by D STEP
In a few minutes a knock sounded at her door, but the caller did not wait for invitation. It swung open and Yuri stood there, his hair and beard now neatly trimmed and sporting a suit and tie. It looked out of place on him, but a vast improvement over his jeans and tee shirt. He stared at her with an expression she hadn’t seen before. He probably hated her outfit as much as she did.
“Come. The Pakhan is waiting.”
Sophie did as he said, not that there were options. He took her by the hand and led her into a hallway with an open railing on one side overlooking a polished foyer. She’d been drugged and nearly unconscious when she arrived, and did not remember anything of the inside of the building. The place was breathtakingly grand. What the hell kind of people lived here?
“You will not speak to the Pakhan. Smile, and be silent. I will speak for you. Understand?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Were they in medieval times? She nodded wordlessly.
They walked across to another wing of the mansion. Yuri knocked on a heavy door with intricate gold scrollwork on its finish. An attendant answered and they passed through to a sitting area where an old man sat hunched in an oversized armchair. He had only wisps of hair on his freckled head, and his bulk suggested an impressive figure in days gone by. Clearly age and illness had diminished him.
Another elderly gentleman stood by his side, balancing his weight on a cane. His snow-white hair stood up in shocks around his ears. Yuri greeted them both. “Councilor Pasha Svelski, this is Lara, my fiancé.”
The man with the cane nodded. Lara? Fiance? Sophie’s throat went tight. Now he’d taken away the last thing she could call her own—her name. Her eyes flashed daggers at Yuri but bit her tongue. Where’d he come up with that name?
Yuri turned to the balding man in the chair. “Lara, may I present the Pakhan of the Kovalenko Bratva, Anatoly Kovalenko. My father.”
Sophie’s heart rate accelerated. No wonder Yuri seemed so fixated on the Boss. His father clearly ruled here, and their surroundings began to make sense. Excessive wealth, a rigid hierarchy, Yuri’s harsh and renegade behavior. She’d landed smack in the middle of the very thing her new employer had briefed her as his number one priority to cripple and dismantle…the Russkaya Mafiya.
She nodded solemnly to the old man, keeping her composure while her mind raced, noting that Yuri had just lied to his Boss. They had her phone, her ID, her passport, everything; they must know who she really was. She would be a pawn in a power struggle between government and organized crime. She would never be freed, and that knowledge weighed on her like a death sentence.
Anatoly squinted his pale, hooded eyes. “Where has Yuri been hiding you?” he asked in English, his voice strained and rasping. The question seemed like a trick one. She looked to Yuri for an answer.
“I wanted to surprise you, father. She was out of the country until recently.” He squeezed Sophie’s hand until it hurt.
Anatoly nodded and gave a brittle smile. “What is your education, my dear? Your background? Are you Russki?
Again she deferred to Yuri. “Lara is from Vienna, father. She’s just finished school there, studying piano. Isn’t that right, Lara?”
Two lies. Sophie nodded and tilted her head as though in flattery. Hopefully no-one asked her to play a Sonata anytime soon. The old man appraised her with his ancient gaze. “A musician? Not quite your usual type, Yuri.” After a moment he nodded as though satisfied with her appearance. Suddenly a coughing spasm took hold of him, and a nurse appeared immediately to assist him.
Pasha spoke up. “We are pleased to meet you Lara. I’m afraid Pakhan Anatoly is not well. We must excuse ourselves now,” He gestured to the exit. “Perhaps the three of us can get acquainted in the lounge.”
Yuri nodded and led them out of the suite, leaving Anatoly to his attendants. They walked at a pace to match Pasha’s hobbling gait to a comfortable room filled with bookshelves, potted palms and inviting sofas and chaises. Yuri went directly to a cabinet full of liquor bottles.
“Brandy?” he asked, reaching for a glass from a tray.
“Da,” Pasha answered, lowering his stooped frame into a chair. “And one for your bride-to-be.” His wizened gaze flicked over her. “Please sit. You drink, my dear?”
She was about to refuse, but Yuri already had a half-filled tumbler shoved in her face. Remembering the flask of vodka, she took the glass and sat down, holding it in her lap until she saw the men drink first.
