Vienna Bliss

by Lila Dubois

  Alena jerked, shrieked “fuck!”, and scrambled across the bed away from him. She didn’t get far, the covers tangling around her legs.

  “Wha…” Alexander backed up, hands raised. Had he woken her up out of a nightmare?

  Alena was kneeling on the bed, her back still to him, the sheets tangled around her legs. As he watched, she hugged herself, her head falling forward.

  Something was very wrong.

  Alexander circled around to the other side of the bed and crouched so he could see her face through the tangled curtain of her hair. He wanted to touch her, hold her, but he had a terrible feeling he knew who the monster in her nightmares was…

  Him.

  Bile rose in his throat and he wanted to rage and break things, but that would make him feel better…maybe. It wouldn’t help her.

  There were a thousand things he wanted to say. Some he’d said before—I’m sorry. And some he’d never spoken aloud—I love you.

  He took a few deep breaths, made sure the words were ready and clear before he spoke. “You’re safe.”

  He rose and backed away before turning and heading for the door. He’d sleep in the guest room and in the morning he was going to put a stop to all this. The damned “gala” was in less than forty-eight hours but Alena was having nightmares. She was the one sitting in on meetings, dropping hints to Absolon. She was the one he’d played with and fucked to put on a show for the man.

  Alexander would just fire him. He’d find a reason, one that had nothing to do with the man’s misuse of his company’s resources. Interpol could continue their investigation and then Alena…

  Alena wouldn’t be on a plane forty-eight hours from now.

  Rolf had insisted that they make everything as believable as possible. That meant there would be a party. Guests—even if most of them were Interpol—would arrive. They would enjoy the decor, food, and wine, and at the end of the evening, Alena would be seen leaving with Rolf. She would get on a plane to Paris.

  And she would stay gone. Stay out of his life to sell the lie that he wanted her gone.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Alena’s words stopped him. Alexander put his hand on the doorframe and looked back over his shoulder at her.

  “If you’d been here I would have…” She heaved a breath, and then slowly raised her head. “But I realize I can’t tell you.”

  “Why?” He turned around, a sense of dread making his hands fist, his word short and hard.

  “Because I’m worried you’ll kill him.”

  Alexander froze.

  She still wasn’t looking at him.

  “But worse than that,” she continued. “I’m worried you’ll…I’m worried you’ll get in your head about this.”

  He didn’t know what she meant by that, and it wasn’t nearly as important as her first statement. “Kill who?”

  Alena shifted on the bed, untangling her legs so she could turn to face him, still on her knees. She scooped her tangled hair behind her ears in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

  Then she looked up, and the skin around her eyes was puffy and pink. She’d been crying.

  Alexander walked slowly towards the bed, watching her for any hint that he was frightening her. When he reached the bed, he knelt down beside it, making himself as small and unthreatening as possible.

  “Who made you cry?” he asked softly.

  Her lips twitched, but there was no smile. She looked younger than she ever had before, and he realized it was because she didn’t seem poised or self-assured.

  “Will you kill him?”

  “Probably.”

  Now there was a smile, small and brief. “You’re supposed to say ‘no’.”

  “I can pay someone to kill him instead.”

  As he hoped, that made her smile return. Alena leaned down, planting her elbows on the mattress. “Absolon.”

  Alexander blinked.

  “Not who you expected?” she asked.

  “No. I expected Rolf.” His first thought had been that the Interpol agent had suggested doing something, adding something, to the event that had scared her.

  “We thought maybe Absolon was just in it for money. Not that he believed what the extremists did.” Alena pushed herself up so she was braced on her hands, while still sitting back on her knees.

  “But?” Alexander asked.

  “He definitely drank that Kool-Aid.” She once more tucked her hair back in that nervous gesture. “He thinks women are inferior, feminism is what’s wrong with society…” She laughed, a hollow sound.

  “What did he say to you?”

  Alena looked at him, their gazes meeting. “It wasn’t just words,” she whispered.

  Icy rage caged his heart, and Alexander had to work to keep his voice soft. “He put his hands on you?”

  “Yes.”

  He was going to kill him. With his own fucking hands.

  But first, he would take care of Alena. Whatever Absolon had done, it had scared her, made her seem small in a way he’d never seen her before.

  Alexander slowly rose, gingerly sitting on the side of the bed. Words, never his strong suit, escaped him, so he opened his arms.

  Alena slid into the hug, burying her face against his chest.

  “You’re safe.” Alexander murmured against the top of her head.

  “I was arrogant. I thought he was going to try to rescue me.”

  “Rescue?”

  “Be the knight who rescues the helpless damsel.”

  “I thought I was your knight.”

  A soft laugh against his neck eased some of the icy rage. “Oh, you are. But your armor is black.”

  “Of course.”

  He stroked her back from the nape of her neck down to the top of her ass. As his hand neared her butt she tensed.

  Alexander took several deep breaths to calm his rage. “What did he do to you?” He thought about what he’d said, and then added. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  But he wanted to know. Not that the details mattered. Absolon was dead, whether the man knew it or not.

  “What he did can’t change the plan.”

