As he stood at the door contemplating the danger at answering, he heard a voice call out.
“Jon, it’s me. Open up.”
Surprised, he yanked open the door. Jordan stood, somber face before him. He held out his hand and turned away.
“I can’t do it for you, but this is everything you need to hack into the airport’s security system. If Marika is booked on a flight, you’ll find it. Just follow the steps I wrote down.” Dumbfounded, Jon looked at the paperwork in his hands.
“Jordy, hey, listen, I know this was asking a lot. I appreciate it so much, brother.”
Jordan turned back, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses.
“I hope you find her, Jon. You deserve to be happy for once. And by the way, I’m glad you finally punched Chris. I’ve wanted to do that for years. The way he talks to you and Tristan pisses me off.” Jon blinked, surprised by the confession. He had always thought that Jordan liked Chris more than him.
“I need you to make me a promise, Jon.”
“Anything, Jordy.”
“You need to burn those papers as soon as you’re done. And for the love of God, never, ever tell Tristan about this!”
***
Petro had risen to use the bathroom, and Alina was left sitting with Leonid. As soon as the man was out of eye’s view, Leonid turned to her.
“Were you really going to marry that man?” he asked. Alina did not answer him, instead continuing to flip through the magazine which had been on her tray for four hours. She had gone through it dozens of times, but she had not read a word, her mind still focused on how she would get herself out this time. Even if he does not kill me now, he will keep me prisoner until I kill myself, she thought mournfully.
“I asked you a question, Alina,” Leonid hissed. She turned her face to him coldly.
“I think I will have to discuss with my husband how insubordinate you have become, Leonid. Have you forgotten who I am?”
He scowled deeply, his face becoming a mask of fury at her words.
“I have not forgotten,” he replied.
“Oh? Because it seems to me that a lowly bratok should not be questioning the wife of a pakhan in this form, or any other form for that matter.”
“Wife of a pakhan?” Leonid scoffed. “I thought you were an American whore.” Alina’s eyes widened at the words, and she gritted her teeth to keep from raising her voice.
“Until your boss decides to murder me, I am still his wife and therefore your superior, so I suggest you check your tone before I have him check it for you.”
“Oh, Alina. He will kill you, that is for certain. If you think you have any say in anything he does any longer, you are sorely mistaken. His love for you went out the door when you ran off three months ago.”
“Is that so? Then what am I doing here now?” Alina retorted. “He could happily have gone on with his life.”
“Surely you aren’t that naïve, Alina. His affections toward you have nothing to do with why you are here. You have insulted him. Did you think that he was going to allow you to marry an American man and do nothing?”
“I had hoped that he would realize I was unhappy and cared enough to let me go,” Alina told him, and as she said it, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Petro was the head of the Bravata mafia in Kiev. She was his property, and he would never allow her to be free, not in life anyway. Suddenly she realized she was spilling her heart to a soulless soldier.
“Until I hear otherwise, Leonid, I suggest you remember your place,” she told him curtly, returning to her book. The only thought keeping her sane at that moment was knowing that Jon was safe.
3:30 a.m.
