All the comfortable pajamas and robes were gone now. My choices were to wear either leather or PVC bondage outfits or go naked. Bluschencko’s orders, surely. I selected what I thought would be the least uncomfortable of the bondage outfits----a simple leather corset, lightly boned, with a matching set of leather shorts. No stockings, no shoes, no domino mask. I left the top two grommets of the corset unlaced; my breasts were small enough I could get away with it without them popping out. I laid back on the bed, propping myself up on pillows so I could write some more on the paper tablet kept in the nightstand, the same one I’d used for the shorthand message I’d smuggled out via Ludwig. But when I went to retrieve it, it was gone, along with the pen.
I began to panic then. Someone had searched the room----someone who knew exactly what I’d been using that pen and paper for. But who? Elzbeta? Katerina? Someone else? Why?
I had to assume that whoever had done it knew what I had done with Ludwig, and aimed to foil my plans. There would be consequences; the only question was how horrific. It crossed my mind that my new role as Bluschencko’s personal mistress might well have been punishment for my defiance, rather than a reward for my talents as he’d presented it to my face. It was a strange and convoluted possibility, but here in the ironically named House of Pleasure we were well beyond anything making sense.
My fear and anxiety had reached a boiling point. With nothing else to do to occupy my mind, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, to no avail. My brain raced with a hundred frightening thoughts----who knew my secret, what else Bluschencko would do to punish me, how my parents would react when they found out what had happened to me, if they ever did at all----until I thought I would drown in sheer terror and pain. This was not the good kind of pain, either. It was the kind of pain that you would almost prefer to kill yourself to avoid.
Now I understood why Elzbeta had presented suicide as an option. It didn’t look all that bad under the circumstances. But I lacked the courage to do it---or perhaps the cowardice, depending on how you looked at it.
I gazed down at my body as if seeing it for the first time. I didn’t recognize myself in the tight bondage leather, even if I was only half-clad instead of in full Domino regalia. How had I come to be this way? I had to confess I enjoyed being a Dominant even more than I’d enjoyed submitting to Rostovich, but to occupy the role without a passive subject to master rang hollow. Not only that, I was no longer a willing participant. I understood now why Rostovich had been so adamant about playing by the rules. Without them, the game was more like a war---and I was a casualty, an unfortunate piece of collateral damage.
At some point I managed to doze off into a dreamless sleep. I don’t know how long I was out, only that something startled me awake in the dead of night. Or rather, someone. Someone I never expected to see again, let alone in this room, in this place---a secret sex den run by a criminal syndicate thousands of miles away from where I’d last seen him.
“Nancy. Nancy, wake up. There isn’t much time.”
Rostovich.
I heard his voice as if through a vast channel of water. He shook me, which in my deep state of unconsciousness felt like a small earthquake. My sleeping mind assumed I was dreaming and ignored him. He finally slapped me hard across the face, and the pain-pleasure from the blow finally jolting me awake.
Oh.
I squinted to see in the pitch darkness. I could make out only shadows, but Rostovich’s voice was unmistakable: “Nancy, come on. Get up. Otherwise I’ll have to carry you, and that will just make things harder than they already are.”
I struggled to sit up. My corset lacing had tangled itself in my sleep, tightening it so much I could barely move. Rostovich somehow sensed this in the darkness and slipped a firm hand under the small of my back, lifting me up. Then he grabbed both my hands and pulled hard until I could swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor. “What are you doing here?” I blurted out far too loudly.
“Shhh! Never mind. We need to get out of here. You can ask questions later.”
“But---“
“Nancy, please shut the fuck up and do as I say.”
I clamped my mouth shut and obeyed. My heart raced with excitement and fear; Rostovich, my first love, my Dominant, the man who had taken my virginity and introduced me to a new and sensual world, was here. He’d come to rescue me, or so I assumed. But then again, the past few weeks had taught me never to assume anything. I could very well be jumping into yet another trap.
