by Robyn Nyx
“Please,” Jude mumbled.
“Please what?” Elodie kept her voice calm and soft, despite the raging need to bring Jude to orgasm.
“Please. Don’t stop.”
Elodie laughed quietly. She wasn’t about to stop, not before Jude had given her whole body and mind to the act. To her.
Again.
Elodie responded to the plea, to the moment, most of all, to the sex. They fell onto the bed as Elodie knocked Jude’s hands from under her and crushed their bodies together, becoming as complete, as close, as they could be. She felt Jude writhe beneath her weight, knowing from last night’s sex that the restriction would drive her pleasure still higher. As Elodie continued to fuck her, hard and deep, she could feel Jude fast approaching a shuddering completion. Her breaths became shallow and quick, her body convulsed, and each slight movement of Elodie’s fingers inside her pushed her closer to the edge. Elodie watched as she plummeted over it, her body trembling and her mouth wide open, her pussy contracting tightly around Elodie’s hand. She bucked wildly beneath Elodie, who simply held her close and waited out the surrender.
Jude finally lay still. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, entertaining Elodie as occasional tremors beginning from her core coursed through her body abruptly. She withdrew, rolled back onto the bed, and smiled. Jude’s clear abandonment of her own self-possession, her complete release to the intoxicating pleasure of their sex, was refreshing and welcome. Her smile broadened into a quiet laugh.
It was refreshing and welcome every time.
Chapter Two
“Aleksandra, could you tell me what your organization, Safe Bornes, does?” Madison Ford pushed the microphone closer to her interviewee and smiled, though it was the last thing she felt like doing. The bile this Oxford-educated Russian woman was peddling sickened her.
“We destroy lives.” Aleksandra tilted her head and smirked. “You’re the only American I’ve ever met that could pronounce my name properly. Did you know that it translates as ‘defender of mankind’? I was born to do exactly that. I am protecting regular Russians from anti-democratic militants who would overthrow our way of life if they are allowed to go unchecked.”
Madison glanced at her colleague, Geva Doyle, who was busy capturing pristine images of the motley crew of young men and women present in the room. Without words, they communicated their disgust for these people. Aleksandra had requested this interview with both of them following the transgender feature they’d produced, which had won them a Pulitzer. She wanted to show them how misguided they were. She was adamant she could relieve them of their liberal attitude toward transgender people. All they had to do was come to Russia so she could educate them.
“And if you don’t protect ‘regular Russians,’ what do you believe will happen?”
“Three-quarters of the Russian population believe that transgenderism is a mental illness. There is some truth to that, but more, it is a flagrant disregard for morality. If we fail to fish for and catch these hooligans, we are complicit in the destruction of our traditional values. If we stand by and do nothing, we are allowing a minority to shape the future of our society.” Aleksandra stood and grasped the shoulder of one of her protégés as her speech grew more impassioned. “This desire to change what you are is a weakness in Western culture we Russians will not propagate. We will not allow this notion to infiltrate and infect our nation. God chooses what you will be, not you and a doctor who will butcher you for money.”
Her gang clapped and howled their approval of her words. Aleksandra looked directly at Madison, clearly expecting her to be convinced by the zealous sermon. She looked somewhat disappointed in Madison’s lack of positive reaction.
“Is he the new recruit you spoke of yesterday?” Madison referred to the guy Aleksandra was holding by the shoulder. He was bouncing on his heels in excitement for the “hunt” they were about to embark upon.
“Yes, yes. This is Kulik. We’re grooming him to lead a new faction in Smolensk. When we’re on the safaris like tonight and he’s close to his prey, he is calmer than this. But really, he wants to kill them. Put them out of their misery. They think they are not what they are supposed to be. We will help. We will end them.”
The easy way with which Aleksandra spoke of murdering a fellow human being made Madison shudder. “Do you believe you have the right to end someone’s life?”
