, hoping to make sense of something. But nothing can prepare me for what I see.
She won’t break. No matter what I do, she will not submit. Each time I punish her, I feel whatever small shred of humanity I have left slip away. I know this is wrong but so is delivering her to that soulless asshole.
I don’t have a choice. God save my soul.
Looking at the date, I see this is when we were on the yacht. Day six of my being held captive, to be precise. I read over his musings with my heart in my throat because he has detailed everything. My fumbling fingers can’t keep up as I flick through the pages, gasping when I see he has written down everything—from beginning to…now.
I start from the day that kick-started this entire nightmare, which seems like a lifetime ago.
Page after page, I am privy to Saint’s most inner thoughts and feelings, which is ironic because, at the time, I was certain he wasn’t capable of the latter. But as I continue to read, I experience our story through his eyes. I’ve lived it, but seeing me how he does is just extraordinary.
I’m not sure how long I sit, reading over each journal entry because the further I get, the blurrier the words become, thanks to my tears. At first, he is angry, angry with the world, but that soon turns to confusion, as it did with me.
When we were shipwrecked, I would have given anything to know his thoughts, but when I read a particular entry, I realize I knew what he was feeling all along because I felt it too.
Being with her erases the pain, and I will move heaven and hell to protect her. I will figure out another way to save Zoey, but I can’t give her to Popov.
She is mine.
She always has been.
Unable to stop the avalanche of tears, I hug the journal to my chest and sob silently. I wish I’d known this then, because now, all I can do is remember those memories and clutch onto them tightly. Saint knew I would read this when he gave me his journal. He wanted me to know just in case…
A breath catches in my throat at the thought.
If something were to happen, use this to save yourself.
That’s what he told me. I now know it was a double-edged sword. Knowing he feels this way about me, that he’s felt this way for so long, has me quickly wiping away my tears. I will save us both because everything I just read…I want to hear them pass through those lips I’ve come to love to kiss and intend to kiss for the rest of my life.
I spring from the mattress and rush into the walk-in closet, hunting through the endless garments I’ve never cared anything for. But now, they will help me get out of here. Alek wants to dress me up like a prized pig and parade me around to his friends, and thus far, I’ve fought him. But no more. As Saint said, to beat my enemy, I need to become them, and what better way for that to happen than to dress up like the doll Alek wants me to be.
I shower, ensuring to use the lavish body gels and lotions Alek has provided for me. Once I’m scrubbed clean, I dry off and begin the laborious chore of getting ready. I lather my skin in cream and perfume before slipping into a sheer black bra and matching thong.
Next, I work on my hair and makeup, putting as much care and effort as I would if getting ready for a show. Usually, I would have endless makeup artists and stylists on hand, but not now. There is only me, and that’s okay because to survive this, that’s the only person I can rely on.
It takes me over an hour, but once I pull back from the mirror and look at my reflection, it was time well spent. With the shorter hairstyle, there isn’t much I could do other than sweep my bangs to the side and give a little body to the length. However, the ribbon headband encrusted with rhinestones and pearls adds to the look, and when adjusted in just the right way, it appears I’m wearing a crown, which is why I chose it. To pull this off, I have to act like a fucking queen.
My makeup is smoky, and I’ve tinged my cheeks a subtle rose. My lips are painted a bright blood red, which matches the dress I’ve chosen to wear. I’ve opted for one shorter than anything I’ve worn around Alek.
Leave a trail for a scavenger, and he will follow. Alek said that when referring to Kenny, and I intend to do exactly that but for Alek.
Alek wants me to submit to him and doing so will give me the upper hand. It’s clear Alek believes he has feelings for me. One only has to look at what he did to Kenny, to Zoey for me, so I will play him at his own game.
Alek doesn’t trust me. He believes with Saint out of the picture, I will succumb to his “charms” like all the other women before me. So I will behave how he wants me to, like the docile little lamb he paid a quarter of a million for.
And when he lowers his guard, because he will, I will strike. To get what I want, I will have to play dirty and do things I may not want to do, but I refuse to end up like Zoey—a shell of the woman I once was. This is the only way I can ensure I get what I want, and that’s my freedom.
Taking a final look at myself in the mirror, I slip into my heels and hold my head high. Deciding to leave the switchblade under my pillow, I pretend I’m on the runway as I strut out into the hallway on the hunt for Alek. No surprise a guard stands at my door, but that will soon change. I’ll make sure of it.
“Where’s Alek?” I ask the man in the most innocent voice I can muster.
