The Beast

Chapter One - Dimitri




It could be any penthouse apartment in any city in any country in the world. Except that it wasn’t. This particular apartment comprised the top two floors of the most expensive building on Vancouver’s waterfront. The architecture was modern, three hundred and sixty degree views offered sweeping vistas from the ocean to the mountains, and everything in between. The furniture was custom by the best interior designer money could buy, flown in from Paris on the owner’s private jet and given free rein, money being no object.

After the apartment was completed, its sole occupant moved in and took over the twelve thousand square feet of luxury. His world existed in about fifteen hundred of it, the dining room, the gym, the master bedroom with attached spa bathroom, the library, the pool and the rooftop deck. The rest was closed off, opened once a month to be cleaned thoroughly by a small army of maids who never saw the owner, who made a hundred times their normal rate, who only collected their money on the way out and who never asked questions.

Saying the owner was mysterious would be an understatement. Groceries were delivered, laundry laundered, sheets changed and the main living quarters cleaned once a week by a loyal staff that had never seen him in person.

The only people who saw him were his medical team and his concierge. His concierge was his closest friend, and handled everything else for him, including the very occasional high paid escort who would be flown in from out of country, ushered in after midnight, blindfolded, used and sometimes abused, and left panting and bruised in the middle of a windowless room in the center of the penthouse. The concierge would come in, take off the blindfold, unbind them and pay them to keep quiet and leave. They never used the same girl twice.

The owner never left the apartment. He hadn’t left it since he moved in three years prior. He was a recluse, content to spend his days online, reading in his extensive library of first editions and rare books, working out obsessively, scanning video footage from the security cameras strategically placed around his penthouse, and hiding from the world that nearly killed him.

The first thing people would notice, given the chance to catch a glimpse, would be his size. He was over six and a half feet tall, an imposing man in any situation, but even more so now. He had always been naturally well muscled, but given his self confined existence, he’d bulked up until he was a mountain of flesh rippling over bulging muscles, most of it smooth and lightly tanned.

The second thing people would notice would be the scars. He was alarmingly maimed from his hip to the top of his head along the left side of his body. Escorts were blindfolded and bound just for this reason, he couldn’t bear to see them recoil from him, to watch them fight against their disgust when he unveiled his scarred and terrible face.

He had once been a handsome man, when he was known as The Enforcer. Now he was Dimitri to himself and his closest friend, although he knew most of the people who had once known him referred to him as The Beast. The staff whispered about him to one another, he sometimes caught small pieces of their conversation on his surveillance system. Each “burned over his entire body” or “they call him the beast because he is no longer human” served to validate his choice to remain far from society.

He was also safer hiding from those who had attempted to take his life the first time. When he had simply been Dimitri Sokolov, all those years ago, he wouldn’t have garnered much interest from these kinds of people. Slowly but surely over the last fifteen years he had scraped and pulled his way to the top of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the most dangerous criminal organization the world had ever seen. Based in Russia and filled with men who had no compunction when it came to killing or fucking...or both. It was more than just a secret crime syndicate; the members were as close as a family. They were men who were single minded on one purpose, to further themselves and their organization.

He never saw the attack coming, considering his mentor and father figure, Sergei, had been the one behind it.

He had just returned from a very productive meeting with some high level Triad members in Hong Kong. He’d spent a weekend making alliances, and then hopped a helicopter to Macau for a week of gambling and sex. The alliances were formed and he had enjoyed his first vacation since joining the gang as a petty thief at age fourteen. There had been one delicious Malaysian girl in particular that kept him spending most of his time in his room, she’d been one tough little fuck and could really take a beating, always with a shy smile on her face. Dimitri’s cock swelled at the memory of it, her blackened eyes and bleeding lips, begging him for more. He’d almost gone over the edge that time, almost taken her too far, but at the last minute the thought of losing her tight, hot cunt made him soften his blows and care for her wounds.

She would never have to sell herself again with the money he left. Or she would, he wasn’t her investment banker, who knows what a whore in Macau would blow their cash on?

Before flying back to Moscow, he had stopped over in Paris. Sergei’s little girl, Iryna, was turning twelve the day after his return. He was her Uncle Dimi and completely wrapped around her little finger. He had promised her the best gift ever, and had gone shopping on the Champ-Elysees, clothes, dolls, furs, and couture...she was a little girl with very expensive tastes. He knew he made a ridiculous sight while shopping. A gigantic muscular man, an obvious criminal in spite of his expensive custom tailored suits, soft-spoken manner and billions tied up in legitimate investments. The French had a nose for such things. He didn’t care though; Iryna’s smile would make every bit of his side trip worthwhile.

He’d landed in Moscow in the evening, giving him a night at his apartment, time to clean up and relax after his trip. The next day he called his driver, collected the wrapped gifts from his concierge and made his way out of the city to Sergei’s country estate.

The party was in full swing by the time he got there. Sergei had spared no expense for his precious little girl, he’d hired acrobats, some American pop star, a small circus, and every corner of the five-acre lawn had something happening.

Iryna was radiant, at twelve she knew she was loved for her looks and the fear her father commanded in everyone around, everyone except Dimitri. He hadn’t feared Sergei for years, and now he looked upon his mentor with kindness, but with none of the trembling terror so many had for him.

Dimitri met Sergei when he tried to pick his pockets outside the Moscow Opera, a performance of Carmen if he recalled correctly. He thought he had gotten away when he felt an iron grip on the scruff of his neck and looked up into Sergei’s cold, grey eyes. He had been taken back to Sergei’s pied a terre and beaten within an inch of his life. Only Sergei’s mistress had intervened to save him. He wished he could remember her name, but there had been so many over the years. Sergei decided to agree with her, he also liked the spark of defiance in Dimitri’s eyes and spent the next twenty years trying to squash it, to rein him in so to speak.

“Dimitri, my friend, I need to see you about something,” Sergei had cornered him within an hour of his arrival. He should have known something was up, but Sergei was famous for never mixing business with pleasure, especially when it involved his little girl. Dimitri now blamed the alcohol, the few beers he’d consumed before Sergei dragged him off, for not catching on that something was wrong.

They’d walked the length of the estate grounds and ended up at the shooting range just beyond the hedge maze. Sergei had a small club house set up there, his “man cave” he called it, borrowing an American expression. It wasn’t a place for playing pool and watching the game though, it was Sergei’s base of operations while he was in the country. They’d gone inside and Sergei’s bodyguards had flanked the door and closed it after them.

“I have heard some disturbing information about your time away,” Sergei said, never one to mince words.

“What information would this be?” Dimitri had asked confidently, knowing full well there was nothing he’d done to warrant this interrogation.

“You were trying to undermine my authority with Triad,” Sergei told him point blank.

“Of course you know I’ll deny this,” Dimitri had replied, “I have no reason to act against you.”

“Yet, but I have had you on my radar for over a year now. You’re dangerous because you have no respect, none for me, and none for yourself,” Sergei explained.

“Are you dismissing me?” Dimitri had sneered.

“Nobody leaves the family, you know that.”

“So what are we doing here?”

Sergei pushed a button on the desk and the door opened almost immediately. The two bodyguards entered, along with a third man. It took Dimitri no time to recognize his old nemesis, Mace Walker.

“Mace,” Dimitri nodded at the younger man, an American no less. He started to make the connections, tried to piece together the series of events that lead up to this moment.

“Dimitri, I’m sorry about this,” Mace had said with a smirk.

“I doubt that, old friend. I’m quite certain you are not sorry about any of it,” Dimitri replied slowly, buying a few moments of time to assess the situation.

“Oh, you misunderstood me. I mean I’m sorry I won’t get to spend my time torturing you, giving you what you deserve,” Mace sneered.

“Oh you’re still not over that little kidnapping your family incident,” Dimitri said and smiled, “it could have been worse, I could have made Junior watch as I fucked his mother right before I slit her throat. I was merciful though. I returned them both unharmed. You can’t blame me if she couldn’t stop crying out my name every time you fucked her after that.”

He had taken Mace’s wife and six-year-old son last year, to send a message from Sergei. He’d crept into their house in Southern California, knocked them out and driven them to a Bratva safe house for three months until Mace gave up his grip on the drug trade along the West Coast. Mace’s wife had been a sweet little thing, and really had enjoyed her time spent on the receiving end of Dimitri’s physical affections. He suspected by the time he sent her back she had been half in love with him. He’d taught Mace a valuable lesson though, never relax your security and never try to fuck over the Solntsevskaya. At this point in time it seemed Mace hadn’t realized the value of said lesson.

So why was Mace now working with Sergei? He could tell his little speech had worked. Mace was unnerved and overly emotional. Dimitri would be able to take advantage of this. He laughed at Mace and added, “She just couldn’t get enough of my cock.”

“Don’t you ever fucking talk about my family again,” Mace growled and took three long strides to Dimitri’s side. Dimitri regretted his decision to leave his weapons in the car, never expecting to be ambushed during a child’s birthday party. He vowed then and there that if he made it out, he would never be without his knife strapped to his midsection again.

As Mace swung, Dimitri stepped to the side, out of the way. Mace was thrown off balance, and fell to the left, giving Dimitri a chance to slam his fist into the man’s kidneys. Mace went down with a whoosh of exhaled air and landed hard.

Dimitri turned to the two body guards, one of them was edging around the outside of the room, hoping to come at him from behind, the other was approaching him head on. He dropped the guard in front of him with a sweeping high kick to the face, the man grunted as his nose broke. Dimitri immediately lunged for the guard heading behind him, taking him by surprise with the speed and ferocity of his attack. He smashed the man’s face with a left handed uppercut and landed a blow to his abdomen with his right hand. The guard doubled over and Dimitri took advantage to rain blows down in the back of his head and neck. The man fell to the ground and Dimitri added a few well-placed kicks to the stomach to keep him down.

The first guard had blood streaming down his face and he had lost a couple of front teeth. He circled Dimitri, his arms outspread and a grin on his bloody mouth.

“That all you got, Enforcer?” he asked mockingly and spat a clot of blood to the floor, it landed with a clatter, obviously containing teeth.

“Come on, my friend, this doesn’t have to end like this,” Dimitri said, imploring the guard to stop his assault out of respect for Sergei’s daughter. The only reason Dimitri was alive at this point was the ban on firearms for everyone the party, including his guards. Sergei hadn’t really thought this attack all the way through. Dimitri continued, “If you stop now, I’ll show you mercy.”

The guard roared, bloody spittle sprayed from his mouth, and he lunged at Dimitri. With one smooth movement, Dimitri slammed the palm of his hand into the guard’s nose and pushed upwards. The force of the guard’s rush added to the pressure and Dimitri heard his nose break with a satisfying pop. Dimitri grabbed the man by the back of his head and shoved the broken nose farther along into the brain. He felt the guard go limp and let his body drop, blood started to pool on the floor around his head immediately.

Dimitri had been covered in blood, none of it his. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, leaving smears of bright red blood on the fabric. He turned slowly towards Sergei’s desk, half expecting to see him holding a gun, but he was sitting still with a smile on his face. Sergei started to clap slowly and said, “Bravo my friend, well done.”

“What are we going to do now?” Dimitri demanded.

“We are going to do nothing,” Sergei replied, pushed his chair back and stood up. His hands were flat on the desk; it was metal and looked new. Something went off in the back of Dimitri’s mind, an alarm. He looked around and noticed a lot of new improvements to Sergei’s space. The room was now lined with grey brick, and all the carpeting had been removed. “What I am going to do is try out a new toy,” Sergei had continued with a grin.

Dimitri’s instincts kicked in and he backed away from the desk. He saw Sergei’s hand move to the left and slide under the rim. Dimitri heard an almost imperceptible click and time stopped for him.

In slow motion he saw a clear liquid shoot out of the front of the desk. Sergei, that fucking bastard, had gone to the South Africans. The two of them had seen this technology two years ago during an alliance meeting with the free members of the Number Gang. Sergei had joked about it, but Dimitri never imagined he would have ordered it.

He smelled gasoline and continued backwards, for a moment he thought he would make it until he felt the heel of his foot catch under the arm of the first guard. He fell backwards and rolled onto his right side as the flames hit. They ignited the gas that covered his body and he was a human torch in less than a second. He rolled to his right, trying to extinguish the fire and stop the excruciating pain. Every nerve ending cried out for relief, he felt like a rabid dog, willing to rip apart anything in his way for two seconds in a cold lake. His mind went on fast forward while his body went in reverse. He felt as though he had exited his body and was watching himself thrash around on the floor, screaming in inhuman agony.

The smell brought him back. The bitter, acrid scent of burnt meat and frying steak. His stomach heaved and he vomited, spewed the contents of his stomach across the floor and rolled through it. At last his liquidy vomit coated his flaming flesh and helped put out the fire. He groaned and felt his face; relief flooded him as he felt normal skin, unmarred and perfect. As his hand groped the rest of his head, he felt shards of pain shoot through him. The left side was cooked meat; he could feel the outer layer hanging off and papery shreds of skin stuck to his fingers as he pulled away.

Sergei was laughing, a deep throated chuckle as he walked around the desk. “Not as effective as I’d hoped, but entertaining nonetheless,” he said and kicked Dimitri in the ribs. “I had hoped you’d burn to death in front of me, but your own filth saved your life. Ironic, isn’t it? Your filthy nature has been saving your life since the day I met you.”

Dimitri tried to respond, but only a hoarse croak emerged from his damaged windpipe.

“Don’t worry, old friend. Nothing you could say would make it right,” Sergei spat. “I should have known you would betray me from the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ll send somebody to finish the job, I do believe it’s time for Iryna’s cake.” He laid one last kick into Dimitri’s ruined face, paused to scrape the skin off on the dead guard nearby, and left the building.

Dimitri had only cried once in his adult life, at his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t seen her for years before her boyfriend pounded her into a pulp, one she finally couldn’t recover from. Dimitri had gone to the funeral, stood in the back and mourned from a distance. Tears had leaked from his eyes that time, flowing down his cheeks under his sunglasses. His mother’s boyfriend had been there, caught his eye and jumped in fear at the muscular man watching him pass. Dimitri was no longer the scrawny boy he could push around when Dimitri came home for a few days relief from his life on the streets of Moscow. Dimitri was a full foot taller than the boyfriend now, and at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle heavier.

Not that it made any difference. He had gone back and put a bullet in the head of the boyfriend that beat his mother to death. He had tortured the man a little beforehand, and had saved a few family photos on his way out. He hadn’t cried again after that.

Until that moment. Dimitri had howled and clawed at his face to ease the pressure. His eyeballs felt too big for his skull and he thought of nothing other than pulling them out. Luckily his body protected against his determined rage and he was unable to open them long enough to gouge them out. He rolled again, feeling some of his skin and melted clothing stick to the floor. Somehow he was able to pull himself up and used his powers of concentration to shut the pain down. He knew he was going into shock, which helped dull the stabbing sensations of the burns, but a lesser person never would have made it out alive.

He had some memories of the time shortly after he escaped Sergei's trap. He had stumbled through the woods, flesh and clothing hanging in ragged strips off his body. His driver had parked a little distance away from the other cars and was napping when Dimitri found him. In the distance he could hear the crowd singing happy birthday to little Iryna, all eyes would be on the oversized cake and juggling acrobats, leaving him to escape unnoticed.

He limped and lurched to the driver’s door and hit it with a thump as he fell to the gravel. The driver had panicked, leapt out and dragged his raw body into the spacious back seat. To this day Dimitri swore he could still feel a pebble under one of the scars on his ribcage. His doctor and physiotherapist said he was imagining things, but at night he would lie in bed and run his finger over it as a form of relaxation.

The driver had called his concierge while they were speeding back into Moscow. Dimitri remembered nothing more than the flashing of the streetlights and the sound of his groans and howls. The concierge had met them on the street in front of Dimitri’s building and climbed into the backseat carrying a medical pack and a suitcase, still packed from Dimitri’s trip.

The concierge was a smart man, he could tell immediately that this was no accident. He also knew that once Sergei discovered he had failed in assassinating Dimitri, he would begin the hunt anew. Hospitals, public and private, were out of the question. He had the driver take them to the private airstrip, had hired a medical transport helicopter complete with its own medical team, and flown him to Geghard Monastery in Armenia. Sergei would never have thought to look for them there, it was known as a tourist attraction, which disguised its true function as a centre of healing.

While they were there, and once Dimitri was able to croak out a few sentences, they had decided Russia was no longer safe for him. Sergei was a wanted criminal in Canada, so Vancouver had become the destination. The concierge had arranged the purchase of the penthouse and ran every design past him so when Dimitri was ready to travel, it was waiting for him.

Three years ago. In that time Dimitri had healed himself at a snail’s pace. He had slowly recovered and regained sight in both of his eyes. His voice was still deep, he spoke with a hoarse baritone, but the whores he paid seemed to respond to it more than ever. He had learned a lot about managing his assets and investments, and compiled hundreds of pages about his former mentor, Sergei. He would get his revenge at some point. It was worth waiting for. Sergei had many vulnerable spots; it was just a matter of deciding which one would hurt the most when hit.





Chapter Two - Columbia




“Fucking shit fuck,” she swore as she stubbed her toe on the edge of the coffee table.

“You can’t say that,” her little sister Eden exclaimed.

Columbia turned towards her and hissed, “I can say what the fuck I want, I’m almost twenty for fucks sake.”

“You mean you can say what you want when Dad’s not here,” Eden replied and screwed up her face to mock Columbia. At twelve, Eden was a spitfire. Columbia was irritated by the younger girl’s behaviour but had nobody to blame but herself. She had cultivated Eden’s fiery nature over the years, ensuring her little sister would become her polar opposite. Grow as she aged, where Columbia seemed to shrink into herself as she got older.

“Whatever, have you done your homework?”

“Uh yeah, like hours ago.”

“Hours? It’s only four o’clock. Nice try, now shut this shit off and get to your room. I have to make dinner before Dad gets home.”

“Where’s Mom?” Eden asked as she clicked the television off. She knew better than to have it on when their father arrived from work.