Any remnants of the alcohol or tiredness disappeared from Jon’s body as he sat down at his computer. A cold sweat had broken out over his face. He read Jordan’s instructions carefully, knowing that he was about to delve into a highly illegal activity. I have to find Marika and get out of here before Homeland Security comes knocking down my door, he thought. He cracked his knuckles, noticing the red skin from where he had punched Chris. He deserves worse than that. When I find Marika, I am completely cutting that asshole out of my life. But Jon had more important matters with which to contend. Taking a deep breath, he began to log into Bradley International Airport security and closely following Jordan’s step-by-step design, he found himself looking over flight rosters. Woefully, as he stared at hundreds upon hundreds of names bound for Kiev the previous evening, Marika’s name did not materialize. Maybe Elyse is wrong? Maybe she is from Hungary. Maybe she moved to Hungary? On a whim, he checked flights to Budapest but still, he did not find her name. By five a.m., he had flipped over to security cameras in the international terminal, feeling hopelessly lost. His eyes were becoming grainy from peering at the screen, but he dared not look away for a moment. He had started from footage in the previous day, but his despair grew along with his sense of urgency. At 7.a.m., he was still staring at the screens, his lids growing heavy. And then he saw her. She was wedged between two men, heading toward the gate boarding Iberia flight 892. Jon sat forward in the chair, trying to make out the expression on her face but the footage was too grainy. She is in trouble, he thought, rising from his seat. Who are those two men? Has she been kidnapped? He reclaimed his seat and quickly jotted down the information he needed. Then he closed the security screens, hoping he had escaped detection. He went online and checked the airport departures. Iberia flight 892 had left for Kiev at 6:34 a.m. It had one scheduled layover in Paris at 8:12 p.m. before landing in Kiev at 8:45 a.m. Ukraine time, the following morning. Mind racing, Jon rushed into his bedroom to throw on a pair of pants and sweater. He stuffed his feet into a pair of running shoes, grabbing his keys from the counter in the kitchen and left the apartment. He was going to the Ukraine.
Chapter Nine
Jon sat anxiously in his seat of the Lufthansa flight 120 direct to Kiev, wringing his hands nervously. He had no idea if his hunch was correct or if he was about to embark on a wild goose chase after a woman whom he barely knew. That’s not true. You know her. She is kind, loving and your fiancée. She is in danger, and you must find her at once. Still, there were nagging doubts in the back of his mind, ones that reminded him about Amber leaving for Europe and Simone’s drug addiction. You may be going after a woman who does not want to be found. And if that’s true, you’ll look like a crazy stalker. But in spite of all his doubts, his history of being manipulated and used by women, Jon’s gut told him that he was doing the right thing, that Marika needed him. Moreover, he realized that the time he had to find her was limited if she was in fact in danger. He wondered how he would find her once he landed but if he had timed the flight properly, flight 120 would be landing at the same time as Marika’s flight with a few minutes to spare. He prayed he would have enough time to find her at the gate and learn the truth of what was happening. He understood that the time did not allow him much wiggle room, but he had to try. Jon looked down at his palms and realized he was trembling. Come on, stupid plane. Let’s get the show on the road, he silently willed the aircraft. Don’t be detained, just start the engines and fly outta here. Marika’s life depended upon it.
“Get up.”
Alina blinked, slowly waking. She hadn’t even remembered falling asleep wedged between the meaty bodies of her husband and Leonid, but at some moment she had drifted off, drained from the events of the past twenty-four hours. She hadn’t even realized that the plane had landed in Paris, but as she looked around, she saw that the craft was grounded and people were disembarking.
“No. I will stay here,” she told Leonid, but Petro smiled coldly.
“No, my love. This is a seven-hour layover. Anyway, you have always loved Paris. We haven’t been here since our honeymoon. You will come.”
“Petro, we only have a few hours here. It’s hardly enough time – “
“I said get up.” His tone was like icy steel, and Alina inhaled sharply. There was no room for argument. She glanced at Leonid who stood
in the aisle, a caustic smirk upon his face and she had a terrible sense of danger. He is going to kill me here. He’s not even going to wait until we get home, she concluded as she slowly rose to her feet. Petro firmly took hold of her arm, and the three walked off the plane, into Charles Le Gaulle airport. Alina looked about desperately.
“I have to use the washroom, Petro,” she told him as they walked through the bustling terminal. His blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he exchanged a glance with Leonid. A mirthless smile touched his lips.
“That didn’t occur to you on the plane?” he asked in a joking manner which did not reach his eyes.
“I was sleeping!” she protested. He seemed to accept the excuse, and he shrugged.
“If you have to go, I cannot very well refuse you that, can I?”
Alina offered him a weak smile, and he nodded at Leonid.
