Wallbanger

by Sable Jordan

  Kizzie spun back and forth, fighting vertigo, until the ropes finally tired of the torque and steadied her again. She said nothing, just glared at the girl and tried to figure a way out of the bindings; lifted her head to study the ties. French bowline knots around her limbs anchor hitched to heavy-duty metal rings connected to the blocks of wood fashioned to look like a cross. An airplane control—what puppeteers used to make the puppet’s extremities move. At least his crazy is thorough….

  “Won’t help,” Sumi said, unknowingly interrupting Kizzie’s snark. “I’m very good with suspension. Only way out those is if I untie you myself, and I don’t plan to do that.”

  A wicked smile spread Kizzie’s lips. Not for any particular reason other than to confuse the girl. As it stood, she was screwed. Xander was off in Sacha’s office trying to access his computer, something she’d remember to be pissed about later. He should have told her. And Marchande was secured safely in the Range Rover outside. Next time, she decided, he’d have to wear the corset. Of course, that meant she’d have to get her ass out of this contraption to make sure there’d be a next time. The image of Phil in hooker heels was a bright spot in an otherwise emotionally dreary evening, and she laughed.

  “Something funny?” Sumi frowned, cocked her head.

  “You don’t know me so well.” Affecting bravado seemed like a good route, even in her groggy state and without a stitch of clothing on. “Once I do get out of this…I’m going to kill you.”

  That was a promise.

  It was Sumi’s turn to laugh, the same tinkle she’d done before, only this time a bit louder. “Sounds nice. But what you don’t know is you’re already dead. Whatever Sacha leaves of you the explosion will finish.” She produced a key—the one Xander slid into his breast pocket, Kizzie noted—and fitted it into the lock at Kizzie’s throat. “Too pretty a bobble for a corpse.”

  The collar slithered from its place and Sumi wrapped it around the ropes on her body, secured the lock. Then she removed the tag from her own neck and tied it around Kizzie’s.

  “There. Now you’re a real puppet!” she enthused, pulling a reverse-Pinocchio. Hands free, she found Kizzie’s breasts, squeezed the orbs. “It’s such a shame, really. You’re a very pretty puppet, Gigi. Watching the way the whip made you come, over and over…. Mmmm. Made me want to—” She crouched and trailed her tongue up Kizzie’s extended leg, stopping just at the apex of her thigh. She took in a deep breath and grazed the skin with her teeth. “I think we would have had a lot of fun together.”

  Standing again, Sumi’s mouth closed on one nipple, and Kizzie tried to twist away, revulsion rippling through her. The girl held her firmly, surprisingly strong for someone her size, and her lips feathered over Kizzie’s collarbone, her neck, until she met her mouth. She forced her tongue inside, lapping with slow strokes, while her fingers rubbed insistently over Kizzie’s spread pussy.

  She whimpered, urging Sumi closer. Off the heels of the other, the stimulus was too much, and she wended her free leg about the tiny waist. One small hand cupped her face, and once she had the girl locked against her, Kizzie bit down hard on the flesh invading her mouth; harder until the girl shrieked and squealed.

  Panicked, Sumi reached up to yank Kizzie’s head forward, increasing the strain in her arms.

  But she didn’t let go. She reconciled with the fact her limbs would snap from her body and directed all of her attention toward severing the puppet’s tongue at the root. The more Sumi pulled, the more force Kizzie applied until she tasted a coppery trickle; harder, until her right shoulder slipped from the socket and her mouth opened in pain. The device swung her slowly back and forth, adding to the discomfort.

  Sumi stumbled away, her own mouth full of bloody saliva. “Fuckin’ bitch!” The back of her hand connected with Kizzie’s cheek, and she chopped her repeatedly with a half fist in her side. Around her swelling tongue she managed, “I hope you die shlow.”

  Aiming for Kizzie’s face, she spat a red glob but couldn’t quit muster the force needed, the fluid making a pitiful dive from her lips and landing on the floor. Another attack was in the works when Sacha stumbled into the chamber, eyes wild and glittering.

