by A. Zavarelli
“How are we going to do this?” I ask.
“There’s a bag in the trunk.” He tips his head back. “Some food, money, and a coat. I’m going to stop in Pittsfield and drop you off at the bus depot. You buy a ticket. Whatever the first bus is, I don’t care, you get on it. And then you keep getting on buses or trains to get wherever the fuck you want to go, preferably on the opposite side of the country.”
“That’s it?”
He glares at me. “What the fuck more do you want? I’m not a travel agent.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just … I’m freaking out.”
“Just be smart,” he says. “Once you’re off the East Coast, you’ll be doing all right.”
I wish I had as much confidence, but I just nod.
The drive is tense and quiet. And when Mischa pulls to a stop at a curb, I genuinely don’t think I can do this. I’ve never gone anywhere by myself. I don’t even know how to buy a bus ticket or figure out the schedules or pick a place to go.
“Nakya.” Mischa shakes me from my thoughts. “The bus depot is just up the street on the left. I can’t drop you any closer. You have to go now.”
He pops the trunk and leaves the car running. This is it. He’s not getting out, and I’m on my own from here. I know how much he’s risking by doing this for me. He’s already done enough, and my panic isn’t the way to repay him.
I unbuckle and get out of the car, pausing to look at him one more time. “Thank you, Mischa.”
He swallows and nods. “Don’t forget your bag.”
I shut the door and grab the backpack from the trunk. Mischa is gone in a blink, and I’m left standing on the curb, feeling as lost as I’ve ever been.
I glance up the street. The bus depot isn’t far, but I need to get to the crosswalk. It’s a busy intersection, and the middle of the day, so traffic is thick. Attempting to blend in, I join the other pedestrians waiting to cross. My heart is racing, but I try to make it look like I do this all the time.
The light turns, and I move with the crowd. So far, so good. On the other side of the street, we disperse. I’m in the clear, but I feel more vulnerable walking down the street alone. The traffic is at a standstill, so I keep my head down and try to avoid attention as I pass the cars.
It feels like an eternity until I make it to the oddly shaped building, even though it’s only a short distance. I’m almost to the glass door when an eerie feeling creeps over my skin. Something prompts me to look up, and when I do, my heart stops.
There’s a blue sports car idling in the street, waiting for the light change up ahead. And it isn’t so much the car, but the face behind the wheel that I recognize. I saw him at the Christmas party, and I remember him because he was one of the men ogling me at the door. He does a double take, and I know that he’s seen me too. The tattoos peeking out above his shirt collar only confirm my fears. He’s a Vor.
I duck my head and dart inside the building, walking as fast as I can. Every few feet, I pause to look over my shoulder. He isn’t there. But he saw me, and I’m certain he recognized me. Didn’t he?
I don’t know what to do. It was always going to be a risk in any of these small towns. The Berkshires are crawling with Vory, and I should have known better. I should have walked faster. There were a lot of things I wished I’d done differently, but right now, I’m at a loss.
Adrenaline, not reason, has me walking to the ticket counter and glancing up at the bus schedules. It’s late in the afternoon, and there aren’t many left for the day, but I need to choose. The decision is suffocating, so I pick the first one that I see. There’s a bus going to Boston and it’s leaving in thirty minutes. From there, I can get another.
I get in line to purchase my ticket, clutching the straps of my bag in my hands. Every few seconds, I look around, and I’m certain it’s probably only drawing more attention. I try to calm my nerves, waiting thirty seconds between passes. The people in front of me are taking forever.
Another glance out the window. It’s quick, and I think I’m all right. But then I see him. He’s on his phone, and he’s got his hand up to the glass, his eyes squinting as he searches the faces in the crowd.
I’m screwed.
I’m so screwed.
I exit the line and force myself to walk normally to the opposite side of the station, moving with the flow of other travelers and praying he doesn’t see me.