“Alina needs to use the washroom. You will accompany her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leonid gestured for her to move and she did not hesitate. She located the restrooms and was at the ladies’ door in moments, not checking to see if Leonid had caught up. I must find a way out of here. I will escape the airport and find my way into Paris by subway. From there I will devise a plan. But first I have to figure out a way to get away from Petro and Leonid. She made her way inside a stall and sat heavily on the toilet, peeking through the slot in paneling. Of course, there were no windows in the bathroom. It was a security breach in the middle of an airport terminal. But she looked up to the ceiling, and her heart skipped a beat. The bathroom roof was made of particle board. I just have to ensure that I am alone, climb onto the toilet and push one of those boards aside. Then I can crawl through and find myself in a different part of the airport. Excitement mounting, Alina waited until the woman in the neighboring stall finished her business and washed her hands, exiting the bathroom. She listened, hearing no other signs of life in the huge, sterile room. Cautiously, she opened the door to the cubicle in which she sat to double check her solidarity. The blood drained from her face. Leonid lounged against the sink, looking at his nails.
“All done?” he chirped sarcastically. “I didn’t hear you flush the toilet.”
***
“Jon? Can you coming here please?”
Marika’s voice filtered into his office, and Jon pulled his eyes away from the computer screen where he had been working.
“One sec! I’m almost done.”
“I need you now, please!”
Instantly, Jon was out of his chair, alarmed by her tone. He rushed into the living room, but Marika was not there.
“Where are you?”
“I am in bedroom,” she called back. Jon jogged back toward the rear of the apartment. He pushed open the slightly ajar door and smiled slightly. Marika stood dressed in a black leather bodice, her ash white hair pinned up in a severe bun atop her head. Her ripe, full breasts were a breathtaking mountain of cleavage against the suffocating outfit. Impossibly long legs were accented by black fishnet stockings and seven-inch platform stilettos, studded in silver bullets. In her pale hands, she held a horsehair whip which she ran playfully through her fingers.
“And what is this?” he drawled, his deadline forgotten in the next room.
“Shut up.” Her voice was like whiplash, and for a moment, Jon was scarred by her tone, but as she approached, she licked her lips making him recognize that they were in the middle of a roleplay session. Marika had slowly begun introducing him to new ideas in the bedroom, toys, and positions, things he had not even read about. She approached, gently using the whip to stroke his face.
“You have been work too hard,” she told him. “I have warn you but you no to listen.”
“I am sorry,” Jon answered, suddenly feeling slightly guilty despite understanding they were only playing a game.
“Shut up!” she snapped again. “You vill only speaking ven I say.”
“Okay,” he agreed. The slap came without warning across his face, and Jon reeled back, shocked. Marika’s eyes glimmered, and Jon pursed his lips together, his heart racing. He was not sure if he was excited or angered.
“I say no speaking.” She slapped him again, and he winced at the sting. Marika continued to circle around him like a lion on the prowl.
“All vork and no play makes Johnny very dull boy, yes?”
He nodded and stared at her beautiful face, suddenly a mask of sensual severity. This time the blow was administered with the whip and to his genitals. He doubled over. Suddenly, Marika slipped a collar around his neck, and he was being led to the bed by a leash.
“You must be punished,” she told him, and Jon was ready for the penance. A pointed heel pushed him onto his now firm belly, and she yanked the leash back slightly, blocking his wind. Her hot breath was in his ear.
“You are naughty boy.” A wet tongue touched his lobe, and a rush of heat flowed into his groin. She released the grip she had on him, her hand slipping under his pants to cup his swollen balls. Long nails racked into them, causing him to shrivel up and grow larger in his boxers. He moaned slightly and the whip pelted against his ass.
“Silence!” she hissed, pulling down his pants her claws scratching at him, tugging his cum filled sack. Her mouth was on his bare ass, teeth sinking into him, making him buck uncomfortably but within seconds, hot breath found their way to the no man’s land. Her licks were wet and sopping, her face underneath him as she began to blow him from the bottom up. Soon, his thick cock was fully in her mouth, filling her throat as she sucked mercilessly, both hurting and delighting him simultaneously. He could feel his load rising, and he groaned heavily, ready to fill her saliva soaked mouth with his seed, but she withdrew abruptly, slipping out from under him.
