His Queen of Clubs

by Rose, Renee

  For some reason, that makes my eyes sting. Maybe because I didn’t expect so much compassion from my kidnapper.

  Of course, he sees it. His brows dip and he slides his thumb over my cheek. “Shhh. I’ll take care of you, Alessia. I made a mistake drugging you yesterday, because I didn’t know. Won’t happen again. Your body requires vigilance. Maintaining a delicate balance. I will manage the diabetes. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

  Something vibrates behind my sternum. A trembling I can’t identify. My eyes grow wet, although I cannot fathom why. I’ve always hated my family assuming I’m weak and fragile, fussing over me, yet the idea of him taking over feels like a relief.

  This man needs to keep me alive. He’s using me for ransom money. He’s not a life partner pledging to take away the burden of diabetes. Or if that is what he’s doing, he’s insane. He won’t keep me as his captive bride. I’m not sticking around for that.

  I turn my head away, refusing any more food. My stomach’s too knotted to eat more, anyway.

  Vlad mutters something in Russian and unceremoniously pulls me flat on my back with his tattooed fingers around my thigh. My panties ride up my ass and I wriggle, trying to get them back down.

  “Blyat.” He shakes his head and grips my wrists to refasten them to the headboard.

  It’s obviously some kind of curse word. I would ask for the translation, but I’m feeling too sullen.

  When Vlad leaves the room, I let myself indulge in a few tears.

  * * *

  Vlad

  I keep away from the loft bedroom for most of the morning. The girl is far too much of a temptation to me, especially with her dress off.

  Her punishment has become mine, too.

  All morning long, though, her voice plays and replays in my ear. Her scent tickles my nose. I think of the feel of her silky hair through my fingers, or her pretty princess ass under my hand.

  She’s so enticing. So far from the spoiled brat I imagined her to be.

  But that doesn’t mean I can untie her. Or trust her. Or let her go.

  Her brothers still owe me restitution.

  Even so, when I send Mika out to pick us up burgers from In-N-Out, I have him swing through the Starbucks drive-thru for a large decaf cappuccino.

  What can I say?

  The girl’s already under my skin.

  For a bratva member so high in the organization, I am too much of a sucker. That’s probably why Victor kept me behind the scenes. That, and as a favor to my mother. To keep me safe. Not that I didn’t have my fair share of violence.

  When Mika returns, I bring the food upstairs.

  Alessia lifts her head up and glares daggers at me, but her beautiful dusky pink nipples are hard.

  Christ, is she turned on? From being tied up naked?

  I sure as hell am. My cock lunges acrobatically at my zipper.

  Fuck. This isn’t going to work. There’s no way I will manage to feed her without first holding her down and sucking each of those taut nipples until she’s moaning and wet.

  I drop the food on the dresser and grab one of my t-shirts from the drawer. “I will permit you a brief outing,” I say, like I’m taking her to the zoo or something.

  She narrows her eyes. “Outing where?”

  “To kitchen.”

  She snorts.

  I untie her hands and inspect her wrists. I don’t like there are marks, despite the padding. I rub them out to restore circulation. Then, as the tick in my cheek becomes stronger and stronger due to the proximity of her fucking gorgeous breasts, I yank the t-shirt over her head.

  After I let her use the bathroom, I say, “Let’s go printsessa,” and throw her over my shoulder. Having her walk would probably be a better choice. She could use the movement, I’m sure. But I like taking charge of her body. Showing her she belongs to me.

  Fuck that, I just like touching her. Having her flesh against mine, especially in an undignified but hot position.

  I carry her down the stairs and deposit her on the kitchen chair where I had her last time. I tie her to the chair with her arms free, but the rope knotted in back so she can’t go anywhere and point a stern finger at her. “Don’t move.”

  She scowls at me, pushing those pouty lips out in a way that makes my dick harder than stone. I want to push it between those full lips and gag her with my thickness.