“We’re not killing them. Not yet. We make them see what they’re doing is wrong and give them the opportunity to change.” She shrugged and motioned for Madison and Geva to follow her. “Come. Let us go on safari, and you can take your pictures. Kulik is going to act as bait. He already has someone on the hook.” Aleksandra waved Kulik’s cell in the air before she pressed it into his hand and slapped him on the back. “He’s very fond of the urine humiliation. He likes to drink light beer in preparation. He gets irritated if I don’t let him, but I won’t be allowing that tonight. You don’t get to see that.”
Madison shook her head. I don’t want to see that.
*
“It’s hunting season, and we are the hunted.”
Madison recalled the terrifying statement from a Russian transgender woman she’d spoken to earlier that day, before they’d spent three hours with the Safe Bornes and witnessed one of their terrifying hunts. She stopped typing and took a sip of the Swedish vodka she’d been nursing since sitting to begin her article. She pressed the glass to her lips and looked out the window of her hotel room in St. Petersburg, Russia. As she’d traveled the world, patiently building a reputation as a highly respected journalist, Madison had seen all manner of unseemly activity and witnessed countless acts of inhumanity. The brutalities she’d observed over the past week weren’t necessarily as heinous. That they were happening so openly somehow made them even more distressing. She stretched her fingers out, then clenched her hands tight, before she continued.
The gentle knock on her hotel door was a welcome distraction. Madison uploaded the unfinished article to her cloud storage, closed her MacBook, and answered the door. Geva stood before her, bottle in hand.
“I have vodka.” She raised the bottle for inspection.
“I have a deadline,” Madison replied, vaguely rueful. She often hooked up with Geva in times of extreme stress, like genocides, natural disasters, and civil unrest. Their relationship, the very essence of casual, was originally born of Madison’s desperate need to feel a connection in turbulent surroundings. Not that she’d had to persuade Geva: she’d quickly admitted the existence of a long-term crush on Madison, one that started way back before they’d worked together on the transgender feature.
“We always have deadlines. We always find the time.”
Geva’s voice was soft and in direct contradiction to her appearance. Madison could see years of harsh winds and unprotected exposure to the sun had given Geva a complexion beyond its actual lifetime. She had a rugged look about her, which, accompanied by her always windswept, dirty blond hair and sharp, blue eyes, was an attractive combination. Their encounters had become so regular that it wasn’t unusual for Geva to organize their rooms to be adjoining.
Madison shrugged. Geva was right. She had what she came to this democratically forsaken country for. She could write the article tomorrow on the thirteen-hour flight back to L.A. She stepped aside to allow Geva entry. “Then by all means, join me.”
Geva’s free hand caressed her hip gently as she slipped past to place the bottle beside Madison’s laptop on the glass desk. She followed her, craving more of Geva’s touch. She felt like this country was infecting her, and she needed it washed from her blood. A screaming, body-flushing orgasm could usually do just that.
Geva sat on the chair Madison had just vacated, topped up Madison’s glass, and offered it to her. She filled her own and tapped the lid of Madison’s MacBook. “So what’s next for you?”
Madison took the drink and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Geva. “I’ve been talking with someone online who claims to be part of a huge human traff
icking organization. I’d planned to have some downtime after this in L.A., and this woman is based there, so I’m going to follow up and see where it leads. Plus, my agent wants me to do an interview with Elodie Fontaine. She’s doing good things with her celebrity, raising awareness of the extent of human trafficking in the States. Seems to be a certain symmetry in it all.” She sighed deeply. Right now she just wanted some release. Their time with Aleksandra and her gang over the past few days had taken an emotional toll. If she were honest, the thought of diving into something as heavy as human trafficking felt like the last thing she wanted to do.
Her expression must have communicated some of that because Geva leaned forward and put her hand on Madison’s knee.
“Maybe you should take a break. You’ve been pretty full on for a while now. When was the last time you took a vacation?”
Madison laughed. “That’s not a serious question, is it? You British journos get way too much holiday—only we Americans know what it is to work hard.” She raised her glass and emptied it quicker than she would’ve liked. This trip had affected her more than she cared to admit.
