by Bonny Capps
“Do you know how to please a man?”
I frown as the tears blur my vision. No. No I do not, and suddenly I realize that I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be in America with Mirna ... safe in my home ... away from the men with guns.
“No,” I squeak out as a tear escapes my eye. “Look, I’m not even American. I mean, I am, but my parents were both Russian. If you want an American, I’m not it.”
A dark smile creeps across his face. “I want you. I don’t want anything else.”
I frown. “V–Vadim said that he had to find another American doll…. Please,” I whisper as I sit up on my elbows, allowing the tears that have collected in my eyes to freefall. “He killed my uncle and then he threw me in a cage … I just want to go home. You’re different. I can tell.”
I gasp when his hand wraps around my throat before he slams my head onto the mattress. He smiles deviously as my bottom lip begins to tremble.
Leaning down, his rough cheek brushes against mine as he whispers into my ear, “Do yourself a favor and realize that I am no different than any of the other men who occupy my family’s dacha.” He pauses momentarily as he inhales the scent of my hair. “If anything, I am much worse.”
My lips part as I exhale a shaky breath. “Are you going to kill me?”
His grip loosens around my neck as he narrows his eyes at me. “You ask that now because you are afraid of death. I’m afraid that will soon change. One day, very soon, you will beg. You will throw yourself at my feet, and you will plead for me to end your life.”
My hands wrap around my throat frantically when he slips from the bed and stands. He approaches the window, and I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head as he looks out.
My eyes travel over his muscular back as the words sit on the tip of my tongue. I lay frozen on the bed where he left me. What he has in store for me, it can’t be good. My gut tells me that he wasn’t lying when he said that he was worse, but how much worse? What does he intend on doing to me?
“What’s your name?” I whisper as I look at the hardened expression on his face as he looks out the window.
He turns slightly, the flames of the fire cause his shadow to grow behind him. “My name is Dimitri. Welcome to my home.”
The clicking from the 8MM camera reverberates throughout the room as I stand back and watch Vlad—who we lovingly call Vlad the Impaler.
He’s prepping the brunette girl. Her head sways from side to side in her drugged state as he spreads her legs open wide for the camera.
This client specifically asked for a brunette between eighteen and nineteen years old. Big tits: check. Small waist: check. Lush lips: check. Pretty face: check.
I left the small village in which I was raised to come here and work for my uncle and cousin. Mama and Papa were not happy one bit. Papa escaped the family as soon as he was old enough. Dimitri’s father, though, he understood our destiny. He understood the need to continue our legacy.
I had to seek them out when I began hearing the stories. I knew that this was my destiny, too. To keep our tradition alive.
Though, I’ll never bequest the leading position of this Bratva—that goes to Dimitri.
Unless he dies first.
The thought of killing one of my own is bloodcurdling, however, the thought of my unstable cousin being the leading man makes my blood run hot. He doesn’t have his head on right. He never has, and my uncle knows that. We all know that. But, tradition is tradition. I’ve just got to keep him in line now, and when that time comes …. I’ll be damned if I allow our empire to fall because of his stupid decisions, like deciding to keep the blonde American as a living sex doll.
He was out of line in doing that, and Dyadya Albert will be none too pleased when he discovers what his dear son has done. It’s a shame that it will be another couple of months before he returns to this dacha. He’s in Saint Petersburg living a life of luxury with his young wife while we do all of the hard work. This place was originally a seasonal home and has been in our family for generations.
“Let’s move this along,” I snap as Vlad runs his fingers through the girl’s hair.
He stops abruptly and nods. I can’t see his expression through the gimp mask that he wears, but I’m sure he’s sneering. It’s imperative that he hides his face. Nobody can trace these tapes, hence why we use the 8MM camera. The tapes that we produce and distribute are meant for one person and one person only.
The people who purchase them from us buy them for hundreds of thousands, and sometimes millions. What a person will pay to have a person fucked, tortured, and killed in their name surprised me at first. It doesn’t anymore. After two decades of helping produce these films, it’s hard to shock me anymore.
Vlad looks toward me and I nod for him to begin.
This client payed a pretty penny for this tape. A sick bastard he must be with some of the requests that he had. We never outright hand these tapes to the buyers, and we never meet them in person. These tapes travel down a long chain of porno dealers and traders before they land in their owner’s hands.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve the vial of white dust. I unscrew the lid before retrieving a bump with my pinky nail. I snort it up my nose as I watch Vlad approach the brunette with a spike studded dildo.
He strikes her across the face with it and she gasps as the blood trickles from the wounds onto her chest. They never scream at first because the drugs are so strong, but eventually she’ll manage to wrap her head around what’s going on. That’s when they try to fight, but at that point they are too far gone … too wounded and weak from the loss of blood.
Money talks, especially in Russia. It manipulates you. It changes you. I would never in a million years do this without the money. I still cringe occasionally while I watch either Vlad or Andrei perform … and Dimitri. The killing isn’t his job, but when the stresses of life creep up on him, he takes the victims on himself.