  “What are you doing?” Sumi didn’t respond, and Sacha descended on her in a matter of seconds. He gripped her hair and snapped her head back hard. “Answer me!”

  “I—”

  He pushed her away, stalked toward Kizzie. “Leave.”

  Sumi stumbled but regained her balance, rushing to the exit. At the last moment she turned to Kizzie again, hand over her injured mouth. Kizzie stared at her with hardened eyes. She’d see the girl again, and when she did, she’d kill her without hesitating.

  A little finger wave from the doll and she disappeared into the opaque hole leaving Kizzie all alone with the Puppet Master.

  * * * *

  Thirty meters above ground in the darkened office, Xander sat behind Sacha’s desk, waiting for the software on the jump drive he’d concealed in his watch to finish cracking the man’s computer password. Apart from the steady ticking of a clock, all was quiet in the large space. He checked his phone, noted it was after one in the morning, and continued to will the machine to work faster.

  After the tense separation in the punishment room, he strolled around the party, peeking in at some of the action, trying to forget what had happened while keeping an eye on Sacha and his movements. Sokoviev had disappeared shortly after Kizzie’s lashing, ran off to get higher, if that was possible, and inflict some serious damage on one of his puppets no doubt. And that the one girl—Zlata?—wasn’t at her usual location when he’d crept into the office made him think this was all a bit too easy.

  There were only two things Xander ever trusted in life—Phil’s gut and his own. That’s why, when he first came into the office, he pulled back on the large painting on the wall behind Sacha’s desk. As suspected, a safe was hidden there, the digital combination lock initially giving him pause. Too many options to choose from and he didn’t have the tools to get in it.

  But then he tried the handle and again thanked Sacha’s arrogance. The man hadn’t even bothered to lock it.

  A quick rifle through the box revealed nothing but cash. Lots of cash, but nothing else—no passport, no documents, no flash drive. Nothing that would tell him anything about Harvey.

  Which meant he was down to checking the man’s computer. And while he waited to crack into the machine, Xander’s gut told him something else was wrong. He didn’t know what, but as soon as this finished he needed to get to Kizzie and the hell out.

  Yet even that would prove problematic. His insubordinate subordinate had dismissed him and run off. Where she was now was anyone’s guess. He only hoped she kept her hands to herself so she wouldn’t be punished again.

  The cell phone vibrated in his hand. “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Office,” Xander whispered, spine stiffening. “Problem?”

  “Your girl’s mobile.”

  “What?” That didn’t make sense. The doors were locked and guarded, and even if she’d managed to get out through the front…. “You see her?”

  “Nope. Moving away from me, toward the rear wall of the compound. The cameras covering that area are blind.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “There’s only one way onto the lot. There’s no way she could scale the wall at the back. Are you sure?”

  “It’s moving, X. Didn’t believe it myself for a minute. Thought it was a malfunction, but…”

  The password screen on the computer dissolved, the many files on the system popping up. He ignored them, navigated through until he’d opened a command screen; entered the prompt. A new bit of software began downloading from the jump drive.

  “Want me to follow?”

  If she’s running, she found something. But what?

  “Need to know soon,” Marchande said. “We lose range in a bit.”

  Barefoot in the snow and half naked. Which meant s
he had to have a contact close to help her escape. But she hadn’t had access to her phones or weapons since leaving Panama; had been adamant about setting up the dummy line before they’d left in case anyone in The Crew tried to track her. Those dots didn’t connect.

  There was only one other option.

  “Where’s the closest Metro station?” Xander asked, trying to keep a lid on his anger. Here he was concerned at what he’d done to her and she’d screwed him over. Was playing him from the start. It stung.

  “Couple blocks. Definitely walking distance; a few trains to choose from.”

  The doorknob jiggled and Xander froze. “Hold position, I’ve got company.” One hand slapped the monitor off; the other disconnected the call. He dropped to the floor, using the desk to hide when the door swung open. Peering around the edge, he saw one of Sacha’s men silhouetted in the frame.

