You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1)

by Le Carre, Georgia

  Months later when more and more memories came back and I researched it on the net, I found other women with the same story to tell. I pieced their memories with mine and a picture emerged. Strangers went onto the dark net and paid to gang rape a woman in a hotel in London. I even remembered that one of them said he had flown into London for the express purpose of raping a drugged woman. The others had presumably included it as part of their holiday experience.

  For hours they used my body. Every orifice. Even though I could not move a single muscle I felt it all. Tears continuously flowed out of my eyes, but they didn’t care. They just carried on one at a time, two at a time, three at a time. For hours and hours. I was a human toilet.

  I thought the night would never end.

  But I won’t carry on with any more gory details, you can use your imagination.

  I don’t know exactly when they left, but when I came back from the darkness I was alone. I wanted to get up and run away. I was afraid they would come back but I could not move. I didn’t give up. I just kept on trying to move my finger. I knew Andrew or Kim had spiked my drink and it would wear away.

  An hour or so later, I could move my fingers and my mouth. With all my strength I waved my fingers and, slowly, movement came back to me. I was so frightened and so filled with adrenaline that I did not feel any pain at all then. When I sat up, I saw that my entire body was blue-black with bruises and bite marks, and there was quite a lot of blood between my thighs.

  When I tried to stand I fell over. My legs felt like they did not belong to me. They were like jelly. The whole time I was terrified the men would come back. I started to crawl and pull myself along the carpet. I dragged my body to the door, but my hands were almost useless. Crying with frustration, I finally managed to open the door and I was in the corridor. It was empty and silent. At the end of the corridor I could see a lift.

  I had gone beyond fear. My mind was blank. All I had to do was reach the lift doors and someone would help me. The carpet burned my legs and elbows, but I felt no pain. Unable to see clearly, I pressed both the buttons on the consul. When the lift doors opened I saw a man standing inside it. He looked down at me with a frown. There were other people around him, but my vision was strangely blurred and I could only see his face.

  For a brief moment I was afraid again. There was something about him that frightened me. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

  I fainted at his feet.

  That man was Lenny.

  Twenty-five

  SHANE

  For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.

  —Cynthia Occelli

  ‘Lenny?’ I repeat in disbelief. I am in such a rage that it is difficult to keep my voice from shaking.

  ‘Yes, Lenny,’ she says quietly. ‘The hotel belonged to him. He was on his way up to the suite he keeps for himself on the top floor.’

  I frown, but I don’t share my thoughts about Lenny. ‘So Lenny took you to the police?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, he took me to his suite and when I woke up I didn’t want to go to the police. I was in a state of shock.’ She makes a small noise. ‘To be honest I think I was a little mad. And I was so sick from the drugs they had given me.’

  ‘Didn’t he take you to the hospital?’

  ‘No, he brought a doctor to the suite. The doctor cleaned me up and prescribed some pills.’ She stops and says, ‘I think I need one now. Could you please get it for me?’

  I go out to the living room and look in her purse. The pills are in a transparent plastic tub with a white screw top. There is no label on the tub. I unscrew it, take one pill out, and slip it into my trouser pocket. Then I fill a glass with water and take it and the container of pills to her. I shake one out and hold it out to her.

  ‘It doesn’t have the label. What is it?’

  She puts the pill on her tongue and swallows it down with water. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it helps me.’

  I take the glass and put it on the bedside table.

  ‘So,’ I say. ‘You never went to the police.’

  ‘No. Lenny said it would have been too late anyway. They would all have left the country by then. Plus, I can’t remember their faces clearly. They blur in my mind. Once, I hated them and I wanted them to be punished. I used to pray that something horrible would happen to them, but I don’t think about them anymore.’

  I look at her swollen face. ‘They never used a condom. Have you had yourself tested for any diseases?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Lenny always uses a condom and that is why I am very careful with you too.’

  I don’t feel the kind of burning anger that I would have expected to feel. Inside, I am cold as ice. I want Snow, and I want revenge. And I will have both.