I need to get out of here, so I take the first exit I can find. Back on the sidewalk, I walk in the direction that I came from, making a right onto the first available cross street. I need to stay calm. Running will only draw attention, so I walk. And as I do, I retrieve the coat Mischa packed for me, shrugging it on and rearranging my backpack.
I don’t know where I’m going. There are businesses along the way. Shopping marts, coffee houses, and even a medical center. But none of them feel safe. I need to get somewhere I can hide. And after fifteen minutes, I finally do.
It’s a baseball park, and it’s walled by trees. Enough that I can disappear and catch my bearings while I figure out another plan. The grass is cold and hard beneath my feet, but now that I’m off the main street, I decide to run. My ankle hurts with every jarring impact, and I worry that I might trip, but I also worry that if I don’t run, I won’t get there at all.
Behind the field, I find a heavy and full cluster of trees. It’s the best cover I could hope for right now, so I pick the thickest one I can find. Flattening my body against the ground, I army crawl beneath it. It isn’t the least bit comfortable, and one thing is apparent now that I’ve executed my plan. Even if I do manage to go undiscovered, I won’t survive the elements for long with the clothes I have on. My only hope is that I will be able to move from this area before dawn. I’ll return to one of the shops I passed along the way and buy some different clothes, and then I’ll go back to the station and take the first bus out of here.
But first, I have to survive the night. And with every passing second, a new doubt fills my head. It isn’t baseball season, but the park still hosts the occasional dog and their owner. Every set of footsteps makes my breath stop. It goes on as the hours pass, and eventually, darkness sets in.
I rest my eyes and wonder what’s happening back at Nikolai’s estate. He would know that I haven’t returned by now, and he would have contacted Alexei. It occurs to me that his brother must have known about this. Franco just let me go with Mischa without a second thought. They must have had some sort of plan for what they would tell Nikolai. He expected Franco to drive me home, so I assume they will say that I managed to escape from the car, much like I’d planned to. Nikolai will be none the wiser that his best friend helped me, and Alexei and his guard will receive the blame.
It’s the best possible scenario for all of us. Nikolai can return to his life, and hopefully find peace without me. But I just have to force myself not to think about who that life will include.
It’s for the best.
At some point, I fall asleep. I realize it when I’m startled awake by another sound of footsteps. Too late to be a dog walker, I think. It’s dark, and it’s blistering cold. My entire body feels like it’s frozen, and it’s only going to get worse.
I wait for the person to disappear like all the others, but they don’t. The footsteps are getting closer. So close, that on one occasion, I can see shoes from beneath the tree. I hold my breath, dead certain I’m caught when a flashlight sweeps through the brush.
A voice calls out to someone else in Russian, and I swallow. They’ve traced my steps, and this is the most logical conclusion. I have no connections, no car, no idea what to do. So where else would I go?
I wait for the guard to say he’s found me. It’s the longest minute of my life that he stands there, discussing what they should do. But through it all, it becomes clear he has no idea I’m here. And for now, I’m safe.
I still don’t take a full breath until he moves again, and then I gulp the cool air in by the mouthful. Their footsteps grow distant, and eventually,
they disappear.
Cold seeps into my bones, and I’m too afraid to move my limbs, even after it has gone quiet. I wait for them to come back. And then I wait some more. For what I would guess to be two hours, I lie as still as I can. Until I know that I have no choice.
It’s now or never.
I have to move. I have to get to safety. I need a warm space, a phone, and every prayer in the world.
The lights in the distance feel close, but I know they are far away. This town is probably crawling with Nikolai’s men by now. My only hope is to find a nice hotel where I can hide in the bathroom for the night. At least I’ll be safe from the elements there.
But my nerves are shot, and my limbs are stiff as I travel through the park. I think I hear a twig snap behind me, and I freeze. Three seconds pass, and then four more. I want to believe it’s my imagination. I want to believe I haven’t made it this far in vain.
