Adrian
I doze for an hour and a half, then get up, leaving Kat sleeping as I carefully secure her wrists to the bed without disturbing her.
When I check my phone, I see a text from Ravil: Call me.
I’m not going to. I can’t. Still, I regret pissing off my pakhan this way.
I get dressed and head out to the drugstore to pick up a few things, including something to eat for our dinner.
I hadn’t planned on entertaining at the place.
On my walk back, I return the call I got from Feodor, my local bratva contact.
“Feodor, it’s Adrian,” I tell him in Russian. “Everything set?”
“Da. They received the half-payment. Your place on the freight ship is confirmed. It docked last night. Tomorrow, all new cargo gets loaded.”
“Spasibo. And the van and crate?”
“I’ll drop them by tonight and leave the keys on the driver’s side tire. Be at the dock by ten a. m. I’ll text you the number of your shipping container. When you get there, ask for Rodion and bring enough in pounds for him to bribe the inspectors not to check your container. Get in it, and they’ll load you up. Once the ship has sailed, they’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, and they have a bunk room for you.”
“Thank you, again.”
“Bratva take care of bratva.”
I thank him and end the call then go inside, where I find Kat in a semi-hysterical state, trying to rip her hands free. She’s not screaming, though, which was my biggest fear. I left the television cranked, but I was worried she’d try to rouse a neighbor.
“Take it easy, dietka.” I drop the bags on the counter and go to her, cutting the tie that holds her bound wrists to the bed.
“You have to take these off me,” she huffs, her eyes wet with angry tears.
“I wish I could trust you, Kateryna, but I can’t.” I hold her wrists, hating how constricted and sore they look. “Come here. Are you hungry? I got some food for dinner.”
I tug her to the half-kitchen to show her the food I picked up. It’s crappy frozen shit, but it will do. I got some gourmet ice cream for afterwardhopefully she’ll like that. “Which one do you want?”
She rummages through the bags with her bound hands and pulls out the bottle of hair conditioner I bought. When she turns to me, she looks so serious. “You bought conditioner for me.”
“Da.”
“You bought… ” She swallows. “That was very nice of you.”
“Don’t call me nice.” I snatch it from her hands and set it on the counter. “I’m not that guy.” She pulls out the box of condoms I bought, and her lips curve into a satisfied smile.
I take out the food options and wave a hand across them. “Which one do you want?”
She points to the packaged frozen pasta, and I tear off the plastic cover to put it in the microwave. “Ooh, Haagen-Dazs.” She unveils the ice cream and inspects the carton. “Chocolatemy favorite.”
I grunt, but inside I’m relieved I picked something she likes.
“May I take another shower?” she asks. “I mean, tonight? With the conditioner? Otherwise, my hair will get so snarled I’ll have to cut it off.”
I’m pretty sure she’s fucking with me, but what do I know? I’ve never had long hair.
“Wait until the morning,” I tell her. “I’ve had enough of wrestling you in the shower for one day.”
“Yeah…I get that.” She stands docilely in the kitchen wearing my shirt. There’s something so doll-like and perfect about her. Those big blue eyes. The perfect bowtie lips. The way she presses and gives in and presses again. I have this weird fantasy about keeping her.
Wondering what it would be like to have her in the kitchen in my apartment, talking me into something she wanted. She’s the kind of girl who could wrap you around her finger and make you move mountains just to see her smile. But she’d do it all with that yielding quality. She’s not a ball-buster. She’d let you lead but offer plenty of colorful backtalk. Sulks and pouts and adorable tantrums.
If she were my girl, I’d probably give her anything she asked for. A steak dinner. A diamond ring. Someone’s head on a platter.
But, of course, that fantasy ship won’t ever sail. For one thing, Nadia lives in my apartment.
Nadia, my broken, ruined sister. The reason I’m here in the first place.
The reason there will never, ever be a future with me and Kateryna Poval in the same picture.
“Where did you learn English?” Kat asks as I take the food out of the microwave.
“America.”
“Oh yeah? Where?” She watches me closely. I know she’s trying to put things together.
I shouldn’t tell her anything. I definitely know better. But I already gave her my name. I want her father to know it before he dies by my hand.
“Chicago.”
“Oh really? My father lived there for a few years.” She says it innocently, propping a slender hip against the refrigerator, but I know she’s fishing.