She stood, placed the glass on the desk, and pulled Geva into a familiar kiss. Her dalliances with Geva were decadent indulgences necessary to keep them sane in these crazy realities. In “real” life, this wasn’t her style at all. One-night stands, spontaneous sex, fucking with no emotion. That was the playground of Hollywood stars like Elodie Fontaine. Although she’d grumbled about it to her agent, Madison had to admit she was looking forward to that interview already. Elodie was an intriguing actress whose work Madison enjoyed, and her involvement with the GTIP office and humanitarian work made her even more interesting. She seemed like someone content and satisfied with her life. Madison wondered what that would feel like. To be at peace. She pulled herself back into the moment and Geva’s mouth.
A powerful, urgent knock on the door of the adjoining room jolted them from their kiss.
“Is that your room?” Madison was more than a little concerned. It was past midnight. In countries like this, she knew calls at this time invariably meant trouble. Geva put her finger to her mouth to indicate silence. They heard the door being kicked in and Russian voices shouting aggressively, tables being turned over. The adjoining door between their rooms was kicked inward, and they were confronted by five of the Russian politsiya, batons menacingly in hand. The tallest of them strode forward, smiling maniacally.
“Madison Ford and Geva Doyle?”
His accent was thick Russian. Madison could see recognition in his face. His question was rhetorical.
“Why?” Answering with a question, Geva took a protective step to place herself between Madison and the menacing intruder. “What can we help you with, Captain Dudko?”
“What you can do for me, Ms. Doyle, is pack your bags and leave.” He eyed her with obvious distaste, before casting his gaze to Madison. “Ms. Ford, it is in your interest to do the same. There is no need for either of you to…” It was clear he was searching for the correct word. “Make a scene.”
Madison touched Geva gently on the arm as she came forward. She smiled and voiced her contempt. “Why, Ment Dudko, isn’t it a little late for an official police welcome?”
Dudko laughed at Madison’s goading of him with the slang honorific. “Garbage? Really? Ironic, I think you would call it, considering your engagement with the garbage of our fine country.”
“Indeed. Are you a member of Safe Bornes too?” Madison knew her challenge was dangerous, but this was the man who had ordered the capture and torture of a politically active lesbian pop group. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, bring herself to feign politeness.
“You think you are humorous, Ms. Ford, but neither you nor your humor is welcome here.”
Dudko motioned his officers forward. Two of them moved toward Geva with cuffs in hand. Madison instinctively tried to stop them, but the other two politsiya rushed forward and fixed Madison in their grasp.
“She’s a British citizen. You can’t do this.”
She watched helplessly as Geva was roughly hauled back to her own room. Dudko slammed the door shut behind them.
“And you, Ms. Ford, are an American citizen.” Dudko swiftly invaded Madison’s personal space. She heaved at the stench of stale plaque on his breath. “But I care not for your Western origin.” He reached for her neck, and his bony fingers closed around her throat. “Or your militant liberal views. You would do well to avoid my country in the future.”
Madison shifted uncomfortably in the trio’s tightening grip. “You are aware it’s against European law to threaten a member of the world media corps?” She swallowed hard against the leather-gloved palm pressing against her esophagus. He laughed again before striking her with his other open hand, cutting her lip.
“This is not a threat, Ms. Ford. It is a statement for your consideration.”
He released her and wandered over to the desk. The officers holding her spun her to follow him.
“You are a danger to our democracy. You are guilty of a number of illegal acts, including inciting subversion. I could throw you and your photographer friend in prison for your crimes against this country.”
As he spoke, he opened Madison’s MacBook.
“If I were to seize this computer, Ms. Ford, I strongly suspect I would find you guilty of further transgressions.” Dudko slowly unscrewed the top from Geva’s vodka bottle and began to pour the contents onto its keyboard.
Madison surged forward and pulled against her captors. “This is outrageous.”
