The Soldier

by Renee Rose

  “Kayla, we’re just worried about you,” she says in the new, soft tone, turning back to face me with big, sympathetic eyes.

  “We?”

  “Yeah, we,” Ashley says from behind me. She’s dressed in a matching outfit, only she’s cut the t-shirt up so it shows more skin. “We’re just concerned. I mean, I get you want to explore your fantasies, and this guy does that for you, but it seems like it’s consuming you.”

  My chest and eyes get hot. I rewrap the towel around me to try to garner my thoughts.

  Sheri, my third roommate, shows up in the kitchen wearing a similar kind, sympathetic expression. Jeez, it’s like a goddamn intervention.

  “You, too?” I demand.

  She shrugs. “I’m not judging—I mean, I’m the queen of bad relationships.”

  Understatement. Sheri has a knack for finding guys who took off their wedding rings to get her in bed. Cheaters seem to look at her and know she’d be the perfect diversion.

  “Who said this was a bad relationship?” My voice sounds shrill to my ears.

  “You’re seeing a guy who gets off on hurting you. I get that it’s consensual, but it does raise some major red flags, don’t you think?” Kimberly doesn’t hold back.

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, is it just sex? I mean, what is it?” Ashley pulls out a chair and plops down at the kitchen table like we’re going to sit and talk about this.

  Oh, hell no.

  “It just seems like you’re investing a lot of your time into something that isn’t going anywhere,” Sheri agrees, also taking a seat.

  “Right. I thought it was going to be over at the end of your free month at Black Light,” Kimberly says.

  “Well, it wasn’t,” I say with false cheer. “It is going somewhere.” I shrug my shoulders, catching my towel when the action dislodges it, and sail from the kitchen to my room. I’m an actress, faking it is my game, not that they won’t see through it. You can’t live and work with three best friends without them knowing you inside and out.

  Our relationship is deepening, but if he’s moving back to Moscow, I’m setting myself up for a heartbreak.

  Sheri follows me into my bedroom and sits on the bed. I drop the towel and pull on a pair of panties because we aren’t shy around here.

  “I’m sorry,” Sheri says. “That wasn’t supposed to feel like an ambush. Did it?”

  “Kind of.” I stand in my closet, pulling out possible outfits for the audition.

  “I’m just wondering… like, where do you want things to go with this guy?”

  I throw a half-dozen choices of clothing on my bed and sigh, pretending to consider them, but really considering the question. “I want him,” I admit. “I want what Sasha has.”

  Our former roommate, Sasha’s father ran the Russian mafia before he died last fall. In some medieval and backwards move, he arranged a marriage for Sasha to Maxim, one of his bratva men who lives in Chicago. We first met him when she ran away from her new husband and went out on the town with us.

  I sort of got the bug for a dominant, powerful Russian man like him in my life. When she introduced me to Pavel later, I wanted him the moment I met him. The fact that he didn’t want me just made him all the more appealing.

  “Well, Maxim is hot. But is that what Pavel wants? I mean, you guys don’t even live in the same city. Where is this thing going?”

  She’s right. It can’t go much further. And yet it feels like it will.

  “I just wonder how much of this is fantasy and how much is real,” Sheri says.

  I want to flip my wet hair and say something glib and confident, but Sheri’s sifting through my shirts, helping me to pick the right one. She’s being a friend, and friends are honest with one another. Which means I have to be honest with myself.

  “Me too,” I admit. I take one of the blouses she holds out to me and put it on, turning in a circle for her to see the full effect. “But I’m starting to get to know him—beyond just the master-dom role. I don’t know—I really like this guy.”

  Sheri surveys me then shakes her head, wordlessly handing me a different top.

  “The problem is more that I don’t think he can move here, and I’m not leaving L.A. So it can’t go anywhere.”

  “Right. That’s my concern for you, too. It seems like you’re already in deep with this guy. You’re giving up all your work shifts to see him, and there’s no potential for a future. Also, you’re sad every Monday when the weekend is over. We hate seeing you that way.”

