Maykl
I rise with the sun and get up to shower. I liked having my little warrior settled beside me far more than I liked her out in the living room where I couldn’t see her. Where I was worried about her discomfort.
Blyad’. I don’t know how I’m going to get any information out of her when I’m so unwilling to inflict even the smallest amount of pain.
I make my shower quick and discover my sense of urgency was correct. She’s rolled herself off the bed and is crawling her way across the floor like an inchworm.
Considering the state of her undress, it’s a very alluring sight. I watch her, letting her keep it up as I pull my clothes out and get dressed. Letting her entertain me with her bare ass undulating to the sky like she’s humping my floor.
“That’s pretty, malen’kaya Valkiriya.”
She knew I was in the room. I’m sure she knew the moment the shower stopped that I’d find her. She sighs and rolls over onto her back to look at me. “I have to pee.”
I love that she’s not afraid of me. That she’s making petulant demands.
That’s wrong.
I should definitely want her to be afraid. How else will I get the information I need from her?
But it satisfies me on some deep level that she’s not traumatized by what I’ve put her through. That she still has her indomitable warrior spirit and is fighting back in the ways she can.
I give her a glimmer of a smile and tilt my head toward the bathroom. “Then you’re going in the wrong direction.”
She holds her bound hands out like she wants me to help her up.
I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “Nyet. I am enjoying the show. Thoroughly. Please continue, little warrior. It’s a lovely sight.”
She huffs her displeasure but manages to roll back to her belly and make a 180 to start inching in my direction.
Fuck.
So. Hot.
I never thought I’d be the type of guy who fantasized about keeping a woman captive. Forcing her to crawl. To serve.
But everything about this scenario is turning me on.
Until I notice the rug burn on her forearms.
I lurch forward and scoop her up to balance on her bound legs then toss her over my shoulder to carry to the bathroom. I let my hand slide up the back of her bare thigh.
She smells like sugar cookies and warm bread and faintly of sex.
I set her down in front of the toilet and stand over her as she lowers to sit on the seat, pinning me with a defiant look.
Showing me she’s not cowed by my handling or intimidated by me towering over her, watching as she uses the toilet.
She makes a show of using the blade of her taped hands to unroll a length of toilet paper then raises her brows at me expectantly.
I waffle between telling her to drip-dry and helping. Which is more disempowering?
Since I don’t intend to allow her to dress, I decide helping is the best option. I finish and inspect her elbows and knees. The skin is chafed. She’ll probably get little scabs, but there’s no real harm.
Still, I don’t like seeing any kind of marks on her.
Except my handprint on her ass.
I like that. A lot.
I carry her back to the bed and toss her on it, climbing over to snip off the tape around her wrists and pull her arms behind her back again. “You shouldn’t have tried to run away, Valkiriya. Now I have to punish you.”
She turns her head, trying to gaze at me over her shoulder. Her bare ass is tempting me to do all kinds of dirty things to her. I lean over and bite one cheek, hard.
But she’s not my plaything.
I need to interrogate her today. Find out what she’s doing here. Who sent her. What her objective was in searching my desk. Is it related to her sister’s death? Her search for her nephew? Does she still believe he’s here?
My shift begins at noon, so I need to get answers soon.
I scoop her delectable body into my arms and carry her back to the living room, where I tape her back in the chair. Once more, having her tied to my kitchen chair pleases me. It inspires an affection toward her rather than animosity. I don’t want to harm her, but I also don’t want to give her her freedom back.
Ever.
I ruffle her silky hair before I walk away.
In the kitchen, I scramble a pan of eggs and put toast in the toaster. I make enough for her to eat, too, even though I know the logical thing would be for me to refuse to feed her. To eat in front of her as a torment and wait until she grows hungry and desperate enough to talk.
If I’m not willing to spill her blood or bruise her body, it’s a fairly benign way to go.
Still, I can’t make myself do it.