But there was no time to second-guess my choices. Leaving with Rostovich in the middle of the night was better than staying here and facing the alternative with Bluschencko. I’d cast my lot with my lover, and damn the consequences.
Rostovich took my hand and led me out into the corridor. He felt his way along in the dark, and seemed to know his way around. I wanted to ask him a hundred questions at once---how he had found me, why was he here, why did he seem to know the layout of the House of Pleasure like the back of his hand----but I didn’t dare speak.
We finally came to a door. In the pitch darkness, I did not know whether it was the main entrance where I’d first stepped inside the House of Pleasure or another one, but Rostovich seemed to know exactly where we stood. There was an illuminated numerical keypad on the door; he punched in a five-digit code and the magnetic lock disengaged, disabling the alarm system, allowing us to exit---and raising yet another question in my mind. How did he know how to get past security? Why did he seem so at home here? Had he set me up from the very beginning? Why on earth was I trusting him? He quite literally held my life in his hands.
There was no time to think about any of this. He flung the door open and dragged me along behind him. His pace quickened to a run; soon I felt the damp, cold grass underneath my bare feet. The air was chilly and a light fog danced over the ground, obscuring not only our escape but also the path in front of us. I was terrified, bleary from sleep, and nowhere near dressed for the weather. But I was free.
At least for now.
EIGHTEEN
We ran through the forest for what seemed like hours, but might have only been a few minutes. Between my bare feet, state of undress, and the frigid Ukrainian night, time seemed to slow down. We finally came to a clearing where a battered Jeep was waiting for us, its engine idling.
Rostovich climbed in through the open window on the rear passenger side. “Door’s broken,” he explained, reaching a hand out to help me inside. I grabbed it and clambered over the windowsill, landing on the cracked leather upholstery inside. The jeep’s interior was a rusty greenish-brown, an ancient military vehicle likely of World War Two vintage. Rostovich nodded to the bearded driver, who sped off into the night.
“How on earth did you find me?” I asked once we’d gone about five hundred yards.
“Julian got your fax. He called me as soon as he read it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I took a chance that Julian could read shorthand.”
“Julian is fluent in six languages, along with several forms of code, of which shorthand is one,” Rostovich said. “You’d be surprised some of the skills Navy SEALs pick up. Good thinking on that, by the way.”
“Thank you. Only it seems Julian is wasting his talent as a hotel concierge.”
“Hardly, given his clientele.” Rostovich reached over and patted my hand, his features dimly illuminated by the moon and the Jeep’s headlights. “I’m so glad I found you when I did. Between your message and Hannah’s frantic calls, I was worried I’d never see you alive again.”
“Hannah? Oh my God, how is she?”
“Fine, if a little worse for wear. Her parents called me from the hospital where she’d been taken outside Montreal. I spoke to her the next day, once the doctors got her stabilized. She’s expected to make a full recovery.”
“Oh, thank God.” I paused as the rest of the news sank in. “Montreal, did you say?”
“Yes. The authorities estimate that Bluschencko’s plane took o
ff with you somewhere in a remote area just north of there. You were fortunate he chose that location, since unidentified planes are known to get shot down over U.S. airspace.”
I hadn’t thought about that. The impact of just how much I’d managed to survive was only beginning to sink in. My mind raced with more questions than I could count. “Why? Why did this happen to us? To me? And why did you come all this way?”
Rostovich clutched both my hands tight. “There’s so much to tell you. And I want to explain everything. But we aren’t out of danger yet. We’re still on Bluschencko’s property----it stretches for miles in these parts----and I’m guessing your absence has probably been discovered by now. I don’t want to tell you anything until we’re clear, just in case you’re recaptured.”
“Recaptured? But---“
He pressed a finger to my lips. “Hush. If Bluschencko catches us, he’ll kill me, but he’ll keep you alive no matter what.”
“Why?” I’d spent days fearing for my life; had that all been pointless?
“First for information. If I tell you anything now, then Bluschencko would use that knowledge against you. If you know nothing, he can’t torture it out of you. And believe me, he’d try.”
“You seem to know him very well.”