  I hate that she’s right.

  “I mean if you love the kinky sex, go for it. But do you have to see him every weekend? It seems a little intense. What if you just saw him once a month or something?”

  It makes perfect sense. I do miss working the promotions with my friends. I’m not exercising as much as I should because I skip all weekend, and I’ve lost focus on my career. Pavel has become my focus.

  My extremely hot, very dominant focus.

  One that I’m not willing to give up, even for one weekend.

  9

  Kayla

  I drive through the gates and park my car in front of Director Blake Ensign’s Hollywood mansion and pull my mirror down to check my make-up again. This is it—the biggest audition I’ve ever had.

  Apparently Ensign is leaving for Europe soon and wanted to get this part—a leading role—cast before he left. The casting director scheduled twenty-seven call-backs, all at his mansion for his convenience since he’s leaving town. The simple fact that I get to see the inside of Blake Ensign’s house makes it feel like I’ve finally arrived.

  And I’m auditioning for a leading role!

  It finally feels like things might be happening for me. Maybe Pavel was right—my dreams will come true.

  I head to the door, where I’m met by an assistant with a clipboard. “Name?” She doesn’t even look at me.

  “Kayla Winstead.”

  She finds my name on her clipboard and makes a checkmark. “You can wait in the living room. Mr. Ensign is seeing people in his office one at a time. He’s running about two hours late.”

  Gah. Two hours late. Pavel will be waiting for me at the Four Seasons.

  “Can I get you some water?”

  “Um, yes, please. Thanks, that would be great.”

  My heart is already pounding, and I’m only meeting the assistant.

  “Water,” she calls out to what must be her assistant and ushers me into a giant living room area. The floor is some kind of expensive tile, and the domed ceiling is vaulted—at least forty feet high. Great marble pillars define the perimeter.

  “Hi,” I say nervously to the six other women waiting. Two I recognize from other casting calls. Only one answers me with a “Hello.” All of them look like I do—petite, blonde, early twenties.

  My looks aren’t enough to land this job, not that they ever have been here in L.A. Back in high school, in Wisconsin, they got me every acting and modeling job I tried out for. But here—I’m the proverbial small fish in a very big sea.

  I pull out my phone to text Pavel. I’m so sorry—I’m at a casting call that may run late.

  He doesn’t reply, but he’s probably in the air already.

  I put my phone away to do some deep breathing and get centered.

  Nearly three hours later, I get called in. I’m the last one for the day, and it’s already 5:30 p.m. Pavel will already be waiting for me at the hotel—not that I can think about that now.

  I draw a steadying breath and walk in.

  Blake Ensign is not behind his desk, but on a loveseat. He’s in beachwear—shorts and a Tommy Bahama type shirt. One bare foot is crossed over his knee.

  “All right, come in. You’re the last one, right?”

  “Yes.” I look around, not sure where to stand. Or do I sit? I have no idea how this works.

  “Read the lines,” he commands with a wave.

  I stand directly in front of him and hold the script. I had enough time to
memorize the part while I was waiting, but I’m afraid I’ll screw up, so I keep it at the ready, my trembling fingers making the papers shake.

  He reads the male part in a monotone voice, and I pick up my lines. They don’t come out nearly as well as they sounded rehearsing in my head in the living room. Nothing like the way they sounded at the first casting call.

  Still, I give it my best, making it through a couple pages before he stops me.

  “All right, Kayla. That’s enough.”

  I screwed the pooch on this one.

  “I’m sorry—I’m just nervous. I did a much better job at the first audition. Can I try it again?”

  “Come here.” He crooks a finger at me.

  I walk closer, but he keeps beckoning. I stop when my toes hit his, then sort of look around, trying to figure out where he wants me. To sit beside him? Kneel at his feet? “I’m a very hard worker. If you give me a shot, I will do everything it takes to please you.”

  As it turns out, my choice of words were all wrong.

  Ensign sits back and adjusts his cock like I just gave him a boner. No—he’s not adjusting it. He’s holding it. Squeezing it.