I forge on, and there isn’t another sound. Not a single one. But the things that go bump in the night are not the most dangerous predators. It’s the ones who are silent. It’s the thieves who come to steal you away without warning.
And there is no thief more skilled than Nikolai Kozlov.
I understand that when he cages me in his arms, his breath hot in my ear.
“And just where do you think you’re going, pet?”
Her pulse hammers against her throat as I drag her up the stairs to my bedroom. Filthy little liar. Covered in dirt and scratches, so desperate to get away from me. She calls me a sadist, and I laugh in her face.
“You have no idea, zvezda. I’ve been too kind to you. But if you wish, I can show you what a sadist really is.”
Her bottom lip trembles, and she refuses to look at me as she pleads. “Just let me leave.”
My palm blankets the delicate flesh of her throat. I could strangle her right now. I could end her life and this nonsense once and for all. Instead, my fingers wrap around her jaw.
“You don’t get to leave me,” I murmur against her lips. “The only way you’re leaving me, pet, is through death.”
“No,” she protests.
I force her down onto the bed and pin her body with my legs. She gasps when I produce my switchblade and flinches when I cut her shirt in half. With a sudden and pointless case of modesty, the princess attempts to cover her breasts with her palms.
Her hands are removed with force, and best left tied to the bedframe with the remnants of her shirt. She struggles against me, but already, her nipples are hard, and her tits are swollen for me. My palm flattens against her stomach and holds her in place while my teeth tug at her nipple.
She yelps and then whines when I lick her, soothing the hurt I caused. Her eyes squeeze shut because she is too proud to admit her defeat. It isn’t necessary, regardless. I can smell the arousal soaking through her panties already.
She doesn’t deserve my kindness. She doesn’t deserve to come. But I will remind her who she belongs to. I will keep this little doll for as long as I wish, locking her up and bringing her out to play as I see fit.
“Nika,” she begs.
I slap her tits. She cries out, and it stirs my cock, making me restless. I’m desperate to plunge inside her. I need to fuck her raw, over and over again, until she admits she is mine. It’s the only cure for my sickness. She is the only source of calm I have. Her warmth, and her scent, and her tender touches.
I hate her for making me weak. I hate her for fucking up everything that I planned. And most of all, I hate her for being the daughter of Manuel Valentini. I close my eyes and try to block it out, but I can’t.
My fingers move to her throat again, and this time, she looks into my eyes.
“Do it,” she whispers. “Set me free.”
I squeeze her and kiss her so violently she can’t breathe. My teeth clash with hers, and I taste blood. I lap at the bitter sweetness, desperate for more.
She whimpers, and I thrust my pelvis against her. There are still too many barriers between us. A problem solved when I tug off her leggings and unzip my pants.
“You don’t get to leave me.”
I pry her legs apart and slap her clit. She sucks in a breath between her teeth, yanking against her restraints with all that she has. I rub my swollen cock against her, coating myself in her wetness.
She shakes her head in denial, and I crawl up the length of her body, smearing the leaking arousal from my cock against her lips. They are sealed as tight as can be, and it only makes me harder. My little doll is stubborn. My little doll is beautiful. And my little doll is a savage for denying me when I need her this way.
“Take my cock,” I demand.
“Have your precious Ana do it.”
I pinch her nipple, and she bucks against me. “Don’t speak of her again.”
“Ana, Ana, Ana,” she screams.
I squeeze her jaw in my palm. “Take care of my cock, or I’ll find someone who will.”
Her eyes flare, and her cheeks color with crimson. She is jealous. She is possessive. And Nakya wants my cock all to herself.
“I hate you,” she says.
I pet her face and rub my cock over her lips, groaning. “But not as much as you love me.”
She stills, and in spite of her temper, a tear spills out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you have to torture me? Why can’t you just let me go?”
“Because I need you.”
It’s the most brutally honest thing I’ve said to her, and I hate myself for it. But regardless, it’s what she wants to hear. She wants me to be weak too.