“She’s pulling a double at the diner,” Columbia said and Eden scurried up to her room taking her backpack with her. The truth was, she didn't know where their mother was. She might be working, but wasn’t there when Columbia had stopped in on her way home from a meeting with her employment counselor. She had a get together with the Community Protection League tonight and had wanted to let her know she’d be dropping Eden at a friend’s for the night so don’t worry while she was out of the house.

She didn't know why she still bothered with the League. It was a small group of people dedicated to bitching about every single project the City was planning within the limits of Vancouver. All under the guise of being concerned with the environment of course. The only reason she’d joined up last year was to spend time with Stuart, but he had hooked up with Debbie from their Advanced Algebra class, so she knew she didn’t stand a chance. She must be a masochist, she showed up and watched them make out every single fucking meeting and it hurt now just as much as the first time she found out.

Debbie was such a bitch. She was in some Biology scholarship program at the University of BC and thought she was the shit. Compared to Columbia’s life, she supposed that was true. Columbia still didn’t know what she wanted to do. She didn’t work, didn’t have plans for education and had basically drifted since graduation two years ago. Today’s meeting with the counselor had been unproductive. Apparently Columbia lacked an aptitude for any damn thing.

She stuck around home for Eden mostly. Otherwise she might have even hitched out to Ontario or down the US to find a job. Eden needed her though, a girl her age shouldn’t be on her own in this house. It wasn’t safe.

She started to prepare dinner, lost in her thoughts. Her father liked “man food”, as he called it. No rabbit food...so that left a pretty limited menu. Rice, grains, fresh veggies, those were all out of the range of acceptance for him. She scanned the near-bare cupboards and decided on boiled potatoes, canned green beans and fried pork chops. The chops were heavily discounted from the grocery up the street and needed to be eaten immediately. They had the telltale greenish tinge around the edges that indicated meat was a few seconds from spoilage.

The chops in the frying pan, the potatoes boiling and the beans in a bowl in the microwave, Colombia had a moment alone to think about tonight’s meeting. She always had some mad idea in the back of her head that something she did would win Stuart’s admiration. This would lead to him dumping Debbie and declaring his love for Columbia.

What did it even matter though? She didn’t even know if she liked him in that way, and if he ever got a look at her naked body, he’d run for the hills anyways.

She got up, flipped the chops and checked the clock on the wall. Almost five, her father would be walking through the door any moment. She set the table, called Eden and they waited for him, hands folded in their laps how he liked it.

“When is mom coming home?” Eden asked, picking at the peeling surface of the arborite table.

Columbia smacked her hand and said, “I don’t know. Don’t worry; I’m taking you to Kate’s tonight. You can spend the night and go to school with her in the morning.”

Eden visibly relaxed and smiled, “Ok, cool...that will be fun.”

“It’s a school night, this doesn’t mean you get to fuck around and stay up past midnight. I want you in bed and sleeping by nine.”

Eden rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, Dad,” in a sarcastic tone.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Columbia whispered, “I’m nothing like him, I could never be like him.”

Eden looked down, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I won’t say it again.”

But she would. Eden always used that insult to hurt Columbia; she knew it was the lowest thing she could sling at her sister to get the quickest response.

Just before six they clued in that he wasn’t coming home. They ate their dinner in silence, stopping at every noise outside, not wanting to get caught having their meal without him. Columbia packed up his dinner and left him a note instructing him on heating it, and letting him know she’d be late. The meeting started at eight and was located in an abandoned warehouse near the Olympic Village, but she still had to head out in the other direction to drop Eden at Kate’s house. She would have to hurry and avoid any small talk with Kate’s mom if she wanted to make it there on time.

She taped the note to her father on the fridge, dreading his reaction when he got home, but pleased she wouldn’t be there to see it. She hoped she hadn’t just thrown her mom under the bus, but needed to get away while she could.

As the reached the end of the block she turned and saw a dark figure standing at the end of their walkway in front of the house.

“Isn’t that Dad?” Eden said in a hushed tone.

“I don’t think so,” Columbia lied, “hurry up, let’s go.” The girls turned to catch the bus and Columbia shivered. She had a lump in her throat and imagined she could hear her father’s roar of anger as he read her note. It was going to be rough when she got home tonight, she would do best to stay out as long as possible.

*****

“That’s the daftest fucking plan I’ve heard yet, how do a bunch of old hippies naked on Wreck Beach help our community?” a voice complained behind Columbia. She turned in her seat to find the source. An older woman at the back of the room had her hand up.

“This isn’t a protest, Shelly. It’s just a group outing, a social event,” Stuart told the woman. “The day after tomorrow we’re going to barbeque on the beach, whoever wants to make it. It will be fun. Besides, Wreck is always clothing optional, you don’t have to get naked.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want to go, that’s all I needed to say, “ Shelly finished with a harrumph and sat down. Columbia knew she wouldn’t attend. As much as she’d like to check out Stuart’s body, it would be pretty obvious if she kept her long sleeves and pants on the entire time. She didn’t need to field questions from the group about her attire.

“Other than that, we’re good with the way things are going. I don’t know where Edward is, so tomorrow’s plan looks like it’s going to be derailed,” Stuart continued.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?” Debbie interjected, “I spent days setting it all up. It was going to be epic. Dammit Stu, why didn’t you tell me?”

Stuart blushed and looked awkwardly into the crowd as if searching for assistance in dealing with his difficult girlfriend. He was dating way out of his league and he knew it. Debbie had nothing to do with him in high school, but two years later, now that he was studying architecture and wrote a popular blog on the greening of Vancouver, she was all over him like he was the hottest commodity in town. “I knew nothing about it until tonight,” he told her. “Edward apparently took a job at a nightclub in Seattle, so what are we supposed to do?”

Columbia looked at her phone; it was almost midnight. The problem with working with hipsters and hippies was that things always dragged on forever. Everybody felt like they had to have their say, even if they had nothing to add. Nobody in school ever mentioned how fucking boring the democratic process could be. She didn’t mind so much tonight though. “What was the plan?” she asked, hoping to stall a little longer. Her father would still be awake, drinking and watching the late night news followed by Letterman. Even worse, he might be passed out in her bed, waiting for her to come home.

Stuart looked relieved at her question. “You missed the meeting where we went over this. Basically we have secured a food cart for somebody to ride tomorrow afternoon. Edward was supposed to get into Jarrod Jacob’s penthouse and confront him. He was going to wait in the kitchen until nightfall when we’re told all the staff have left for the day. He wanted to get right into the heart of the dragon and demand some answers about the project in your neighbourhood.”

“I was the one who set it all up,” Debbie added with a smug grin. “It fucking sucks that Stu ruined it though.” She blew her bangs up in an exaggerated puff of frustrated breath. She looked like a slutty whale. Thar she blows.

Columbia thought about her father back home, she didn’t know if her Mom would be there at all tomorrow. He might decide to take the day off work in order to deal with her insubordination, nothing angered her father like the thought she might have a life of her own. She blurted, “‘I can do it,” and immediately regretted her decision when Debbie squealed and clapped her hands together like a seal.

“Awe! Some!” Debbie said to her. “I knew you were a wicked chick. Now let’s go over the plans.”

Columbia looked up at Stuart who was still standing at the front with the mic in his hand. He smiled at her; his face was beaming his approval. She thought about the one time he had kissed her after seeing Lord of the Rings in grade ten. That had been the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, but she had pushed him away as soon as she realized what had happened. She constantly wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t reacted that way.

She grimaced as Debbie skipped up to the front and planted a wet kiss on his lips. He was tall and gangly, over six feet, so he had to bend to reach Debbie’s lips. For half a second he looked to Columbia like one of those bobbing glass birds dipping eternally into a water glass. Columbia smiled to herself and shook off the image.

“What are you laughing about?” Stuart asked and gestured for her to join them at a long fold out table.

“Nothing much,” Columbia told him and walked towards the lovebirds. “Just thinking about the look on the guy’s face when I jump out to talk to him.”

They laughed and the group crowded around her, excitedly explaining what she was going to do.





Chapter Three - Dimitri




“You’re going to have to come out of there sometime,” the concierge said in a stern voice. “It was bound to happen.”

The concierge had not taken a day off in over five years; he was Dimitri’s constant companion and confidante. He had requested a small holiday earlier that day, to return to his family home in Greece for his grandmother’s ninety-eighth birthday. It was potentially the last time he would see her and many of his relatives alive. He had given up any semblance of a normal life to take over directing Dimitri’s. The concierge came from a long line of men who served more powerful men, so his absence was noted with a sense of pride among his kin.

He could hear Dimitri boxing the punching bag. Heard the dull thud of gloves hitting sand, and the steady breathing from the exertion.

“I’ll just go get the keys,” the concierge continued, “you could save us both the trouble.”

He heard a grunt from inside, then the sound of feet padding across the floor. The lock jiggled and the door opened slowly, Dimitri stood on the other side, his muscled body shining with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m not upset about that, my friend,” he told the concierge, “I am tired of feeling like a caged tiger. I am restless, I want to go for a run next to the ocean, I want to fuck whores in Macau, I want to kill something…” he trailed off.

“What prompted this episode?” the concierge asked. He had seen a few similar occurrences in the time they’d been living here. They were getting closer together and possessed more rage than they had initially. Most of the time it was prompted by Sergei’s success in some business deal or criminal take over.

“Fucking Sergei,” Dimitri growled and clenched his fists, “what the fuck else would it be about? I sit here and rot like a prisoner, and he’s living free and clear of any consequence.” He paused, a faraway look on his face, and continued, “I will destroy him, I have to.”

The concierge knew there was nothing to be done to calm him down, when he got worked into this kind of frenzy all you could do was give him space. The last time it took a week before he settled down enough to talk about his anxiety in a rational manner. Perhaps a trip at this time would not be advisable.

Dimitri caught his look and said, “Go, take your time away. I will survive without you hovering around wringing your hands every time I stub my toe.”

The concierge felt cornered, completely on the spot. He would have to go, against his better judgement, because Dimitri would now have it no other way. Dimitri was a difficult man to be friends with, to serve. It wasn’t because he was demanding, but because he was single minded. The trick was to create a situation in such a fashion that Dimitri chose the direction the concierge preferred. In this case he had failed his boss. He hoped it wouldn’t end in disaster, but left to pack his bags.

*****

Dimitri paced the confines of his bedroom. By any standards it was an enormous space, enough for ten of the king sized bed he had placed on a platform against a wall of marble. Like everything else in the room, it was expensive, beautiful and something he barely noticed. His tension resided in his shoulders. He shook his arms out in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure to no avail. He jogged on the spot and punched the air in front of him, but nothing seemed to relieve his rage and frustration.

He wanted to kill Sergei, to have his former mentor on his knees in front of him, begging for his life. He wanted to smash Sergei’s face and stab him until there was nothing left but a pile of quivering human waste.

In short, he wanted to destroy the world surrounding Sergei, all his friends and family, anything Sergei had ever loved.

He stopped in place and furrowed his brow. Iryna, she was the problem. Dimitri still loved the little girl who had once called him Uncle Dimi. This was his weakness, the few remaining emotions he still possessed, they made him weak. He supposed Sergei would have had no problem tearing Dimitri’s family apart if he had one...but that’s why he was the head of the most bloodthirsty criminal organization the world had ever seen and Dimitri was living like a trapped fucking rat far from his home country.

Unable to relax, Dimitri moved to the bed and lay on top of the blanket. He needed a whore to kick around and fuck, but the concierge was gone for a week. Dimitri wouldn’t know the first place to find such a woman, let alone how to pay her or transport her to and from the airport. He was left to his own imagination and frustration.

His mind wandered back to the last whore the concierge had brought in, a striking former runway model from Milan. Her legs had been long and lean, her accent adorable, and her tolerance for pain remarkable. He suspected her coke habit had lead to her downfall, why else would a perfect creature turn to arrangements such as that in order to survive?

His cock hardened as he thought of her tight holes, her mouth, her cunt, her ass. He’d used them all that night, roughly and without mercy, but the model had loved every minute of it. Her screams straddling the fine line between pain and pleasure in a most delicious way.

He loosened his pants and slid them down his hips to gain access to his hard-on. If nothing else was working, he would have to pleasure himself to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his body. He was thankful for the millionth time that the fire had not injured his cock; it was still fully functional and impressive even to the most seasoned whores. His erection was at least nine inches, thick and veiny. He marveled at his luck. His hip and part of his upper thigh had been ruined in the fire, but his cock stood proudly untouched.

He began to stroke himself, thinking of the model. He couldn’t remember her name; it had probably been fake anyhow. Her eyes had been green and her hair thick and dark brown. Her lips were lush, plump and naturally red, her mouth hot and willing. The concierge had taken her into the room, never his bedroom, blindfolded her and bound her arms behind her back against a custom wood hewn Saint Andrews Cross. The blindfold was necessary, as Dimitri didn’t want them to ever know who he was. Finding scarred and burned skin along one side of his body, even without seeing his face, would be certain revelation if they moved in the right circles. He couldn’t risk it. He had taken such precautions already, building his world here. Changing his name, his habits, his life.

Fucking beautiful women was one habit he couldn’t give up though. It might end up being his downfall, but not that time.

His strokes increased in speed as he thought about her beautiful body splayed on the cross, struggling like a little fish. He’d picked up a riding crop from the rack near the door and approached her. She’d stilled, sensing his presence.

“Who’s there?” she’d asked in her soft, accented voice. He hadn’t answered, simply run the tip of the crop along her naked body, enjoying her jump as he touched her between her legs with the crop.

“Who are you?” she’d asked again, even though she knew the deal. A great deal of cash, more than most make in a year of work like hers. She wasn’t supposed to know who he was. She knew this.

Her second question resulted in a sharp smack of crop on her bare thigh. She’d jumped, but gotten the hint and stayed quiet unless spoken to after that. He had reached up and grabbed her throat with his gloved hand. He had gripped it tight, enjoying her wordless protest, her body swaying as she had tried to escape his grasp. He hadn’t wanted to choke her, not then anyhow, he had simply been testing her limits.

As much as he enjoyed his sexually destructive side, his pleasure bloomed from their need for him. Even before the fire ruined him, he had only gained real pleasure from making women want him. In making them beg, then using them, and leaving them, Dimitri found his purest pleasure.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what fucking had been like before his injuries. When he would strip down in front of a woman, let her run her hands all over his muscled body and drink in her purrs of admiration and appreciation.

Now his fucking was furtive. He was...not exactly shy...but not as proud of his body as he had been before. He could have plastic surgery, skin grafts to help smooth over the bumps and puckers of damaged flesh, but he had vowed to wait until Sergei was dead. He wanted to wear this scarred face until Sergei could gaze upon the monster he had created and weep for his life. He wanted to wear his ugliness on the outside until he could unleash it onto Sergei.

He shifted on the bed and tried to concentrate on his throbbing need. He hungered to release this tension before he destroyed something beautiful, a whore or a priceless work of art, either would be a tragedy. He slid his hand up to the tip, cupped the head and played with the sensitive ridge. He gave his cock a squeeze and closed his eyes. He imagined a pussy, any pussy, clenching and teasing him there.

He went back to the model. She had been the last woman he worked over, so naturally she was still on his mind. He tried to recall her scent, the taste of her skin as he had bitten her neck and breasts, marking her with dark bruises.

The words from a poem he read long ago fluttered through his mind at that moment…”as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar…” His eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed. Dimitri was not a man given to emotional outbursts, even previous to his time with Sergei. He had been trained to control his movements carefully or risk a beating, or worse, from his father. He let loose then though, rage and despair erupted from deep inside of him and he howled his protest against Vancouver’s unflinching skyline.

Never before had he been unable to complete his act. Not until a week or so previous, when some invisible stress had choked his balls off from his cock and prevented him from completion. His impotent anger at Sergei’s attack and subsequent life of confinement had now wreaked its own literal form of impotence upon Dimitri’s body. Put simply, he could not come.

The scar, the line about the scar. The scars that filled his left torso and a portion of his face. Was there pleasure in wearing them on his body?

At this moment there was none. He briefly considered if he had descended into madness, but could not determine whether he had or not.

Unconvinced of either, Dimitri slid to the side of the bed, tucked his hard cock back into his loose pants, pulled them over his hips and stalked back to his office to keep his eye on Sergei once more.

On his way out, he spied a priceless Tiffany lamp, a hideous affair in stained glass pink lotus flowers. Something he’d once taken pride in, perhaps, when he first moved here. He’d seen a lot of the antiques and objets d’art as a stamp of legitimacy. Now he saw this lamp as one more gilded bar in his cage.

He stopped in front of it. He reached out slowly, seeing his great, muscled arm as if from a far place, and watched as he pushed it towards the edge of the mahogany side table. It teetered for a moment, and almost looked as though it would survive. This moment, the pause between perfection and destruction, sent a jolt through his cock. From the base of his balls to the slit at the tip, he had half a second of intense pleasure before it crashed to the floor and deflated his need.

Dimitri sighed, ran his hand over his freshly shaved head and continued out of the room. The glass would keep for the week the concierge was gone. He didn’t want to contact the maid to clean it up and risk her seeing him...or him seeing her. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself while in this state.

He would just have to remember it was there when he stumbled into his room, drunk on Iordanov vodka at three in the morning.





Chapter Four – Columbia




“Let’s get another round, we’ve got to get you drunk enough that you are still a little wasted when you confront the douche in his apartment,” Stuart said as he raised his glass and signaled the waitress.

“I don’t know if I should have that much, I don’t usually drink,” Columbia said, still nursing the first beer he bought her.

“You are the star of the evening, you should celebrate,” he said again and turned to the waitress to order. Columbia took the opportunity to text Kate’s mom and let her know Eden would have to spend another night with them. That would mean her little sister was covered for tomorrow night too, she could be picked up from school while Columbia was executing the plan.

“I hope you aren’t letting this get to your head,” Debbie whispered as Stuart’s back was turned. “I know he usually fawns all over you but I’m keeping an eye on you two.”

