by SR Jones
“Oh, really? So, the night you tried to seduce K, the very same night he offered you a job, you wouldn’t have fucked him for your handlers?” he sneers at me as he grabs my chin painfully in his fingers. “You would have fucked him, and you’d have done it for information. Then, you got a job working for him, and you turned your whorish attentions to me.”
Oh, bless his heart. So that’s what this is about. His bruised ego? I could play with him, but instead I tell him the truth because I need him to not hate me too much. He won’t fuck me if he hates me, and him fucking me is my best chance out of here and my only chance to get him on my side.
“You were never a target, Vasily. Any flirtation that happened between us, which by the way you started, was what it was. There was no order to get information on or from you.”
Then because he’s pissed me off, and I am a glutton for punishment, I add, “You’re really not important enough for them to care about. You think you’ve stepped into Konstantin’s shoes? Don’t make me laugh.” I shake my head at him as if in pity.
The next moment, I’m whirled around, my hands yanked even harder behind my back in a painful hold, and dragged across the room. He bends me over the sink, the edge of it jutting painfully into my stomach.
He leans over me, putting his weight on my back and making the sink dig into me more.
“You better watch your fucking mouth,” he growls. Hot air blows across my ear, and I shiver. “You’re the prisoner here, whore. Watch yourself.”
“Better a whore than a loser.” I laugh. “You’ve only been in charge a few months, and you’ve already lost territory.”
He pulls me up by my hair, making me cry out as he slams me against the wall. “I didn’t lose it, bitch. I gave it away. But, pray tell, how do you know that? How do you know so fucking much?”
In a perverse, sick and twisted way, I’m enjoying this. Enjoying sparring with Vasily. It’s like the most depraved foreplay ever. At least I feel alive while we’re doing this, and at least I can forget for a few moments about Esme and that awful stone of dread squatting in my stomach.
“Well, why don’t you do your big, bad act and torture me some to find out?” I smile sweetly at him.
His jaw tenses so hard I think he might crack a molar. He doesn’t hit me, though, which I’m half expecting. Instead, something strange fills his gaze. Is that admiration?
“I wonder if you’ll still have such a smart mouth when I’m done with you?” he says idly.
“You enjoy this. You’re a sick fuck,” I say.
“You know, if it weren’t for the fact it would make you certifiably insane, given your position in this little situation we have here, I’d say you’re enjoying it too.” He watches me, his gaze not missing a thing.
“Maybe I am? Maybe this is like foreplay for me?” I quip.
As soon as I say it, I regret it because it’s far too close to the truth, and it is fucked up, and it does make me certifiable. I see the moment it registers with him that I probably mean it and how broken that makes me. His eyes cloud, and his lips part slightly. Yeah, he’s confused about my weird reaction, which is understandable because so am I. Why am I not terrified?
Have I simply accepted my fate? I think so. I’m going to die. I feel nothing except the bitter, awful taste of failure. I’d welcome feeling something else. Physical pain. Physical pleasure. Anything to block out the never-ending horror of thinking about my daughter and what she might already be suffering.
So long as I can gain something from it too, I might as well spend the last few hours I have on this earth feeling something other than that. Right? Pain. Anger. Lust. They’re all better than desolation.
“You’re looking at me like you can’t decide if you want to wash me, fuck me, or hit me.”
Chapter Nine
Vasily
Her words hit me hard because I want to do all three. I want to slap that smirk off her face. I want to bend her back over that sink and push my cock deep inside her, and I want to wash her so that I get to touch and see every part of her up close and personal. The thought of cleaning her is somehow depraved, and it has my cock harder than it has been since … well, since the last time I was in a room with Zoey. It’s why I denied her a shower.
“I’m going to wash you,” I say to her mildly.
She looks away and bites her lip. I still have that lip gloss in my pocket, and I smile to myself as I think about what I’m going to do.
