It turned out that Mr. Volkov had been correct in that fact. Alexi had gone looking all across his suite for anything that could dull his pain, chemically or otherwise. But as she followed him, watching for the slightest hint that he might have a stash somewhere despite his father’s thoughts, she found that Alexi had hidden nothing.
And with no source of comfort, he gathered up an icepack and settled on the floor, grumbling all the while. It was a hard thing to realize; being a prisoner in his own home. To make it worse he was coming to grips with the fact that his father had regulated himself to the part of the warden. And she, for want of a better definition, was his new cellmate.
At least she was after a fashion.
It would take some time to get used to, she knew. But she didn’t have the luxury of time on her side to do things the proper way. There wasn’t time to allow him to acclimate to his new settings. Normally she would allow him to come to terms with his situation gradually. But Christmas was fast approaching and she had less than thirty days to get Alexi straightened out. She had to play hardball with this kid and shove him face-first into the clean-up portion of his life. And she knew that he wasn’t going to go willingly.
There was simply no other choice.
Alexi released a deep sigh and dropped the ice pack on the floor as if it was refuse. She had a moment to observe the bruise on his face as he did so. It was about the right size for her first and right off she knew it would take some time to heal. It was perfect: that bruise would be his clock as well as hers. As long as he wore it, he wouldn’t be going outside until it was small enough to not be noticeable. She didn’t believe in the use of makeup to hide imperfections like some people in her business. It was genuine work that she did. Besides… paparazzi could always spot a fake makeup job, even the most inexperienced ones. It needed to be real or nothing. But the bruise would serve its purpose. She had a few days at least to break him. That was the first step.
“You hit hard for a little thing,” he finally said.
She kept her expression neutral. “I didn’t come here to baby you, Alexi. And I can hit you a lot harder if you make me think I have to.”
He opened his eyes and stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Somehow… I believe that about you.” He sighed. “So… this is really happening?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
He tilted his head upright to look at her. The look on his face was just as she expected it would be: malevolent. He didn’t like that he was being forced into this but he had enough sense to realize that he couldn’t get out of it either. Not literally, at any rate. She knew that she had read him right. He wanted out, but he wouldn’t go so far as to commit suicide or anything. He wanted to live… he wanted to prove that he was stronger than her and his father. He would do everything he could to hang on to this part of himself just to show that no one could break him of his ways if he didn’t want them to.
But at least for the moment he realized the depth of his plight. He was as trapped as the proverbial rat and the maze he would need to run was one that she would design as they went along. All he could do was endure it.
“So… how do I get out of this mess?”
“You mean how do you get rid of me?”
His malevolent look didn’t diminish, but she could tell that he agreed with her. He had that in common with his father at least; he respected people who spoke their mind.
“Simple. Do everything I say, when I say it, as I say it. If you clean your life up then you’ll be rid of me.”
“My life needs no cleaning,” he replied tersely.
She laughed loud enough that the sound reverberated off of the expensive walls, floors, and ceiling like the laugh of a malevolent spirit in a haunted house. The sound, she hoped, would echo in his ears as well. He probably wasn’t accustomed to having people laugh at him. It would leave a lasting impression, she was sure.
“No? Thirteen arrests in the last four months. Your list of charges include drunk and disorderly, possession of a controlled substance, public lewdness, public nudity, some pretty major traffic citations, misdemeanor theft, accosting a priest, assault and battery, and then there’s my personal favorite: attempted theft of a city bus. No cleaning? Really?” She punctuated her remarks with a second loud guffaw.
He was silent a moment, his expression betraying none of the rage she was sure he felt. His eyes were throbbing, as if his brain was boiling right behind his eyes. He attempted to conceal it just by shrugging. He was doing the same thing that she was: trying to show that nothing bothered him. Janice knew that she was better at it though. “Everyone just overreacted.”
“Your papa has spent over a million bucks in legal suits, Alexi. And that’s despite his expensive lawyers and that they happened to win every single lawsuit. Still… you’ve cost him plenty of money. And you’ve embarrassed him something fierce, so he tells me.”
He scoffed. “I embarrass him? And he’s worried about money? There’s no surprise there.” He cleared his throat. “And that’s why you’re here? To see that I don’t cause him any more trouble? He does realize – as I’m sure you do – that I’m still costing him money simply for you being here?”
She gave a single affirming nod. “But there’s a catch, Alexi.”
“A catch?”
“Yeah… see… I have an arrangement with your father. I only get paid when I straighten you up to his satisfaction. He’s not satisfied, then I don’t get paid. So in a sense, he’s not losing any money simply for me being here unless I deliver him the image of a cleaned up heir in time for Christmas. You don’t shape up, I don’t get paid. It’s that simple.” She leaned forward in her chair. “So… you would do well to consider me extremely motivated.”
He gave a smirk as if this amused him more than anything else. “And how long do I have to endure this façade?”