  The guard took a tentative step in, head swiveling in the darkness. He moved to turn on the lights when the computer let out a soft boop. Hand on his pistol, he entered fully and shut the door.

  Even better. Xander had been sitting in the dark for a while now, his eyes already accustomed to the lack of lighting. It would take the guard a moment to gain the same advantage. Quietly unhinging the buckle of his belt, he heard the man’s footfalls padding across the expanse, not even trying to mask the sound, and easily pinpointed him approaching the desk from the opposite side.

  Careful to keep his shoes from dragging, Xander silently crawled on hands and knees until he’d again put himself at the edge of the table farthest from the pursuer. The man kept spinning about, sweeping the gun out in front of him while he checked to see what was happening with the machine.

  Xander moved, slithering across the floor like a crocodile, positioning himself at the front of the desk. He took in quiet breaths through his nose; let them out through his mouth. And he waited.

  The guard’s phone rang, and the man hurried to answer, the entire conversation held in Russian: “Hello…no, not here…stupid alarm must be broken again…then he must have left and you missed him…. Leaving now…Go handle the driver, then…. I know, I know. Kill him.”

  The call ended.

  Xander waited.

  The guard went back to his inspection, turning on the monitor. He yanked the jump drive from the base and quickly rushed past the desk. Two steps from the door Xander hooked the man’s neck with his forearm, thrusting the sharp blade of the knife with precision into the base of the skull.

  Not a sound—dead before he hit the floor.

  The kill didn’t faze Xander.

  Without missing a beat he recovered the flash drive and the man’s gun, went back to the computer and keyed in the command to get the program running again.

  “What’s the deal?” Phil asked when he answered the phone.

  “Seems we’ve moved down the food chain. You should have a guard or two coming your way soon. They’re not stopping in for tea.”

  “Your ETA?”

  He could hear the smile in Phil’s voice. “Fifteen.”

  “And Kizzie?”

  Xander ground his teeth. Obviously she had a secondary agenda as well. “Catch up with her later. And when I do, she’s dead on sight.”

  * * * *

  Tonight would be her last. Zlata knew more things than she ever cared to know about what went on in this place, and if she didn’t get out now, she would be dead by morning.

  That’s what happened to the other puppet. The girl had waited one day too long, and Sacha had killed her in the Dungeon. With the rage he was in this evening, Zlata knew her fate would be the same.

  Perhaps that’s why she felt compelled to try to warn Gigi. No one should be subjected to this kind of treatment, and while the other girls were too far gone for her to save, she could at least try to convince this one to stay with her Master Duquesne. And if that didn’t work, she had decided to risk speaking to the man herself. He was nice to his puppet—was she a puppet? If she was, Zlata had never seen one treated so well. She was not scarred and cut like Sacha’s set. And her affection for her Master appeared to be genuine, not forced the way the Kukol´nik made his girls behave.

  But then that other Dom appeared, and Zlata hadn’t been able to tell Gigi to leave. Now she wouldn’t get the chance.

  Without turning on the light, she slid the few items of clothing off the metal pole in the closet, shoved her fingers into one round end to retrieve the money she’d stashed there. Exactly 96 Euros—just enough for a bus ticket and a small meal for the ride. She’d quietly stolen the change Sacha sometimes left out, only taking small amounts that would go unnoticed. Other times she risked sneaking through the tunnels to avoid the alarm at his office door. He often left the safe behind the painting unlocked, and it took a good deal of restraint for her to filch only the lesser bills. She wanted to grab every cent and run. Only reason she hadn’t was that she had no place to go—he’d find her back in Sertolova.

  The last rolled Euro took a little longer to remove, the trove a result of sixteen months of theft. She needed more; had no idea how she’d get through customs without a passport and wasn’t sure where she was headed. But if she did not leave tonight she never would.

  Those few seconds in the hallway were the last she knew of Sacha’s movements, and the apprehension Zlata felt about not knowing exactly where he was nearly stopped her from leaving. If he caught her away from his office again—

  Courage. It was all that had gotten her through those sessions in his dungeon; the driving force that made her chance being caught stealing. Hope fled the first day he’d raped her, but courage had seen her through.