  “Mika.” I call to the boy. “Watch her while I get the food.” I would send the boy for the food I left upstairs but I know Alessia likes the boy.

  I know. I’m definitely going soft already.

  Mika positions himself in the doorway between the living room and kitchen and folds his arms across his chest in a perfect mime of a full-grown, dangerous bratva member. A stab of guilt pierces my shield of indifference toward the boy.

  Am I really offering him no better than the life I was thrust into? Danger and darkness? Violence and mistrust?

  Alessia sees the innocence in him still. How did I miss it?

  I guess it’s not something I look for.

  I jog up the steps and collect the coffee and fast food. By the time I make it back downstairs, I find Alessia’s engaged the boy in conversation. He’s slicing an apple with his pocket knife and he offers her a slice.

  Charming little princess. Her beauty probably gets her everything. Beauty and a natural sweetness. She’s untainted. Privileged, yes. But I wouldn’t say spoiled. She’s probably had the world wrapped around that little finger of hers from the beginning of her short, semi-charmed life, so she expects the best of people.

  And they probably give it to her. Especially those who know about her diabetes.

  Feeling inclined to give her a break, I set the food in front of her and let her use her own hands for a change.

  The grateful look she shoots me makes my moment of weakness worth it.

  I pull out a chair beside her and wave Mika into the other one.

  Here we all are, one big happy family. I check her blood sugar to see if she requires insulin, even though she tells me checking once in the morning and once in the evening should be sufficient. She’s right—she’s okay.

  “What’s your favorite American food?” Alessia quizzes Mika.

  He takes a huge bite of his double cheeseburger. “Pizza,” he says with his mouth full.

  She nods sagely. “Pizza is pretty awesome. I am crazy about french fries, though.” She dips one in ketchup and puts it in her mouth, rolling her eyes back like it’s a bite of ambrosia.

  Mika snorts, but the way his lips turn up tells me he’s as fascinated by her as I am. Who wouldn’t be?

  I sit and watch her at work, coaxing Mika out of his surly shell as she devours the food I bought her, then sits back and sips the coffee. Every now and then, she darts a glance at me under her lashes.

  When they finish, Mika gets up and leaves, and I reach to untie Alessia. And that’s when everything goes sideways.

  * * *

  Alessia

  I grip Mika’s pocket knife in my sweaty palm.

  Can I do it?

  I have to.

  If I don’t get free now, I will end up on a plane to Russia, and my chances of escape or being found go way, way down.

  Vlad bends over me, untying the knots that bind me to the chair. The moment he’s done, I have to make my move. This is my best chance. I’ll be untied, with only Vlad to overpower. I heard Mika step into the restroom, so he won’t have to witness my act of violence. And if I do it right—a big if, considering I have zero practice at stabbing people—Vlad will live to take care of the boy.

  Because I couldn’t live with the guilt of orphaning him once more.

  Really, if I were ruthless like one of my brother’s, I’d go for his jugular. Stab to kill.

  But I can’t do it.

  I’m queasy just thinking about breaking his skin.

  He finishes untying me and grips my upper arms to lift me from the chair.

  This is my chance.

  With
a swift upward motion, I bury the short blade in his gut.

  He shouts something in Russian and jerks back, causing me to lose my grip before I get the knife all the way in.

  I dart past him—at least I try to dart past him. He puts his body between me and the doorway, his hands gripping the handle of the knife. Blood seeps out, staining his t-shirt.

  My eyes fill with tears at the sight of the wound, but I try again, lunging forward to get past him.

  But a ferocious snarl in Russian stops me.

  No, it’s not the snarl, it’s the gun.

  It’s the expression.

  Young Mika stands behind Vlad, his face pale and tortured, a pistol wobbling in his shaking hands.

  “Nyet!” Vlad yanks the knife out of his ribs and tosses it on the floor, then turns and grabs the gun.

  I don’t speak Russian, but it’s easy to tell that whatever he’s yelling at Mika isn’t kind. It’s a tongue-lashing of great magnitude. While he yells, he empties the pistol of its magazine and shoves it in the back of his waistband. All the while, he’s bleeding profusely.