I’m cocking this thing up. Big time.
I cocked up letting her into the building, and now I’m making things worse. I’m the head of security at the Kremlin, and I’ve allowed this slip of a woman to plow over me to get into the building.
Especially because I already decided I’m not going to Ravil.
I can’t let them torture her. I know the kinds of things they’re capable of. I’ve been there. Witnessed what happens down in the basement where blood can be washed down a drain and concrete floors can be bleached.
So I pile a plate high with the food, and I carry it over. I stand in front of her and assemble a piece of buttered toast with a heap of scrambled egg on top. Take a large bite and chew it slowly.
She watches me.
I turn the piece of toast around to face her and offer her a bite.
Her bite isn’t dainty. She almost bites off as much as I did and chews quickly.
I chuckle. “You were hungry.”
“Being tied up burns a lot of calories.”
I grin. “Get used to it, Valkiriya. I like having you tied to my chair. I might not ever let you go.”
I take another bite of toast. “Why were you searching my desk? What did you hope to find?”
“I was looking for a pen.”
She’s full of sass this morning.
I try to think from her perspective. What would she think a doorman had?
“You wanted a list of the occupants of the building.”
I can tell I’m right by the way something closes off behind her eyes. Like she put up a shield.
“Who are you after? My pakhan?”
It occurs to me I haven’t searched her suitcase yet. I give her another bite of toast then open her suitcase on the coffee table in the living room and take every item out. There’s nothing in it. Clothing. A few cosmetics. I search the lining of the bag for a hidden compartment.
Nothing.
I find her purse and search it again. This time, I notice the lining is ripped by the handle. Nonot ripped.
It’s been neatly cut. I sweep my hand along the bag, feeling for what might be under the lining and touch some kind of card.
I yank the lining out of the purse and pull out the object.
It’s an ID card.
“You’re Russian police.”
Her chin lifts, a stubborn set to her jaw.
I consider the implications. She can’t be here on official business. The bratva owns the police in Moscow. Besides, if she were here in an official capacity, she wouldn’t have come alone. She would have a partner. But it explains why she seemed trained to fight. She’s a complicated mix of transparency and intrigue, vulnerability and edge. She’s hiding something, and all of our lives may hinge on it. On me figuring it out.
I read her name again. Koslova.
Cold ice washes over me. No. Koslova is a common name.
It’s a coincidence.
My mouth has gone dry. I pick up my phone and text Dima. He lives a few hours away in the small town where his girlfriend Natasha is studying to become a naturopath. He might do this favor for me without alerting Ravil.
I need a favor, I text. Could you get me any information you pull on Kira Koslova? She’s Russian police, from Moscow. I enter her passport ID. Specifically, I’d like the names of her parents and what division of politsiya she works in. Dima texts back immediately. Give me a few hours.
Thank you. Also, could we keep this between the two of us for now?
He texts back with a thumb’s up emoji.
I saunter back to her side, my mind spinning. I offer her another bite of toast as I consider her. “You’re here on some vendetta.”
I catch the surprise in her expression before she suppresses it and know I guessed correctly.
Blyad.’
Could she be related to the man I killed all those years ago? The murder required to admit me as a full member of the bratva?
Does she know I’m the one who pulled the trigger? Is she here to kill me?
The thought sobers me.
I’ve lived with the weight of that murder for more than half my life. For some reason, it haunts me far more than killing my own father.
I scrub a hand across my face to erase the images that rise to my mind. His pleading eyes. The stench of fear.
I feed the rest of the toast to Kira, my own appetite suddenly lost.
I should let her go. If she craves revenge, I’m willing to give her a shot at it.
But no. She would have killed me in my sleep the first night. Unless she’s not sure it was me.
No…she either doesn’t know who killed him, or she’s really here for the nephew, or she just wants revenge for her sister.
Or perhaps some other reason. Or all of them. I need to find out.
I must do my job as gatekeeper and protect my cell.