“What are you talking about?” Columbia asked, taken by surprise. She hit send and dropped her phone back in her purse, feeling suddenly exposed. Stuart was her little secret crush, but she knew it didn’t go both ways. Not after that one disastrous kiss. Why was Debbie accusing her now?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Debbie continued, “I don’t buy this “Little Miss Innocent” act for a minute. I’m leaving in a bit, I don’t want you to take advantage of being his little super star and make your move.”

“Whoa, Debbie, I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about,” Columbia tried to ease Debbie’s concern. She really had no idea where this was coming from; maybe Debbie was drunk. Columbia had always done her best to keep her feelings for Stuart well hidden. She didn’t even really know how she felt about him for God’s sake.

“What are my two favourite ladies talking about over here?” Stuart asked as he turned back to the table.

“Oh nothing, you know, girl stuff,” Debbie said and smiled. “I was just telling Columbia how amazing it is that she’s doing this.”

“Oh it is, so is she! Let’s have another toast to our amazing activist,” Stuart announced and everyone at the table held up their glasses. “To Col, really a spectacular girl and now a real rebel, sticking it to the man!”

“To Col,” the group cheered and Columbia took a sip of her beer to avoid looking at Debbie’s angry face.

An hour later the group had dispersed somewhat. Debbie got up to leave, kissed Stuart passionately and deliberately in front of everyone, turned and told Columbia, “Good luck with this, I hope it all goes as planned.”

“Thank you,” Columbia replied and ignored the sarcastic tone in Debbie’s voice. There was no point in arguing with her; the other woman clearly had her mind made up.

Columbia got up from the table and headed towards the bathrooms near the back of the pub. She wobbled a little as she walked, apparently the beers she’d had hit her harder than she thought. There was a short hallway towards the doors that displayed concert posters and neighbourhood information. She thought she recognized a girl from high school advertising as a babysitter, stopped to take a closer look. She stared at the photo, blinked twice and realized she didn’t know her. As she turned back to the washrooms, she felt somebody grab her arm. It was Stuart.

“Columbia, are you ok?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“I am fine, I just think I had a little more than usual,” Columbia said and smiled at him. She tried to turn away but he didn’t let go. “What’s up?”

“I think you know,” Stuart whispered and leaned down to kiss her. Columbia accepted his embrace and opened her mouth, more out of surprise than passion. Stuart started backing her towards the women’s washroom as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She allowed it, and even snaked her own around his, but it was an odd slimy sensation. His tongue was wide and his mouth contained too much spit for her liking.

He backed her through the door, paused to lock it, and turned to her. “I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Me too,” she agreed but wondered where the disconnect was. She’d been thinking about Stuart for years, and here it was happening. Debbie had known something after all.

So why did it feel so flat and passionless?

He stepped towards her and pulled her hands around his neck. He kissed her again and she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the moment. It wasn’t working. She made a small noise of frustration; Stuart mistook it for pleasure, groaned and pressed his hard-on against her upper thigh.

Columbia ran her hands down his back, but he felt hot and sweaty. His breathing increased as he kissed her, running his hands through her hair and grinding against her. She pulled back and pushed him off her. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I don’t want to do this here, we might get caught.”

“Don’t worry about Debbie, she’s gone home for the night. She’s got an early lab at the university,” he tried to assure her, but failed.

“How about we stop and think about what we’re doing,” she stated, staring at him.

“How about not,” he replied and pushed her against the wall. He pulled her hands above her head and worked his knee in between her legs. She was forced to straddle his leg and he kissed again, harder this time. Being pinned like that felt good, and Columbia started to respond.

“Hey, are you almost done in there?” a woman’s voice called from outside the door.

Columbia wiggled free and pushed him off her for the second time. “I told you, we need to stop,” she said and yelled to the woman, “I’ll be a few minutes.”

“Geeze Col, it’s cool. I’ll leave in a couple of minutes and you come back to the table after me. We’ll make some lame excuse and high tail it out of here, how’s that sound?”

She wanted to say no, but the flash of her with her hands pinned over her head and her legs forced open made her say, “Sure, sounds good.”

He left before her; she was able to use the toilet and head back to the table. After five minutes or so Stuart stretched and said, “Shit, we need to get back to my place Col, I’ve got that thing you need.”

“Oh yeah, that,” she replied as he paid the bill. She avoided eye contact on the way out because she knew it was ridiculously obvious what they were up to. She wondered if anyone would call Debbie.

Stuart held the truck door open for her and skipped over to the other side, whistling a tuneless song. He got in the driver’s side, put the key in the ignition and said, “I’ve been thinking about this since grade ten, do you remember that stupid kiss?”

She smiled and replied, “I do. After Lord of the Rings. I panicked and ran away.”

“Is that what it was?” he said and laughed. “I thought I scared you by not knowing how to kiss, you know. That was my first time.”

“Mine too,” she admitted and he reached across the seat to grab her hand. He rubbed her thumb in between his own thumb and forefinger and tugged at her, indicating for her to sit next to him. She dropped her purse on the floor and scooted over, feeling a little smug, like she was his girlfriend.

He leaned over and started kissing her again, this time it was softer, more sensual. Columbia wished he’d pin her arms back, but she didn’t want to scare him off again.

She was starting to relax and get into the kiss. Stuart pulled her towards him and she let her body fold against his. He took her hand and laid it on his lap, she could feel his erection through his jeans. She fought her urge to pull back, this was so far into new territory for her, she didn’t know what to expect.

“Just rub it,” Stuart whispered, his breath ragged and hot on her lips.

“Ok,” she whispered back and complied. She knew it would be more sensitive near the tip, so she concentrated on that area. He groaned and jerked his hips against her hand. increasing the pressure. Columbia had never done this, she understood the mechanics of bringing a man to orgasm, but had never been actually present during the moment.

Stuart started to rub her back, his hands moving faster and faster, until they matched the rhythm of his thrusts. She felt odd, like she was part of a machine created to jerk Stuart off in the cab of his truck. It was a bizarre detachment that happened whenever she was involved in the pleasuring of another human being, but she didn’t know how to prevent it.

Stuart started to slow his frenetic rubbing and thrusting. “I don’t want this to happen here,” he said as he pulled away and looked her in the eyes. “I want this to be special.”

“I didn’t know you had thought about this,” Columbia replied. The effects of the beers were wearing off and she was starting to get a headache.

“I have been thinking about it for years,” he said. He looked embarrassed, as if he had just admitted a weakness.

“But you’re with Debbie now,” she told him, as if thinking of it for the first time. “This hardly seems fair to her, right?” The beers were definitely wearing off as she came to her senses.

“I know, you’re right,” he replied. “You just look so incredible when you’re excited about something. Most of the time you walk around like you’re in a fog, I can’t see you behind your eyes a lot of the time. I wonder where you’ve gone. But tonight, you had a fire and it reminded me of how amazing you are. You are a very beautiful girl, but you know that.”

She softened and forgot Debbie again. She felt Stuart’s finger begin to caress her hand and she stared into his eyes for any hint of irony or deception. He was sincere. He thought she was beautiful. She just wanted to be thought of this way and not have people question her about it.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper and he swept her into a kiss once again. He released her hand and let his travel up and down her arm. She was wearing a snug black hoodie, so he couldn’t feel her flesh, but the sensation of being touched by him was intense in its honesty. Stuart believed in her beauty.

He reached her hand and slid his slowly back up in a languid stroke. His tongue filled her mouth and she closed her eyes to lose herself in the moment. His hand reached the sleeve of her hoodie and he slid his fingers underneath, to her flesh.

She jumped and tried to pull back but he already had his hand up her sleeve, sliding along her skin, touching her .

He jerked his hand back and pulled away from her. His eyes were full of confusion and he said, “What was that?”

She felt her heart thud to the bottom of the pit in her stomach and she was unable to speak. How could she explain to him all the darkness she carried with her, the unexplainable oddities?

How could she look at him now that he no longer saw her as beautiful?

She pulled away and slid towards the passenger door. “Nothing, forget about it,” she murmured and reached around behind her for the handle.

“Col, I didn’t mean anything by it, please,” Stuart pleaded with her and she opened the door. He reached for her to keep her in the cab of the truck but she slipped away into the night.

She ran down West Fourth, looking for a dark place to catch her breath. The last thing she heard was Stuart’s door opening and him yelling after her. “I still think you’re beautiful, come back!”

*****

Columbia reached her Nan’s apartment a little after five in the morning. She knew her Nan would be up early and would understand why Columbia didn’t want to go home just now.

“Columbia, come on up,” Nan said on the intercom.

Her Nan was in her late eighties and lived on her own in a terrible part of town. She was a feisty old bird, and Columbia knew she’d probably die in her apartment before anyone convinced her to move into a home.

“So what do I owe the pleasure this visit?” Nan asked as Columbia shrugged out of her coat and took off her boots.

Columbia’s eyes darkened and awareness crept over Nan’s face. She didn’t say any more, but simply took Columbia to the kitchen and settled her at the table as she made a pot of tea.

“Would you like some toast?” Nan asked.

“Yes, please, I’m starving,” Columbia replied. She had spent the hours in between Stuart’s discovery and Nan’s apartment wandering around the waterfront thinking about how she would ever face him again.

After breakfast she helped Nan wash up, then went to the little living room and fell asleep on the couch while Nan rocked and crocheted to her morning TV shows.

At some point she was half awake and heard Nan on the phone. “Yes, she’s here. Don’t worry Shelly, I’ll send her home as soon as she’s awake.”

Somewhere in the depths of her subconscious she was grateful that her mother noticed when she was gone. It was nice to have her absence noticed every once in a while.

Columbia woke up at around two in the afternoon. Maury was on and Nan was surprisingly interested in who really was the father.

“Don’t watch this crap, it’ll rot your brain,” Columbia said with a laugh as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“At my age there’s not much left to rot,” Nan replied. “Your mother’s looking for you,” she added.

“I should get home then,” Columbia fibbed. She went to reach for her purse and remembered it was in Stuart’s truck. She didn’t know how she would manage to get it back without talking to him. After last night she never wanted to talk to him again.

“Could you be a dear and go to the store before you go?” Nan asked. “I need a couple lottery tickets. Can you imagine me winning something at my age? At least you’d inherit a lot!”

“Sure thing Nan,” Columbia said and took a twenty from the older woman, “but I think our family was meant to be poor. I don’t think a single one of us has ever been rich.” She would have to skim a bit of the change to pay for a Skytrain ticket, but Nan would understand.

She had an hour before meeting the contact in front of the building she was going to infiltrate. She hopped the Skytrain to Granville Street and took her time walking down to English Bay. She wandered back along the waterfront to the Convention Centre, always feeling comforted and safe near the water. It made her feel like she had a chance to escape given the need.

She sat on a bench and killed a little more time before the big event. She knew Stuart had to work today, so she wouldn’t be able to get her phone until after her meeting with Jarrod Jacobs. She didn’t have her phone to record the encounter as planned, but at least she could tell him how she felt about his company.

She straightened her shoulders and resolved to do this one task for the group, then decided to bow out and never see Stuart or Debbie again. She didn’t know how she could look either one of them in the eye now. She was mortified to imagine Stuart telling Debbie everything that had happened last night.

The clock on the building behind her read four o’clock, time for her to go meet the guy who was going to sneak her in. She almost looked forward to curling up in the bottom of a food cart for the afternoon, alone in the dark with her thoughts. She needed to sort out what she wanted to do; she needed to talk herself out of the urge that was building.

Jarrod Jacob’s building was located a short walk along the waterfront. She saw Marco, the cook, waiting for her outside. He was shifting from one foot to the other and looking at his watch in an exaggerated fashion.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said as she approached him.

“Are you the girl?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.” she replied.

“What’s the code phrase?” he demanded.

“The Eagle has landed, motherfucker,” she told him and knew as she said it that it wasn’t as funny as they had thought the night before. He’d been texted the phrase and they all had a good laugh about it. Not so much in the light of day.

“Ok, cool. Follow me. We’ll go in around back through the service entrance. They bring carts and shit up and down to this Jacobs dude all the time so they won’t notice a thing,” he said and looked her up and down. “It’s a good thing you’re so tiny, it’s going to be cramped. I’ll do my best to get you out here and there so you can stretch or something, but unless I tell you to, stay hidden, ok?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. They had gone over the plan a hundred times the night before. She was to wait until Marco cleared his throat, said “What a long day that was,” and left the kitchen, locking the door as he left.

“You really sure about this?” Marco asked as they went through an industrial set of steel doors.

“I’m really sure,” she smiled. “If anything this will be a blessing to have a little nap.”

“Ok, it’s your call,” he said and stopped. “Here’s the bathroom, I suggest you go before we head up. It will be your last chance for a couple of hours and we don’t need you pissing yourself when you confront him. We need footage for the news outlets.”

“Oh shit, that’s the thing, right?” she told him. “I left my phone in Stuart’s truck, I don’t know how I’m going to record this.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Marco said and blew a whistle through his teeth. “That kinda defeats the purpose of this. How about you go take a piss, and I’ll see what I can come up with?”

Columbia agreed and left him in the hall. By the time she got back he was holding an iPhone, similar to her own.

“I’ll give you mine on one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t read any texts, emails or notes I might have in there. Better yet, just use the camera on this thing, nothing else, got it?” he instructed.

“Yeah, I got it. That’s literally the only thing I need it for.”

They continued down a hallway and went through a door at the end. He showed her the food cart and she folded herself up and got in. It was very cramped with less room than she had hoped, but she could sleep for a bit at least.

“Good luck,” Marco said as he crouched down to shut the door on the cart. “Ok, you can use the phone one more time...to text Stu when you’re done and he’s on stand by, ok? His number’s in there.”

“Will do, and thanks,” she replied as the door swung shut and she was locked in the darkness. She hated the thought of texting Stuart and would have to figure out how to avoid that. She settled into the rhythm as the cart was pushed into the elevator and she started her ride up to the penthouse.





Chapter Five - Dimitri




He woke in darkness, he wasn’t sure what time it was or what had woken him. Normally he would hit the bedside buzzer and demand the concierge walk the length of the hallway between Dimitri’s bedroom and the thick security door between him and the rest of the apartment. He couldn’t do so now that his friend was gone. He lay still for a moment and listened, but heard nothing to indicate what had awoken him. Dimitri learned long ago to trust his instincts though, even after a drunken evening of stalking Sergei online and trying desperately to come to bondage videos that crossed the boundary into near snuff. Nothing had worked so he had drunk himself into oblivion.

He switched on the lamp next to the bed and saw blood on the floor. He ran his hands carefully up his body looking for a wound, avoiding his scars as he often did, and found nothing. He looked down and noticed his feet were bloodied. That damn lamp. He’d forgotten about that damn lamp and walked right through the broken glass.

He leaned down and inspected his foot; there was one large shard, over an inch long, left in the fleshy pad below his big toe. He wiggled his foot and grabbed the glass, yanked it out and placed it on the bedside table. His blood had dried around the edges and left a beautiful purple pattern against the light blue glass. He decided he would clean the glass up himself this time, take action to do something in his environment instead of just exist. For now, he needed to find out what was bothering him.

He stood gingerly and walked to the door, opened it and listened again. He heard nothing, just the low humming of the working vents, appliances and electronics scattered about the space. He moved slowly along the hall, the lights coming on one by one as they sensed his movement. He stopped in front of the thick security door and listened. Again, nothing.

He rubbed his head, blinked a couple of times and shook it off as another paranoid dream that dragged him up from the depths of peaceful sleep to remind him that he was a wanted man.

Last night came back to him in bits and pieces. The drinking hadn’t been precipitated so much by the lack of sexual release as it had by a news piece that had been sent to him through anonymous channels.

Sergei had doubled the number on his head; Dimitri’s death was now worth twenty million dollars to the person who succeeded. Never one to relax his guard in the first place, this had sent Dimitri’s nerves into overdrive. So horny, frustrated, caged and now hunted by possibly every marksman on the planet, he had turned to vodka to keep him calm.

Whores were most likely no longer on the menu, he would have the concierge replace all the current staff and rotate them every few weeks so none of them could be bought off. “Damn,” Dimitri swore into the silent hallway. This was a bad time for this to happen, with his trusted friend so far away.

He was heading back to his bedroom when something tweaked in the corner of his mind. He just couldn’t quite get back to sleep yet, not without at least checking his security monitors. He went to the security centre of the penthouse, the room where the concierge had installed the monitoring equipment. He sat in one of the comfortable office chairs and watched the screens. He realized it was early morning, the windows in his bedroom had been darkened still which had given the illusion of being night. Just past six, his staff was beginning their day. He saw his personal chef and briefly reconsidered his decision to fire everyone, her cooking was exquisite.

He watched a deliveryman gain entry; his front door guard thoroughly checked the man’s papers, patted him down and carefully took the package. After it was x-rayed and opened, the deliveryman was allowed to go. This pleased Dimitri, seeing his highly paid staff doing their jobs.

He watched the other screens for a few minutes and stood up. Nothing had shown up and he still needed a few hours of sleep to burn off his potential hangover.

Back in his room he thought about making one more try stroking himself to release. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and decided against it. This level of nervous tension was infinitely easier to deal with over the building frustration of being unable to reach an orgasm.

He slid under the covers, forced his breathing to steady and let himself fall into sleep. His last thought before sleep was of his childhood home. A tiny apartment in a low rise building in Kapotnya, an area just Southeast of Moscow. It had been shabby, nothing spectacular, seven people living in about five hundred square feet. But his mind filled with the scent of his mother’s fresh bread baking in the oven, the sound of her rolling dough on the kitchen table...and he was filled with longing. Darkness was welcome.

*****

Dimitri watched the seagull pick up the piece of bread he had thrown at it. The bird was his sole visitor on the rooftop deck this afternoon. He had slept late, woken famished and ordered his food before he took a long, hot shower. By the time he had finished, he was fully revived and ready to dig into whatever the chef had thrown together for him. Without the concierge, he had no idea what the menu was going to be. He vaguely remembered him leaving instructions before he left, but didn’t recall what they were.