He loves cat and mouse, a game that he sometimes plays. Although those games are not filmed behind an 8MM. No. They are filmed and livestreamed on the dark web where people pay in bit coins, an online currency not meant to be tracked. The cameras used for cat and mouse are mounted throughout the maze that we built. Sometimes it lasts for minutes, and sometimes hours.
The mouse never wins.
I light a cigarette as Vlad continues to maul the woman. Her face is unrecognizable as he continues to hit her with the dildo before he shoves it up her cunt. And now, she screams.
It took her long enough.
He grasps her hair and whispers something into her ear as he continues to pump it inside of her. When he pulls it out, blood pours from the abused orifice.
“Toropit’sya!” I snap, telling him to hurry along. I’m fucking exhausted, and unlike Vlad, I’m not getting my rocks off right now.
He huffs and releases her hair abruptly before leaning down and retrieving a saw from beside the bed where she lies.
I look at my watch impatiently as he positions the saw right above the elbow of her left arm. She squirms slightly as he prepares to cut into her.
Finally, once all of her limbs and head have been detached, he’s done. She is no longer one piece, but six. I shut off the camera as Vlad approaches me. Removing the gimp mask, his dark eyes find mine. The man is a giant. He stands over six-foot-five and his face resembles a bulldog.
“Next,” he says, his deep voice booming.
I shake my head. “Not today.”
He tilts his head as he glares at me. “The American doll?”
Throwing my cigarette onto the floor, I snuff it out with my shoe before turning and walking toward the door. “Not today.”
I stand outside of the door and run my hand over my face as I stare at Dyadya Albert’s portrait. The spotlight shines down on his sharp features. His brown eyes look hauntingly real as I stare up at him, imagining Dimitri’s portrait taking his place once he becomes Pakhan—the boss—and Dyadya Albert’s will be bumped to
the next place. Yes, my cousin who is fifteen years my junior will be my boss. The thought makes me cringe.
I was named my uncle’s Sovietnik, or counselor in other words. Dimitri should have been the one to be Dyadya Albert’s most trusted, but obviously, he can’t rely on a lunatic … on a fucking loose cannon. If it wasn’t for Dyadya Albert’s strong traditional beliefs, I’d be the next in line. He knows that I’d be a good Pakhan.
Shaking my head, I light a cigarette and begin walking down the hall, allowing my ancestor’s eyes to watch my departure to my room.
Dimitri went into the adjoining room, which I’m assuming is a bathroom. Judging by the sound of running water, I imagine he’s showering.
I pace back and forth as I determine what to do next. He took the keys with him, so I can’t get through the door, though I’m sure there is someone waiting beyond it to take me out if I even attempt to escape.
My eyes travel to a stand-up mirror across the way. Slowly walking towards it, I quickly glance around and listen intently to the running water.
I step closer as I look over my gaunt face. I would like to think that I was once a wholesome, fresh faced girl. Now, now I’m a girl who’s seen the misfortunes of life. I miss Mama more than ever. She kept me safe. She only allowed me to see the good.
My brown eyes have dulled, and my sun kissed hair seemingly has too. If I were to guess, I’ve lost over twenty pounds since I’ve been imprisoned in this place.
I’ll die here. I can either die fighting or die with my tail between my legs. I’d rather fight and lose the battle than to raise a white flag. I can’t surrender to these men. I can’t allow Dimitri to use me until I die from the inside-out.
I hear the water shut off and my heart is in my throat as my eyes frantically search for a blunt object of sorts.
I manage to locate what looks to be a paper weight on the desk. It’s a pyramid shape and looks pure gold. I weigh it in my hand and determine that it’s enough to break the glass.
As the bathroom door cracks open, I hurl the paperweight at the mirror, flinching as glass goes flying in every which direction. White dust creates a cloud around me, making me realize that what I thought was a paperweight was not; it was holding some type of powder.
One particularly jagged, pointed piece of glass slides right at my toes. Just when I bend down to retrieve it, strong arms encircle me.
I scream and manage to impale Dimitri’s arm with the glass. It cuts into my palm as I force it further into his muscle. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t cry out; his grip only tightens around me, and I feel like my ribs will crack beneath his hold.
My hand falls away from the shard of glass as I try and pry his arm off of me. He grips my hair and yanks my head back before growling in my ear, “Yavlyayetsya to, chto vse u vas?”
My neck hurts from how he has my head angled. A shaky breath escapes me as I try to find his eyes, but I can’t as he holds me against his hard chest. The wetness from his naked body soaks into the silk robe as he breathes against my neck. My eyes travel down to his arm which is steadily pumping blood as the shard sticks out, probably keeping most of it in. He’s wounded badly, but he isn’t backing down.
“Yavlyayetsya to, chto vse u vas?” He yells it this time, causing me to flinch.
I shake my head as much as I can with my hair being in his vice grip. “I–I don’t understand.”
He snickers. “You are Russian, yes?”
I blink rapidly. “I don’t speak Russian. I only know a little bit … not a lot. Please, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me.”
He yanks my head back further, and I feel like my neck will snap in half at this point.
“I said … is that all you’ve got? You’ve already smashed the mirror that has been in my family for generations.”