  “If he hurt you, it changes everything.”

  “No, Alexander.” She leaned away, and her back was straighter, chin lifted and she looked more like herself than she had a moment ago. But her forearms were still pressed to her stomach, as if she were trying to hold herself together.

  He wanted to believe it was because he’d held her, that his touch made her feel safe.

  Alena licked her lips and then swallowed. “I… I let him hurt me so that we didn’t have to change the plan.”

  The cold within him changed from rage to shock. “You…”

  “He cornered me in that little parlor. Asked how much you were going to sell me for, because he wanted to buy me.”

  Alexander closed his eyes, but only briefly.

  “I…I played along, but when he ordered me to…” Alena was no longer looking at him, rather her focus was on the wall behind his shoulder. “I told him that I wasn’t allowed to talk about your affairs, wasn’t allowed to let other men touch me. That he respected, when I’m sure he wouldn’t have had I just continued to fight back.”

  “Continued?” She’d fought to protect herself, but had still been hurt? The rage he felt now was so much worse, because it was rooted in fear.

  “I realize that I couldn’t…that if I pretended I was anything other than your BDSM slave I would undo all our work.”

  “Who gives a fuck, Alena?” Alexander surged off the bed, needing to move, needing an outlet for his anger and the fear that was no longer cold, but hot. “I’ll kill him.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Alena, it’s not worth it. I don’t give a fuck about…”

  About anyone. Anything. Except you.

  I love you.

  He wanted to say the words but he knew they’d come out wrong, garbled and messy.

  Alena sighed heavily, and th
en slid off the bed, standing beside it. Then she started to talk, her words calm, her posture erect and once more regal, as if the story she were telling wasn’t about herself.

  “I thought I’d gotten him to leave after he knew he couldn’t buy me. But he had a plan.” She huffed out a cold laugh. “He’d prepared. Had a chain and handcuffs ready.”

  Alexander turned to face her, dread filling him as she kept talking.

  “He got one of the cuffs on and I panicked. I fought back but I was on my knees. No leverage. And, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not actually a trained spy-slash-Interpol agent. I’m an art lover and insurance investigator.”

  If she’d been trying for mirth, the words fell short. Instead they highlighted in his mind how helpless and scared she would have been.

  “He undid his belt and—”

  “Hospital. We’re, we’re… If he…then. We’re going to the hospital.” Alexander could feel himself shaking, hated that his words weren’t clear and precise the way he wanted them to be.

  “He didn’t rape me. He hit me, with the belt. The whole length, and that hurt. I screamed then, tried to run—fuck the plan, is what I was thinking at that point—but he had me chained to the fireplace, and my knee gave out. When I was down, he gagged me with his scarf.”

  The bits of gaudy silk he’d found on the kitchen floor.

  “He did it just the way you did. Twice around my head. Tied in the back.”

  Alexander held very, very still and a new, horrific idea started to form.

  He was no better than Absolon.

  “I started pointing at the collar, the pearls—I’m sorry, I cut through one when I was trying to cut off the scarf.”

  Alexander didn’t say anything, and after a moment she kept going with her horrific story.

  “I figured if he didn’t respect me, he’d respect your property. It worked. He said he wouldn’t touch me again, but that he wanted to know what it felt like. He kept saying that. ‘I just want to know what it feels like.’”

  “What did he do to you?”

  Alena raised her chin, and she looked every inch the battered, but not defeated, queen. Even barefoot, wearing what he now saw was one of his t-shirts, she was regal.

  “He ordered me to bend over…and I did. He whipped me with his belt, made sure I knew that I couldn’t, or maybe shouldn’t, tell you, because you wouldn’t care, since you were selling me soon anyway.

  “And then I came up here, took a long bath, and fell asleep.” Alena’s shoulders slumped, as if now that the story was done she no longer had to hold herself so erect.

  Alexander’s horrific idea solidified into a realization.

  The belt. Gagging her like that…Absolon had imitated him. Done the things he’d done.

  Chaining her…Alexander hadn’t done that while Absolon watched, but he’d done it, more than once. And he’d beat her until she was bruised, until she couldn’t sit. Back in Moldova.

  He was no better than Absolon.

  “I will call my physician to come and… Or if you’d prefer a female doctor…”

  “Alexander don’t, please.” Her words were tinged with frustration. “Don’t do this.”

  “If you would rather make your own arrangements—”

  “I know what you’re doing. What you’re thinking. Stop.”

  “Alena, the facts are—”

  “Are what? Tell me the facts.” Her eyes were bright with anger.

  Alexander’s breath heaved and he was fighting the urge to grab the nearest breakable and hurl it against the wall.

  “You’re just like him?” Alena spat. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? All the things he did to me you’ve done to me, and more.” She stalked towards him, her words silky, and he was vividly reminded of the way she’d been in the dining room in Moldova when she’d proposed the plan that had led them to this point.

  “You’ve done much more. Given me much more pain. And when you use your belt on me, it’s on bare flesh, not over the clothes the way he did it.”

  Alexander retreated a step, then another.