Lunch was delivered by a guard who passed through a high-level security scanner before entering the smaller dining room Dimitri used. No guns were carried back here, Dimitri was the only one allowed a weapon.

The guard wheeled the service tray to the table, bowed slightly and left the room, back to his post outside the door. Dimitri carefully inspected the food, found it perfect, and took it with him to the roof.

He felt free up here. It was another gorgeous spring day in Vancouver, the blue of the sky only outdone by the blue of the water stretching all the way to Vancouver Island. The North Shore Mountains thrust upwards, their white peaks reminding him that winter’s dull months were not far off…when you were trapped, it seemed the days were long but the years were short.

This would be his third year in Vancouver, the time truly was passing too quickly and his revenge was getting colder every month that passed without Sergei’s head on a platter.

Dimitri threw another piece of bread towards the bird and a second, smaller one landed close by. The two of them started to fight over the chunk, and Dimitri was amused by their animal natures. They fought openly over the scrap, without a hint of self-awareness or shame.

He sat back and looked out over the city. It taunted him, called him and frustrated him with the low rush of activity happening 30 stories below him. Distant car horns sounded, and he could hear the hum of an airplane in the distance.

He needed something to change; he knew this in his bones as surely as he knew he would take his next breath.

He ripped the last part of the sandwich in half and threw a piece to a waiting seagull. The larger one gulped his portion and leapt at the other. Dimitri chuckled as the smaller one beat the other with its wings, stole back its bread and dropped off the side of the building with it.

“What do you expect?” he yelled at the stunned looking bird. “He wanted it more, you ate yours, you greedy bastard...now go!” He stood up and the startled bird took to the skies. Dimitri watched him fly and felt a stab of envy pierce him as the bird hit and updraft and was gone.

He rubbed his head and picked the plates off the table to take them back downstairs. This needed to end; he needed to end it.

He couldn’t take another year here, like this. Sergei would have to pay or Dimitri would lose his mind.

*****

Dimitri read the message again. It had been sent to his email through one of his encrypted channels, so the authenticity wasn’t suspect. He forced himself to follow the words, carefully reading them aloud to comprehend each one.

“They found you.”

Dimitri reached for his phone and checked his texts. There was nothing new from the concierge. This one time his friend was gone, and he was discovered. Had the concierge still been here, this information would have been discovered hours ago. He typed the words “Plan B” and hit send. By the time the concierge was on his way back to Vancouver, he would have everything arranged for Dimitri’s move. There was no way they could stay put if Sergei’s people were coming.

The laptop beeped and Dimitri turned back to it. Another message had come through. It was a repeat of the first one. Dimitri had information networks set up worldwide so repetition of the message wasn’t unusual. It served to twist the knife a little though, to emphasize the fact that Sergei’s people now knew his location. It was only a matter of time before they came for him.

He stood and paced down the hall to his bedroom, plotting his next move. The concierge was due back in four days; that gave them a week to stay here, tops. This gave them plenty time to make the move to their next stop, another beautiful penthouse, like this one but in Hong Kong. It was trickier territory with Sergei’s ties to Triad, but that was the reason they had plotted this particular move. Sergei would expect him to flee once discovered, not jump into an area he had close ties with. Dimitri still had some friendly faces in Hong Kong he could trust as well. It was the perfect location.

Dimitri would transfer enough money to live comfortably for a year or so, the concierge could arrange for house staff and handle the actual logistics of the move. The problem was that now Sergei found him once, it would take less and less time for him to do so. This was going to lead to an inevitable confrontation between the two men, but Dimitri preferred it to be on his own terms.

Expecting this from the very beginning, the concierge had set up several safe houses worldwide for Dimitri, along with new identities for this exact situation. It just caused a small quake of panic in the core of his belly, he hadn’t left the apartment in so long and now he would be trying to settle into new surroundings in a new country. Change was not as easy for him to handle these days, and yet the predictability of his current life was dragging him into insanity.

He let out a howl of frustration and punched the wall near the bedroom door. The wood was untouched, but he rubbed his knuckles. He was close to reaching his fill of this life on the run, in hiding. He reached down and felt for the knife he kept on his body at all times, strapped to his midsection and beneath his clothes. It was there, as it always was, a comforting fourteen inches of razor sharp steel. He opened the door and stepped into the hall to begin preparations for the coming days.

Dinner came and went with nothing out of the ordinary. So far it had been a very ordinary day for Dimitri in spite of the shocking email he had received that morning. He ran twenty kilometres on the treadmill, gone a few rounds with the punching bag and sat for an hour in his steam room. Sweating all the vodka from his veins meant he could control his emotions and keep his rising anxiety in check.

He found himself in the security center watching the staff clean up and get ready to leave for the night. It comforted him to be connected to them some way. Dimitri toyed with the possibility that he might be lonely, but dismissed it as a flight of fancy. He didn’t have the luxury of being lonely; he didn’t have the luxury of feeling anything that deeply. A Solntsevskaya Bratva member was trained to have no emotion, now that he was out of the family was no excuse to get soft.

He leaned back in the chair and watched the last person leave the kitchen, one of the kitchen staff. The man turned the lights out, locked the door and closed it. Dimitri watched the monitors and saw them all leave the apartment; the night guard shut the door behind them and locked it. His apartment was almost empty and he could feel the weight of their departure on his chest.

“You moody bastard,” he grumbled under his breath. He was a little disgusted at his own train of thought. He stretched his long legs and let his mind wander to the time he would confront Sergei and fucking destroy him. His hands clenched and unclenched as he thought about the feel of a knife going into Sergei’s stomach. The grunt he would make when Dimitri twisted it into his gut and poured all his rage into a single act.

Deep in his fantasy he almost missed the movement on the kitchen monitor. It was just a small flash in the corner of his eye, had he been deeper in the moment of killing Sergei he would have had his eyes closed and missed it.

Luck, or fate, or the slow grinding gears of life was on his side. He turned his head and saw something. He stood quickly, leaned in and examined the movement. He thought perhaps he had imagined it and almost turned away when he saw it again. A leg poked out of the bottom of a food cart, one of the same ones he had his meals delivered on three times a day. A woman unfolded from the shelf, rolled over and stood up gracefully. She looked wobbly, like a fawn on uncertain legs. She stretched and turned around, taking in the room. As she moved towards the camera, Dimitri realized he had been holding his breath. He had to see her face.

She was beautiful. Even on the grainy black and white film her beauty radiated. Black hair, white skin, tiny body, large dark eyes. She was perfect. And she was invading his space.

His hand hovered over the handset to call the guard at the front, but he hesitated. He saw her walk towards the locked kitchen door and press her ear to it, listening. He was entranced. She was the first woman in his apartment who wasn’t on the payroll. He hung the handset up and thought about what this meant. Clearly she had been sent to kill him, she was after the bounty.

He strode from the room with purpose, intent on finding this girl before she found him. He clicked open the security door and slipped into the dining room off the kitchen. He paused at the door connecting the two and heard her exclaim on the other side. He assumed she had tripped on something in her unfamiliar surroundings. This boded well for Dimitri, highly effective assassins didn’t often bump into things.

He opened the door carefully, to determine where she was. She had her back to him, she was bent over rubbing her shin and completely unaware of him approaching her from behind.

She stood up as Dimitri reached for her. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, as silent as his entrance had been. He noted how large his hands seemed next to her tiny body, he would have to be careful not to injure her before he found out why she was here. He grabbed her in a swift motion. He pressed his hand against her mouth and pulled her body towards him. He wrapped his other hand around her throat and held her tight until she started to lose consciousness. Her blood supply was pinched off by his expert touch, but he could feel her body’s strong protest in her fluttering pulse. She felt nice, she smelled nice. Dimitri’s body responded to these stimuli.

He held her tighter, and just as she slipped away she must have felt his hardening cock pressing against her. She struggled weakly in his arms, but finally succumbed and went limp. He took the hand from her mouth and let her fall over his arm. Her head lolled back, exposing her white, elegant neck. Her thick black braid fell down and hung there, swaying gently as he walked. He wished he could have seen her eyes before he laid her out, but that would have been too risky. He stared at her face for a moment too long and felt caught up in something bigger than himself, but shook it off as another sign of his madness.

Resisting the urge to tear into her on the spot and fuck her in her shredded clothing, Dimitri exerted the professional control that had allowed him to survive in the criminal world for so long. He lifted her higher into his arms, marveled at how small she was now that he carried her full weight. She felt no larger than a child, but her body was that of a woman, a very beautiful woman. He took her into the room in order to tie her up and interrogate her, but half his brain was being drawn down by one strong undercurrent, the image of her helpless body splayed open, ready for him to use.





Chapter Six – Columbia




Sleep did not come as easily as Columbia anticipated. The kitchen was hot and noisy; people came and went the entire time she was there. That entire staff for one rich prick, it boggled her mind.

Every time she thought she could doze off, somebody would drop something or scream at somebody else. The worst were the guards who would wander through from time to time and hit on the girls in the kitchen. Columbia ended up pulling her hood up over her head and forcing herself to close her eyes.

She drifted in and out of sleep. True to his word, she had been stowed somewhat away from the main traffic in the kitchen as far as she could tell. It was loud enough with the cook’s music blaring and the constant chatter that she felt safe to sleep with no fear of being heard.

A couple of hours into her long day, the door to the cart opened. A smiling young Indian girl popped into view. “Hey, you need a bit of a stretch?” she asked in a crisp British accent.

“Yes, how did you know I was in here?” Columbia said and climbed out. She stretched and looked at the girl, then peeked around her at the rest of the room. The staff was all out of the room at the moment.

“Marco told me,” she smiled and walked away. “Come with me if you need to go to the loo. Their break is only about ten minutes”

Columbia ran after her, she did need to, desperately. The girl was short on information but seemed somewhat interested in the plan, or Marco, so she was helping.

Five minutes later and the girl was shutting her back into the cart. Columbia had the smallest moment of panic as the door clicked shut again, but soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next time the girl let her out; she paused before locking her up again. “This is the last time, in about an hour we’re going to shut the kitchen down and you’ll be left alone. Sneak out at that time, I’ll make sure to leave the door unlocked between us and the rest of the apartment. Ok?”

Columbia nodded and said, “Thanks for everything, wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” the girl replied and clicked the door locked.

The last hour crawled, Columbia’s muscles ached and her back felt like she had twisted a nerve. She was sweating and could feel a droplet travelling down the curve of her breast, under her layers of clothing. There was no way she could reach it to scratch, so she concentrated on other things instead.

Like Stuart. How could he have acted that way last night? How could she have acted that way? She wasn’t sure anymore what had actually happened. He kissed her, he touched her, and then he ran his hands along her bumpy skin and recoiled with terror.

She was a freak; he had discovered that and found her lacking. She thought about perfect Debbie, the bitch, and felt guilty that she had kissed Stuart. What had gotten into her, other than all those beers, but she swore long ago she’d never use alcohol as an excuse for bad behaviour. Not like her father.

“He didn’t mean it, Daddy was drinking,” had been her mother’s mantra growing up. The problem was, he really did mean it. He liked it. The booze just made him feel less guilt.

Columbia never wanted to be like that.

She heard a thump on the outside of the cart and the lock was disengaged. She listened as all the staff left the room and finally it was silent. She would have time to sort her issues with Stuart out later. She thought she heard Marco say the code phrase, but waited ten minutes, making sure everyone was actually gone, and slid her leg out the door. She paused, she thought she heard something, decided it was nothing and continued.

The lights were dimmed in the kitchen, but she could still see what was going on. She walked to the door outside and found it locked. That was strange, usually doors lock from the inside. Latching it from the outside made her uncomfortable, why was Jarrod Jacobs so worried about keeping something in?

She walked back towards the cart and ran into the sharp edge of a low bench. “Fuck,” she exclaimed, then shut her mouth when she heard how it echoed in the quiet space. She bent down to rub her shin where she had made contact with the bench.

She slowly stood up and thought she heard something again. The smallest whisper of fabric or a misplaced foot, but before she could determine the direction it was from, there was a hand clamped over her mouth and one gripping tight around her neck.

She panicked and struggled against the pressure, but had no chance. She deduced it was a man who had captured her, and his grip was iron strong. She saw bright lights blooming in the corners of her eyes behind her closed lids. She tried to take a breath but her efforts were met with resistance under the determined hand that had her tight. Every nerve ending was alight and she felt as though she were falling into a deep abyss.

She tried again, one last ditched effort as she felt her consciousness slipping away. The man was breathing hard in her ear, she thought from exertion until her body slipped and she brushed against his thick hardness restrained in his pants. She tried to whimper, “Please don’t…” but no words made it past the hand around her neck. With a small shudder and a gasp, she lost her grip on the world and slipped into darkness.





Chapter Seven – Dimitri




He took a carefully controlled breath and nudged the door to the room open with his foot. It was a windowless space in the centre of the penthouse. It was designed for maximum control with minimum effort, so a single man could truss up a willing victim in no time flat. The architect had raised his eyebrows at his request, then sat back and nodded knowingly when Dimitri described it. Dimitri had the distinct impression that this wasn’t the strangest thing one of his rich clients had asked for.

He set her on the narrow wooden platform in the centre of the room and stepped back. She really was magnificent. From this angle he saw her pulse beating steadily on the curve of her neck. Her breasts were full and round and moved slowly as she breathed. Her legs were long for her body, lean and gently angled under the black tights she had on. Her stomach was flat and her hips wide, triggering some primal instinct to cover her like a stallion and fuck her until she was his and only his.

He shook his head and tried to concentrate. It must have been too long in between whores, that was all. He pulled her arms over her head and used silken white ropes to bind her there. He blindfolded her, again regretted not seeing her eyes, and moved to her feet. He pulled her legs apart and made sure she couldn’t move. He would wait by her side until she woke.

He dragged a heavy mahogany corner chair close to the platform. The fact that he knew it was a corner chair carved from mahogany made him smile to himself and glance towards to girl. She looked like the delicate kind of little dove who would look him up and down, take note of the many expensive items located about his space, and find him lacking. Girls who possessed this kind of rare beauty always sniffed out the grubby street urchin he had once been, no matter how much couture he draped on his body or how much money he threw at his past in an attempt to outrun it.

He sat carefully, felt the wood creak under his muscular frame, and watched her. She was dressed in all black form fitting clothes. A black hoodie, zipped up, black yoga pants and ankle high black leather army boots. Nothing expensive or remarkable.

He moved as though startled as a thought crossed his mind. He needed to look for identification. He was a man familiar with killing or fucking women such as her. This in-between was unnatural for him, was he going to kill or fuck? He did not know.

He ran his hands along her body looking for a pocket. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth as he ran his hand along her firm thighs. She was such a delicate creature. Who had sent her? Was she one of Sergei’s or contracted out by somebody who worked for him?

He found no weapons and nothing to indicate where she came from or her identification. In the hoodie pocket she had a torn Skytrain ticket, a wadded ten-dollar bill with some loose change, and a receipt from 7-11 for one Coke and a couple lottery tickets. He found no tickets.

He took the items and laid them on a low table near the platform. Inspecting them gave him nothing. He knew no more about her than he had five minutes ago.

She made a small noise, a moan in the back of her throat followed by a long sigh. Dimitri leaned in and watched her face; she appeared to flutter her eyelids under the blindfold and grew still. He felt her pulse; it was throbbing under her skin, as it should be. He could see light red finger marks blooming on her neck. His hands had done this. His cock responded to the thought of her struggling under him, fighting him off, trying to get away.

Boredom and frustration did strange things to a man. Years earlier he never would have imagined choking such a beautiful woman while driving himself deep inside of her, but at the moment this image became almost all consuming. He reached out and placed his hand around her throat, lining his fingers up with the bruises forming on her flesh. He squeezed, ever so softly, and felt his body respond to her flesh. She moaned and moved her head. She was regaining consciousness so he removed his hand and watched her carefully.

She wiggled her hands against the ropes; her entire body shuddered ever so slightly. The smallest of movements snaked through her limbs, she was testing her bonds. She was awake.

He didn’t move, stilled his breathing. This was one thing he still excelled at, avoiding detection.

She strained against the ropes, pulled her right foot and found her limits. She twisted and struggled, stopped and exhaled loudly.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice was low and throaty. A bedroom voice, a sensual voice. Dimitri immediately knew the kinds of noises that would erupt from her throat in the act of pleasure. He wanted to make her moan, sigh, scream his name and beg him to never stop.

But he still didn’t know who she was or if she had been sent here to kill him. He said nothing, did not move.

“Is anyone there?” she called out again, louder this time. “I know you’re there, fucker! Who the fuck are you? Why am I tied up?” she continued. “Hello,” she said, her voice drawn out into a near whimper. Dimitri felt a slight tug of empathy for the girl on the platform, but it was lost immediately under his need to learn more about her intentions.

“Listen, asshole,” the girl said with a determined tone, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but people know I’m here. They’ll come for me.”

Her chest rose rapidly with her breathing, panic was creeping in as she realized the extent of her situation. Dimitri stayed still for a few breaths and finally walked to her side. She heard him and turned her face towards him. “Who are you?” she asked, tension thick in her words.

He leaned close to her, inhaled her scent, vanilla and flowers, and said, “I think the real question here should be…who are you?”

She flinched at the sound of his voice and ineffectually tried to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m in the wrong place,” she replied, her voice cracking with pent up hysteria. “I’m not even supposed to be here.”

He moved slowly to the other side of her head and whispered, “So you weren’t sent here to kill me? I find that hard to believe.”

She flinched again and edged away from the sound of his voice. She was breathing rapidly, her skin was flushed and her voice trembled as she said, “No, I don’t even know you. I just wanted to talk to Jarrod Jacobs...but I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to react. He stood up straight and looked down at the small figure laid out in front of him. Jarrod Jacobs was his most recent alter ego, the wealthy playboy son of a Texas billionaire, owner of several multi national corporations. Jarrod Jacobs didn’t exist though, not outside Dimitri's private accounts and online world. Jarrod only existed on paper, and only to protect Dimitri from Sergei while providing a name to run Dimitri’s legitimate businesses.