“Oh, it’s no façade, Alexi. It’s the realest thing that you will ever endure in your whole life. And you’ll go through it until I decide that you’re done.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Do you think you can actually force me to do these things that you claim?”
“Do I need to knock you out next time?”
He was quiet.
“I didn’t think so. And the answer is yes… I can force you to do the things that I want. All it takes is the right persuasion.”
“You intend to beat me?”
“As amusing as that would be for me,” she said with a bemused smile, “it won’t look good if I deliver you to your papa looking like the sour end of a rotten piece of fruit. But just remember, I have between now and Christmas… that still leaves plenty of time for any bruises that I give you to heal. But for now, there are other options.”
“Oh?” he asked with a second scoff.
“Yeah… for instance, do you like eating?”
His expression changed. “Huh?”
“Eating food… you do like eating, don’t you? I can tell that you do by this pizza box imitation of the pyramids of Teotihuacán,” she said pointing at the covered coffee table between them. “I figure anyone that literally builds a temple to eating has to be serious about it.”
“Cute,” he said icily, though he licked his lips nervously. “So what do you mean by asking if I like eating?”
She stood up from her seat and dusted herself off, not surprised to find that dust – she hoped it was dust – falling away from her in small clouds. “When it’s time for me to eat, security will let me out so that I can go and have a feast of I want. But you? Well… you’re locked in. And you won’t eat unless I say you can.”
“You can’t starve me,” he said defiantly.
“Can’t I? If it’s the only way I can secure your compliance I’ll starve you to the point where I’ll see to it that you’re fed nothing more than a box of raisins a day. I’ll starve you until you’re so diminished that you’ll sing the entire first act of Carmen for an apple if I want. If you mouth off to me… if you defy me in the least of w
ays… if I even suspect that you’re giving me trouble… you’ll be drinking water from the inside of the toilet bowl trying to keep yourself nourished.” She paused and gave a malevolent smile of her own. “And maybe I’ll record the whole thing and put it on the internet. How many of your friends will enjoy your company once they see how far you’ve fallen? Which of all of your little sluts will want to kiss you once they’ve seen that?”
His expression became livid and just as she expected, he rose up to his feet with rage in his eyes and leapt for her. If he feared any consequences for murder, he didn’t show it.
But she was ready.
She held up one hand and gave him a second punch to the face, this one just under his left eye. His cry of outrage vanished instantly as he again fell, the faux pyramid breaking his fall and crumbling beneath him just like a genuine ruin would.
She thought it was almost pitiful. Despite how well-built he was he had a glass jaw. That might be something else she would have to work on. She recalled that brawling – drunken or otherwise – wasn’t on his list of offenses. Now she knew why.
She stepped to him and knelt over his groaning form. His hand covered his eye where her fist had met it and with his single good eye she could see a new expression on his face.
Fear.
Good… I’m making progress already, she thought triumphantly.
With a rush she straddled him, setting her large figure down across his body, her knees pinning his consoling arm to his chest and pinning his other arm across the floor. Her larger weight kept him held fast so that he could barely move his legs. Smiling, she reached out her hand and grasped his testicles through the thin shorts he was wearing, her nails threatening to bite skin.
He froze. Even his breathing held.
“See that?” she said, squeezing very lightly, enough to get his attention but not enough to cause him unbearable pain. “That is now the nature of our relationship, Alexi. Do you understand?”
He was silent and slight look of defiance still remained under the surface of his fear.
She tensed her fingers. “Do you understand?” she repeated tensely.
It took only a few seconds, but he nodded.
Now she had him by the balls inside and out.
“Good. We’re getting started right away.”
Chapter 4
The first order of business had been pretty simple: Alexi couldn’t clean up his personal image if he didn’t start cleaning his place up first. Plus, it made her feel better to know that the suite was getting a bit of a makeover.
The rest would take time, she was sure of that much. She’d begin by setting his boundaries: where he could go and when. Then it would be on to his liberties: what he could and couldn’t do.
She’d start by setting his boundaries in the places that were all too familiar to him; things that he’d taken for granted as his own. She’d begin by taking over his bed. She’d sleep in the very thing she’d made him fix first: his own bedroom.
He’d changed the sheets, replaced the blankets, and even fixed the bed like a pro. She’d even gone so far as to make him fold the top blankets and sheets over in a style worthy of a five-star hotel. It had been a good start and the look on his face had been livid when she’d told him she’d be sleeping there tonight while he slept on the floor.
The psychological blow would was tremendous to him but she couldn’t reason him doing anything to harm her for it. She knew that he wanted to, but he was unable to do so. The floor, she noticed, though it was made of marble would not shield a person’s footsteps from sound. If he tried to move off, she would hear it. If he took his shoes off and tried to sneak away – or attempted to murder her in her sleep – she would still hear it coming.
Best not to take any chances, she thought after dropping the bomb of their sleeping arrangements on him.