“Nika,” she begs. “Let me touch you.”
“Suck my cock.”
She opens her mouth and lets me inside. It’s warm and it’s wet, and it’s my fucking heaven and hell all wrapped into one. She tries to do as she’s told, but it does little good when I start fucking her face and using her.
It relaxes me to hear her gag and sputter and choke on my cock. Salty tears smear the mascara around her eyes, staining them with the evidence that I took her this way. I like her when she’s filthy and mine.
“This is the only cock you will ever taste, zvezda. Your lips are mine. Your pussy is mine. And if you ever deny me again, I will fuck you up the ass to prove that it is also mine.”
She moans, and I shove myself deeper. I could come right now. I could spill myself in her throat and make her swallow all of it. But it has been too long since I fucked her. I need to feel her pussy wrapped around me. I need to feel her slick with want for me. My balls are heavy, and I want to purge them inside her womb.
When I pull away, she whines. I stroke her cheek, and even though I shouldn’t, I lean down to kiss her again. She arches up against my chest, her nipples stabbing against the material of my shirt. I wrap her legs around my hips.
“Let me touch you,” she pleads.
“You ran from me, pet. Bad girls don’t get to touch. They don’t get to play.”
I thrust inside her and sigh. Her pussy is tight and perfect, and the smug little brat knows it. I fuck her as though I’m half-drunk, and she watches me too closely, proud of herself for what she does to me. I’m half tempted to cover her face with a pillow so I don’t have to look at her face. Or more importantly, so she can’t see mine.
I want to fuck her like a whore. I want to put her in her place, but I’m out of fresh material. So, I pinch and slap her tits a few times because I can. I bite her throat and wreck her hair, and then I try the pillow idea, but it isn’t the same.
I need to see her face.
“This is all you’re good for,” I growl. “A little doll that I can fuck and stuff with cum. You should be punished for asking for impossible things.”
“You’ve already punished me,” she cries. “There’s nothing you could do that’s worse than what you’ve already done.”
The tremor in her voice gets to me even though it shouldn’t. My touch softens, and my fingers roam over her face when I collapse onto her body. Instead of fucking her dirty, I en
d up fucking her nice. My lips find hers, and she sighs when I give her what she needs. My affection. My attention. My cum. All the things I don’t want to give.
“You are poison,” I tell her. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“So let me ruin you,” she whispers. “It’s the only way.”
The time has come for our monthly Vory meeting, and today, Viktor will demand his answers.
He will want a proposal for Ana, and he will want to know my prisoner’s fate. If I tell him the truth about my mother, he will expect Nakya to pay. But to lie would mean sparing Manuel from the vengeance I rightly deserve. Already, I have waited too long. He should have been dead weeks ago, and if things were not so complicated, he would have been.
I would like to believe that in time, Nakya would forgive me for murdering her father. Their relationship is not without its own complications. She loves him, and she hates him, perhaps equally. It would be difficult at first, but she would come to accept my justifications. Not only for my own mother, but for hers as well.
Regardless, it should be the least of my concerns. For now, I must navigate the troubled waters with Viktor. He will not give me another extension. My time is up, and I still haven’t decided what to tell him.
Slipping into the meeting at the last possible second is not my finest moment, but it gives me the benefit of extra time to make my decision. Viktor issues a sharp look when I arrive, the last Vor to take his seat. There will certainly be a discussion to follow, but for now, he directs one of the boeviks to the front of the room to operate the presentation Alexei has prepared. Today’s agenda will be no different than every other month. Gambling operations, gun shipments, and whatever else makes the brotherhood money.
But when the presentation loads, it isn’t the usual reports that fill the screen. It’s a surveillance video from Alexei’s home. A video that, by the expression on his face, he hasn’t seen before. His housekeeper Magda is on the stairs, and beside her is Talia. His wife calls out to him from behind, but he does not turn, so she tries again.