“Da. He lived there until I burned his factory down and came for him in his own home. And then he ran.”
Her lips part, eyes wide and alert.
Damn. I shouldn’t have said that much to her. I don’t need to make this worse for her than it already will be.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You didn’t need to know that.”
She shivers but lifts her chin. “I doubt he ran from you. My father runs from no man. He is far more ruthless than you are, trust me.” She sounds slightly bitter, rather than proud, and something shifts around in my chest. An uncomfortable awareness that she might not be the crime lord princess I presumed her to be. Not spoiled like Sasha, Maxim’s bride, who was the daughter of the Moscow pakhan. Perhaps she’s suffered at her father’s hand as well.
“Did he hurt you?” I ask, tension running through me like a deadly weapon.
I catch that vulnerability that makes me want to slay dragons for her. She swallows then shakes her head. “He is a cruel man. He didn’t physically abuse me, but he’s never shown me love. I seem to disappoint and disgust him.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
I hate the man all over again. For a new reason now. Because Kateryna should never have been cast off or unappreciated. She’s a sparkling gem of a young womanbright and funny and full of life.
The microwave beeps, and I turn from her to open it and pull out her steaming food. I grab a fork to stir it up.
“You’re right,” I admit. “He didn’t run from me. He left because the FBI was closing in on his operation. I guess I screwed up their investigation with my fire, which I regret.”
Again, I’m telling her way too much. It’s not like me to overshare anything at all. Not my feelings, not my plans, not details about my life. If things go south, she’ll have all the information she needs to come after the Chicago Bratva. But something about Kat makes me want to lay it all at her feet. To offer these pieces to make up for what I’m doing to her. How I’m involving her. What it will mean.
I hold up the container of food. “You want to sit?”
She shakes her head. “Standing feels good. I’ve been in that bed all day.”
I don’t apologize. What would it do, anyway? Instead, I shrug and stay standing, too. I scoop a bite of the pasta and white sauce onto the fork and blow on it, bringing it to my lips to make sure it’s not too hot before I hold it up to her mouth.
She lets me feed her, her gaze on my face. My dick gets hard when those pretty lips close around the fork. I can’t tell if she’s trying to be seductive or just can’t help it. It’s not just that watching her mouth makes me remember how incredible those lips looked stretched around my cock. There’s something hot about feeding her. Knowing she can’t eat except by my hand. My sweet, captive pet, captivating me with those bright blue eyes and her submission.
Maybe I’m as kinky as she is.
Yeah, I definitely am. Because now that I’ve had the taste of playing dominant, it’s hard to imagine sex ever being satisfying without this dynamic.
Or is it just hard to imagine sex with another woman now? Like Kat broke the mold on sex partners for me.
“I know what you are,” she says between bites.
I don’t answer.
“Russian mafiya.”
I offer another bite, still turned on by this simple act.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Some of her animation has returned. The performer side of Kat. Now I’m seeing glimpses of the girl who danced up on the boxes for attention.
“Da. The bratva.”
“What does that mean? Brotherhood?”
“Da.”
“And that’s what these tattoos are for. They signify your crimes?”
“Crimes and the organization. The name of our cell.”
“What is the name of it?”
I shouldn’t tell her but for some reason, the words just come out. “Chicago Bratva.”
She makes a scoffing sound. “That’s not really a name. That’s a geographical description.”
“My pakhan doesn’t have a flair for the dramatic. He keeps things simple.”
“What is pakhan? The leader?”
“Da.”
She chews slowly, shifting on her bare feet. I have to distract myself every time I look at her legs. Knowing she’s bare under the hem of my shirt, remembering how it felt to be intimately acquainted with that sweetest part of her flesh, sends a fresh kick of lust straight to my dick.
Also, I don’t have a foot fetish, but if I did, hers would be cum-worthy. They’re dainty and cute, with perfectly painted toenails in Barbie pink.
“Did he send you here? To capture me?”
“No.” I thumb a drip of pasta sauce from her lip and lick it. Her gaze tracks my movements, and I want to plunge my thumb into her mouth and see how hard she sucks it.
“So this isn’t bratva business?”
I shake my head.
“This is personal. Because of your sister?”
