I grind my teeth. Disobeying my pakhan feels wrong, especially after all Ravil has done for me. I try to explain. “I don’t want to involve the cell. This is personal. I only asked for your help because, well–”
“Yeah, I know. You can’t do this part alone. I think the point is that you can’t do any of this alone. Ravil will have your back, too. You know that, right?”
“I can’t involve him,” I say fiercely. “It’s not right.”
“Well, you need to tell him that yourself. He doesn’t like being blown off.”
“Yes, I will.” It’s a lie. I’m not going to contact Ravil. The less he knows, the better. “Thank you, Dima.”
“Of course. You’re a brother, Adrian. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. The bratva didn’t take my soul, like it does to most men. It returned me to humanity.
Searching for Nadia turned me into an animal. I used up my money to get to America, where I only had a thin lead on Poval. I knew Maykl from my home town–he was a friend of a friend–and I made contact.
Ravil instantly brought me into the fold. Gave me a place to stay and put me to work. Made me a brother. Maxim, the bratva fixer, trained me to be the cleaner. The guy who wipes a scene of all traces of violence, all clues to the crime. No, the work isn’t legal, but I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. I didn’t plan on operating within the lines of any law.
Ravil helped me find Poval and eventually Nadia. When I was arrested after burning the factory to the ground, he paid for the best defense attorney in Chicago to defend me. I owe him everything. I’ve pledged my life to the bratva and have zero regrets.
“Thank you,” I say and hang up.
I retrieve the zip ties from my suitcase, but I can’t bring myself to wake Kat by putting them on her yet. Instead, I lie down beside her to catch a few hours of sleep before everything turns rancorous between us.
Adrian
In the morning, I zip tie Kat’s wrists together and then attach them to a chain of zip ties around the headboard. Using a strip off one of my t-shirts, I tie a gag around her head to cover her mouth. Kat sleeps through the whole thing.
I get out my phone and take some more photos. Leon Poval will lose his shit when he sees them.
Kat will probably lose her shit when she wakes up, too, which can’t be helped. I knew it would be hard to carry out, but it’s worse than I imagined. I never planned on actually having sex with her. Only staging photos to look like she’d been abused.
Not that I fucked her. I didn’t even come. I keep telling myself that to make myself feel better.
The truth is, I’m sick as hell over this shit.
But I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I vowed to do my best to keep her comfortable and unharmed.
She wakes up and screams. I snap another photo because her terror is too genuine not to pass along to her dear father. Then I tuck my phone in my back pocket and walk over to her. “Hush, dietka. Be a good girl, and you won’t get hurt.”
That only pisses her off. Calling her good girl might have worked last night, but she’s definitely not into it now. She kicks her heels and writhes on the bed, making her short skirt ride up her waist even more. Her panties are still off, and I have to force myself not to look at that pretty pussy she let me taste. She sports a neat trim over her mons, the rest waxed bare.
Fuck. Why did I have to taste her? Why did I mix business with pleasure?
It was a monumental mistake because I have this huge urge to try to make everything better for her now, but of course, I can’t.
She shouts something from behind the gag. Fear is kicking in, and her panic appears to be overtaking the anger.
“Listen.” I sit on the bed beside her and cage her throat in my hand. She fights against me, trashing, eyes wide with terror. “Listen to me, dietka.”
She stops moving and hyperventilates against the gag, the whites of her eyes showing.
“I’m taking off the gag. You’re going to keep quiet. Don’t make me squeeze.” I pulse my fingers around her neck, so she understands what I mean.
She continues her wild, frantic breathing.
“Okay? Are you going to keep quiet?”
She nods her head jerkily.
I grab the remote control by the bed and turn on the large flat-screen television mounted to the opposite wall, cranking the volume in case she tunes up again. The moment the gag comes off she spits, “Pervert! You sick bastard. Did you take a picture of me like this? What in the–”
I clamp my hand back over her mouth to shut her up. “I’m not a pervert. This is business.” I deliver the words in a business-like manner. Emotionless, the way Maxim or Ravil would.
I test removing my hand again.
“What business? Pornography? Prostitution?” Then terror replaces the anger again. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Nothing. I don’t rape women.”
“No, you just tie them up and take dirty photos for other perverts like you?”
Fuck.
I should put the gag back in. Walk away.
Better yet, I should keep her drugged until we get on the ship. That’s what they did to Nadia.
But I don’t know anything about drugging women. What if I fucked it up? She still has the MDMA in her system from last night. I don’t know if there are drug interactions that might occur.
But I don’t gag her or walk away. I’m an idiot. Instead, I pick up the glass of water beside the bed and hold it to her lips. She has to be dehydrated.
She takes a swallow, then spits the water in my face.