  Oh God—I can’t take my eyes away!

  My heart hammers in my chest.

  “Everything it takes, hmm?” he says, his voice suggesting. “I like that in an actress. One of the most important characteristics, really.”

  Oh my God. I’m going to #MeToo right now. This is not happening. Please no.

  He catches my wrist and tugs my hand down to his dick, covering my fingers to make me squeeze it.

  Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  I don’t know what to do. I mean, I do. I slap his face and leave. Right?

  Of course, that’s what I should do. But burning bridges in Hollywood would be a terrible mistake. So I need to get out of this nicely. If that’s possible.

  “Show me how you’d please me,” he says.

  I want to barf. Literally. The contents of my empty stomach churn as I pull my hand away.

  I stumble back. “With my talent,” I say quickly. I will please you with my talent. I p-promise.”

  “Yes, and I’d like to experience that talent right now.” He says it like he’s totally sure of himself. Like every other actress who came in sucked him off.

  Did they?

  Or am I just the lucky one at the end of the day?

  Wait—why am I even wondering? It doesn’t matter—I just need to get myself out of this.

  “Well, that’s not…” I try to swallow. “I need to go. I’m sorry this isn’t going to work…” I make a beeline for the door.

  “You sure? I could open a lot of doors for you, Kayla Winstead.”

  I hate myself for even hesitating. I mean, I really, truly hate myself. But that’s how bad I want this dream.

  Tears prick my eyes as I turn. “Thanks, but I’d rather get there a different way.”

  Why did I even thank him? Seriously. What is wrong with me?

  I throw the door open and stumble out, ignoring the assistant, who is on her phone, and the assistant’s assistant, who is also on his phone.

  I throw open the front door and run out, straight to my car. Once I’m in it, I back out as quickly as I can. It’s not until I’m on the road driving that I break down into sobs.

  I need to talk to a friend. I could call one of my roommates, but something makes me call Sasha, instead. She’s the strongest woman I know. She’ll make me feel better.

  The moment she answers, she hears me sniffing. “Kayla? What is it? Did Pavel do something? I will kill him.”

  “No, it’s not Pavel. I’m supposed to be with him right now, but…”

  “But what? What’s going on?” Sasha’s Russian accent gets thicker with urgency.

  “I just got...casting couched.” I sniff.

  “Aw, fuck!” Sasha has the cutest way of saying fuck. I love her accent. “What happened? Are you okay? You should go to the police.”

  I suck in a breath. “No. I don’t want to go to the police. Nothing actually happened. I mean, he didn’t force himself on me or anything. It was just sexual harassment. He wanted me to give him a blowjob to prove how far I’d go to please him.”

  “What a dick! I’m so sorry that happened to you. God, don’t tell Pavel, he will literally kill the guy.”

  I sniff but my sobs subside as I suddenly focus on her words. “Um, when you say literally…”

  “I mean...seriously, Kayla—Pavel will kill him. Like shoot him in the head and kill him. Bratva men are serious about protecting their women.”

  My pulse races. “I… I can’t let that happen. He already told me he’s wanted for murder in Russia. At least, I think that’s what he implied.”

  “Really? I didn’t know. But that’s how it’s supposed to be—we’re not supposed to know such things. Honestly, I don’t think I’d tell him if I were you. He’s going to want vengeance. Pavel is not a forgiving guy, I know that much about him.”

  I mop my tears with one hand while steering with the other. I probably shouldn’t be driving in the state I’m in.

  “I think you should #MeToo him on social media,” Sasha declares. “It could win you sympathy points and get you other casting calls. You know—use this to your advantage while shaming the hell out of him.”

  “I don’t know…” I say slowly. I still fear getting blacklisted.

  “Yeah, actually, Pavel could see it, and that could backfire. Nevermind. Bad idea. And, I mean, if you want Pavel to kill him—I’m not judging. It could be nice having your warrior slay dragons for you.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “God, no. I would never want to be the reason he killed. I mean, I don’t want any of that.”