I wet the washcloth and then rub some soap over it. Slowly, I take that cloth and start to clean Zoey. I wipe her face first, oh so carefully, like a mother tending to a child. I clear all the dirt and grime from her. I rinse her, apply more soap and clean her throat next, sweeping the cloth over her shoulders. Her hair is in the way, so I take her panties out of my pocket and use them to tie her hair up.
She shoots me a disgusted glare, and it makes me laugh. She’s my prisoner, and I can do anything I want to her. I can clean her and then make her dirty all over again, and she has no say in it at all. Despite that fact turning me on way more than it should, I can tell she wants me, and I like that it makes her as screwed up as me.
This thing between us, this fucked up, weird thing is strong enough that despite all this, it’s still there.
Done cleaning her neck and shoulders, I wet the cloth again in the freezing water coming out of the faucet and rinse the soap from her by squeezing frigid water over her shoulders. She shivers, and her nipples pucker into painfully hard points as the water drips over her breasts.
I admire them for a moment before soaping the cloth up again and cleaning her breasts. I don’t take my time over them the way I want; instead, I clean them efficiently. I don’t want her to know just how much I want her, ache for her. It gives her too much power in this situation, and that won’t do at all.
I clean her back then her gorgeous, pert bottom, making sure to run the washcloth right between her cheeks, rubbing it over the tiny hole there. Once satisfied, I take a second washcloth rinse again, apply more soap, and wash her belly. Rinse again, more soap, and then I brush right over her outer lips, clean shaven and so fucking tempting.
I’m curious as to whether or not she’s wet, so before I clean her further, I part her folds and simply stare. Her pussy is slick, coated with her desire.
“Such a shame to wash all this away,” I say before I rinse the cloth and turn back to her. I part her again and sweep the cloth over her, and she gasps when it goes over her clit.
I bet it’s rough, cold, and almost too much to bear over such sensitive nerves.
So I do it again.
Then I rinse the cloth twice and get it wet with cold water. I turn back to her, part her pussy lips, and squeeze that water right over her clit.
“There, you’re all nice and clean now,” I tell her with a smirk as I look up at her. I nearly add, for a whore, but something stops me from saying the words. Not sure why I don’t want to taunt her or mock her, I distract myself by washing her legs and even her feet.
Once she’s clean, I take the toothbrush Ilya brought over, apply the toothpaste, and tap Zoey’s cheek. “Open wide.”
She does, and I clean her teeth for her.
“Good girl,” I say, and just saying those words, along with this weird thing of caring for her, has me almost coming. Shit, I’m so fucking screwed up over this woman.
“Rinse,” I instruct, my damn voice gruff.
She does, bending down and sipping at the water coming from the faucet, before spitting it into the sink.
I pull her back up and wipe her face with the soft, fluffy towel Ilya brought. Then I dry her body.
Once I’m done, I admire my handiwork. My doll is all shiny and new again; she’s just missing one thing. I take the lip gloss out of my pocket.
Zoey’s eyes narrow as she looks at it. “You’re such a sick fuck,” she says.
I laugh. “And you’re the bitch who is dripping for that sick fuck, so what does that make you?”
I take her chin in my hands and angle her face before I apply a slick coat of gloss to her lips. Then I think fuck it, and I bend down and apply it to her pussy too.
“There. You look more like yourself now.” I put the cap on and place the tube in my pocket once more.
She stares daggers at me, and her face is a perfect mix of arousal and disgust. Disgust at me, not herself, I’m sure. I don’t care. I like her pussy that way.
“Come on, princess.” I take her bound hands and guide her out of the bathroom and down the hallway, throwing the towel on the soapy mess I’ve made of the floor. I look in two bedrooms, but the beds aren’t what I need. Finally, in the third bedroom, I find what I’m looking for. A bed with posts that I can tie Zoey to while I decide what the fuck it is that I’m playing at here.
I push her onto the bed and tie her up. I tie her spread-eagle because I want her to feel exposed and vulnerable, but also because I like looking at her pussy far too much.
“I’ll be back with some water and food,” I tell her.
“So you want me well fed and hydrated before you rape me and kill me?” she asks.