“Khorosho,” Pasha said, licking his lips in appreciation after taking a sip of his own. Standing next to her chair, Yuri followed suit. Pasha turned his attention back to Sophie. “A music student, how nice. You like Vienna then, Lara?” he asked conversationally.
“My name is Sophie,” she said tartly. “And I don’t play piano.”
Pasha chuckled at her indignance. “A pity. All that study wasted.” He swallowed another dram of brandy. “And your name is Lara, you understand. Da? Yes?”
“No, I don’t understand. I’m Sophie, and I want my life back, thank you.” Yuri set down his brandy glass, and without warning gave her a backhand slap. Sophie jerked with the impact, and spilled the booze onto the skirt of the hideous dress she wore. Justice.
“You are right, you don’t understand. You are who we say you are, Lara,” Yuri growled, emphasizing the name. “Soon to be Lara Kovalenko. Say it,” he ordered. “Say your name.”
Sophie burned inside with rage, humiliation and fear. It galled her to speak them, but she spit the words out nevertheless. “Lara…Kovalenko,” she said between gritted teeth, staring down at the puddle of alcohol soaking her skirt.
“Khorosho,” Pasha said. “Welcome to the family, Lara. I think Anatoly liked you. Well done, Yuri.”
Yuri downed his brandy in one gulp. “He likes that I’m taking his advice, Sovietnik. Nothing more.” He looked over at Sophie still clutching her dripping brandy glass. “You prefer something else to drink, Lara?”
Sophie raised her head to look him in the eyes. They were beautiful eyes, locked onto hers from within quite a handsome face, now that she could see it clearly underneath the tidy beard and moustache, and in broad daylight. The expensive suit flattered his broad shoulders, and his groomed hair with the rakish forelock gelled into place made him appear sophisticated, dashing. Too bad it was all wasted on such a vile, bolshevik pig.
She poured what was left of the brandy in her glass down her throat and tossed the empty tumbler back at him. His quick reflexes caught it out of the air. To her surprise, his lips peeled back in a devilish smile.
“So you like it rough, eh? I can accommodate you.”
Pasha cleared his throat. “You should explain things to her, Yuri. No need to keep secrets from your wife.”
He banged the tumbler onto a nearby table and rounded on her. Sophie recoiled as he crouched down to her level, slipping a hand behind her neck and grabbing a fistful of hair, locking her head in place. He reached into his breast pocket with his other hand and produced a cell phone….her phone. He thumbed the screen and showed her a photo.
Andrew’s photo.
“This man? You will never see again. Get it through your head,” he said, giving her skull a rough shake. “Your place is here now. And if you misbehave again, this man will die. Understand?”
Sophie grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the vision of Andrew’s face. “Understand?” Yuri yelled, rattling her brain even harder.
“Yes,” she blurted, snapping her eyes open and clutching at his arm that curled around her neck. He softened his grip on her and drew back a few inches.
“And thanks to you, we can eliminate another enemy.” He wiggled the phone tauntingly. “We’ve been looking for our friend, Mr. Borovski. And you’ve led us right to him. In fact, you will be the element of his downfall. Not bad for your first and last day as a diplomat.”
Sophie watched him return the phone to his pocket. He let go of her hair and straightened. “More brandy…darling?”
Pasha laughed and handed his glass to Yuri. “For me as well, Yuri. Now that we all understand each other, we can relax and get ready for a proper dinner.”
Yuri refilled all three tumblers and raised his in a toast. “Zdorov’ya.”
“Zdorov’ya,” Pasha echoed.
Sophie brought the brandy-filled glass to her lips but her eyes remained fixed on Yuri’s jacket pocket and the treasure inside, more precious to her than all the Crown Jewels of Russia.
Chapter Six
He’s drunk.
Sophie watched Yuri rise clumsily from the dinner table, laughing and joking with his friends seated around him. From their conversation she gleaned the basics of his operation. Young runaways or homeless girls found on streets all over Europe were promised transportation and jobs. When they arrived in Moscow they were drugged, kidnapped and sold to various brothels for further distribution.