“That’s right.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” She holds up both her bound hands. “I thought Russian bratva members had to cut all ties to their family.”
“That’s true. That was supposed to happen. But my pakhan doesn’t enforce that rule. Things are different in America, away from the old country’s ways.”
Again, I’m way oversharing. I need to shut up. To stop interacting with her. I’m losing my edge in so many ways. But then I lost my edge the moment I decided to grab her from the rave instead of sticking to my original plan.
At least by tomorrow, we’ll be on the ship.
“You live in Chicago.” She says it like a musing not a question. “For how long?”
“Enough questions, dietka.” I feed her another bite.
“I want to go to America. The whole time my father was there, I begged him to let me visit, but he never did.”
“He was protecting you.” I don’t like defending her father, but she seems hurt by it. “His operation in America was nasty. Nothing he’d want his little girl to be touched by.”
She flicks her tongue out to lick some sauce off her lips, and it makes me want to kiss her senseless. Strange to think that I’ve been between her legstwicebut haven’t kissed that pretty mouth yet. But that’s because we’re not on a date. We’re not even lovers, even though we’ve had sex. We’re captor and his prisoner who happened to share a few interludes.
“No. He just doesn’t like me much.”
“That cannot be true,” I tell her although the fact that she said it creates a wobble in my world. Not because I’m worried that Poval won’t respond to my message about her. I know he will. But it bothers me that she believes that. “He paid a fortune for you to go to that private school you went to. And you can’t tell me you ever want for anything. He’s kept you sheltered and protected. He caresthat’s just the way he shows it.”
Jesus, now I’m really defending him. Definitely not a stance I want to take.
“He sent me here as punishment.” She shakes her head when I offer another bite. “I’m finished, thank you.”
She’s thanking me for feeding her because I’ve immobilized her own hands. She’s so damn sweet. I scoop the remaining pasta into my mouth in a few large spoonfuls.
“What was the punishment for?” I ask with my mouth full.
She watches me with a challenge in her gaze like she wants to see how I’ll react. “For giving a boy a handjob when I was thirteen.”
Maybe she thought I’d be shocked. I’m not. It’s totally in character for her, and I have no judgement whatsoever about her hypersexualness now that I’m used to it. I just want to throat-punch any assholes who take advantage of her. She deserves to be treated like a goddamn princess, but I fear she’s attracting the opposite.
I let my lips quirk slightly. “Of course you did.”
She returns the smile, an uncharacteristic shyness stealing over her.
“Well, your father is a dick, so consider it a gift he deprived you of his nasty presence.” I lift my chin toward the bed. “Go back to the bed, dietka.”
“No. I’m sick of that bed.”
“Sorry, printsessa. If I have to move you there myself, we’ll go back to spread eagle.”
She sticks her tongue out at me before she skitters away and does as she’s told.
“Good girl.” I heat up another frozen dinner for myself and eat it, keeping my eye on her.
She gets up from the bed to retrieve the remote control and starts scrolling through the channels on the television.
I log into the computer to check on messages from Dima and find his full instructions on how to send messages from my laptop from the ship to Leon Poval’s phone, so they seem like they’re coming from Kat’s phone but are still untraceable.
Thank fuck for Dima.
Kat gets up and walks to the place where her purse is lying on the floor.
“Your phone is gone,” I tell her. “I destroyed it.”
“I don’t want my phone. I need my lip gloss. And my gummies.”
I follow her because she’s close to the door, and I don’t trust her. “I took the gummies, too,” I tell her. “I’ll give you some tomorrow.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s happening tomorrow?” Smart girl.
“No questions, dietka.”
She flips her hair and pads to the bathroom. I follow to make sure she doesn’t take something to cut her zip tie in there. I watch her pee and struggle with the toilet paper but don’t help.
She makes a mess trying to wash her hands. If I weren’t such a dick, I’d help her. I definitely wouldn’t just watch because she’s entertaining. Of course, she knows she’s cute. She stands on her tiptoes and leans way over the sink, folding at the waist. My shirt rides up in the back, and I get a full view of that pert little ass, which she shifts from side to side as she tries to figure out how to turn on and off the water. She even hoists one knee up at one point, making sure I get a full flash of that soft pink flesh between her legs.
When she finishes she shakes the water off on me. “I’m bored.”