  ‘Do you understand now why I am indebted to Lenny? I was so broken and he fixed me. I couldn’t go home. I was too ashamed. And I couldn’t hold down a job. He gave me money and protection. And all he asked for in return, when I was a little better, was … a bit of comfort.’

  ‘Fuck it. You don’t owe him anything, Snow. He abused you.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, no, you don’t understand. There is an Old English word, bereafian. It means to deprive of, take away, seize, rob. That is what happened to me. I was seized and robbed. But not of my purse or money. I suffered shocking loss. Indescribable. It was so horrific that when I dragged myself out of that room I was like a dead person. I fell unconscious at his feet. He picked me up and took care of me, but I can’t even remember that time properly anymore. It is a blur.’

  She frowns trying to remember.

  ‘It’s as if there is opaque heavy glass between me and those images of me scrabbling around the floor like a spider, hissing, furious, … helpless. I stopped eating. All I really remember is outside it rained and rained and my rage was like a dully burning metal inside me. The agony was so total, time stopped rushing forward. There was no future. For months I never went outside. If not for my pills and Lenny, I would not have survived. Can you believe I bathed only when Lenny marched me to the shower and turned on the tap?’

  She looks at me beseechingly.

  ‘He was patient with me for months. I was like a mad woman. I slept all day with the curtains drawn. Everything terrified me. I couldn’t even walk down to the corner shop. He saw me through it all without ever giving up on me. The first time I felt human again was in spring when I was walking on the pavement and I saw an earthworm writhing on the concrete.’

  She smiles mistily.

  ‘I crouched down and Citra’s face came into my mind. “When you see a worm on a pavement, remember that it is having a bad day. Pick it up and put it on some grass or soil.” So I carefully picked it up and carried it in my cupped hands all the way to the park. I left it on the grass, and the simple act of how it had burrowed into the cool earth still made sense when the rest of the world did not. I felt then that there was order in the world. I was having a bad day, but I would find grass and earth again. One day.’

  ‘He should have taken you to a proper doctor and had you examined and treated. Instead he caged you, manipulated you and used you.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Shane. It was not his decision. I didn’t want to see anyone. Not even a doctor. I was too ashamed. I didn’t want another person seeing or touching me. He brought me medicine.’

  ‘I am almost certain that what he gave you is not proper medicine. The bottle doesn’t even have a pharmacy label on it. Knowing him it’s bound to be something that helped to make you even more dependant on him. And then he locked you away in an apartment and did not allow any other man to touch you, while he availed himself to any number of whores he wanted. How did you ever think he was helping you?’

  Twenty-six

  LENNY

  Come on. The lift doors opened, and
this exotic, raven-haired, green-eyed beauty literarily crawled up to my feet and gave herself to me. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t arrange for her to be kidnapped and raped and thrown to grovel at my feet.

  I mean, what would you have done?

  Taken her to the police and walked away?

  No fucking way. I’m no Good Samaritan.

  Besides, I didn’t want the police crawling all over my hotel, minding my business for me. The way I saw it, she was like a gift from heaven. Yeah, of course she was covered in bruises. Jesus, the bastards sure worked her good. Six, she told me later. But even with her entire body covered in bruises she was a raving beauty.

  So I took her back. I patched her up. You have to understand she was no walk in the park. She was bloody, fucking hard work. Those first few months were no joke. She wandered around mute and half-crazy. She used to try to scrub herself clean, scratching her skin like an animal until it was raw and bleeding. And then there were the nightmares, the waking up in the middle of the night screaming in agony as if she had a wound in her body and her soul was pouring out, the shaking, the crying, the catatonic trances.

  But the funny thing is, I never thought to throw in the towel. She had been given to me. And in this shitty life it’s not often that you are given anything that special. You have to fucking fight for every last inch, let alone a jewel like her.