Her first decent meal in nearly two days, Sophie had eaten every morsel of food on her plate. It appeared Yuri wanted to leave, so she dropped her napkin on the empty plate and stood to join him. He’d made it clear she was not to leave his side for any reason—or there would be consequences. Could they actually get to Andrew? Had they already? The thought terrified her.
Anatoly was not present. She wondered if Yuri would have slowed down on the booze if he had been. Obviously there was tension between father and son and Sophie fully intended to use that to her advantage, given the chance. Yuri threw a bulky arm around her shoulders as they exited the dining hall. Partly, she suspected, to keep himself upright.
His heavy body leaned on her as he looked leeringly into her face. “Now we find out how tough you are,” he said with booze-laden breath. “I’m going to fuck you hard.” Sophie found his drunken manner revolting, but already knew how hard he could fuck. If it meant getting her hands on that phone as he passed out from drink and sex, so be it.
He lurched along the cushioned hallways dragging her with him until they stumbled inside a set of doors leading to a large suite. The outer room had big windows. A good look from there would give her some clue, some landmark to her location, she reasoned. Yuri pulled her across the carpeted floor into the adjoining bedroom. A startled housekeeper looked up at them as they entered. She’d just turned down the huge bed, covered in luxurious linens and a crimson satin bedspread.
“Leave us, Nadia,” Yuri said, his speech slurring a little.
“Sir,” she replied, looking distinctly afraid of him, but nodding and retreating from the room. As she brushed past, Nadia gave Sophie a worried look. “I bring you some things for the morning,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” Sophie said. The woman’s manner seemed genuinely warm and caring, but her expression sent a feeling of foreboding. Yuri let go of her and flopped down on the bed.
“Get me another drink,” he mumbled, waving a finger at the decanter set out on a side table.
“You’ve had enough,” Sophie said, standing a few feet away, unsure if she should sit or wait for a command.
Yuri dropped his arm and let it dangle uselessly off the edge of the bed. He started to snicker. “You give me orders, eh? He turned his head to look at her. “I’m a Brigadier,” he stated. “And you give me orders. Ha. You act like a wife already.”
At this he broke into a drunken giggle. The effect was almost endearing. Big, tough crime-lord-in-waiting, helplessly horizontal and cracking jokes. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the bed on top of him.
“I hate this dress,” he said, flicking the puffy sleeves.
Sophie stifled a laugh. “So do I.”
Yuri’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in a comical gape. “Well then…” He took hold of the material behind her back and ripped it wide open with a single, sudden jerk of his hardened hands. “Let’s burn it!” he laughed, then rolled her off to one side and pulled the whole bodice away. Sophie shrieked but couldn’t help laughing too. She lay there next to him on the bed, the remains of the dress bunched around her waist, her nude breasts in full view.
She stopped laughing as his liquor-softened gaze roved over her, full of lustful intent. He seemed hesitant to touch her, and in that suspended moment Sophie realized she actually wanted him to. Her nipples peaked involuntarily. She reached up and pulled on the lapel of the jacket he still wore, her cell phone still hidden in its inner pocket. “Take this off,” she whispered.
He pushed himself upright and shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor. Sophie sat up and began undoing the buttons of his white dress shirt. He clawed at his necktie until it loosened and was able to slide off and be tossed aside. “I want to see your tattoos,” she said.
An amused expression crossed his rugged face, and he joined in removing his shirt. Sophie peeled away the fabric to reveal his broad chest and shoulders, and sucked in an admiring gasp. Yuri was a big man, but the sight of his well-formed musculature made his presence even more powerful. Tight brown nipples displayed on incredible, sculpted pectorals, a feathery field of light brown hair growing from his collarbone down into a v-shape between them. The chest hair suited him, and her hand moved to touch it.
Surprisingly soft, Sophie let her fingers slide through it while her other hand glided across the glistening bulge of his left deltoid. The intricate patterns of colored ink began small, almost at his neck, and swirled down across the hard cords of trapezius in increasing size until it spread over the giant mass of his shoulder in an ornate curlicue. Her fingertips traced the circular motif and then trailed down the length of his arm. The design ended in an “x” pattern on the back of his hand.