  “See this?” She held out her forearm, turning it to show off an angry red mark. “You left marks worse than this, didn’t you? So that makes you the same, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Alexander ground out, hating himself.

  “I knew you’d do this!” Alena threw her hands in the air. “Alexander, it’s not. Please, please listen to me. We have trust, consent.”

  “I forced you to—”

  “Yes, you put my ass between a rock and a hard place, and I chose you. You know why? Because I trust you. Because I…”

  Because she loved him? No. She wouldn’t say it again, because she didn’t love him. The only reason she’d said it the first time was the circumstances he’d created had influenced her.

  Her angry stalking halted, and she paused, as if poised on the edge of something. After a moment, she shook her head. “Are you a sexual sadist? Yes. And I get it, you’re conflicted about that. I feel the same way about being a sexual submissive when I’m otherwise not submissive at all.”

  There was a feeling in the air, as if her words had a nearly spiritual weight to them.

  She rubbed her upper arms with her hands, once more seeming to sink into herself. “But I trust you, Alexander. And I have, since the day we met. You’re nothing like Absolon. Nothing. And I don’t know how to make you believe me.”

  She didn’t have to make him believe her, because each word she said rang of truth.

  The guilt he’d been holding, not just for how he’d treated her, but an older guilt, rooted in shame over his sexual proclivities, eased.

  “I believe you,” Alexander said softly, and that too, was truth.

  Alena glanced up sharply. “You do?”

  “I…I do. I am a sadist, though I tried not to be.”

  “And I had no idea how much of a masochist I was until you.”

  “I will always regret…some…of what I did to you.”

  “I’d say that I’ll always feel bad about using you in order to get the data, but I’d be lying.”

  “Unrepentant?” He arched a brow at her.

  “Totally. Though I am sorry for lying to you.”

  “There’s a distinction between the two?”

  “It’s a fine line, but I know where it is.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Are we…okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, because I…I really need you to hug me while I cry.” Her smile wavered.

  Alexander’s heart broke and he rushed forward, sweeping her up into his arms. Alena twined her arms around his neck. He sank down on the floor by the bed—sitting on the floor was where they seemed to connect best—and held her while she cried on his shoulder.

  “I’m not sad,” she said between sobs. “I’m fucking pissed.”

  “I know,” he murmured. He’d switched to German, because he was less likely to be tongue tied in that language. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry he hurt you.”

  “And you don’t get to kill him.” Alena smacked his arm. “I do.”

  He had no idea if she would follow his German while upset, but he kept going, hoping his tone would be the comfort she needed. “Of course. You have the right to murder him.”

  “And now we’re going to actually have to have an auction—”

  “Pardon?” For that he switched back to English.

  Alena sniffled, then sat up and looked at him. “Absolon is coming to the gala.”

  “I don’t see how that is possible, as he will be dead by then.” Alexander was impressed by how calm he sounded.

  Alena put her finger in his face. “You can’t kill him.”

  “I will assist you.”

  She slumped. “I can’t kill him either.”

  “It’s gone too far. He hurt you and—”

  “And he won’t do it again, because I’m not leaving the apartment until the gala,” Alena said. “I’m not sur
e I’d be able to play submissive for him again. I only managed to do it when it looked like that was the fastest way out of the situation.”

  Alexander closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. “Alena…”

  “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  “Then we won’t.”

  They sat that way for a long time, silent and peaceful, both lost in their own thoughts.

  Finally Alena stirred. “I think I need to ice my knee again. Will you…”

  “Of course. And have you…are there more?” Alexander lifted her forearm, examining the mark there. It was an angry red blister filled with blood rather than fluid.

  “I didn’t look,” she said softly. “At my butt and back.”

  “Your back?”

  “He really had no idea what he was doing.”

  Alexander helped her onto the bed and then he tended her—wrapping her knee and then placing the bag of ice so that when she rolled onto her belly, her knee was resting on it.

  Then he pulled up the back hem of the t-shirt. There were a few round, yellowed bruises on her ass from his use of the spoon. But high on her ass and the lowest part of her back there were long, splotchy bruises—each a stippling of pink, red and the faint start of purple in a few places.

  Alexander had to turn away for a moment to compose himself.

  “That bad?” she asked softly.

  “Bruises. It would have…if it had been in contact with your bare skin…”

  “Oh, don’t worry, he wouldn’t have disrespected your property like that.”

  Alexander knew she meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh.

  He applied balm and then cool cloths to the marks, and as he did, one thought kept circulating. Though he believed her, that with him there had been consent, and trust, the fact remained that Alexander was a sexual sadist, and any woman he was with might someday end up with marks just like this. He’d already done it to Alena once, and she shouldn’t have to face it again.

  And that was why it was best that he never tell her he loved her.

  Chapter 13

  “You look lovely, Ms. Moreau,” Rolf said formally as she stepped out the front door of Alexander’s top floor apartment.

  “Thank you. As do you.”

  “The guests are arriving, on schedule” Sofie looked every inch the party planner with her little black dress, low black heels, and clipboard. “I have to go back downstairs, we just wanted…”