  I feel like I’m going to puke.

  Vlad continues scolding Mika. I’m not sure whether it’s over allowing me to get ahold of the pocket knife or pointing a gun at me, but the boy’s ears turn red and his jaw shifts right and left, chin wobbling slightly.

  I’m actually feeling sorry for him, even though he might have just killed me.

  Even though my chances of escape just diminished to zero.

  The boy appears to attempt to defend himself, gesturing at me as he mumbles in Russian, but Vlad cuts him off with several more sharp words.

  I can’t move from where I’m standing. There’s nowhere to go, anyway. I’m shaking all over, although I’m not sure if I’m more upset about what I did to Vlad, Mika’s humiliation or what’s about to happen to me.

  When the boy shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away, blinking rapidly, Vlad finally relents. His voice gets quieter. More coaxing. He touches the boy on the shoulder, and says something else in softer tones. Ruffles the boy’s hair.

  Mika turns and escapes the way I wanted to.

  When Vlad swivels back to face me, my stomach drops.

  “Vlad,” I whisper.

  I don’t know what I want to say. I’m sorry? Don’t hurt me? I wasn’t trying to kill you? Or maybe just Please don’t die.

  I don’t know why I care, but it seems I do.

  I blink furiously, but my eyes still fill with tears.

  Vlad gives a short shake of his head as he takes a step closer to me. “Save the tears for your punishment, printsessa. I will live.”

  I let out a sound—half laugh, half sob and he throws me over his shoulder even though I should probably be the one carrying him at this point.

  He moves slower than usual, but he gets me upstairs and drops me on the bed, then rips off the t-shirt he put on me.

  “Vlad,” I croak again.

  I push myself up on my elbows, breath coming fast, nipples puckered even though this isn’t sex. What’s he going to do it me?

  He re-ties my hands in front of me, his movements deft and sure. Then he grabs my calves and tugs me off the end of the bed, flipping me over so my feet land on the ground, but my torso’s flat on the bed.

  Yeah, ass out.

  Another spanking.

  It’s so out of proportion to what I just did to him that I want to laugh.

  He tugs my panties down to my thighs and slaps my ass right and left a few times.

  I welcome the sensation. If this is the worst he’s going to give, I’m happy to take it. I just think he might need to get himself to a hospital in the meantime.

  He pushes one hand into my lower back to hold me still and spanks hard. It’s already sexual—everything about the punishment is sexual—my nudity, being tied up, being slapped so close to my pussy. But when he slides his thumb between my ass cheeks and pushes it against my asshole, my sexual response goes into hyperdrive.

  Something seizes and lifts in my low belly, my pussy gushes, dripping onto my thighs. The sounds that come from my mouth sound distinctly like sex moans.

  Vlad continues spanking my ass right and left a dozen or so times, jostling my hips and the contact of his thumb remains. He doesn’t actually penetrate me, but it’s always there, at my most intimate place.

  And then he abruptly stops.

  “Don’t. Move,” he growls.

  That’s an impossible order. Because, you see, my body’s about to explode. Heat twists and arcs through me, pulsing in my core. Even though he released me, I’m intensely aware of my asshole. My pussy. The neediness coursing through me.

  I turn my head and watch as he goes into the bathroom and strips off his bloody shirt, examining the wound in the mirror.

  I shouldn’t be turned on at a moment like this.

  It’s like all the fear just morphed into something dark and sexual. My ass is hot and stinging. Still bared to him.

  He’s manly to the nth degree. He just took a knife wound without even a grimace. He pulled it out and tossed it on the floor like I’d scratched him with my fingernail. And the only anger he showed was toward Mika!

  I shift and twitch my inner thighs together, trying to get relief.

  “You stay in the position I put you,” Vlad snaps from the bathroom, his accent thick. “If you move, I will spank you so hard you’ll feel it all the way to Russia.”