Yuri hadn’t made a sound, and she was suddenly aware of his breathing and his hard stare upon her. His hand turned over and clasped hers; he drew it toward the waistband of his pants and the swelling erection showing just below it. He lay back on the bed, his command understood without speaking a word. She felt a tiny bit of power transfer to her.
She massaged the growing bulge in his pants, alternately squeezing and rubbing until he exhaled in a grunt of satisfaction and let his eyes fall closed. She undid the button and zipper of his pants, revealing the impressive prize beneath his designer boxers. A finger slid under the elastic waistband. “Why would you want me as your wife, Yuri?” She spoke softly, the questions that had mounted in her mind throughout this ordeal finding their moment to be heard. “Why not sell me as a prostitute, like the other girls you capture?”
His growing pleasure seemed to soften his features and his temperament. “More,” he said, indicating her teasing touches. She grasped his noticeable shaft through the fabric of his underwear and squeezed. Rubbed her hand across its surface, then gripped and squeezed again. A moan left his lips. “Father wants it…me…to marry and have children…” His words floated out in a near-dreamlike state.
“Because he’s sick? He wants his succession secure?” she prompted, her traitorous body responding to the delicious mass of cock in her hands. Dammit…he’s a lot of man no matter how cruel and uncouth he might be. Her crotch throbbed.
“Da,” he murmured. “…bastard threatened to cut me off if I don’t.” He moved his head a little, and lifted his hand to cup her dangling breast as she leaned over him. The artwork on his arm rippled with the movement. “Pasha said you were too old for the trade…but you are no whore. You’re…lady…don’t belong in a brothel.”
Though she knew the booze was talking, and in spite of getting more turned on than she wanted to be, Sophie’s brain recorded every word. Information would be her power. Her tit swayed to his touch as he fondled it. “Where are we, Yuri…this is such a beautiful house.”
He squirmed his hips, wanting more. She obliged, hooking a finger into the elastic band of his shorts and pulling down. Her eyes widened as his engorged member sprang free—astonished that all of it had fit inside her just hours ago. “Are we still near Moscow?”
“It is Goragavan, on Lake Nero,” he grunted. “Enough talk, Princess Lara.” He reached behind her neck and pulled her face down toward his cock. “Show me how good a wife you’ll be.”
Sophie fought the urge to gag. Andrew wasn’t nearly this size, and had never asked her for oral, but she was in no position to refuse the big Russian. She touched the soft skin that now stretched tight over rippled veins and her lips hovered above the swollen plum of the head, a jewel of pre-cum on its tip. She pulled more of his underwear away, exposing his scrotum and the tops of his hairy thighs. He smelled lightly of spicy soap. Yuri hissed in satisfied expectation.
Sophie’s tongue ventured out experimentally, gliding it up the length of his shaft until she reached the cleft of his glans and lifted the shining droplet onto its tip. She smoothed the slick substance across the head of his cock, her tongue dipping into his slit as it passed. A whispered curse escaped his lips, and he grabbed his thick cock to hold it upright. His other hand still gripped the back of her skull. With a rough push he forced her mouth straight down on him.
His cock filled her, the corners of her mouth straining to accommodate its stiffened girth. Sophie’s throat protested, her muscles convulsing in a sickening response. She willed her jaw to slacken and her tongue to relax. He moved his hands to grasp the sides of her head and pushed up and down, his cock slipping in and out of her mouth like a piston. It felt primal, animalistic and deep down in her gut, obscenely delicious. His power over her triggered a sudden, frightening satisfaction at being controlled, forced and punished.
The head rammed against the back of her throat. She began to match his movements to ease the strain on her neck. His hips thrusted upward to meet her, the sound of his escalating grunts of pleasure filling the quiet room. She lay between his legs with her hands holding onto his muscled thighs as he bucked. Suddenly he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her away, his glistening cock popping free as he climaxed. He pressed it to her face and she felt the warm flood of his cum coat her cheek and run down her chin.
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