“Oh, and by the way,” she’d added while he fumed at her once he realized he’d be sleeping on a marble slab, “the guards have instructions to open the door for no one but me. And there’s no one standing by the doors watching to see if I need them or not. There’s a summons code that I have to press into the keypad to get the elevator to come up and it changes every day and only I know it. So if you kill me – and considering the fact that there’s already no food in this place – you’d be in for a very slow death. Got it?”
He said nothing, but she could see the dashed hope behind his eyes. He was alone and screaming for help would do him no good. She was willing to believe that he thought she was bluffing, but it wasn’t a risk he was willing to put to the test.
“I’m going to be following you every minute of every day, Alexi. Just think of me as your new shadow. I’ll know all your dirty little secrets. I’ll be watching every move you make. And yes, I’ll even be sleeping in the same room as you. You’ve had entirely too much time to yourself already. If you want it back, then you’ll get your shit squared away and you’ll–”
“I know! I know!” he barked at her as he mopped his floor, the fresh shiner under his right eye seeming to throb. “I’ll convince my father that I’ve cleaned up.”
She gave another loud laugh. “Your father? Hell no… you have to convince the world, kid. Your father is just the first one you have to convince that you’re sobered and grown up. And it’s all up hill from here to get to there.”
He scowled at her as he continued to mop.
Chapter 5
Over the next three days she made a habit of driving the last of any potential resistance in Alexi from his body and spirit. She deprived him of rest, waking him up sporadically with a miniature fog horn that she’d had tucked away in her bag while he was in the deepest cycle of his sleep and making him recite the reason she was here. She made him recite it at length twenty times until she was satisfied that he understood.
“I need to clean up,” he recited for the twentieth time, the bags under his eyes heavy.
“Good,” she replied, putting the fog horn away and turning out the lights to go back to sleep herself.
When morning came she made good on her threat about keeping him starved. She needed to prove to him that she was willing to follow through on her threats if she made them and she saw to it that only she was allowed to leave the suite for twenty minutes at a time, three times a day. During those twenty minutes Alexi was monitored in all of the rooms by a series of surveillance cameras that his father had installed secretly at her request.
The cameras themselves were small, the smallest of them was the size of the eye of a needle, the largest the size of her pinky nail and they were hidden in every room of the penthouse where Alexi thought it was likely he might find some privacy. It was a low thing to do, she knew, but she had to know him inside and out. What his father told her and what she’d read in the tabloids and magazines could only take her so far. She needed to see how he reacted when he was alone, even if it was only for a few minutes.
The first day she stepped away for her meals he did as she thought he would. He went to his kitchen, scouring the refrigerator, pantry, and every cupboard that he had looking for some tiny morsel that may have been missed by him and his throngs of party-goers. But Janice had made sure that the place was scrubbed clean of food. To further his plight she’d made good on her second threat that she would reduce him to drinking from the toilet and had the water turned off in his entire suite except for the toilet. If he wanted water – a necessary thing to live – he would have to follow her orders.
Once or twice she thought that he just might do as she’d instructed and drink from out of the toilet bowl, but every time he looked as though he might, his pride overcame him and he angrily turned his back on his only source of fluid. She had thought that perhaps he might try and drink from his saltwater fish tank but it seemed he had sense enough to avoid such an option. Still, that he was willing to turn his back on the toilet water showed that he still had some pride and that he was holding onto it with both hands.
When she returned from each of h
er meals she made Alexi recite what would eventually become his mantra. “I need to clean up,” he would say. And every time he hesitated in his response, she would make him begin again. Every time he spoke in a manner that was unpleasing to her, she made him start over. Every time he gave her a negative look, she made him start over. Every time he looked away from her, she made him start over. Every time he sneezed in the middle of the simple sentence, he began again. Every time he farted audibly, she made him begin again.
The next necessary thing was to begin establishing the pecking order as it were. She and he were the only two birds in this house, but she was determined to prove herself the rooster that ran it.
She got him to start cleaning his suite with cleaning supplies that were brought up at her request. She made him use common household cleaners, ones that were potent in the scents that they left behind and she didn’t allow him to wear gloves so that the scent lingered on his skin. She wanted him to be reminded that clean was the objective here.
He cleaned his living room, literally sweeping away the partially destroyed pyramid. She caught him looking inside the pizza boxes and the cartons of forgotten Chinese noodles for something that might have been overlooked to eat. But she was pleased when what had been left behind was so pungent or spoiled that even he wasn’t desperate enough to eat it.
She made him clean up the small library of his suite, which at some point during his nefarious career someone had pulled the books from off the shelves and used them like bricks to make small forts that looked like they had been used for some kind of a paintball game.
She made him scrub the paint from off of the spines and covers of the leather books until they looked pristine. And every time he cleaned one book, she made him read the title on the cover.
“Catcher in the Rye,” he said.
“Excuse me? What was it called?” she asked pointedly.
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