Kings and Sinners

by Alta Hensley

  Mission. One meant to end the very practice of what she and Natalia and the others had just undergone. Thinking of her friend, Zoya felt her heart ache. Where would she be taken? Zoya had seen Natalia’s eyes, wide with fear and humiliation at being mauled and forced to grind against the obese man’s crotch. What more would she be forced to endure? And the others? What level of hell would they descend to at the hands of the monsters who had purchased them? She’d stood on that stage and had been forced to acknowledge that there was nothing she could do to save them. But now, here in this room, she’d just been assured that she did possess the power to help. Could giving these men any information she remembered really help them complete the mission, and Stryder to keep his promise to save the other women? Save them and prevent Poplov from abducting and forcing even more women into sexual slavery?

  Fatigue flooded through her as her hands worried the black tee shirt she’d been given. No matter how confused she might be, no matter how scared she was or worried that these men weren’t being truthful, she knew that for tonight, she had no other choice but to trust them. Stryder had had every chance earlier to force himself upon her as the other men had those women they’d purchased, and yet he hadn’t. Though her back and buttocks were tender, she should have been unable to walk or sit without excruciating pain, and yet she had done both. Looking up, she met Stryder’s eyes and saw the spark of amusement at her granting him some idiotic title. It wouldn’t do for him to think she’d been serious.

  “Well, I don’t care if you like the sound. Don’t get used to it,” she snapped. He simply chuckled as if not too concerned. “May I use the bathroom?”

  “Of course, it’s right through there,” Stryder said, indicating a door opposite the window.

  Standing, she moved towards the door, pausing when he said, “Oh, wait.” Turning back, she saw him rummage again in the suitcase before walking towards her, holding something out. “Here.”

  Looking down, she hesitated and then took the toothbrush that was still in its wrapping.

  “You’ll find a tube of toothpaste on the sink, as well as a comb. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about bringing a hairbrush.”

  “That’s all right,” she said quietly, a bit surprised he’d even thought of bringing any extra toiletries. “I don’t suppose men are accustomed to using a brush.”

  This time, he and his brother exchanged a quick glance, both of their mouths turning up in smiles as if sharing some secret.

  “Believe me, the men in our family all own several brushes.” Before she could ponder the significance of that statement, Stryder continued. “You have time to take a shower if you make it quick. Our flight leaves in a couple of hours.”

  Zoya just nodded, moving into the bathroom and closing the door. She felt a brief moment of regret that there was no window in the room until she remembered they were on the tenth floor. Even she wasn’t quite desperate enough to attempt to escape from such a height. Spiderman she was not.

  It took her only a moment to unbutton the suit jacket and shrug it off. Her skin instantly pebbled with gooseflesh in the chilly air. About to hang the coat on the hook on the back of the door, she paused, her attention diverted by her reflection in the full-length mirror. How could anyone have considered she was worth a single ruble, much less millions of dollars? Her hair was disheveled, most likely from the arching and whipping about she had done when her new Master… no! When Stryder had used the whip on her skin. The make-up that had been carefully applied was streaked, her eyes looking more like a raccoon’s than a woman’s. Or, she thought with a shake of her head, like she was wearing a mask like the men at the auction had been. Though she didn’t have a scale, she didn’t need one. She’d clearly lost weight since her captivity. Her captors hadn’t withheld food, but even when she’d overcome her fear that there might be poison or drugs concealed within the offerings, she’d been unable to keep down more than a couple of bites. Trepidation fought with curiosity—the need to know, to see, causing her to turn her back to the door and her head over her shoulder. Not sure exactly what to expect, she understood it wasn’t what she was seeing reflected in the glass. Yes, her skin wasn’t the smooth canvas she assumed it normally was, but it wasn’t the mass of welts she’d envisioned. Faint pink lines were visible and yet not a single one had overlapped another. Even the hillocks of her ass were marked with single lines. Though she’d never imagined being under the lash, she had to admit that Stryder had made sure she wouldn’t be scarred. In fact, she was sure that her body would soon heal completely, leaving not a trace of evidence that she’d been whipped. Whipped. A shudder ran through her, and yet she also remembered the terror morphing into her scattered thoughts of the leather stroking, caressing her flesh.

  Not willing to question her responses at the sensation, she shook her head, moving to the shower, turning on the tap to start the hot water. Once steam rolled out of the stall, she stepped in, gasping at the heat but grateful for it. Without warning, suddenly her tears joined the water that was streaming over her head as she finally broke.

  Within moments, she was sobbing, gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs. Stepping back, she pressed against the cooler tiles of the wall, sliding down them until her bottom met the floor. Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in her arms, not thinking, just releasing the emotion that refused to be damned inside her any longer. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there when she gave a small scream, her body jerking.

  “Shh, you’re all right. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Zoya’s heart was pounding, and she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Her teeth were chattering hard enough that she was afraid she’d bite her tongue off. Before she could process the fact that she was no longer alone, Stryder had stripped off his clothes and had stepped into the stall. He pulled her up and turned her around, her back to his chest as he moved her beneath the water. Warmth surrounded her, the hot water steaming over her front, his body heat against her back.