“Is it rape if you’re wet for it?” I reply.
“Actually, yes, if I say no.”
“Are you? Saying no?” I ask.
She doesn’t say a word.
“Tell you what, Zoey, you say no, I won’t touch you … in that way. You can say it right now.”
Still nothing.
“Okay, well, you think on it, precious. I’m going to see if K has pulled through the surgery you’ve put him through.”
I leave her spread-eagle on the bed and head downstairs.
Opening the door, I motion for Ilya to come in.
He’s on his phone, and he hangs up as he stomps into the kitchen. “You fucked her yet? Better do it soon and get it out of your system before I put a bullet in her.”
The thought of Zoey with a bullet in her leaves me cold as ice. Ilya isn’t putting a bullet in her. No one is.
Shit, what the hell is my plan here?
“I haven't fucked her. How is K?” I ask.
“Going to live and might avoid medivac to Athens, but he’ll need two more surgeries on his arm and rehab.”
He’s going to live. I need to sit down. I plant myself heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and put my head in my hands. “Thank fuck.”
“You think this saves that bitch? It doesn’t.”
I look up at Ilya, and for a moment I feel a flash of pure hatred. “You think my relief was about that? K is like a brother to me. I’m relieved he’s going to live, you piece of shit.”
He smirks at me. “Okay. But the girl still doesn’t survive this.”
“Why are you obsessed with killing her?” I ask. Ilya’s a hard bastard, but he’s not some murderer of women so far as I’m aware. His zeal for killing Zoey no matter what seems a little odd to me.
“Because she can’t live or she’s a great big neon sign that anyone can come after us. You know this.”
“So, she has to die to show the world you mess with us and you’re dead?”
“Yeah, basically. I mean, we could do something worse, like sell her to a brothel and make her work there for eternity, but I think Andrius, the noble bastard, would put a stop to that even though she shot his friend. He won’t, however, care if I put a bullet in her, nice and clean.”
Sell her to a brothel, the way the Order, as she calls them, are threatening to do to her daughter. The thought makes me want to be sick. Then as I think about it, Ilya’s words give me an idea. A very sick, twisted, and dangerous idea. What if she wasn’t sold to a brothel but kept by one of us, against her will, as a warning to all and sundry.
Kept by me? Maybe as my wife?
If she were mine, truly mine, she’d be safe.
I brush the crazy thought away and try to focus my scattered mind. How can I marry her? She’s a mother, something I’ve only just found out. She comes with a whole lot of baggage, including a kid.
It would fuck with her head, though, and it would be a punishment. For all sorts of strange reasons I don’t want to examine, the idea turns me on.
“I’m calling Damen, want to see if he’s found anything out yet.” I need a distraction.
“Jesus, give him time; he’ll still be traveling.”
“He can do his shit while he’s on the move,” I snap.
I take my phone and head outside. “Don’t fucking kill her,” I order Ilya.
He gives me a mock salute. He won’t kill her yet. We might need to get more information from her, but he’s dead serious about doing so at some point, and it seems Andrius has given him the green light.
Fuck my life. How did it become so damn messy?
I call Damen, and he answers with a wry, “Yes, malaka.” It means wanker, and it’s a typical Greek greeting, but I lose my shit.
“Any fucking news? You want her kept alive, then maybe you ought to be finding stuff out to save her.” I pace as I yell at him.
He chuckles, and it isn't his usual chilled laugh but a dark, bitter sound. “You know, Vasily, from the little I knew about you, I never had you pegged as some psycho who couldn’t wait to murder a woman.”
“I’d be well within my rights to, since she shot K, but actually, I’m trying to save her.”
There’s a long beat. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. Ilya wants her dead, though. He’s itching to put a bullet through her skull, and I doubt Andrius is far behind him with such thoughts. I need some info on the fuckers behind this.”
“How will that save her?” he asks.