“I’ve had plenty of opportunities to get acquainted with him, trust me.”
“But how? And why? You’ve never said.” I was sick and tired of him throwing up roadblocks any time I tried to ask even the most basic of questions. It was maddening, not to mention dangerous.
“When we get away from here, I promise I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “Right now we need to focus on getting back to the safe house.” He turned and barked something in Ukrainian at the driver, who stepped on the gas, then swerved off the gravel road we’d been following into the thick woods. The vehicle swerved wildly left and right as it dodged trees, brush, and boulders. The force threw my body hard against the side of the Jeep; I cried out in pain from the impact. Rostovich grabbed me and pulled me tightly against his body. A wave of pleasure replaced the pain, blending with it in a sinister tango as a rush of memories from our lovemaking flooded my body. “Steady on,” he said. “Just a few more miles, and we’ll be safe.”
But it was not to be. Before I could enjoy feeling Rostovich’s touch again---before I could even catch my breath---there was a metallic ping against the side of the jeep. Then another, and another. Then one of the Jeep’s few remaining windows shattered, the glass flying in shards out onto the ground below. A shell whizzed by, narrowly missing Rostovich’s thigh and landing in the seat upholstery beside us.
“Get down!” he shouted, pressing me onto the floorboards and covering my body with his own. My blood turned to ice in terror, even as I felt warmth spread in my groin at his touch. More metallic pings rang out, and then there was a small explosion as a bullet hit one of the Jeep’s tires. The vehicle leaned hard to one side, there was a deafening screech as the wheel rim and parts of the undercarriage scraped along the rocky terrain. Sparks flew as engine parts ground against each other, and then the driver lost control, sending the Jeep into a tree. The driver went through the windshield and impaled on a tree branch, dying instantly. The vehicle flipped over on impact.
As the dust settled, Rostovich and I were alive, but trapped.
END OF BOOK ONE
Read on for Chapter One of BUTTERFLY EFFECT, Book Two of the DOMINO trilogy
Chapter One of BUTTERFLY EFFECT: Book Two of the DOMINO trilogy
Rostovich and I always managed to get tangled up together, it seemed.
Our escape plan from the House of Pleasure had failed. Our driver was dead, and the getaway Jeep had crashed into a tree and flipped upside down. We were trapped inside, our bodies intertwined like a pair of snakes around a pole, awaiting our fate.
“They’ve found us,” Rostovich whispered. A stray piece of shrapnel had sliced open his temple, and a thin rivulet of blood ran down his cheek. “It’s only going to get worse from here. Prepare yourself.”
Prepare yourself. For what? I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to disappear. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something pleasant---warm blankets, hot chocolate, the tabby kitten I’d raised as a child, sex. But all I could think of was gunshots and screeching tires.
In the dark forest silence I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The frozen grass and dead leaves crunched underneath the upside-down set of leather boots I saw outside the shattered window. A set of boots I recognized. Polished black patent leather, with high heels and thick platform soles.
Elzbeta.
I gasped and then tried to speak, but Rostovich clapped a hand over my mouth. “Don’t say anything until I figure out what’s happening here,” he whispered. Then he said something in Ukrainian that I didn’t understand. Elzbeta replied back in the same language. Her tone wasn’t at all angry or threatening either----quite the opposite.
Rostovich released my mouth. “It’s all right,” he said. “Elzbeta is on our side.”
I stiffened. “On our side? Is that why she shot at us?”
By way of responding, Elzbeta pried open one of the Jeep’s buckled doors. “I didn’t shoot at you,” she said in flat, almost American-sounding English. I knew now that her British accent was fake, a show she put on for the House of Pleasure’s staff and clients. “The guard did. But I managed to kill him before he killed you. He had an extra gun tucked in his belt, I grabbed it and used it against him before he could stop me. I’m sorry if you were frightened, but I had to play both sides in order for any of us to have a chance.”
Elzbeta extended a hand and helped me out of the Jeep first, then Rostovich. “Us?” I asked her, incredulous. “I thought you liked staying at the House of Pleasure.”