  “Shh, I’ve got you, honey.” When her shudders turned into only the occasional shiver and her tears stopped flowing, he took a washcloth, soaped it and began washing her gently. She didn’t know what to feel. Shock over the fact that she was standing nude, with an equally nude man, or the fact that he wasn’t attempting to do anything other than clean her. What did it truly matter? It was simply another question she pushed into the box in her head and slammed the lid shut. After he’d run the cloth over every inch of her skin, his touch as gentle as a feather on her back and buttocks, he reached for the small bottle of shampoo provided by the hotel.

  “Lean your head back,” he instructed quietly. Once she obeyed, she closed her eyes and bit back a moan. This didn’t feel anything like her last shower, the one she’d taken under the watchful eyes of that hateful woman in that house. Strong fingers massaged her scalp and ran down her wet tresses. Once he’d rinsed her hair, he stepped from the stall and pulled a thick towel off the rack. “Come here,” he said, extending one hand to help her and then wrapping her in the white towel. He dried her as gently and as carefully as he’d washed her. Without speaking, he gently guided her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet but not before some part of her acknowledged that this man was incredibly fit, his body firm and his muscles defined. As before when she’d stood in front of the mirror, curiosity overcame her embarrassment as her eyes dropped below his waist. Amending her thoughts, she added extremely well hung to his attributes. She could feel her face heat when he gave her a quick grin before briskly drying himself and pulling on his clothes.

  “This may hurt a bit,” he warned, taking the comb off the counter and beginning the process of combing out her curls. She wasn’t sure who flinched more with every tug—him or her. A few minutes spent with the hair-dryer had her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her skin. Helping her to stand, he picked up the t-shirt, rolling it up in his hands until only the neck hole was visible. He didn’t even comment when she ste
pped forward, letting him drop the shirt over her head before she let go of the towel and pushed her arms through the sleeves. She only spoke after he’d pulled the toothbrush from its wrapping and had run a line of toothpaste along the bristles.

  “I can do it,” she said softly, reaching out for the toothbrush.

  “All right. I’ll see you outside in a minute?”

  “Yes…” She didn’t know what to say, though she supposed “thank you” would be appropriate. Before she could speak, he’d left the room as silently as he’d entered. Taking a deep breath, Zoya brushed her teeth and not for the first time wondered why this man seemed so very different than the others.

  Once she left the bathroom, she saw that, like his brother, Anson was no longer wearing a black suit but had changed into jeans, a brown sports coat over his light blue shirt. With just the change of attire, they appeared far less menacing. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at a man wearing black again without a feeling of terror running through her.

  “Better?” Stryder asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” she managed, wondering what he’d told his brother about the time spent in the bathroom. She didn’t ask as Stryder took the black jacket from her, helping her into a soft wool coat instead. As he’d predicted, the hem of the black tee hung long enough to give the illusion she was wearing a dress.

  “Won’t you be cold?” she asked, watching as he shoved the jacket into a garment bag.

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured her, motioning to another sports coat that was lying on the bed.

  Once he’d zipped the garment bag and Anson had shut the suitcases, the three left the room. Only an hour earlier, she’d been terrified to enter with two strange men and yet now, leaving with them, she felt safer than she had since arriving in Moscow. Still, as she climbed into the car after Anson, sliding across the seat to allow Stryder to follow, she was overwhelmed with the knowledge that for the first time in her life, she was leaving her homeland. As if able to read her mind, Stryder reached over and placed his hand over hers as his brother asked the driver to take them to the airport.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said, speaking softly so that his words didn’t travel through the divider between driver and passengers. When she didn’t answer, trying not to cry though she was pretty sure she had no tears left, she felt him squeeze her fingers. “Texas is a good place. It’s warm and…” As if not knowing what he could say that would ease her fears, he finally added, “you’ll be safe at the ranch.”

  She gave him a nod, not really caring what she might think about some state in a country she’d never imagined seeing. The only thing that mattered was that once there, she would tell them everything she knew and make damn sure he kept his promise to save the other women as well.

  The sight of the airport awed her. Though she’d never been on an airplane before, she tried not to panic thinking about standing in a long queue, going through x-ray machines or being patted down and having it discovered that beneath a man’s coat she wore only a thin tee shirt with nothing… not a stitch of underwear beneath. She’d heard tales of armed customs agents and drug sniffing dogs. When the taxi pulled up next to what had to be a private jet, she felt her fear of being discovered fleeing the country slipping away and a strange feeling taking its place. It took her a moment to understand the emotion was one of excitement. No, she told herself, not excitement. I can’t be excited about going from one captor to another. This is nothing more than relief that, so far, at least, these captors don’t appear to be as evil as the first.