“What do you want with Mr. Jacobs?” he asked from high above her.

She craned her neck and tried to pinpoint the location of his voice. “I, um...I’m here on behalf of the Mount Pleasant Community Protection League. We are protesting his proposed development at the corner of Main and Twelfth,” she said, her voice was small in the large room. She gained confidence again as she recited her obviously pre-rehearsed speech.

He rocked back on his heels of his feet and laughed. “That’s it? The only reason you’re here?” he demanded.

“Why else would I be here?” she asked, her voice quavered again and she was losing her confidence.

“Don’t you find it odd that somebody would sneak into my private quarters in order to deal with an issue that could be brought up at City Hall?” he replied. “Of course I’d wonder what brought you here.”

“Wait, are you Mister Jacobs? You should know that they never listen to us at the City,” she said, trying to sit up. “We tried that, but you’re tearing down the neighborhood to put in four square blocks of towers. You’re ruining it for those of us who live there.”

“Then move,” he said and wondered if this meant she really was just an innocent girl who managed to stumble into a wasp’s nest. It didn’t matter at this point; she was not going to get out of this unscathed.

“It’s not that easy,” she said and curled her lip in the smallest of sneers. This only served to enhance her full lips and Dimitri leaned down close to her again to drink in the sight. “Not all of us are loaded, it’s not like I can pick up, move to another country and make a new life for myself,” she continued.

“What did you say?” he said, standing straight again and frowning. She must know something, why else would she have brought up his own flight from Russia and subsequent name change?

“I simply pointed out that most of us aren’t rich enough to move when some asshole decides to tear up our neighbourhood,” she replied. She was moving her head slowly as if listening for his slightest movement. She licked her lips, a simple action but one that triggered something deep inside of him. He wanted to take her; he wanted to see her struggling at the end of his cock, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with lust. Every cell in his body vibrated with his need.

“If your house is in the development zone, you will be compensated for it. Fair market prices,” he told her, leaning over her again to watch her mouth as she spoke.

“We aren’t being compensated for having a twenty five storey tower thrown up across the street from us,” she replied, “It’s my family home, where I grew up. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” he said and thought about his own childhood home. A four-storey apartment building outside of Moscow, long demolished to make way for new development. In an odd way, he understood her emotional attachment, even though he had been gone from his own home for years before it happened.

“Where are you from?” she asked, her voice was sharp in the silence of the room.

“What do you mean?” he replied. “I’m from here.”

“You sound Russian,” she stated and was still.

Dimitri was taken aback for the second time that night. He had been coached by the best vocal experts in Moscow years ago, to lose his accent. He knew it wasn’t perfect, but he had assumed in the years since he’d been living here that it was almost undetectable. How had she picked up on it? “Yes, I am,” he said, doing his best to stretch the vowels out and keep his voice even.

What was he going to do with her? Even if she wasn’t sent to kill him, he couldn't have her running back to her group and tell them all that Jarrod Jacobs was a Russian. The thing was that he didn’t fully believe her story; he couldn’t believe her story. If he believed her, then he was going to torture and potentially kill an innocent girl. Although women were regarded as property in the Solntsevskaya Bratva, he had only killed those who deserved it.

If he was being honest with himself, he killed men and women differently for a reason. There was a distinction between him using his knife on men and throttling women with his bare hands.

And if he was being completely honest, he had to admit that there was a definite thrill to be gained from holding a woman’s throat in his hand and crushing the life from her body.

But to kill a girl who’s only crime had been coming to the wrong apartment at the wrong time? Even he couldn’t convince himself it was a good idea. He would have to interrogate her to be absolutely certain that she was who she claimed, but he couldn’t make the decision to end her life until he got to that point.

As he stood above her pondering the chance that he might spare her, she breathed in and said, “Mister Jacobs? Are you still here?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“You’re not really from here, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” she continued. Her voice trembled with pent up emotion.

“No, I cannot,” he replied and turned to leave the room. He heard a small noise, an echo of a sob and turned back. She had her face away from him, but the quiver in her limbs betrayed her emotion. She was doing her best not to cry. Dimitri did not want to let her tears influence his choice regarding her fate, he despised women who cried, so he simply left the room and clicked the lock shut.

On the other side he turned back again and leaned his forehead against the carved wood. He heard her sobs from the other side and felt his chest tighten in response. Deep in his gut he was responding to this girl on a level he didn’t recognize and it made him feel unstable and a bit out of control.

Unable to process his confusion, he straightened his back and rapidly walked down the hall to his office to check for further information regarding the concierge’s travel plans. If only his friend was here, this wouldn’t be an issue. Captivity had turned Dimitri’s mind to mush and he no longer had the skills he had once possessed, the ability to discern danger and the decisiveness to carry out what needed to be done without hesitation.





Chapter Eight – Columbia




Her throat hurt and her arms were sore. These were the first thoughts surfacing as Columbia regained consciousness. The last thing she remembered was kissing Stuart in his truck, so why did she hurt? Had Debbie caught them and dragged her from the cab of the truck to kick her ass?

It came back to her in a slow drip of information. The stupid plan to confront Jarrod Jacobs, the stupid need to impress Stuart, Stuart touching her arm and recoiling...and being attacked from behind in the kitchen of the multimillion-dollar penthouse she’d snuck into.

She opened her eyes but only the smallest sliver of faint light appeared at the bottom of her vision. She was blindfolded, and she was tied down. She felt a surge of panic flood through her body but controlled the desire to twist and scream against her captivity.

She tested her bonds, stretched against her bound wrists and determined she was tied at the feet as well. She listened and thought she must be alone, but where? How had she moved from the kitchen to wherever this was? It suddenly occurred to her that nobody would care if she disappeared. The thought made her tense up and race through the possibilities of how she was going to die. She heard the faintest movement somewhere in the space above her head. Years of waiting in the dark for her father had given her extremely sensitive hearing. No matter how quiet he attempted to be, Columbia always knew he was coming. Not that it mattered, no matter how hard she fought, he always had his way.

She yelled into the room and heard an echo. It must be a large space. It sounded cold.

Her bravado got the best of her and she threatened her captive with the fact that people knew she was here. He didn’t need to know that Stuart probably wanted nothing to do with her, and her parents wouldn’t give a fuck at her absence, other than somebody else having to cook. Her sister would notice, but she was powerless to do anything about it, and she didn’t know where Columbia was.

Marco would want his phone back. That was the one lifeline she could hold on to. He would want to know what happened to her.

The phone! She wiggled and felt it still tucked inside the cup of her bra, warm against her left breast. He hadn’t frisked her, or if he had, the phone remained undiscovered.

Without her purse, he wouldn’t have found much. She called out to her captor and he responded. His voice was rich and deep, slightly raspy with the smallest hint of darkness in it. Had it been any other time in any other place, she might be listening to him selling her a luxury automobile or an expensive brand of cologne. As it was, the sound of it send jolts of adrenaline coursing through her body, it was the voice of a predator.

Their conversation was short; he was curt with his information and accused her of wanting to kill him. Realization flooded over her as she listened to him speak. Along with his accusations, his voice did not match the gentle drawl of the Texan she was supposed to confront. She suspected he might be Russian mob or some kind of Eastern European criminal, but she had no idea who. He might have even murdered Jarrod Jacobs and taken over his apartment. Nobody she knew of had ever seen the reclusive American billionaire, so it could be easy enough to steal his identity.

She heard him leave and held back her tears as best she could. She rarely cried as it always lead to worse things in her house, but the gravity of her situation couldn’t be ignored. She thought she heard him listening as she started to sob, but the door clicked shut and she was alone.

At last she let the tears flow, her arms were aching, her legs cramping and now her face felt hot and itchy from the wetness on her face. She didn’t know how she would get out of this situation at this point. The possibilities raced through her mind; murdered and dumped, sold into white slavery...but with her body she might not be wanted. Death might be the better option at this point.

She forced herself to calm down, took several deep breaths and concentrated on how she was going to get away. She would have to wait and find a weakness to exploit. She lay back and let her body relax. She would need to keep her senses if she was going to make it out of here alive.





Chapter Nine - Dimitri




Dimitri sat on the edge of a leather club chair in the centre of his bedroom. He had his hands on his knees to keep them from jerking. He felt a ball of nerves like snakes moving in the pit of his stomach. She couldn’t be left in there like that for long, but he was fully aware that he was in no state to finish her off.

He knew he was a changed man. Without the constant dance of threat and avoidance, his skills had lapsed. He hadn’t realized how much until presented with this situation. Three years ago he would have had her throat crushed under his hand before she had a chance to take a breath in the kitchen. He would have deemed her a threat the moment she entered his space. He would have dispatched of the body with cool efficiency and thought nothing of it again. But now, after wasting all this time punching a bag and dreaming of killing Sergei, he’d let his killer instincts suffer.

He used to have ice water in his veins. He wasn’t a fucking animal, like some of Sergei’s Bratva, the ones who would have raped her and cut her belly open while their seed was spilling out of her. He had always been calm about his work when it came to killing, and he had always been able to finish the job. He might gain a small thrill when choking the life out of the women, but the killing itself had always been professional and efficient.

Not this time though, why not?

He stood and paced in front of the window, back and forth, the multimillion-dollar view unobstructed, but a cage nonetheless. He wished his friend was here and checked his phone again. Still nothing from the concierge. He had hoped for some lifeline from the outside world, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this. He had hoped to ask his friend for his input.

He knew the concierge would tell him to kill her, he was sure of it.

So why did he give a fuck about her life? She was alluring, he’d give her that, but he’d been with women much more beautiful than she. How did she manage to wiggle under his skin? He didn’t even know her name. He rubbed his head and shook his arms out, attempting to release his tension and confusion.

Like the moment the Tiffany lamp had hovered on the edge of the table, between perfection and destruction, Dimitri knew he was entering this sort of arrangement with the girl in the room. This new territory had the potential to be dangerous, and he didn’t have the luxury of time, but for now he would relish the moment and take his pleasure while he could.

*****

“I am going to untie your feet first,” Dimitri told the girl, “but if you try to run, I will kill you.”

“Do you have a gun?” she asked, trying to sit up as far as her bonds would let her. There was a panicked edge to her voice and she moved like a trapped animal, slowly and carefully.

“I don’t need a gun to kill you, little dove,” Dimitri said and laughed, a low, rich sound. “I can do it with my hands if need be. But there won’t be any need if you behave yourself, do you understand?”

She nodded her head and emitted a small whimper.

“Say yes or no so we’re on the same page,” he said again.

“Yes, I understand,” she whispered.

He grabbed her throat and squeezed until she coughed and whined at the pain. “I told you to say yes or no. There is no reason to get complicated. Do you understand?”

He released her and let her take a few deep breaths before she replied, “Yes,” in a broken voice.

Dimitri leaned down to untie her feet; she immediately stretched and brought them together. They were slightly bent at the knees and tilted to the side. Dimitri let his gaze travel upwards, enjoying the angle of her twisted body.

“I am going to untie your hands now. Do not remove your blindfold, are we clear on that?” he asked her.

“Yes, we-” she replied and drew in a sharp breath. He realized she was holding it in anticipation of his touch, afraid he would choke her again, so he moved quickly to the head of the platform. He undid the knots in an experienced motion and she pushed herself to sitting.

“I am going to let you move your legs to the side. Swing them towards the sound of my voice. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, rubbing her wrists and sliding her legs over the edge. He watched her wince at the pain in her wrists, but was unmoved by this. Captives often exaggerated their injuries to gain sympathy. It had never worked on Dimitri.

“I am going to take you to the bathroom, just to the left of us. I will allow you five minutes to freshen up. You must keep your blindfold on.”

“Yes,” she said and nodded her head.

He led her carefully to the bathroom, guiding her through racks, benches, odds and ends of Dimitri’s playthings. She entered and shut the door behind her. He didn’t bother to tell her not to lock it; there was no lock. He heard her fumble with the handle, searching for one, then swear under her breath when she discovered the truth.

He stood still at the door listening. After a moment, he heard her talking to herself and did a mental inventory of the items he had taken off her body. A cell phone wasn’t among them. He knocked on the door and asked, “Who are you talking to?”

She went silent, and then said, “Nobody.”

“I heard you talking to somebody,” he persisted. “Don’t make me come in there.”

She exhaled loudly, blowing air through her lips. He would have liked to see that. “Fine, you found me out,” she said, “I talk to myself. I know it’s an annoying habit, but one I can’t control. Especially when I’m stressed.”

He heard the accusation in her voice but suspected she was hiding something more. He wouldn’t allow himself to be manipulated by her emotions; he wouldn’t let himself lower his guard because she was upset by all of this. He hadn’t asked for her to drop into his world like this. He pushed the door open to catch her sliding the blindfold down over her eyes before he opened it fully.

“I said do not take it off, do you understand me?” he barked and jerked the ends together, effectively tightening the blindfold against her face. He followed this with a backhand across her cheek, the sharp smack of skin on skin resonated in the small room. She fell back; she would have landed on the floor but caught herself on the bathroom counter.

“Yes,” she cried out and cowered away from him, hunching over and trying to shove something under her shirt.

“Give me the fucking phone,” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said and turned away from him.

“Do not try my patience, little dove. You will find it short lived,” he said, pulling her around and hitting her face on the last two words for emphasis. Her head jerked away under both the strikes, but she was frozen in place, trembling.

“I don’t have anything,” she said again and hunched her shoulders against anticipated blows.

He reached for her and grabbed her arms, stretched them wide and locked his hand around her wrist. He twisted as she grunted in pain, but she dropped the phone with a clatter on the countertop. He let her go and took it, slipping it into his pocket for later.

“You may proceed to clean up, but I am going to check you for a weapon,” he said and shifted to accommodate his growing cock. The thought of running his hand along her firm body was almost too much to contain. He wanted to take her here, bent over the counter so he could see her anguished ecstasy in the mirror as he fucked her from behind.

He exhaled hard, put one hand on her shoulder and started at her waist. The elastic of her pants cut into her flesh, his slipped his finger underneath and dragged it slowly from one side to the next. Her skin felt hot under his, she winced as he traveled along her lower back. This acted to thrust her ass out and it glanced against his hard cock. She felt him and pulled away, frightened or disgusted, he couldn’t tell without looking her in the eyes.

He slid his hand on the outside of her clothing, patting her down for any potential weapons. She was trembling harder now, her breath coming in light panting gasps. He finished by running a hand down each of her legs, coming back up along her inner thighs. She instinctively widened her stance to allow his search as though she’d been through this before. He ended at the top of her V, her wet heat penetrated the fabric of her pants and he felt it on his lingering hand. He pulled back and heard her gasp and exhale, then visibly relax.

“I want you to strip,” he said as he stood up.

“Why-” she began to protest, then flinched and stopped in mid sentence.

“I want to see if you have anything hidden on your body. In places I can’t see through fabric,” he told her. “You can take your clothes off, or I can cut them off. It’s up to you.”

He admired the stubborn set of her jaw as she weighed her options. She swallowed, tilted her head and said, “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you? You fucking perv!” The moment the words left her mouth she dropped back into a cowering crouch, expecting blows.

Dimitri looked at her there, cringing from his touch, and laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he told her. “That’s only because it’s been so long since I had a woman. And even longer since I didn’t have to pay.”

She stood carefully once she realized he wasn’t going to hit her. That was one of the small tricks Sergei had taught him when interrogating prisoners. Keep them on their toes, intersperse physical violence with good humour or amusing stories. Mind fuck them, as his mentor had once said.

“Why would you have to pay,” she asked, forgetting his earlier lesson of saying only yes or no. He would let this slip; give her some confidence before knocking her down again.

“Many reasons, too many to trouble you with,” he told her. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes.”

She complied this time. She kicked off her boots, unzipped her hoodie and pulled it open. She was wearing a simple tee shirt underneath, black with a graphic of the planet that read, “Earth First.”

“We’ll fuck up the rest of the planets later, eh?” Dimitri said with a grin.

“What?” she asked as she shrugged off the hoodie and lifted up her shirt to expose the milky white skin underneath.

“Just an old joke, your shirt,” he said, and noticed the scars. Across her beautiful flat abdomen were slashes of healed cuts, small dashes of puckered pink flesh in perfect criss cross patterns. He reached out and touched one, saw her flinch away, and pulled his hand back. “Who did this to you?” he demanded. His chest contracted at the thought of somebody attacking her smooth skin.

She hung her head and felt in front of her for the counter, then dropped her clothes on the surface. She slipped her fingers in the waistband and started to slide her pants over her hips when he noticed the same thing on her arms. He grabbed one and dragged it towards him. Holding it there, extending, he could see deeper gashes along the inner arm. A precise execution of torture. He wanted to tear the blindfold from her eyes and learn the origin of these defilements. “I said who did this?” he demanded again.

She moved her face away from him and continued to slide her pants down her long legs. She bent over to slip them off her feet and he was momentarily distracted by the wiggling of her round ass in front of him. She was wearing plain white cotton panties with small pink flowers on them. She had on a small white bra, both were startlingly bright and stood out against the lines of pink scars all over her body. He saw them on her thighs, her calves, her sides. It struck him as odd that there were none on her back. Most cases of torture he’d overseen started with whipping the back. Her body’s story confused him.

“I have to know who did this to you,” he said, his voice ragged with his need.

She stood up and placed her pants on the counter on top of her other clothes. She took a great shuddering breath and simply said, “I did,” as she crossed her arms in front of her defiantly, as if waiting for his response.

He reached for her again. His burned skin with his Bratva tattoos no longer looking so foreign against hers. He pulled her around to face him, although he could not see her eyes, he could read so much in the rest of her. Her mouth was set in a determined grimace of self-loathing. He recognized that look; he had seen it in the mirror so many times since Sergei’s attack.