  My father used to say, you give a donkey a page from a fine book and it will eat it, you give a child the same page and it will scribble all over it, you give a learned man that page and he will read it. I always knew she was a page. The donkeys had tried to eat her. I knew I could never read her. But I could scribble on her for a while.

  It took time before I could scribble on her. Months.

  But the day came when I could part those white thighs and enter her. Fucking her was different than with any other woman. I can’t explain it. When I fucked her it was like fucking a child or a dumb animal. Not that I have ever fucked either. Just what I imagine it could be like. She never responds because she doesn’t enjoy sex. She never climaxes and I never try to make her enjoy it. You see, I kind of like that she gets no pleasure from it. It’s kinda virginal and pure. Like in the olden days, when they grinned and bore it. That kind of woman doesn’t exist anymore.

  Now every fucking bitch is shoving a ten-inch vibrator up her wet cunt every chance she gets. No class at all. And I’m all about class. It’s perverse, yet it excites me to think she doesn’t want me in her body, but she allows me to because she’s grateful. Because she belongs to me. The way your pet belongs to you. You can do anything because you’re the master.

  I enjoy being the owner of such an exquisitely beautiful human. I’d buy her a collar and take her out to town to show her off if I could. Maybe one day I will. I’ll take her to one of those kinky places where the men come bringing their women on leashes. And the women have to crawl on their hands and knees like dogs. The problem with those clubs is that you have to share. And I don’t think I could do that. Mine is the only dick that’s going up that girl.

  Everywhere we go I see men looking at her hungrily, but I don’t see any interest in her eyes. Sometimes though, not often, maybe once or twice, I feel her wanting to fly away. She gets that look in her eyes, and those times I remind her again of that day I found her. I deliberately make her cry.

  I make her realize that she’s irreparably damaged and she needs me. I’m the one who took care of her. I’m the only one she can trust. In the beginning I used to tell her that no other man would have her once they knew she was so defiled. I mean six men in one session. No man wants that.

  But don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I don’t care about her. When I don’t see her for a few days I start to miss her. I miss her distant smile. I miss the taste of her skin. I miss her vacant eyes while I am pounding away into her dry little pussy. I miss the smell of her hair. I miss the way her tears roll down her cheeks.

  Yeah, I’m missing my little pet right now.

  Twenty-seven

  SNOW

  The sound of a woman’s voice wakes me up. I sit up. There is a toweling robe laid on the bed for me and I slip it on and go to the door. I open it a crack and hear a peal of laughter. She comes into view and I realize that she must be a relative. She has exactly the same coloring as Shane, tall with long dark hair. She is visibly pregnant. Since she can’t be much older than me, she must be his sister, Layla.

  ‘Well, where is she then?’ the woman demands. ‘I’m dying to meet her.’

  ‘Asleep, but she won’t be for much longer if you carry on laughing like a demented hyena,’ Shane says.

  I open the door and step outside. ‘Good morning,’ I say awkwardly.

  ‘You’re up,’ Shane says with a smile.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. I feel embarrassed and strange. After last night I don’t know how Shane feels about me anymore.

  All I know is that I was awful. Enough to put the most ardent suitor off. I vaguely remember falling asleep in his arms after taking my pill.

  ‘So you’re, Snow. I’m Layla, Shane’s sister.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say with a small wave.

  ‘I hope he hasn’t told you anything horrid about me, because I have far worse secrets about him,’ she says and, coming up to me, envelops me in a huge hug. She is definitely not the typical reserved, stiff upper-lipped, English person. In fact, she is very much like an Indian, who has no real concept of personal space. I, of course, immediately warm towards her.

  ‘I’ve brought you some clothes. They’re not new, but they are clean. I brought all stretchy stuff so it’ll be like free size. Of course, you’ll have to fold up the jeans.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll just change into them and join you,’ I say, taking the bag she is holding out to me.

  ‘I’ll be in the kitchen having a bit of ice cream,’ she says.

  I look at Shane and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, are you OK?