He yanks my head forward and my eyes lock onto our broken reflection. His eyes look black at this point. He looks epically pissed. He pushes my head down, forcing me to look at the broken shards on the floor. They’re coated in the white powder.
“You’ve already spilled my coke all over the floor,” he snaps before pulling my head back once more. I feel his rough, stubbly cheek against mine as his chest rises and falls against my back.
“I–I’m sorry,” I plead as the tears pour from my eyes. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m so s–sorry.”
His chest rumbles against my back as he chuckles darkly. “You’re sorry? Sorry,” he mocks.
He turns me around abruptly before shoving me away, and I watch in horror as he plucks the shard from his arm, causing more blood to ooze out.
“You have pissed off a very dangerous man, little mouse. How will you ever repay me?"
I sob as he begins stalking toward me. A piece of glass nearly punctures my foot as I back away, almost causing me to lose my footing. I feel like the walls are closing in on me as he gets closer and closer, still clutching the glass shard in his hand.
He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and for a moment my eyes actually travel down his sinewy body before my gaze locks onto his again.
His hooded eyes are intimidating. He looks at me as though he could ravage me … like he could rip me into tiny pieces before putting me back together and doing it all over again.
My back hits the desk that I was admiring earlier as his chest crushes into me. He still holds the shard and I wonder where he will stick it. Will it be my heart? My neck? My stomach?
“Open the drawer,” he growls, causing my eyes to grow wider.
I nod hesitantly as my hand blindly locates the drawer. I’m afraid to take my eyes off of him.
“The gauze,” he demands.
“Okay,” I whisper as I pry my eyes from his and locate the roll of gauze.
He steps back and holds his wounded arm in front of him. He’s bleeding a lot. I’m surprised that he hasn’t passed out.
“There is a spray in there that will stop the blood.”
I nod once more as I rummage through the drawer. When I believe that I’ve located the spray, I hold it out in front of me with my trembling hand. He nods, confirming that I’ve found it.
“There is antiseptic in there, as well as tape. Get them out.”
Once I’ve retrieved all of the items, I look up into his angry eyes.
“Clean it,” he demands.
I do the best that I can with trembling hands, first pouring the antiseptic over the wound before spritzing the spray onto it. Then I wrap the gauze several times around his forearm, watching as the blood bleeds through. The spray worked for the most part, but he’s still bleeding slightly.
My gaze moves from his dagger eyes to the shard that he still clutches with his bleeding hand.
“Turn around,” he rasps, and I freeze. He’s going to slit my throat.
I shake my head emphatically as I place my hands over my neck. “Please—”
“Turn. Around,” he grits out, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I follow his order.
He grasps my wrist suddenly before slamming my hand onto the surface of the desk.
“I think we should start over. Hello, my name is Dimitri.”
I swallow hard as I stare at my hand. What is he getting at?
“I’m Sofia,” I murmur through trembling lips.
He inhales my hair before running his nose along my neck. “Ah, Sofia. Such a beautiful name for such a pretty girl. Let’s get to know each other, Sofia. First, I’d like to start with a game. How does that sound?”
My body is shaking profusely. I can’t will myself to respond. I have no words, and my body seems to be frozen in place as I stare down at my digits.
“Yes,” he continues, “It’s a game that my cousin’s and I would play when we were younger. You may want to spread your fingers a little farther apart than that, though. The game is a little risky, but I’m very good at it. Well, I’m good when I play it how it’s supposed to be played—with my own hand. I think yours will do just fine, though.”
I begin sob
bing uncontrollably when he places the hand with the glass shard next to my spread fingers.
“Shhh,” he whispers against my neck. “You’ll want to be very still. Trust me, little mouse.” He pauses before kissing my neck. “Trust me.”
He holds the shard over my fingers and I squeeze my eyes shut as he begins singing.
“The beauty of my fingers, is at risk tonight…”
With each word I can feel the shard hit the space between each of my fingers.
“As we sit here together, and play with this sharp knife…”
I force my eyes open and watch anxiously as the glass moves quickly between my fingers, and the pace continues to quicken with each lyric. The wound from his hand leaves trickles of blood on top of my hand.
“Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab.
And hope that we don't slice,
The skin upon our fingers,
And dare to not get diced!
Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab.
The blade is moving fast!
And if you're very lucky,
Your fingers they will last!”
I scream and nearly fall back when he impales the desk with the glass shard and backs away. His arms wrap around me once more as he runs his hand over my hair.
“See? I’m pretty good, yes?”
“Let me go!” I cry out. My chest vibrates with each sob that escapes me.
He kisses my cheek before turning me around in his arms. “Are you saying that you want me to put you in the cage again? I’d hate to do it, Sofia. You’ll die down there, but if it’s your wish ….”
“No!” I exclaim, placing my hands on his chest. “I can’t go back down there … I … I can’t ….”
I still haven’t allowed my mind to linger on the thought of what could have happened to the young boy when Vadim unapologetically pulled him from the tiny cage. For my own sanity, I block the suspicions from invading my thoughts. Whatever happened to the boy, it couldn’t have been good. Whatever happened to him was likely horrific.
He smiles and I flinch as he runs his fingers over my cheek. “I knew you cared. You and me … we can have a great life together.”