He held her shoulders and looked down at her. She was still beautiful to him, her imperfections only enhancing the absolute perfection of her face, her hair, her form. In a strange twist, her scars elevated her beauty to Dimitri. Burdened with his own physical testaments to pain, he saw her patterned slashes as a manifestation to her strength. She wore her inner beauty on her flesh, and it matched her outward perfection.

He stroked her arm, ran his fingers down and felt the bumps like Braille, as if trying to read the story of her life on her ruined skin. He stopped when his hand reached the fold of her arm at the crook of her elbow and settled there. He looked at her face, tears leaking from under the blindfold, and said, “Little dove, what are we going to do with you now?”





Chapter Ten – Columbia




The moment her captor had closed the door, she reached for her phone. She slipped the blindfold up and tried to lock the door. Realizing it had no door lock; she knew she’d have to be fast. She couldn’t remember any numbers. She scrolled through Marco’s phone and none of them seemed familiar. She cursed herself for never remembering any of them; once they were in her phone she didn’t need to know them. Marco said Stuart’s number was in here, but she suddenly blanked on his last name, her brain freezing under the stress of her capture.

Reluctantly she called home. They’d had the same number since she was small, before the days of cell phones. She remembered practicing it and memorizing it for her third grade class on safety. How could her kind teacher have known that it wasn’t the outside world she needed to be kept safe from, the danger in her life came from inside her house.

She punched the numbers in and waited with bated breath as it rang. On the fifth ring her father picked up.

“Hello?”

“Dad?” she whispered.

“Columbia, where the fuck are you girl? I waited for you…”

“I know, I’m sorry Dad but I’m in trouble.”

“Out slutting around? That’s the kind of trouble you brought on yourself.”

“I need help. Can you call my friend Stuart and tell him I’ve been caught?”

“Call him yourself, you little whore. I waited for you…” he replied and hung up.

She held the phone for a second to make sure he wasn’t going to pick it up again, startled when the call ended at last. Her captor called to her and she replied, hoping to stall him. She was going to call back but she heard the door handle wiggled. She tried to hide the phone but he found her struggling to tuck it back under her bra.

He caught her and she ended up hit, but it was nothing worse than she’d taken at home a million times over the years.

She caught a glimpse of his face though, in the mirror before she had her blindfold back down. She saw beautiful blue eyes and a handsome man, just half of his face reflected to her. She had been startled by his looks, almost expecting him to be hideous because of his treatment of her. She supposed not all criminals looked like they lived a life of crime, and not all monsters wore their evil on the outside. Some people wore their ugly deep inside where nobody could see it. Those were the most dangerous monsters of all.

He demanded she strip and she froze. She had managed to avoid being naked in front of anyone for the last decade, always getting out of PE with a doctors note and never going swimming even on the hottest days during the summer.

She was humiliated that he was going to see her secret shame. She was a cutter. Only saying she was a cutter might be an understatement. She was a destroyer of beautiful things. Only her father’s warning to hide her terrible obsession from those outside the family had prevented her from doing it to her face.

She wanted to hurt herself, when she was feeling stress or self-hatred or anxiety building, it felt so good to release it through the surface of her skin. She never talked about it with anyone, but a quick Google search brought up thousands of cutting websites. At this point she didn’t think she could be helped, all the rage and sense of helplessness she’d felt over the years was directed towards herself. It had almost become an artistic expression of anger and hatred.

She heard him make a joke about her shirt, but it hadn’t registered. What she had been waiting for was the inevitable, his voiced filled with disgust as he questioned her. He initially thought she had been attacked; even this sociopathic criminal couldn’t comprehend the depths of her depravity, her madness.

What she hadn’t expected was his voice filled with kindness and compassion. She wished she could see his face when he spoke to her. She wanted to see his brilliant blue eyes when he talked about her body, she heard warmth there that didn’t match up with the man she assumed him to be.

When he took her from the bathroom and tied her again, she sensed how his touch had changed. He was much more tender with her, more careful, as though she were a delicate beauty instead of a ruined, self-mutilating outcast. Stuart had recoiled in horror when he felt her arm, she couldn’t imagine how he would have reacted had he seen the rest of her body. Her father was disgusted and bewildered by her self-harming even though he was essentially the root cause of it all. This man, however, seemed fascinated by her.

The first time she had tried it had been in the fifth grade. She was ten and starting to develop the first buds of her breasts ahead of the other girls. The attention from the boys in the class had caused the girls to turn on her, calling her names and taunting her mercilessly. She didn’t have anyone to talk to at home, Eden was a toddler and her mother had already checked out of their lives by then.

She had been in the bathroom, after an evening bath. Her father had hammered on the door while she was drying off, screaming because she was never to deny him entrance to any room in his goddamned house. He had backed off when she didn't respond, but she knew he would be all her over the moment she opened it.

Her mother’s razor blade was lying on the edge of the bathtub; she had picked it up and thought about cutting her wrists rather than face him. The thought of him finding her dead in a tub full of pink water brought her great satisfaction. Only her sister’s life had kept her hanging on, that house had been no place for a little girl and Columbia couldn’t abandon her.

Instead she had cracked the plastic casing and pulled the razor out. She had stared at the perfect, flawless white flesh on her inner arm for what seemed like an eternity. She felt as though she was hovering in between worlds, between childhood and something else. Not quite adulthood...purgatory perhaps, a forever after of waiting for something better to save her from the life she was trapped in.

The first cut had been painful, a shock of sensation for a girl who had learned to dull her senses against that which was happening to her in the moment. It was addicting, as was the beauty of the welling blood on her flesh, and the patterns it made as it dripped into the white porcelain sink. The entire experience had an otherworldly feel and for the first time in months she felt in control of her environment. She couldn’t keep her body from changing, and she couldn’t lock her doors at night, but she could carve herself into something beautiful.

After that it became her go-to for pent up emotions. As easy as drinking coffee for a buzz or taking a Tylenol when battling a headache, cutting herself offered relief for everything that ailed her. By high school she had learned to hide her body and knew what to say to their decrepit family doctor to get those notes out of PE. Her father had stopped commenting and her mother didn’t notice. Eden made a few cruel comments about them from time to time, but eventually lost interest.

Nobody else had ever seen the beauty in it though, nobody except this man who had captured her. His voice betrayed his feelings and she knew he understood the why of her body modifications. His brilliant, gorgeous blue eyes had scanned her naked body and found her worthy.

Something completely unexpected in a place like this.

She was still terrified of him and feared he would kill her, but perhaps it was better to be killed by somebody who saw her as beautiful than to be kept barely living by somebody who only saw the damage. He could be the one to finish the thing she had been working on all these years, her departure from this world. Suddenly the idea of death was no longer so frightening, Eden could take care of herself now and nobody else would blink an eye at her passing. It was time to let go and end her own suffering through the hands of a man who thought she was beautiful.

He had bound her to a chair this time, and left the room. She sat in the quiet and tried to accept the idea that she was ready to die. Death would be more a relief from her life.

As she contemplated these things, the spark of defiance that had kept her alive all these years started to flicker. By the time she imagined her death at his hands for the hundredth time, the flame was growing and gaining energy. And by the time she heard him coming back for her, she was ready to fight again. Whether he found beauty in her scarred patterns of cuts, she was ready to fight for her life. She wanted to leave this place in one piece and she wasn’t quite resigned to giving in any time soon.





Chapter Eleven – Dimitri




Dimitri gave himself an out, time away from the girl. She confused him, and he needed to settle his thoughts. Since the big revelation that it was she destroying her own body, he had backed off a bit and let her have some time in the bathroom. He then tied her to the chair and left her alone. She hadn’t moved when he’d returned, which is exactly where he wanted her...anxious, exhausted, emotionally drained, and ready to tell him everything.

He’d texted the concierge but was unable to tell him about her. They'd gone over small details of the next day's events, the menu and an expected delivery, but that was it. He didn’t know what he would say about her, and he was certain by now the concierge would suggest he kill her and give him the number of somebody to dispose of the body. Dimitri wasn’t convinced that was the best thing to do...he didn’t know if he could stand the thought of her limp body being dragged out of here by some base criminal.

When he returned to the room, he pulled a chair over to where she sat, bound to her own chair. He positioned his in front of her and took a seat. She was still blindfolded and slumped against her bonds. Her white skin, even with the scars, almost glowed in the soft light of the room. Her head sagged and she looked defeated. Dimitri still hadn’t spoken to her, giving her time to worry.

He’d gone through the phone when he was out of the room, but had come up empty handed with any clues to her name. It apparently belonged to somebody else, a young man with a predilection for tall blondes, booze, and blowjobs...all caught on the phone’s camera.

He considered the fact that she might have stolen it, but that didn’t sit right with him. He wanted to call the last number she had dialed when she was in the bathroom, but the sick part of him didn’t want to make this easy. The dark part of his brain wanted to toy with her and draw the information out the old fashioned way, through mind fucking and torture. Perhaps he justified it by still classifying her as a possible threat, but once again, if he were being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he simply wanted to see her on her knees, begging him for her life and his cock, each having equal value in her world.

He cracked his knuckles and let his eyes move up the length of her body to settle on the valley between her full breasts. There were beads of sweat forming there; salty drops as a testament to her fear making her run hot.

He knew that there was a great probability that she posed no threat, this beautiful dark haired creature. She didn’t look the part of a trained killer, but Dimitri told himself better safe than sorry. One just never knows in cases like this.

He’d made that mistake once before, in Vienna. A stunning blonde, willowy and elegant, had begun making small talk at the Naturhistoriches Museum. He had been in the Austrian city for a clean up job, hunting down three snitches who were on the run from Sergei for talking to the police in Moscow. He had already killed two, taking them down as they sat in their apartment drinking vodka and playing chess. The remaining man was at his job, a caretaker at the museum, so Dimitri was killing time before he killed the man.

She had approached him in the confined space of the Venus of Willendorf exhibit. He never would have suspected she was there to kill him, this was before the accident and women still found him undeniably attractive. It wasn’t unusual for him to be propositioned in this way.

They’d made plans for dinner that evening and she’d gone on her way. He had found the target in the sub-basement, rendered him unconscious and slit his throat on the banks of the Danube. The body barely made a sound as it hit the water, just the smallest splash and the man was gone from this world.

Dimitri had time to tidy up, meet the blonde, charm her over dinner and take her back to his hotel.

She had been a feisty little cunt from the get go. She’d sucked his cock on the low settee, but had fought him when he’d held her head down and tried to cum in her mouth. He’d ended up releasing his seed onto his own abdomen, assisted by her hand and hurried along by the fiery anger in her eyes.

He’d gone to the washroom to clean up. As he’d stepped back into the room, she’d come at him. Naked, she was stunning. An incredible fighter, she’d given him a run for his money but ultimately he’d come out the victor. He had ended it by breaking her delicate neck, his hands gripped tightly around her throat as she choked her last breaths.

He never knew who had sent her. Looking back on it now, perhaps Sergei had been trying to dispatch of him for longer than he though. He’d left her body in the room, called his contact in Vienna to clean up for him, and taken his flight back to Moscow.

He never made that mistake again, and he wasn’t planning on repeating it now.

“So,” he addressed her and she jumped at the sound of his voice, “this is where you tell me your name.”

“Does it matter at this point? Why don’t you just fucking kill me and be done with it?” she said as she straightened her back and tested the ropes.

“It does matter, and I won’t kill you until I get what I need to know from you,” he replied, keeping his voice low and calm.

“I won’t tell you anything, then you can’t kill me!” she said, still pulling at the ropes.

“It doesn't work that way, little dove,” he said with a grim resolve. “I wish it did, but it doesn’t. I need to know your name. I need to know who sent you.”

“I already told you, I am here about your development at Main and Twelfth,” she told him. “I brought myself. I mean, the group encouraged me, but it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t deserve to lose my life over it.” Hysteria was starting to creep into her words, but he could see her struggle to keep it at bay. Her resolve was admirable.

“What if I told you that I don’t believe a word you say?” he replied. “What if I told you I believe you were sent here to kill me?”

“I would say you’re insane, do I look like a fucking killer?”

“You look like a woman filled with desperation,” he said. “And that is a dangerous thing. So, once again, I am asking nicely...what is your name?”

“Fuck you,” she said and spat at him.

“I told you not to try my patience,” he warned, leaned towards her and slammed his fist into her stomach. The air left her body in a drawn out oomph sound and she sat, hunched over, with her mouth moving wordlessly.

When he was sure she could talk again, he repeated his question. “What is your name?”

She had a stubborn set to her jaw and he knew she wasn’t going to answer. The thought repulsed and excited him. He was repulsed because he knew what he could do to her, he could tear her small body apart with his hands if she pushed him, but he did not want to. He was excited because this was the kind of thing that got his blood pumping and his cock ready to attack. He thrived on this kind of physical expression of lust and primal animal urges.

“What is your name?” he asked again. His voice was calm as though he had just asked her the time while they waited for the bus together.

She didn’t respond so he punched her jaw this time. Her head snapped back and the blindfold pulled up with the force, her eyes were squeezed shut underneath. Tears sprang anew from them as she let her head drop back down.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded.

“I am nobody,” she replied. Her voice was low and hoarse; blood foamed at the edge of her lips. She must have bitten the inside of her mouth when he struck her.

Dimitri stood up and walked behind her. He swept her up in one smooth motion, lifted her from the chair and carried her to the platform. Her arms were tightly bound in front of her and her legs were expertly lashed together. He laid her on her side and grabbed a riding crop. He was determined to break her spirit and strip her to nothing until he was certain she was not a threat. He had to know what she knew. He could feel madness rising in him like gorge at the back of his throat.

He rolled her to her back and slammed the crop against her pale flesh, a red welt rising immediately against the already scarred skin of her abdomen. She grunted and flinched but her mouth stayed shut. He saw this as a challenge and laid into her with a series of hard blows. He wanted to force her to react.

“Fuck you, you fucking animal,” she screamed in pain at last.

Rage filled him in a red-hot wave. She had defied him; her refusal enraged him and urged him to push her further, past her limits.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked as he slapped her bare flesh again. She whimpered and didn’t answer. “You continue to defy me,” he continued, “this means all bets are off, little dove.”

He reached for a knife and cut the ropes binding her legs. His only focus was on the girl in front of him, her deception and stubborn refusal to give him what he wanted.

He pulled her arms above her head with one hand and moved to cut her bra with his knife. He slid it between her breasts and jerked the blade upwards. The bra popped open, exposing her soft curves and delicate pink nipples. She was panting lightly and had a sheen of sweat glistening over her skin. She was beautiful, and she struck some cord in Dimitri, some part of him that was not a monster, some sliver of humanity that had survived in his hardened heart. She was tragic and gorgeous and he had to have her. He wrestled the humanity down and continued to her panties.

“You are going to tell me your name,” he said as he pulled the blade up the side of her underwear and tore the fabric. He dragged them off her and spread her legs open. She was like a deer caught. She was breathing heavily in small shallow gasps, but seemed to have lost the ability to move.

He dragged the knife across her throat with the soft touch of a lover and said, “You are going to tell me your name, or I am going to slit your throat while I fuck you. Do you understand?”

She nodded and with a dry, cracked voice she rasped, “Yes.”

“What is your name?” he asked again.

She didn’t reply, she didn’t move. She was silent in her terror; just the rapid rise and fall of her chest belied the fact that her body still housed a living soul.

Dimitri tied her hands to the restraints above her head but left her feet unbound. He ran his hand along her body, the scars adding a dimension of sensation under his own flesh that set his nerves on fire. He wanted this perfect creature, but he wanted information even more.

He picked up the riding crop and ran it along her thighs. She was completely naked to him now, and the sight of her body enflamed his urge to control her. “You can make this easier on yourself by telling me your name,” he said and hit her legs with the crop. She winced and shook her head. He reached down, dragged the rope off her ankles and pulled her legs wider.

He took his finger and pulled it along her belly to her upper thigh. He traced the scars there and sought her heat. He pushed a finger inside of her slit and found her wet and hot. Ready for him. Her hair was short, trimmed but not shaved smooth. He preferred this. He wanted to feel like he was fucking a woman, not a little girl. He didn’t understand the North American obsession with hairlessness.

He had to find her weakness. If threats and abuse wouldn’t work on this girl, he would try another approach. He heard her gasp as he grazed her clit with the top of his finger, felt her involuntarily push against his hand. He rubbed her gently and dropped the crop, reached up with his other hand to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped again and whimpered, not fear this time but pleasure. He imagined if she cut herself so severely, she must be tolerant to pain. He pinched her nipple hard and twisted it while applying more pressure to her clit.

She moaned and bucked against his touch. He had been right, she liked some pain with her sweet pleasure, so he pinched harder and rubbed her clit with more force. “Are you going to tell me your name yet?” he asked with a mocking smug tone. “Or are you going to make me work for it? Because from this position, I have to say I don’t mind working for it.” He emphasized his final words with a hard thrust against her clit and a tight pinch of her nipple. She responded by crying out and exhaling a soft groan.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he slid another finger between her soft folds and moved them towards her entrance. She was hot and slick and pushed her hips against his hand as he did so.

She shook her head and panted. “Then you know what you have to do,” he said as he thrust two fingers into her tight heat, “tell me your name.”

“Col-” she gasped and tilted her hips to allow him full access to her sweetness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” he said, bemused by her rapid acceptance of his body inside of hers. He pulled his hand from her breast and pushed her thighs open farther to accommodate his talented fingers.

“Columbia,” she cried out as he slid his finger back inside of her rapidly and thumbed her clit. He growled his triumph and fucked her hard with his hand, rubbing her clit in quick succession. She pushed against him and he felt her pussy tighten around him as she reached the brink of her orgasm. His cock was raging hard and wanted inside of her more than anything he could think of at that moment.

With an iron will, he pulled his hand away just before she reached her peak and said, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He ran the tip of his finger up her thigh to her stomach, traced the scars around her belly button and added, “Columbia.”