He grunts in response before gesturing with his head that I’m to follow. That’s all I seem to be doing of late but not for much longer. He leads me through this labyrinth while I scope out every door, every corner we turn because I will need to know these halls like the back of my hand. The trapdoor in the kitchen is still my best way out, but I have to bide my time.
We walk up the grand staircase and turn left toward an area that has been out of bounds until now. I’ve always wondered what was up here because we’ve always turned right when I was escorted here. The first thing that strikes me is how quiet it is. There aren’t as many rooms as there are downstairs.
When we get to a double door at the end of the hall, my guard grunts once again. I
assume that’s to indicate Alek is inside. I’m clueless to what I’m about to face, but remembering my game plan, I knock softly.
Alek says something in Russian, which I’m guessing means enter because the man opens the door for me. He then leaves me alone to face the devil himself.
Alek sits behind a large desk, typing away on a computer without lifting his head. I close the door behind me and wait for him to speak first. When he finally lifts his eyes, I quash down my elation because it’s evident my plan has worked.
He hisses in a deep breath through his teeth as he leans back in his black leather chair. He devours me from head to toe, his tongue sweeping out to lick his bottom lip. This is the first time he’s seen me dolled up, and judging by the way he gawks at my breasts, it’s safe to say he likes what he sees.
“H-hello.” He clears his throat while I focus on the task at hand.
“Hi. I hope you don’t mind me coming in here. I was lonely.”
When he raises a brow, I wonder if maybe I’ve gone too far, and he can see through my ruse. But when he shakes his head and gestures with his hand that I’m to come closer, my worries subside. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you. I’ve been busy with work, and I figured you needed some time to…”
Grieve? Calm down? Stop envisioning him on fire?
“I understand,” I settle on as I walk toward him. A good submissive would kneel, but I don’t want to rouse suspicion. So I stop on the side of his desk.
The perfume I applied generously has worked a charm because he sniffs the air and smiles. “You look absolutely breathtaking. That dress was made for you.” I don’t know if he means that literally because my wardrobe is creepily donned with clothes in exactly my size.
But I smile shyly in response. “Thanks. I wanted to dress up. I was hoping it would cheer me up.”
“Oh?” Alek frowns, waiting for me to elaborate.
I take a moment because I don’t want to appear too eager. “I know it makes no sense, but Saint has been my… мастеp for so long, I feel lost without him.”
One wrong move and Alek will have my head, so I play it cool. “I wanted to be honest with you.”
He nods as a slow grin spreads from cheek to cheek. “I know it must be hard for you. You’ve come to rely on him.”
“I have,” I confirm, my lower lip trembling.
“Which is why I had to let him go. You understand that?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Because you’re mine. Not his.” This is a complete power play for Alek to feel like a big man. So I give him what he wants because it means I will win in the end.
“I am yours,” I say, blinking once. “And I know you want to make me happy…which is why you brought…Kenny here.” His name gets lodged in my throat, but I persevere. “I never thanked you for doing that for me.”
Alek tilts his head to the side as he strokes his chin, deep in thought. He is clearly gauging my sincerity. But when I think about Saint, about him telling me to do what I must to survive, I play the role Alek has wanted me to this entire time.
“Thank you.”
He continues watching me as he rolls back in his chair, leaving a small space in front of him. “Come.”
I walk toward him without hesitation but with baby steps. Up until a few minutes ago, I was fighting Alek every chance I could, so I need to do this slow. He wants me to kneel, just as I’ve seen Zoey do many times before.
With Saint gone, he is now my мастеp, and I am to treat him that way. But submitting to this asshole stoops me to a new level of shame.
Alek is testing me because I know it’s going to take a lot more than a wiggle of my ass and a few sweet words to win him over. So, without choice, I lower myself beside him and kneel. I do exactly as Saint taught me.
Head bowed. Eyes downcast.
I wait for him to see straight through me and send me to wherever he sent Zoey to be punished, but he does neither. Instead, with a touch I could almost mistake as tender, he runs his fingers over my hair.
“A crown,” he says in a faraway voice, stroking over my headpiece. “It’s fitting. For my queen.”
A sadness overcomes me because although it seems I’ve achieved what I wanted, what price do I have to pay?
“Do you miss him?” There is no need for him to elaborate who.
“Yes,” I whisper with sincerity because god, I do.
“That’s expected,” he says, not at all angered. Which is the reason I kick-start my plan into action.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but—” I pause with intent, enticing Alek.
He takes the bait. “What? You can ask me anything.”