“Did I telling you to cum?” she asked. The whip hit his rear, and he flipped over in pain. She loomed above him on her knees, smiling as if she had anticipated the move. Immediately, she straddled him, her crotchless panties making her velvety depth accessible to take in his throbbing manhood. Leaning forward, she pinned his hands down, her luscious breast directly in his face, the head of his penis at the opening of her wetness. Marika began to partially ride him, her nipples now exposed, grazing his open mouth as she teased, allowing only the top of his shaft into her. Jon could take no more. With superhuman strength, he overpowered her, making her the submissive party. His hands pushed her into the mattress while he plunged fully into her roughly and relentlessly. Marika screamed out, taking his pounding to her throbbing cleft. Her nails were now digging into his back, and Jon could barely feel the blood pouring from the marks. He was climaxing, juices squirting endlessly to meet Marika’s as she writhed beneath him.
Jon started awake. He did not know where he was immediately, but he was painfully aware of the fact that he had a hard on. He had been dreaming about that last time he had held Marika, only three days prior. Was it only three days ago? I feel like I haven’t touched her in months. Will I ever get to smell her lavender shampoo in her hair again? I wish I had brought the pillow case with me. He stared out the window at the white clouds passing by sadness and nausea in his stomach.
“Sir, can I offer you a drink?” A pert blonde in the Lufthansa flight attendant uniform stood at the aisle. He looked at the drink cart and sighed.
“Double scotch,” he said. May as well. The pain is not going to mask itself.
“What are we doing here, Petro?” Alina asked nervously. He looked surprised at the question.
“It is the Eiffel Tower, Alina. You love the Eiffel Tower.”
She did not know how to respond but as the lift continued to rise, so did her blood pressure. Petro had ordered Leonid to wait at the base of the tower, ushering her into the building.
“Petro,” she began, but her husband held his fingers to his lips, indicating the other passengers.
“I doubt very much that they speak Ukrainian,” she muttered, but she did not speak again until they were on the top level. Petro offered his arm to her, and they ve
ntured toward the galley. He cannot kill me up here. There is no way for him to throw me from here, she tried to reassure herself, but she knew that Petro was capable of awful feats.
There was a time when Alina Yarema had been very much in love with the intimidating figure at her side. She had met the dark and mysterious Petro Ivanko when he had come into her father’s shop one day. Alina had been twenty and Petro, thirty-five. She had lived in the outskirts of Kiev her entire life, both helping on her parent’s meager farm and tending to her father’s small store in Kiev. She was an only child, hopelessly devoted to her family but it was the dream of her parents that she would marry well and leave their impoverished life behind.
“We are no longer a poor country, Alina,” her mother would tell her. “You are not well educated, but you are very beautiful. You should have no trouble finding a wealthy man to take care of you.”
“But mama! I will never leave you and papa!” Alina had proclaimed. Her mother Vira had smiled wisely, and when Petro Ivanko had shown up unexpectedly one day, both Vira and Boris Yarema had known that he would be the one to marry their daughter. It did not take much persuasion. Alina was not only beautiful, but her heart was pure. Despite her lack of formal education, Alina had a natural intelligence, most likely a gene she had inherited from her hardworking peasant stock kin. Rough circumstances breed resilient, malleable, seasoned people and Alina was all of those things. She was eager to please, and soon Petro was visiting the small corner store almost daily to catch a glimpse of the stunning blonde. After a brief, whirlwind courtship filled with limos and glamor, Petro put a huge diamond ring on her delicate finger and pronounced her his. Alina had of course been smitten and flattered by the rich, obviously powerful man. She knew little of his business other than he worked with people and she had always surmised that he was a philanthropist of sorts. It was not until she had moved into his sprawling mansion in the swanky Pechersk section of the city, that young Alina began to realize her husband was not a nice man. At first, his treatment of her had been civil enough but soon a strange jealousy began to rear its ugly head, and Petro became prone to burst of anger, especially when he thought other men were looking at her. He started to accuse her of infidelity and eventually assigned Leonid as her personal bodyguard. Leonid was worse than a shadow, following her to visit her parents, to the salon and on shopping trips. She had no privacy and no sense of security, but she did have every material good that her heart desired.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 51