She howled and started to sob on the table. Her orgasm unrealized and her name given up, she kicked at him as he stood beside her. He held her legs down and chuckled. He had realized years ago that there was nothing angrier than a woman denied her pleasure.

“What the fuck kind of sick asshole are you,” she yelled. “You’re insane! Let me go, I won’t tell anyone what you did.”

“What did I do?” he asked and held her legs down as she wiggled and fought against him. “I simply showed you what I could do to you. I made you want more just so I could get what I wanted.” He reached up and unhooked her arms. He wanted to take her to the wooden cross in the centre of the room to continue his exploration of her body, so he grabbed his knife and cut her hands free.

She reacted immediately. “This is madness, I have nothing to tell you,” she screamed and started to fight him. “Just let me go. Please!” She surprised him with her strength and pushed up against him. She almost made it off the platform before he pushed her back and slapped her face. She jerked her head away from him and started screaming through her sobs. “Let me go! Let me go!” she was crying repeatedly, her voice sharply hitting his ears and escalating his own anxiety.

“Stop this!” he demanded but she only fought harder. She grabbed his forearms and dug her nails in, kicked at him and screamed repeatedly as she fought. Tears were streaming from under the blindfold and her face was contorted with her panicked attempt to get away.

Dimitri knew she would not get away, she could not. But if she managed to escape she would run right to the authorities and his plan to escape would be cut short. He could not let her go, especially not now with the concierge so far away. It would be a matter of hours before the RCMP showed up at his door with a search warrant. He could not allow this to happen.

It suddenly occurred to him that this had to end. He was on the run and she, although not an assassin, had no place in his world. He didn’t have the time to fuck around with somebody as alluring and unsettling as this. He wanted to quiet her, to stop her struggling against him, to end this fight.

His hand found her delicate throat and he wrapped his fingers around it, applied pressure and watched her struggle against him. He felt detached, as he often did when he was going to kill somebody. This was the right thing to do, after his flights of fancy earlier, after finding himself sympathizing her plight and uncertain of the action he would take.

He wanted to take her blindfold off, but that required two hands and he was fighting to hold her down as it was. She reached for his face and tried to dig her nails in, kicked at him and wiggled wildly against his grip. She realized this was a fight for her life, and she didn’t want to lose. She opened her mouth and made a strangled sound, a dry gasp and nothing more. Dimitri squeezed harder and pressed down with his other hand on her chest. She still fought, but he could feel her pulse growing weaker under his fingers. Her kicks became weaker and her mouth stayed open in a desperate attempt to suck in any available air.

He watched her, under the weight of his hands, and knew death was coming in a few short minutes. At that moment he was grateful for the blindfold, he didn’t think he could stand the weight of her accusing stare, or see her beautiful face contorted by broken blood vessels or bulging eyes.

Her heart still pounded furiously under his hand. It was protesting his decision to end her life with the mad dash of a fearful rabbit in a cage. He watched as her body started to go limp and she slipped out of consciousness. Her pulse slowed and her face went lax. Her heart still beat; pounding under his hand he thought for a moment he could hear it hitting her ribs as it begged him to stop.

With no warning, a vivid memory surfaced and his humanity caught up to him at last.

As a child he had tamed a wild rabbit by sneaking it morsels of food throughout the long Russian winter. By spring it would come up to him when he left their tenement and he would hold it on his lap and stroke its soft fur. Its little heart would beat wildly but it allowed him to hold it, to care for it, because it had no other choice and knew no other way.

One bright sunny day his father had caught him with the rabbit, torn it from his grasp and broken his neck. Dimitri had sobbed over the death of his pet, sobbed until his father laid the boots into him and kicked him into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, there was a thick stew of rabbit meat for dinner and a pelt drying in the bathroom. Dimitri had cried again for the loss of his pet.

His father had given young Dimitri to his friends to use like a bitch that weekend. His father never forgave him the tears and told him if he wanted to cry like a girl, he would be treated like one.

Something had died in Dimitri that time. His father had been his first kill, the reason he’d fled his home and wound up on the streets. Dimitri had woken him from a drunken stupor enough to shove the rabbit fur in his face and stab him in the heart. He’d been just shy of his twelfth birthday.

The thing that died that day now stirred in Dimitri’s chest. As he hunched over Columbia, beautiful perfect Columbia, he saw himself through her eyes. It wasn’t the scars on his body that made him a beast; it was the madness that rode as his constant companion that made him so. It had been there since that weekend, when he had been stripped of his own humanity by those drunken men, when he’d been passed around, crying and in pain, fearing for his own life, listening to his mother’s cries from the room next door. He had allowed the madness to grow while his humanity shrunk. In being consumed with revenge against Sergei, he had become the madness, the beast.

He loosened his grip from around her neck and straightened himself up. He could feel her heart still beating in the walls of her chest, so he knew she wasn’t dead, just unconscious. He pulled both hands away, shook them with disgust and stared at them. He had been moments away from destroying a beautiful girl with them, ending her life and disposing of her body like trash.

He was hit with clarity of vision, a jolt to his chest. He had planned on killing her and she was innocent. This was even outside the code of the Bratva he had once followed so religiously. He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and he started to back away from her prone body. He hit a chair and collapsed into it, slumped over and watched her for signs of life.

He reflected on the people he’d murdered over the years. None of them had been innocent, every single one of them...from his father to the last men he’d murdered during Sergei’s attack, even the women...every single one of them had deserved it. This girl did not.

“Why did you stop?” she rasped, startling him and breaking his train of thought.

“I can’t do this to you,” he said, his voice heavy with contempt for the man he had allowed himself to become. It was filled with the regret of a thousand acts he couldn’t take back. A thousand moments in times long passed, decisions to kill and maim and hurt, to give into the madness. He wouldn’t give in this time, this time he would let her live.

“Please,” she begged him with a whimper. “You need to let me go now.”

“I can’t do that, my little dove,” he said with remorse. His overwhelming clarity of vision left an almost physical emptiness where his anger had been. He hadn’t realized how much a part of him the darker parts of his nature had become over the past decades. He continued, “I can’t ever let you go and yet I can’t kill you.”

“What do you mean you can’t let me go?” she asked as her voice broke into a sob. “Why can’t you just get up and open the door and let me go home?” she asked again.

He took a step back from her body and examined her again. She was simply gorgeous and he clearly didn’t have it in him to kill her, but he couldn’t let her go. Perhaps he didn’t want to let her go. Letting her leave meant she would go on and live her life, have her freedom...fuck men and have a future that did not include him. He wasn’t ready to admit it to himself quite yet, but he simply could not let her go. He saw her as the reason for his self-awareness, and he wasn’t ready to let her slip away. He didn’t want to fall into that pit again, and thought she might be the one to help him stay out.

An idea began to germinate, a plan to keep her with him and still maintain his self-control. He would own her.

He spoke in a calm voice, as not to startle her with his decision, and said, “I have decided that you will stay with me. I have never had a pet, but I think I will make an exception for a girl like you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “You want to make me your pet? To fuck me?”

“That’s not it exactly,” he said and moved beside her on the table. He himself was working out the terms of this arrangement as he spoke. “You need to earn your place in my household. You need to earn my cock. I won’t fuck you until you are begging for it.”

“But I won’t, I never will.” she exclaimed and tried to push herself up. “You just tried to kill me, how could I ever fuck you? How could I ever want you? I never, ever will.”

“I beg to differ, little dove. I could have killed you, but I didn’t. I chose to keep you alive and I am choosing to keep you with me,” he said and paused as his decision solidified in his own mind. It was done for him; he was never letting her go. He continued, “Once you realize that I could kill you at any moment and choose not to, you will be on your knees pleading for your life. After I am done playing with you, driving you mad with lust, you will beg me to fuck you. For now, I will leave you alone to think about your predicament,” he said, tightened her ropes, left her on the platform and turned to leave, “but guaranteed, one day you will beg for my cock.”





Chapter Twelve – Columbia




She sat in the darkness behind her blindfold and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears continued to flow in spite of her attempts to stop them. This lack of control was insane, she had endured years of abuse from her father, why was she so dangerously on the precipice in this situation? She felt as though she were standing at the edge of a great gulf of emotions, things she’d never felt before, things that terrified and fascinated her.

In losing control of her freedom to him, she had finally lost control of her tightly guarded emotions.

She sobbed until she felt she had nothing left. Her face felt slick with snot and she tried to wipe her cheek on her arm. She started to shiver, in spite of the room being a comfortable temperature. She thought it must be from her nerves, her fear.

She thought back to a self-defense course she had taken in grade ten. It was boring and covered a lot of the same things she’d heard a million times before, but she still remembered it. She would be ready the next time he came in; she would try to make her escape before he took more control of her.

She slept, as best she could on the hard chair. It was uncomfortable, built for design and not for sitting this long. Her head kept falling forward as well, jerking her awake into confused moments of panic.

Some time later she heard him unlock the door and come in the room. He walked to her side and was silent. She didn’t know what he was expecting, so she said nothing, waited for him to make a move.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I told you,” she replied.

“I went through your phone,” he said, “It’s not your phone, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Who is he? Your boyfriend?” he demanded.

“No, I just met him,” she said.

“So he won’t care where you are, he’ll just want his phone back,” he said. “Does he work for me? I will leave it in the kitchen for him to find. He won’t think twice about you, he will be so grateful to have his phone and his job.”

She was silent, she knew this was true. Marco owed her nothing; she was nothing to him. Why would he think twice if she disappeared?

“I’ll take your silence as acknowledgement that nobody cares if you are here,” he said at last. She didn’t reply to this either, knowing her silence was speaking more than words could.

She didn't know how to answer any of his questions at this point, didn’t understand why he would think she was a killer. It didn’t matter though; he needed to be convinced to let her go. If she told him her name and he discovered she truly was a nobody, he would have no reason not to kill her. She wanted to survive so she could return home and rewrite her life. She would leave, take Eden with her. She would move in with Nan if she had to, but she knew her time being used by her father was done.

He finally approached her chair, sat opposite of her and she knew this was her moment to connect. He demanded her name but she refused, he punched her and terrified her, but she was resolute in her conviction. She would not crack. She would not let him find out she was a nothing, easy to kill and dispose of. She would not let him know how unimportant she was.

When he lifted her from the chair and slammed her onto a table, she was overwhelmed by his size, the pure raw animal strength he possessed. She was trembling but had gone into escape mode. She lay on the table and felt the sting of a whip on her tender stomach and yet she refused to tell him anything. She felt as though she were back home, suffering abuse at the hands of her father. She had endured this sort of physical attack hundreds of times since the moment he had moved into their lives; she knew how to handle it. Her mind retreated and she closed her eyes, able to endure.

Finally she thought he was ready to take her life, to cut her throat and end it. Her senses were on fire, each nerve ending alight with anticipation over her final moments. She cried out and tried to push him away, fought him as he held her down, gasped what she thought was going to be her last breaths.

But the captor didn’t kill her. She felt him tracing his finger along her skin, caressing her scars with the touch of a lover. Her body responded and she trembled, waiting to find out where they led.

He found her center, her clit. She had never been touched while so present in her body, so aware of her flesh. She was expecting death and instead found pleasure. He began to stroke her pussy, playing with her until she was near mad with lust and driven towards a crashing orgasm.

It would have been her first. The first with her mind fully present and aware of the sensations being wrought upon her body. Her body had betrayed her before, but her mind had always been able to flee until the act was over. She was ready to feel this though, to let every nerve ending explode as she reached the culmination of the intense sensations she was experiencing.

But he stopped. As she was ascending the peak of her most intense experience, the fucker pulled back and left her panting in the empty space. Humiliation slammed into her again and she withdrew back into herself.

Her mind was a maelstrom of emotions, she didn’t know if she wanted to die, or if she wanted to live. Did she want to run or did she want to come?

When she felt his hand around her throat, she fought as hard as she could, but somewhere deep inside she found a place of calm in the center of the storm. She wanted to live, her body reacted and she gouged and kicked him as much as she could, but her mind reached a state of serenity and time seemed to stand still. She didn’t think he would go through with it. She had nothing to base this assumption on, but she felt a strange nagging sensation that he would let her live. So she gave in, she allowed her body to go limp and she rode the waves of adrenaline until she almost passed out.

When he pulled away, she knew he had kept her alive for a reason. She demanded to know why, but he did not answer her at first.

“I can’t do this to you,” he said at last, his voice calm but she sensed a quaver that betrayed his own emotional turmoil. When he confessed that he had kept her alive, unable to kill her, she felt an unimaginable thrill of joy race through her body. She knew it was ridiculous, probably a symptom of some mental disorder, but she wanted him to want her. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to be valued enough by him to be wanted, to be kept alive.

She never imagined that this meant he would not just keep her alive, but he would keep her. She might never see her sister again, she might never escape this man who terrorized and fascinated her so. He declared that he now owned her like it was nothing, an every day occurrence in his life. Perhaps it was; she was probably not his first pet. She felt an odd stab of jealousy at the thought. How sick was she? That she craved being special in his world?

He got up to leave, left her on the hard platform, draped a blanket over her and headed to the door. She didn’t want him to go though; she needed him to stay. She needed to connect with him, but she also needed to find out more about him. What about him lured her in, what about him made her think about staying, even if it was in passing. Why would she have even considered it? What was it about this muscled, savage criminal that made her body react this way?

She desperately wanted him to come back. She didn’t know why, but she wanted him to stay with her. Instinct perhaps? But why? If anything she should want him to leave her alone.

But if she were left alone, she would never get away. He would lock her in and the room was probably very secure. Besides, she didn’t even know where she was inside the expansive penthouse; she knew it was multi leveled. How would she even find her way back to the kitchen?

Out of nowhere she remembered a tip she’d heard years before, some talk show had been doing a program on women’s safety. The irony was still not lost on her that the biggest monster she needed to protect against owned the very home she lived in. Something came back to her though, a way to save oneself when kidnapped. And this is what she was, she supposed. Kidnapped.

The security expert had cautioned that to be dehumanized was to be a victim. If the kidnapper no longer saw you as human, you were easier to dispose of.

Columbia decided to make sure she was damn hard to dispose of. He already knew her name, and he’d already decided he wanted to allow her to live, so she would interact with him in any way possible. She wanted to connect to him on some level that forced him to acknowledge that she was a human being.

“Wait,” she said as he was leaving the room. Even with the blanket on her, the platform was so hard that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She was too wound up and too trapped in her flesh at the moment to get any rest. She heard him stop in his tracks and listen. “Please,” she continued, “don’t go. Don’t leave me here. I want to tell you something.”

He paused and she could almost hear the gears in his head turning. “I’m listening,” He replied at long last. Her heart was elated, which was ridiculous given the current situation. Was it possible that she was developing a crush on the man who was holding her captive?

Ridiculous, but beyond wanting him to save her life, she wanted to know more about him. More about the man who possessed the brilliant blue eye she had caught a glimpse of, the man she knew nothing about, not even his name.

“Please, sit near me,” she said and held her hand towards him. He hesitated; she could read it in the silence of the room. At long last she heard his footsteps make their way back to her side. He dragged a heavy chair across a smooth floor and he settled near her head.

“What do you need to tell me?” he asked, “Are you ready to beg for my cock?”

She barked her laugh, a single staccato note in the open space. “I didn’t think anything else was an option. I simply want to tell you a story.”

“A story?” he asked. “Why would I waste my time with a story?”

“It might help you decide,” she answered, holding out her hand for his.

He hesitated again; she could feel it this time as surely as she felt her own heart beating. Three small flutters of her heart passed, and finally he reached over and gripped her hand in his. His flesh was dry and warm, his hand enormous and vaguely comforting. The hand of a criminal, a murderer most likely, but the hand of a lover if given the right combination of things in the world. “Tell your story, little dove,” he said and gave her hand the smallest squeeze, as though he thought he would break her. It was the strangest feeling; the hand that had almost choked the breath from her body now hesitated at simple human touch. Her captor was a complicated man, perhaps as complicated as Columbia herself. She settled in and felt oddly at home.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess,” she started.

“Wait, you are telling me a fucking fairy tale?” he demanded, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Please, just listen. There’s no reason to be so rude about it,” she chastised him gently, careful not to push his limits. “I think it’s important for you to hear this.” She wanted to get her story out, for him to hear it before he made his mind up to keep her. She wanted him to understand the why behind her scars.

“Fine,” he said and settled into the chair, his hand still engulfing hers. She heard the chair creak under his weight and knew if she ever possessed the heart of a man such as this, she would never spend another moment afraid. The things that went bump in the night would cower in the shadow of this killer.

“Ok, I’ll start over,” she said and started her story once more. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. She met a handsome prince and they fell in love. They had a beautiful daughter and all was good in the kingdom.” She sensed he was getting restless so she knew she’d have to keep it short.

“One day a hideous thing happened. The handsome prince died and left the princess and his daughter alone in the world. Terrible things befell the two of them until one day they had nowhere left to live. They had to find another kingdom in a far away land. The princess packed her daughter up and moved to a large place, a city. At first the daughter was scared because the princess had to leave her alone all the time while she worked. After a while though, the daughter became brave and was happy to be on her own.”

He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair. Columbia was pleased that he did not take his hand back. She loved the sensation of being held by him, she hadn’t been aware how lacking her life had been in terms of simple touch. She vowed that if she made it out of this alive, she would hug Eden more...if only to reassure herself that she was a human being deserving of physical contact.

“The princess came home one day and told the daughter she needed to take some treats to her grandmother’s house. The daughter was very young but not afraid so she did not mind such a task. Along the way a Big Bad Wolf found her and followed her. He wouldn’t leave her alone and asked her all about her grandmother and where she lived.”

“I think I’ve heard this one,” he interrupted suddenly. “In my country we call it…. well, something about her being little and wearing red.”

“This is not the same story,” she replied, cutting him short, and continued. “The Wolf followed her to the grandmother’s but then took her home. Everybody was happy because it seemed like the Wolf was going to be a good replacement for the dead prince and take care of the princess and her daughter. Only the daughter knew this wasn’t the case. For when she went to bed at night she would find the Wolf in her room, waiting for her. There was no fairy tale banter about big eyes and big teeth,” she said. “This was silent and fast, the Wolf knew what he wanted and the little girl couldn’t do anything about it.”

