Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“Let’s go,” I say in Russian to the women as Rattlesnake unlocks their ankle chains. “You’re safe now. You’re free.”
The women bolt for the door, the moment they get free of the chains, and Maxim and I wait. My hands are clammy, and my stomach is sick over the deal, but I don’t let any of that show on my face. We pause until all the women are free and then walk out, picking our weapons up from the crate when we get outside.
The women, who are in bare feet and barely enough clothing to cover them, have scattered, some sprinting away, some running for the warmth and shelter of our cars.
Adrian and the other soldiers shout after them in Russian, promising them safety and freedom, being careful not to chase or spook them, and eventually they all get in.
“Fuck,” Maxim says when we climb into Oleg’s SUV.
Adrian won’t get in, even though everyone else has driven off.
“We can’t go in, Adrian. They have machine guns,” I say, knowing what he’s thinking. “Get in the SUV.”
Still, Adrian stands there.
“They’re not getting a pass, we’re just biding our time. Get in the fucking car,” Maxim says. “That’s an order.”
Adrian turns and stalks back, a deep line between his brows. He climbs in and slams the door, his face murderous.
“We’ll take them down,” I promise.
“Yes, we will,” Maxim affirms. “Every last one of them. And when we find Poval, you can make him pay.”
Adrian sits back, his upper lip curling. “His death will not be swift,” he vows darkly.
17
Chelle
I run my fingertip over the gunshot wound on the side of Nikolai’s abdomen, and he catches my wrist. We’re in bed on Wednesday morning. I should get up and get ready for work, but he just left me so sated, I can’t move, nor do I want to.
I’ve been Nikolai’s sex slave for a week and a half now.
It seems like I should hate it. I should hate everything about this. I’m using my body to pay off a sizable debt to the mob. Nikolai literally owns me and can make me do pretty much anything he wants or the deal is off.
Instead, it feels like glorious fantasy fulfillment.
I love that our arrangement has a start and end date. That the rules are very well defined. Nikolai gives me assignments or tells me what he wants, and I obey. It‘s like a job, and it seems to be one I’m good at, based on the boss’ constant hard-on for me.
Of course, he makes it fun. The things he demands of me are always a turn-on. He’s not hurting me or making me do things I hate. Just pushing my boundaries a little.
I’ve tried to ask about the scar before, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Probably because it involves a crime.
That scares the crap out of me. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. His getting shot again? Getting caught for a crime he committed? Finding out he’s done things that will yank me out of this little fantasy world?
“Does it hurt?”
“No. But I don’t like the way it feels.” Nikolai’s tone warns me not to go on.
“When did it happen? May I ask?”
At my second question, Nikolai’s face softens into his signature smirk. “No, you may not ask. I told you that already.”
“Because you were doing something illegal?” I can’t stop myself from pushing. It’s like the car crash you can’t look away from.
“No, I don’t like the way you get either scared or judgy about these things.”
My eyes widen, and his words hit me square in the chest. I realize it’s the first time he’s criticized anything about me, and I hate the way it feels.
“About what things?” My voice comes out sounding hoarse.
He shrugs. “About what I do. Or what you think I do.” He rolls off the bed and gets up.
He’s usually the one focused on me. I didn’t realize how addictive that attention was until he withdrew it.
I’m left cold. This is how it will feel when our month is over. When he’s through with me. Just like Rob Sharke. But that’s wrong. The end date was something I appreciate about our arrangement. Being hurt when it’s over would be absurd. I wouldn’t want this thing to go on indefinitely.
And making Nikolai’s withdrawal about me when he’s clearly the hurt party is even more ridiculous. I get out of bed and follow him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He holds my hands and turns to face me. There’s surprise etched on his face, and for some reason, that adds to my guilt.
Like I haven’t shown him any affection when he’s been nothing but a gentleman with me. A very dirty and demanding gentleman but always considerate.
“I wasn’t asking to know more about what you do, I was asking to know more about you,” I try to explain.