  I nod and, looking at Layla, say, ‘Great I’ll see you guys in the kitchen.’ I go back to the room and close the door, but not all the way. I hear Layla say with a laugh, ‘I thought you were never going out with any girl with white skin and black hair.’

  ‘And I thought you were never going out with BJ,’ he retorts.

  I don’t catch her answer as they disappear into the kitchen.

  I dress in the T-shirt and skinny jeans that she brought. The jeans are too long so I fold them at the top. I quickly brush my teeth with the brand new toothbrush Shane has left by the sink. I comb my fingers through my hair and make for the kitchen.

  Layla is sitting at the counter eating ice cream and talking animatedly about her son. She turns towards me. ‘Would you like to have some ice cream?’

  ‘Layla,’ Shane says pointedly. ‘Snow is not weird. She doesn’t want ice cream for breakfast, besides, don’t you have somewhere else to go?’ he asks.

  Layla slides off the seat with a sigh. ‘I don’t have anywhere to go to, but all right I’ll go.’ She grins at me. ‘I’ll grill you at my mum’s house at Sunday lunch.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Layla,’ Shane says exasperatedly.

  ‘Byeeeee,’ she says, and walks out of the kitchen. We hear the front door close behind her.

  ‘How do you feel this morning?’ Shane asks.

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I say uncomfortably.

  ‘Good. What do you want to have for breakfast?’

  ‘Shane?’

  ‘Yes.’ He appears solicitous. A stranger.

  I dig my fingernails into my palm. Wow! It’s been a long time since I did that. The pain of my fingernails dulls the other pain. The pain of thinking he regrets ever hooking up with me. Lenny accidentally revealed once that other men wouldn’t want me after they knew about what had happened to me, and I grew up in India where the shame of being raped actually causes women to be killed. He always claimed he didn’t care, but other men might not be able to take it. Some men are simply not strong enough to cope with such horror
. Some marriages even break up after a rape.

  ‘I’m … sorry about last night. I haven’t had a flashback in months. It must have been the shock of what happened outside the club that triggered it.’

  ‘Don’t apologize for last night,’ he says harshly, striding towards me and stopping a foot away from me. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

  ‘Erm … OK,’ I say, taken aback by the sudden fury in his voice. ‘Er … Thanks for asking your sister to bring me these clothes. I’ll just pop back to my apartment and get some of my clothes later this afternoon … if you still want me to stay, that is,’ I say uncertainly, my gaze searching his face for clues of reluctance or a change of mind.

  His eyes are like frozen blue orbs and his words as sharp as razors. ‘I’ve not changed my mind, and you’re never going back there again. I’ve thrown away your red dress. From now on I pay for everything that goes on your back.’

  ‘Oh,’ I exclaim, stunned by the intensity of his words. The more I know him the more I realize that beneath the easygoing charm and humor lurks a much darker beast.

  His expression warms suddenly, confusing me. ‘Now, do you want blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, a banana smoothie, waffles, warm brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam, or a full English for breakfast?’

  ‘Oh!’ I exclaim, overwhelmed by the choice. ‘I usually just have toast or cereal.’

  He smiles. ‘Yeah, I’ve got that too.’

  I pause. Why should I have the same old boring thing? ‘Actually, the brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam sounds really good.’

  His eyes twinkle. ‘It’s one of my favorites too. Sit and talk to me while I get it.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Nope,’ he says immediately.

  So I sit at the able while he moves about preparing our breakfast. Soon the entire kitchen fills with the lovely yeasty aroma of toasting brioche and hot coffee. He brings the food to the table and I realize just how hungry I am.

  I watch Shane’s large, capable hands tear apart the soft loaf and the steam rise from the middle of the bread. I watch him spread the jam on the pastry, not across the whole half, but just a corner. And on top of the jam a shaving of cold butter. Then I watch his strong white teeth bite into the piece and his sensual enjoyment of the complex tastes in his mouth, cold, warm, sweet, starchy, buttery, plummy.