“You know when you’ve got a pack of dogs circling you, and someone throws them some steak? Zoey is the one being circled, and the guys who have been controlling her are the steak. Throw Ilya and Andrius some steak, dude. Distract them. Give me time to think things through. There’s has to be a way.”
There’s another long pause, and then he says, “You say you want to protect her?”
“Yes.”
“Then make her yours. Marry her.”
Despite having had the same thought myself only minutes ago, I scoff at his suggestion. I realize how crazy it is when someone says it out loud. I don’t know the woman. “I don’t know her, and she has a kid,” I say.
“Doesn’t need to be for keeps. You can always divorce later if you want to, but you make her yours, and then Ilya and Andrius will be going up against you. It’s a solid play, and one I did myself not that long ago. Of course, it turned into a real marriage, but even if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have regretted doing what I did to keep Maya safe.”
“And I’ll be going up against them. Jesus. Andrius? No one wants to go against that fucker.”
“No, but it’s not only you, is it? Alexei is your man now. I’d be bringing him over straight away. Have to be honest. I don’t want her killed; it doesn’t sit right with me despite what she did. I’d have done the same as her if someone had my kid. So, Ilya and Andrius kill her, they are going against you if she’s your wife, and they’re also going against what we want because I’ve already spoken to Stamatis, and he’s with me. They kill Zoey, and it’s crossing a line we don’t want anything to do with. We can’t stop it, but it would make relations frostier, and they rely on me a lot for intel. Plus, Reece won’t like it one fucking bit, might even pull out of the venture with Andrius.”
I sigh and look at the sky. Shit, this is so complex. “K is the wildcard in this.”
“Yes, he is,” Damen agrees. “On the one hand, she shot him, so he might kill her himself the moment he gets himself well enough to do so. On the other hand, she didn’t shoot Cassie, right? K might see that as a situation where, in a weird way, he owes her. Plus, he wants out. I don’t know the man well, but what I do know is that when he makes his mind up, he makes his mind up. If he can obtain info on who did this, who actually ordered it, and keep Reece on board with the plan they h
ave moving forward, K might actually be persuaded to your way of seeing things.”
I sigh and kick a stone. “Yeah, well, maybe, but Andrius wanted out more than K did. He came up with the idea, but he’s all kill the girl.”
“Right now he is, but give him time to calm down. I’ve never known him to be this upset over something in a long time. He’s worried for Violet, so persuade him the best way of protecting her is to let Zoey live and find who was behind this. You guys do that, and if you need help, we’re in. Killing Zoey when these fuckers have her daughter? No, sorry.”
“Okay, we’ll talk again soon.”
I hang up the phone and stare inside the house, then I look up weddings in Corfu via my phone. My heart is going way too fast. I know Zoey will hate it, will fight me every step of the way, and instead of making me wary, the thought makes me hard. I’m so screwed.
I head back in the house and see Ilya lounging at the battered old table, sipping at a small bottle of water.
“Interesting position you’ve tied our prisoner up in,” he says.
Fuck. I should have added not to go into the bedroom to my do-not-kill-Zoey order.
He smirks. “You sure you haven't fucked her? I mean, don’t get me wrong, what do I know, but the last time I checked, spread-eagle and naked isn’t the usual way we tie people up.”
“I like the view,” I say.
“Me too,” he replies.
He gives me a positively evil grin. “Why don’t we have some fun?” he asks.
His words have me thrown. “Yeah, I’m sure Amber will love that.”
“It’s Amanda,” he corrects me mildly. “And she isn't here now, is she? I won’t tell if you won’t.”
His grin turns nasty. “What better way to teach that bitch a lesson, huh? Let’s go fuck her up, literally. I bagsy the backdoor.”
He heads out of the room and before I’m even thinking, I run at him, throwing him off course and into the living room where he lands on the dusty old sofa.
“No.” I get off him and shake my head. “Swear to God, Ilya, you don’t touch her. You get me?”
He starts to laugh, the fucker. Really laugh, as if I’ve told the world’s funniest joke. He’s laughing so much it takes him ages to get up from where he’s sprawled on the sofa.