  It’s ridiculous. I’m now certain he’s not going to hurt me. If this is the worst I get for trying to kill him, I’m not afraid. His biggest cruelty is leaving me here in this humiliating position, completely turned on and at his mercy.

  Maybe I actually want that spanking.

  I tug my elbows into my chest and shift to get my bound hands between my legs. I seriously need relief.

  It’s torture to not be able to turn my hands, angle my fingers where I want them, but I rub myself over my bound fists, getting friction on my clit.

  From the bathroom I hear a sharp intake of breath.

  * * *

  Vlad

  Ty che, blyat.

  I drop the bottle of superglue on the counter, transfixed by what I see on the bed.

  My beautiful hostage is where I left her. Masturbating.

  My dick lurches, lust rockets through me. I force myself to move slowly, to draw in a breath through my nostrils—exhale slowly through my mouth—as I walk up behind her.

  “What did I tell you about moving?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s deep and rough. I slip my arm around her waist to pick up her hips and tug her arms back out, straightening them over her head.

  I palm her pussy and lean over to speak in her ear. “Did I make you ache between your legs, Alessia?”

  Her pussy’s dripping wet, the folds swollen and welcoming. Without intention, one of my fingers sinks into her wet heat.

  She moans, undulating her hips to take me deeper.

  “Do you think you deserve pleasure after what you did to me?”

  A tiny whimper comes from her. Her face is pressed straight down into the mattress so I can’t see her expression, but I nip her ear, caress her folds.

  My cock strains

  “Apologize,” I demand.

  “I’m sorry,” she says immediately.

  Poor pet. I believe she is sorry. The horror on her face the moment she knifed me said everything. She doesn’t know violence. Didn’t want to perpetrate it. And that makes me admire the fuck out of her attempt. She’s brave. Strong for someone with a physical weakness. Stronger than I am, probably.

  I slide a finger inside her again. She’s tight but I work a second one in.

  She humps the bed.

  “Beg me, zaika. Beg me and I’ll help you come,” I challenge. Her scent fills my nostrils, sweet like honey cakes.

  “No,” she groans into the bed.

  I still my fingers. “No?”

  She shakes her head, rubbing her face over the coverlet.
/>   Well, I’m not the dick who goes on when he’s told no. Even if her body begs without pride. I remove my hand from her wet cunt and straighten up.

  And then, maybe because I’m pissed, maybe just because I still want to give her what she needs, I start spanking her again.

  Hard.

  She arches her back, tipping up her ass for it, parting her legs.

  I should make her suffer. Endure the sexual frustration I’m experiencing. But I don’t have it in me to torture her. I spank her hard and steady for dozen strokes, then spank her pussy. Once.

  Twice.

  On the third time, she cries out and orgasms, her buttocks squeezing together, legs losing their footing as her toes point straight out.

  If I weren’t in so much pain myself, I’d smile because I am fucking proud of myself for being the man who gets her off, even when she claims she doesn’t want it. But my testosterone rages, power and urgency ripping through me. I tear her lowered panties off her legs, then fist my fingers in her hair and use it to lift her head as I lean back over her. “Did I say you could come, Alessia?”

  Her face is beautifully flushed, eyes unfocused and glassy. It takes her a moment to process my words, to find my face with her gaze. “No,” she whispers with those pouty lips.

  “No. Nyet. I didn’t.” I show her the panties. “You just lost your panty privileges, too.” I drop them and reach back and slap her ass again. “Soon this pussy will belong to me. I’m the only one who gets to touch it, unless I give you permission to touch yourself. Your orgasms belong to me and me alone. If you want to come, you’ll learn to beg, on your knees with my cock down your throat. Is that clear?”

  I’ve gone way too far, but I can’t seem to dial it back. My lust and frustration mingle into a potent fury.

  Her throat works for a moment, then she spits out, “Fuck you.”

  My lips stretch into a feral grin. “Gladly, printsessa. I’ll keep you up all night fucking.”