“I wouldn’t say I liked it, but it was better than the alternative.” Rostovich nodded in agreement, as if he knew what that meant. “Peter, I’m very sorry about Boris,” Elzbeta went on. “I know he was a good friend of yours from the old days.” I guessed she was referring to our dead driver.
Rostovich sighed and shook his head. “He knew the risks. I’ll take care of his widow and children.”
I put myself between them. It was high time I got some answers. “I take it you two know each other?”
Rostovich nodded again. “Elzbeta is my cousin.” He went to embrace her. He muttered something softly in Ukrainian in her ear, then switched to English. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Nancy and I both owe you our lives.”
Elzbeta waved her hand in dismissal. “Let’s get back to the safe house before we talk about anyone owing anybody anything,” she said. “It’s another four kilometers to the main road. We can take the House of Pleasure’s Range Rover, but we’ll risk getting caught that way. All of Bluschencko’s cars are marked and will be recognized by the authorities if we’re seen. We’ll need to dispose of the vehicle as soon as we get to the safe house.” She paused. “There’s room for Boris’s body in the trunk, but we’ll have to dump the guard.”
Peter winced. “I’ll take care of it. You look after Nancy. She’s cold and badly bruised. And see if you can get her something else to wear.”
Elzbeta offered me her overcoat and produced a pair of wool socks, but had no extra shoes. Peter dumped the dead body of the guard in a ravine; given this was Bluschencko’s private compound, it likely wouldn’t be found for days. He then bundled the driver’s broken corpse in a tarp he pulled from the back of the ruined Jeep and tucked the bloody baggage into the back of the House of Pleasure’s black Range Rover. I didn’t see any of the betraying marks on the vehicle that Elzbeta had referred to, and figured she must be talking about something else. But what? The license plate? A tracking device?
The slam of the Ranger Rover’s trunk jerked me out of my reverie. “Get in,” Rostovich ordered, wiping blood off his hands with a handkerchief. His entire shirtfront was splattered with gore and the coppery scent flooded my nostrils, threatenin
g to make me faint. “We don’t have any time to waste.”
I obeyed, and so did Elzbeta; I took the rear seat and she rode shotgun. Rostovich took the wheel and drove us off into the night.
Exhaustion set in; my body had endured more of its share of stress over the past several days, and as the Range Rover bumped along, I found myself unable to stave off sleep. The last thing I remembered hearing before nodding off was Elzbeta and Rostovich chatting back and forth in Ukrainian. I recognized only one phrase.
Richard Darling.
****
I came to in a small, dark room. I lay on a makeshift pallet made of old quilts. The place smelled of dust, ammonia, and simmering beef stew. The spot beside me had been slept in recently but was empty. I leaned over, breathed in deep of the bedclothes, and smelled Rostovich---musk, expensive cologne, a hint of rum, a trace of the coppery scent of blood. He’d slept close beside me. Not only that, he’d come halfway across the world just to rescue me. My body warmed all over at the very thought of everything he’d done for my sake. But I still didn’t know what his true intentions towards me were. Was I his lover, or a mere plaything, a tool he used for other, more sinister purposes? Plus there was so much I still wanted and needed from him----would he be up to the task? Or would he just keep throwing up those impenetrable walls of his, keeping his true self hidden yet again?
I was still clad in my Domino gear and Elzbeta’s overcoat. I no longer felt like myself; I desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. More than that, I needed to leave Domino herself behind. She had served me well for a time, but now I needed to return to the person I’d been before. If that was even possible.
The small room where I’d slept wasn’t big enough for a bed; it was more of an alcove, without even so much as a door. The walls were concrete block and the floor faded linoleum that was peeling up in places. There was a small window high up on one wall; I looked outside and saw only razor wire and an alley several stories below. What little of the building’s exterior looked to be an old-style Soviet-era housing block, but in such a state of disrepair I guessed it was mostly abandoned.
Domino (The Domino Trilogy) Page 33