With my head still bowed, I softly reply, “Would you allow me to move into Saint’s old room? I think it will help with the nostalgia. I must learn to move on, but he was all I knew.”
I measure my breathing, not wanting my nerves to show.
Alek takes his time as it’s clear he was not expecting me to ask him this. But there is a reason, and it has nothing to do with nostalgia and everything to do with Saint’s room being camera free. If I’m to do this, then I need free rein. I can’t be watched 24/7.
Just when I think he’s going to say no, he surprises me and has me wondering if maybe this will work. “Of course. It makes sense. Saint was your мастеp. You will always share a connection with him.”
I nod slowly.
“Very well. If this will make you happy, then I will see that your things are moved into his room immediately.”
I’m waiting for a catch, but there doesn’t seem to be one, which surprises me.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See, all I want to do is make you happy,” he says, cupping my chin and coaxing me to look at him.
When I do, I try my hardest to appear appreciative.
“Let’s go out for dinner. You look far too lovely to waste it by staying indoors.”
“Okay.” The only way I can survive this will be to keep contact to a bare minimum. Besides, Saint was trying to achieve this all along; to make me behave.
Alek smiles, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely happy. But his happiness is spurred on by the fact he believes he has won with Saint gone and will be able to morph me into whatever he wants me to be.
Ignorance is bliss.
“Mr. Popov. It is lovely to see you again,” the server greets us at the front door of some classy restaurant in town. When he runs to assist us, it’s clear everyone knows who Alek is.
“Hello, Robert. Is my usual table available this evening?”
Robert’s glance flicks to the secluded area on the second floor reserved for people like Alek. It’s evidently full, but you don’t say no to Alek.
“Of course. Follow me.” He touches the earpiece and says something into the headset he’s wearing. I’m guessing it has something to do with relocating whoever dared to sit at Alek’s table.
Alek leads me through the very elegant restaurant with our arms linked. Golds and rich blues decorate the large room, and the white plates and sparkling crystal have been polished to perfection. A soft piece of classical music plays over the speakers.
Overall, this place seems to be a haven for people like Alek because it exudes wealth and superiority. Alek nods to a few people in passing while others turn to look at who ventures into their domain.
Robert removes the black rope from across the bottom of the staircase so we’re able to go upstairs. It feels so snobbish to be segregated this way, but I follow Robert as he leads us to a small white booth toward the back. This table must be the best in the house because it allows us a superb view of our surroundings.
No one can sneak up on us as our backs are to the wall. It appears Alek’s paranoia extends to his dining.
As we take our seats, Robert places the menu down in front of Alek, not me. The move makes my blood boil as it seems Alek has brought other women here before. Therefore, Robert knows Alek’s women are his pro
perty who don’t even have the right to order their own food.
However, before Robert has a chance to pour us some water, Alek grips his wrist, startling him. “She will have a menu also.”
Robert’s eyes widen in horror as Alek releases him. “Of course, Mr. Popov. Apologies. I didn’t think—”
But Alek cuts him off. “That’s right. You’re not here to think. You’re here to serve me and my girlfriend.”
Now my eyes widen. Girlfriend? Is that what I am to him? He definitely never treated Zoey like a girlfriend, but it appears I’m different because I’m permitted the luxury of ordering my own meal.
Sweat gathers along Robert’s brow despite the cool temperature. He passes me a menu, which I accept. “Would you like to order the house wine? It’s a beautiful red imported from Italy.”
I’m perusing the menu, which is thankfully in English, when Alek asks, “Would you like wine? Or something else?”
I slowly lift my gaze, wondering if he’s really addressing me because since when do I have a choice? But when he waits for me to answer, it seems I do when eating. “Sure,” I reply in a small voice. “Wine sounds good.”
Alek nods while Robert exhales, then scampers off. He’s most likely thankful he’s leaving here in one piece. I continue reading over the menu, but nothing stands out because eating is the last thing on my mind.
“Do you need any help deciding?” Alek asks, appearing to want to please me. “I highly recommend their beef stroganoff.”
His kindness is so foreign to me because I would never use that word when referring to him. But I hate to admit he does show tiny glimpses every now and again, leaving me feeling conflicted. If he were always the coldhearted bastard I know he is, hating him and plotting his demise would be so much easier.
But when he shows his humanity, I almost feel guilty for wishing him harm.
“I don’t think I could stomach something so rich.” Which is true as I’ve eaten next to nothing since this ordeal began. Eating wasn’t high up the survival chain. “I think I’ll have the cabbage soup.”