Dudko cast an instructive glance to his sergeants. They pushed her arms farther behind her back and forced her onto her toes. She watched, powerless to defend her Mac as it suffered a less than noble death, spluttering electronic expletives at its tormentor.
“Though you may think me an illiterate savage, I am fully aware of your reputation for fearless and perceptive writing, Ms. Ford.”
Dudko lifted the Mac by the corner of its screen and held it high above his head. Madison closed her eyes. The hotel was an old castle, and its floors, though littered with plush rugs, were age-old stone. She couldn’t watch.
“I enjoy your other work, but you should be more careful of your environment. One slip. One accident…”
He released the MacBook to the floor, smashing the screen,and ensuring it was ruined beyond repair. She winced as if he’d damaged a piece of her. Once more, he moved close enough for her to study the pockmarks on his weathered face, and his dark, shark-black eyes fixed on Madison. In the adjacent room, she could hear more equipment being smashed and knew Geva would have to replace her entire kit bag when she returned to England.
“And suddenly, some other great writer is composing your obituary.” He enunciated the last word slowly and with menacing effect. “My sergeants will help you pack your belongings. You have an early flight back to your debauched homeland, Ms. Ford. I would hate for you to miss it. You might not like the way I entertain visitors who overstay their welcome.”
Sharp pain flashed through Madison’s cheek when Dudko struck her again with the back of his hand. She snarled as if to retort, but clenched her teeth to keep the words from escaping, lest she enrage him further. He clearly had no respect for her citizenship or the slight protection being media provided, and rotting in his jail wouldn’t get her article written so she could show the world what was really going on in the country.
“You have something to say, Ms. Ford? Your particular brand of bombast rhetoric is bursting to get out, yes?”
Again, Dudko’s officers applied a little more pressure, and Madison winced. He was challenging her. She could see he was desperate to arrest her. No doubt it would be quite the promotion-sealing action, to arrest two foreign journalists. Madison tongued her busted lip and managed a smile through the twisting pain in her arms.
“None but the lonely heart shall know my sadness, Captain Dudko. I have nothing to say.” The words left her mouth despite her desire not to anger him
further. Fortunately, it seemed the Tchaikovsky reference eluded him, and he strode away, confident in his victory.
She was shoved toward the wardrobe by the goons he’d left behind. Her hand shook as she reached to open it, so she clenched her fist and stretched it out. She didn’t want to show them her fear. Play along and I’ll get through this. And we’ll still publish this article when we’re safely home.
Chapter Three
“I’m finding your choice of car quite ironic right about now, Gillian. What do you think?” Therese Hunt looked at the captive woman with disdain. She was strapped into the front seat of her own Ford Escape. Her clothes were dirty, torn, and bloodied. Her face was swollen and bruised. Therese’s crew had been thorough when they’d worked her over. Therese liked that about her small but trusty crew. They took their jobs seriously. They knew if they didn’t, they’d have to answer to her. And no one wanted a private audience with Therese.
Gillian swallowed with difficulty, and Therese saw the resilience and hatred in her eyes, felt it as she spat into Therese’s face. She felt the blood, saliva, and mucus drip down her nose and onto the unlit cigarette she had in her mouth. Therese shook her head and felt her jaw involuntarily tighten.
“Spitting is such a disgusting habit, Gillian. You should know by now how much I dislike it.” She took a deep breath, removed the cigarette, and rammed it into Gillian’s mouth. “I was going to spare you this one last agony.” Therese plainly saw the panic in Gillian’s eyes. “But I find my compassion can be so fleeting. Momentary. People should take advantage while they can. They—you—shouldn’t test me with useless acts of defiance.” She stepped away from the car. “Cate.” She flicked her eyes from Gillian to the trunk. She watched as Cate opened it and pulled out an older woman, bound and gagged.
Cate brought her to Therese and kicked her to her knees.
Therese watched the two captives exchange looks she found satisfyingly desperate.