  “Of course you don’t. Well, maybe cancel with Pavel for this weekend if you’re not up to seeing him. Tell him you’re sick. He doesn’t have to get his dick sucked every single weekend, right?”

  For some reason, the thought of not seeing Pavel sends a whirlwind of anxiety rushing through me.

  “No, I’m okay. I’m an actress. I know how to change my mood—or fake it.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I think you need a big hug right now, not Pavel domming you around.”

  Actually, the thought of diving straight into that role—the fantasy role where all I have to do is surrender—sounds perfect. “No, I’m good. Thanks for talking me through this. I knew there was a reason I called you and not Ashley or Kimberly.”

  “All right. Virtual hug to you. Call me again if you want to talk more, okay?”

  “I will, thanks.” I end the call just as I pull into the valet parking for the Four Seasons. I tug the mirror down and wipe under my eyes. I look like crap, but maybe I can tell Pavel I need a shower first. He knows I’m coming straight from an audition that ran long.

  Squaring my shoulders, I take my bag from the trunk and enter the hotel. I practice my smile, trying to lighten my mood. Whatever I do, I can’t let Pavel know the truth.

  Pavel

  I stand on the balcony of the hotel room, trying to unclench my fingers. Kayla’s hours late and hasn’t responded to my last couple texts checking in. The need to get in a car and drive somewhere very fast to make sure she’s unharmed spikes about every five minutes, but of course, I don’t know where to drive.

  Damn. I should’ve put a tracker in her phone like Ravil and Maxim did with their women. I chose not to because I already control so many aspects of Kayla’s life, plus it felt like a betrayal of trust. She gives herself freely, and she wouldn’t lie. My enemies are in Chicago, not here, so I didn’t think her safety was at issue. Why would I need to track her?

  My phone beeps with an incoming text. Just got here. I’m so sorry, Master, the audition went really long.

  Thank fuck. I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and step inside. I want to go down and meet her, to carry her bag, but I’m not sure which way she’s coming, so I wait until she knocks on the door.

  I open
it, all set to give her a cool command to take off her clothes when I realize her mood is all wrong. She avoids my gaze, ducking her head as she passes me. I pick up her suitcase and bring it to the rack.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She still barely meets my gaze. Fuck—are her eyes red?

  What in the hell happened?

  I catch her hips and turn her to fully face me. “Hey,” I say softly, waiting for her to settle under my hands. Under my gaze.

  But she doesn’t.

  “What happened?”

  She turns out of my grasp to face her suitcase. “Nothing. Just a bad audition, that’s all. And I was stressed because I knew you were waiting.”

  I want to tell her I was fine, that she didn’t need to stress over me, but something doesn’t ring right. I’ve had too much practice beating the truth out of liars. She’s a good actress, but something’s off, and it’s not just her lack of submission.

  “Hey.” I stay where I am. “Turn around.”

  She freezes, another tell. Prickles crawl up the back of my neck. What in the fuck is going on? When she turns around, her eyes have the wide rabbit look, but more scared than eager to please. I don’t like this version of it.

  “Did you just lie to me?” My words seem to take all the oxygen out of the room. There’s a plummeting sensation, like we’re in an elevator dropping quickly.

  “Pavel…” Again, not the right response.

  I go cold all over. Alarms go off, but I don’t even know what they mean. “Why did you lie?” My voice is so soft, it’s barely more than a whisper.

  “I did have a bad audition,” she insists.

  I believe her, but I wait because I know there’s something she’s trying to hide.

  “W-what makes you think I’m lying?”

  Gospodi, now she’s really freaking me out. I step into her space and cup her chin, trying to will whatever’s in her brain out of that pretty mouth.

  “I detect lies for a living,” I tell her. We stare at each other for a moment. Her pulse is frantic at her throat. I can’t decide if this is a dom moment or a boyfriend moment. Do I threaten punishment if she won’t talk? I settle for the minced, “Come clean.”