  She just needed a bit more now.

  Not bothering to remove the ropes, Zlata tugged on the jeans she’d arrived in eighteen months before. Huge now that she’d lost so much weight, the thin shirt hung like a tent, the only benefit being it had long sleeves. They were all the clothes she had, and to be in them again after so long made this moment real.

  Zlata slid into her tennis shoes; the arches making her usually bare feet feel funny. Then she shoved the money into her pocket and made her way into the tunnels.

  Immediately fear paralyzed her. Sacha was there—she could hear his screaming, and felt bad for whichever puppet he tugged on tonight. But she had to save herself.

  Staying to the outskirts, she located the first path she needed to traverse, bringing the noise louder. A few more minutes of travelling and she chose the next channel. His cries increased. She slapped her hands over her ears to keep it away, walking quickly to the hidden path that would finally take her from this place.

  * * * *

  Still a bit groggy, Kizzie stared at the madman before her. Sacha was completely out of touch with reality, screaming one minute, totally calm the next—if a man coked out of his mind could really be called calm. More like paranoid, dilated pupils darting about. The slightest noise made him jump; his own voice echoing through the cavern, the strained creak of tense ropes. That’s when he’d slap her, back of the hand, downward angle. The first blow was the most solid, everything after just a graze. But the cumulative effect took its toll.

  “Your owner,” Sacha said, selecting a knife from his arsenal, “did not punish you to my liking. Who are you to touch a Master, hmm? You bitches are all alike—don’t know your place anymore.”

  Kizzie let him rant, never once taking her eyes off of him, but her mind focused on a way out. Her fingers were going numb, circulation sluggish with them being above her head. The only benefit was that eventually her injured right shoulder would be numb too. Aside from that, everything was in pain. Grunting, she curled her left fist around the rope it was bound to, digging deep to do a single-armed lift of her body weight. It shifted the airplane control, and she decided to try to bring it down.

  “Stop moving!” Sacha screamed. “Syestra, you fucking bitch!” The rage left just as quickly as it arrived, and he approached her with a serrated blade. “I’m going to carve my name into you
r face.”

  Sweat trickled down her nose, and Sacha roughly clutched her cheeks in his clammy hand, fingers digging in. The sharp tip of the knife trailed under her eye.

  “I don’t like the way you look at me. You can’t be trusted. None of you!” He burrowed the point into the skin of her lower lid, just enough to feel the bite. “What if I cut this out? Hmm?”

  He backed off, stepping off the platform and walking to his tools. Then he spun quickly and hurled the knife at her.

  It happened so fast Kizzie couldn’t move, and the only thing that saved her from catching the point in her stomach was Sacha’s intoxicated aim. It clattered to the floor behind her just as another knife, smaller, came toward her hilt over blade, and she yanked hard with her right arm, barely getting out of the way.

  “Yes, syestra! Dance! Dance for your Master!”

  The pain was enormous but focusing on that would not solve her problem. Fighting through the ache, Kizzie tugged insistently at the ropes, hoping it was doing some damage up there that she couldn’t see. Any minute now he’d cut her, and she rather liked her skin in tact.

  “Stop moving, you filthy bitch!”

  She didn’t stop; worked harder, swinging back and forth.

  Sacha pounced, gripping her about the neck. Thumbs pressed in, slowly cut off her air supply. Then he dragged his tongue up her sweaty face.

  “Fear…I taste it, syestra. That’s what I want from you.” His forehead met her cheek; harsh breaths rasped her skin. One hand loosened from her neck, trailing to cup her breast. He crushed the rounded flesh and released it. “I want to feel it while I fuck you, want you to feed me your terror,” he whispered. His fingers continued down her body, slowly, just grazing her skin, moving over her mons.

  Kizzie jerked, seeming to snap whatever trance he was in. “No! You will take it!” His closed fist met her exposed ribs with bruising force. “You will not move while I fuck you, or I will make your death slower, Nikolay! You and the American and the Japanese!”