  “What about my passport?” she asked after Stryder helped her from the car. “Won’t they know it is fake?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” Several questions as to how he expected to do that filled her head but she wasn’t given a chance to voice a single one. “Go with Anson. I’ll join you in a minute.” When she didn’t immediately obey, sudden fear of discovery freezing her feet into place, she watched as his eyebrow quirked. “Obey me, Zoya.”

  “Or what?” she snapped, not exactly sure why, as the order had been spoken calmly. Perhaps because it had been exactly that… an order?

  “That’s something else we shall discuss,” he answered calmly. “But it will have to wait. Go on now.”

  “Let’s get you settled,” Anson said, drawing her attention away from the dark eyes that hadn’t moved from her own.

  With his hand on her arm, she had two choices. Obey and ask questions later or attempt to escape. And go where, do what? You’re at the airport without a ticket, a passport, or even a pair of goddamned panties. Her thoughts, and the sight of a very official looking pair of men striding towards them, had her nodding and allowing Anson to lead her up the metal stairs that had been pushed against the plane and through the door. She glanced back in time to see Stryder greeting the officials and handing them some documents.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” Anson said.

  “Is that all you two say?” Zoya asked, tugging her arm free from his grasp. “Everything isn’t fine, and it won’t be until you and your brother keep your promise.”

  “Which I assure you we will do. Now, where would you like to sit?”

  Did nothing faze these men? Did nothing throw them off their game? She’d watched them speak to Poplov as if he were not the evil man he was. Neither of them had so much as backed down an inch. Yes, they’d handed over an obscene amount of money, and yet she hadn’t missed the fact that they hadn’t given Poplov more than a miniscule amount of respect. Unlike the other men who had almost seemed to grovel for their host’s attention and respect at their actions, these two had stood together as a pair… as strong as the metal for which they were named. She could only hope that these two men named Steele were as invincible as the American superhero, Superman.

  True to his word, Stryder soon strode into the airplane, giving a wave to signal that the stairs could be rolled away. Zoya watched as he shut the outer door, double checking that it had closed and sealed properly. After opening the cockpit door, something else that shocked her, she heard him speaking but couldn’t make out the words. After the brief conversation, he walked down the aisle towards where she was seated. Squatting down beside her, he clicked the two ends of the seatbelt into place.

  “I can do it—”

  “It’s fine.” He dropped into the seat next to her, though there were at least a dozen others he could have chosen. The click of his seatbelt came as she felt the plane begin to roll down the runway. As it picked up speed, her hands clutched the armrests. Thoughts of how impossible it should be for such a huge contraption to lift from the Earth and remain aloft flooded through her mind. A soft keening sound had her squeezing her eyes shut as she recognized the pitiful noise was coming from her own throat.

  A warm hand descended over hers and though she heard the words, “It’s fine,” uttered again, the only thing she hoped was that it truly would be.

  A few minutes later, her terror began to subside as the plane leveled out. Her eyes remained shut until she heard a click and the hand lifted from hers. Opening her eyes, she saw Stryder rising from his seat.

  “What can I bring you for dinner?”

  “What?” She hadn’t given a single thought to food but at his question, another sound had her cheeks flushing. The grumble of her stomach announcing her hunger was very audible.

  “Are you a vegan?”

  “No, not at all,” she said. “Are you?”

  His laugh was instant. “Hell no, but Jennie would disagree, I’m sure.”

  “Jennie? Is she your wife?” Zoya felt her cheeks grow even warmer at the rudeness of the question.

  “No, she’s our housekeeper,” Stryder said. “She believes in serving nothing but vegetables she grows herself and mysterious dishes concocted from tofu.”

  The information surprised her. She’d seen his body—his nude body—and it hadn’t appeared to be one of a man existing on such frugal fare. But she had no intention of stating her t
hought. Instead, she said, “Oh, I was hoping to taste some real… cowboy food. You know, like hamburgers or, wait, isn’t Texas famous for bar-b-que? I’ve never had that before.”

  His grin had her smiling as well. “I’ll tell you what. If you promise not to rat us out, I’ll make sure we stop and sample some BBQ before we get to the ranch. Okay?”

  She was nodding before giving it much thought. “I-I’d like that, and I won’t tell.”

  “Good. Now, what would you like for dinner?”

  “Anything as long as it’s not too heavy.”

  “I’ll see what we have,” he said, walking back down the aisle. It was only then that she realized Anson had also risen and moved towards the front. She watched as the two men disappeared around a small barrier, remembering seeing some sort of kitchen… galley, she supposed, as it was on an airplane. Turning her head, she looked out the window, the darkness revealing only pinpoints of light as the plane climbed higher. She watched the final lights disappear and turned her attention back when she heard Stryder approaching.

  “Do you want to eat in your seat or at the table?”

  “Um, I don’t know… is it safe?”

  “Absolutely. If we run into turbulence, we can move back.”

  Trusting him at his word, she undid her seatbelt and followed him towards the back of the plane, sliding into one of the chairs arranged around a table.

  “I thought maybe a salad and a bowl of tomato soup might hit the spot,” he said, placing both before her.