She heard him draw a breath in and exhale, as if buying time to gather his thoughts before he commented. Finally he said, “In my country, there is a hunter who kills the Wolf and saves the little girl. Where is he in your story?”

“In my story nobody saves her. Besides, did you ever think that she didn’t want to be saved?” Columbia said. “Maybe she needs to learn how to save herself.”

“No,” he said, “I’ve never looked at it like that. But if there is no hunter in this story, maybe there’s a part of the little girl that wants to be devoured.”

“Is that what you plan to do?” she cried out and laughed, a sound tinged with hysteria. She was trying to sound brave, but her voice kept betraying her fear, as easily as her body betrayed her need for pleasure, for contact.

“No,” he answered in a low voice. He dropped her hand and pulled his away. “But is that how you see me? In this story am I the Wolf?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said and squeezed her eyes shut again. “Is that how you see yourself? It feels like you might be.”

“How? I am not intent on devouring you, little dove. I am intent on keeping you with me. Why would I consume the very thing I plan to posses? What was the purpose of this little tale?”

“That thing you did? Getting my body to respond?” she replied, “That’s not new, my body might want it but my mind never will. I wanted you to know this. I think this might make you crazy enough to destroy me, to become the Wolf.”

“This is all based on the premise that you do not want me,” he said in a calm voice. “I think we both know that this is not a fact, there is some part of you that is already craving me back on you, touching you like that. Your body betrays you, but your mind will follow. Your mind will learn to want it as much as your treacherous body, I promise you that. I am no Wolf, little dove, I am the hunter, I am the woods, I am the cabin, I am everything in the story. I will become your everything and you will learn to give yourself willingly to me...body, mind and spirit.”

She shuddered and knew there was some truth to what he said. He had planted a seed with his touch, and somewhere in the back of her mind it was growing. She heard a small voice constantly asking the question what if he had not stopped? “So in the end I might wish that you had chosen to destroy me, if everything I am belongs to you.”

She felt his finger touch her face, stroke her chin and pull her face towards him. She blinked under the blindfold and tried to see him through the gash of light at the bottom. She heard him make a small noise, as if pondering her accusation. He finally said, “No, not at all. I am afraid you have mistaken my intent. You belong to me now; in the end you will find your freedom through this ownership. In losing the ability to make your own decisions, in knowing that every single day that I choose to let you live might possibly be your last...in giving yourself to me completely, you will be free to heal yourself and see yourself whole. I am going to take the broken parts of you and mend them back together. I will do this for you if you give yourself to me.”

She hated to admit it, but there was something appealing about his statement. Ever since her mom had moved them in with her father, she had been completely shattered. The only thing that kept her going was her desire to protect her little sister. Eden had been born a year after her father had followed Columbia that day she walked to her Nan’s. He had picked her up in his work truck on the guise of saving a lonely little girl, protecting her. He’d driven her to her Nan’s place and everyone had lauded his brave intervention, putting himself at risk to assist another person’s child. How could they have known how black his heart was? He didn’t start coming to Columbia’s room until after they were moved into his house and her mom was huge with Eden.

It was then that she understood fairy tales have no happy endings. They stop the story and start the music right after the happiest part of a character’s life because the rest of the story is always tragic. The saviour becomes a Wolf; the princess becomes a distant woman ground down to nothing by the constant abuse at home. And the daughter becomes the guardian, a position thrust upon her when she was too young, too confused to understand what it meant. Putting herself in the line of fire on a daily basis so Eden could grow up into everything that Columbia had wanted to be. Columbia understood the nature of this sacrifice far too late; she wore it on her body permanently now. She didn't think Eden would ever understand.

So her captor’s proposal was appealing to the part of her that kept moving ahead even though she wanted to stop. The part of her that felt like a shark, always pushing forwards or drowning in the place you live. She heard him make another small noise, one of query, waiting for her response. His hand was still on her, but he’d settled the palm and fingers on her throat while he thumb caressed her jaw line. The steady, persistent pressure reminded her of how he’d stroked her clit, brought her close to orgasm and almost forced her to be present while she came. It also reminded her of how easily he had snapped, how quickly he went from pleasuring her body to choking the life out of her. He was a dangerous man, and she should not forget it, no matter how soft he seemed at times like this.

“At least let me see you,” she said after a few beats of her heart. “I need to know who you are before I make my decision.”

“That isn’t necessary,” he replied. “This is not your decision to make.”

“Maybe I don’t want to stay,” she said. “Maybe I have decided I want to go home.”

“I repeat, this is not your choice,” he said. “My appearance has no bearing on whether or not you stay.”

“How will I know if I am ever going to give myself to you if I can’t see what you look like?” she insisted. “How can I ever give myself to somebody if he looks like a Wolf? Like the monster in the woods?”

“Do you really want to see me?” he growled. “Are you so certain you want to look at the beast? To fulfill some kind of sick curiosity maybe? Fill your heart with horror and your mouth with unspoken laughter?”

“I’ve already seen you,” she confessed, fear flooding back into her body. Her instincts kicked in and she was reminded that she was in the presence of a powerful man.

“In the mirror, I thought you had,” he replied. She could hear his anger starting to boil under the surface.

“I did,” she said.

“Then let’s accommodate your curiosity,” he snarled and stood up quickly. The chair fell behind him and hit the floor with a crash. He reached down and pulled her up by her hands. She gasped and let herself go limp, as she had many times with her father.

“Is this what you want?” he asked close to her ear.

She nodded and did not speak. She was unable to speak, her heart was pounding in her chest and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

He pulled the bindings off her wrists with expert precision, and she let her hands fall to her sides. He yanked her to standing and she felt him grip her shoulders and take a deep breath. She thought she detected the smallest quiver in his exhalation as he reached up to grab the blindfold.

He hesitated again, for a moment. She said nothing, did nothing. She wanted this to be on his terms and she was too filled with waves of adrenaline to react.

He yanked the blindfold away and stared down at her, waiting.

She looked up and saw a mass of muscle and tattoos, those beautiful bright blue eyes and the face of a handsome man. Half of it was at least. The other half of him had fine puckered scars, down one side. It didn’t mar his attractiveness, nothing could do that, but they were obvious. She let her gaze fall back down. He was dressed in simple and yet elegant attire. Not the clothing of a mobster she thought, but more like an athlete, a boxer. He had a tight black tee shirt and loose fitting track pants. He was barefoot and had surprisingly nice feet. The weird things you notice when your life is on the line. His arms bulged with lean muscle and she could see the thick thighs under the fabric of his pants. He really could tear her apart with his bare hands if he wanted. She licked her lips, a subconscious gesture betraying the thrill she felt at the thought of the strength that must course through his body.

"Look at me, really look at me," he commanded, staring intently waiting for her reaction.

She slowly lifted her head and to look at his face again. She returned his gaze, unflinching, and offered a small, quick smile. “You aren’t so bad,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from her fear, “not the monster I imagined.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her face, as though looking for a sign that she was lying or mocking him.

“I used to be a handsome man,” he said, running his hand over the puckered flesh of his left cheek. He continued and ran his hand over his short hair. It was growing in very dark. A striking contrast to his bright blue eyes.

“That’s one area we disagree,” she replied, still holding his gaze, “I think you still are.”

“Then you are a very stupid woman,” he said, his mouth set in a thin line, “or a very good liar.”

“Maybe I’m a little bit of both,” she answered and smiled up at him, willing him to smile back.





Chapter Thirteen - Dimitri




She wanted to see his face. He was filled with revulsion at the thought of exposing himself to her, but he felt it was now or some other time. If he was going to take her with him to Hong Kong, she was going to see his face eventually. He felt like a shy teenager all of a sudden. He was gripped with the same nervous anxiety he had the first time he’d been with a woman. Some whore Sergei had bought him when he was fourteen, to break him in and make him a man. Sergei had no idea that this was not the first time Dimitri had been fucked, but it was the first time it was with a woman. In order to survive, Dimitri had resorted to dark things; things that filled him with shame even to this day. Sometimes it felt like he would never escape the darkness that had engulfed him so early in his life.

He hated that this little girl unsettled him in such a fashion. It truly did not matter if she approved of his appearance, she was his to keep. In some small way, he wanted her to find him attractive though. The old Dimitri, the one who could have nuns swooning with a crooked smile and hooded glance in their direction, still wanted that approval. It was difficult, to go from physical perfection to something that resided in people’s nightmares.

He had been pulled back in by her pleading voice, and had listened to her fairy tale just to keep her talking. He found the dusky, low tones intoxicating and the way her full lips formed the words made him regret his choice to remove his fingers from her cunt. He should have climbed on top of her and fucked her instead of trying to kill her. It would have had very different results, now she was wary and uncertain and he was unfulfilled and anxious. Fucking, in this case, would have been highly preferable to killing. Instead they were back at this impasse, this dark area between life and death.

After her tale of a Wolf devouring a little girl, he felt the stifling weight of her expectations. She wanted something from him, but he didn’t know what. He wanted out of the room before he did something dangerous, he could feel the madness rising again and needed to escape this delicate little thing and her foolish demands.

But she wanted to see his face. So he complied. He tore the blindfold from her eyes and waited for it. Waited for her gasp of fear, for her to recoil out of disgust...for anything other than what she gave him.

She gave him acceptance. In her eyes he could see how little his burns meant to her. For she was covered in scars that she was forced to confront every day, his might not seem that big to her. Perhaps it was a matter of perspective. For a moment again he felt like a stuttering schoolboy praying his prom date wouldn’t laugh at his oversized suit and plastic lapel flower. He said “I was once a handsome man,” in a voice full of anxious need for acceptance.

And she gave it. She said the right things and she reacted the right way, and for a moment...just a moment...he thought she might be serious.

Reality hit him like a boot to the face and he read the horror in her eyes, in his own face reflected there. She couldn’t hide his face from the mirrors of her eyes. Her eyes were stunning; light green and rimmed with blue. Her milky white skin and black, thick hair only enhanced the beauty of her eyes.

The eyes that stared at him, judged him, and found him lacking. Then lied about it. She fucking dared to lie about finding him attractive, as though he was just a stupid little boy looking for a pat on the head.

Rage filled his mouth and he clenched his fists, preparing to strike her. She caught his change in body language and stepped back, allowing her fear to shine through in bright pinpoints of light in her eyes. He saw himself reflected again, towering over her and no better than the Wolf who crept into her bedroom at night and devoured her.

He knew on some level this rage was not logical, but at the surface there was an anger that could not be contained.

“Who do you think you are?” he roared at her. “Do you think you can mock me? Like some cockless fucking school boy you parade around on a leash, teasing him with your pussy...you fucking whore!”

She cringed in front of him, cowering and surprised and yelled, “No, what are you talking about? I’m not lying! I do think you’re attractive! How can you not see that?”

“Do you think you can wiggle your tits in my face and have me on my knees?” he raged on, “I am Dimitri Sokolov, The Enforcer...The Beast. I will not be torn down by some simpering little girl hiding behind her politics and her pretty face.”

Her eyes were downcast and her hands fluttered nervously in front of her body. She clearly had no idea what to expect and was unable to act accordingly because of it. He himself didn’t even know at this point what would set him off, how could she?

He reached down and took a handful of her hair. She gasped and tried to keep up as he dragged her with him to the St. Andrews cross in the middle of the room, a wooden X shaped device the concierge would bind his whores to. He would lash her to it and teach her a lesson, show her not to mock him. She was sobbing now, small mewling noises that only served to infuriate him on a primal level.

“Don’t cry,” he said, “It only makes me angry.” He took her arms and pulled them above her, then tied her to the cross. “I don’t want to be angry, so let’s get something straight here, ok?”

“Yes,” she whispered and did her best to maintain eye contact. She looked uncomfortable and shifted her weight from one foot to the next. Her arms were bound with the same white silk rope he had used on the platform; they lay against her flesh with poignant beauty. He admired the aesthetic of them as much as the pragmatic.

“I am going to do what I want with you, now that you have seen me and you know my name, I can never let you go,” he said. “I will be moving out of the country in a little over a week. It has occurred to me that it is going to be some time before I am able to bring a whore to play with. Moving is such a difficult time.”

She looked stricken, she knew exactly where this was going but Dimitri kept talking while she nodded slowly. “I am going to take you with me, but you will be more than my pet. You will be my willing companion.”

She swallowed hard and looked like she was choosing her words carefully. She finally said, “I can’t go. My family is here.”

“The Wolf? Why would you want to go back to him?” he asked with one brow raised. “Not that it matters, I am not offering this to you, I am telling you what is going to happen. Do you understand?”

She nodded and her chin quivered. She was obviously fighting tears and Dimitri felt his compassion shut down. He hated tears, from his mother’s pleading cries as his father beat her, to manipulative women he’d encountered in his years working for Sergei. Tears made Dimitri emotionally withdraw and his anger surface.

“I said don’t cry,” he warned her. “Be still and I will go over the rules. First and foremost, you are now my possession. I own you. You are only alive because it pleases me, but this could change if you try my patience. When I ask you a direct question, you are only to answer yes or no. This is a hard and fast rule; I do not want to hear excuses or babbling whining when you answer me. Do you understand?”

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes and said,” Yes.” She straightened her back and appeared defiant. This pleased Dimitri; if she was fighting him then she wouldn’t be crying. If she showed a backbone, he knew she was directing her anger towards him instead of herself.

“You will no longer cut yourself. I will not let you damage my property,” he said. “Do you understand?”

She looked startled, as though it was not a subject to be discussed in polite company. This, however, was not polite company, so she replied, “Yes,” and let him continue.

“I will collar you. This means a physical indicator that I own you,” he said and considered his statement, looking her up and down. “I do like the feel of my hand around your neck though, so you will wear wrist cuffs. These will serve to remind you that you belong to me and make it easier for me to restrain you when you need it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said and held her tongue. He suspected she wanted to keep talking, to explain or bargain, but she was playing along with his rules for the time being at least. He hoped this wasn’t a permanent situation; he loved it when she struggled.

“Excellent, little dove,” he told her, very pleased with her. “You will be a quick study.” She looked up at him from under impossibly thick lashes, her eyes wet with the remaining tears she had cried, and her lower lip quivered.

He was terrifying her, and he loved it. “You will never speak to another member of my staff,” he said, “Not even the closest member, the concierge. You will meet him very soon, but unless he speaks to you directly, you will not interact with him.”

She looked up at him and stared him down. He hadn’t asked if she understood, so she did not reply. He couldn’t help himself; he smiled at her. She was simply gorgeous in her defiance. She really was going to make this an exceptional experience.

“For now, you will have your own room and your own clothing allowance. I will let you order online and have things shipped. You are not to leave my apartment and you are never to have contact with the outside world, by any means. Do you understand?”

She narrowed her eyes and stared him down, unblinking. Finally she closed her eyes slowly, opened them and hissed, “Yes,” at him.

“Then let us begin,” he replied and walked to a tall armoire in the corner of the room. He opened it and saw his collection of riding crops, leather ties, floggers and assorted pain-producing paraphernalia. He was old fashioned, he supposed. He was a gentleman and preferred hands on administration of pain and pleasure. He never really got caught up in newer fads, like wireless vibrators or electro-shock punishments. He liked to feel the body under his hands, feel his plaything respond to his ministrations. He enjoyed the quiver of fear, the tremble of pleasure.

He wanted to start simply with Columbia. He reached out and stroked a long whip with a wicked metal hook on the end. This might be too much, so he settled on a riding crop. It was longer than the one he had been using previously, an elegant device used for dressage competitions. It had a carved ivory handle with a large bulb on the end, the other side was braided leather, stiff and thin and extremely painful if applied with force.

He went back to where she was standing patiently, her hand stretched over her head and her face expressionless. She watched his every move with wide eyes, he could see her chest rise and fall with her rapid breathing. Anticipation oozed from her pores, he could almost smell it on her skin. The air felt thick with it, his own plotting adding to the tension.

He did not speak; he stopped in front of her and smacked the palm of his hand with the whip. She jumped and her eyes widened visibly, but she narrowed them again immediately.

“Are you ready to beg for my cock?” he asked her in a bemused voice. He was enjoying this game more than expected.

She didn’t reply, just looked him in the eye and stared him down.

“I’ll give you another chance,” he said, “are you ready to ask me for it?”

“I want to go home,” she replied, still unwavering in her gaze.

“I said answer with yes or no, and that is not going to happen,” he said, untying her hands and turning her around. “Put your hands up, hold onto the metal hooks. Do not turn back.” Although he loved looking at her beautiful face when she tried to stand up to him, he wanted to hit her backside even more. He drew back, saw her tense, and slapped her perfect round ass with the crop. She gasped and her head fell back. Her long braid swayed, half of it had fallen loose so he removed the elastic, undid it slowly and wrapped his hand in her hair.

He pulled her head back farther and hit her ass repeatedly with the crop. There were beautiful bright red welts rising on the white skin. She hadn’t been able to cut herself on the back of her body; she was perfection from this angle.

He held her tight and spoke into her ear, “Are you ready to ask me for my cock?”

“I want to go home, let me go,” she whispered. He was proud of her, she was tough. She barely flinched as he rained blows down on her ass and back, holding her head in his tight grip the entire time.

“I told you to say yes or no,” he told her and hit her several times in sharp succession. She moaned as he struck her with the whip.

“What do you say now, little dove…” he asked in her ear again. His body was pressed against hers, from this angle his cock pressed against her firm ass. She didn’t pull away from his hardness like she had previously. He noted this with satisfaction; she was slowly warming up to him.

“I want to go home,” she insisted stubbornly. She was single minded in her resolve, but he would break her.

He took the end of the whip and ran the ivory knob along her skin, dragged it down her spine and rested it in the top of her cleft. He continued down her ass cheek, circled around and down her thigh. He edged his knee in between her legs and shoved her legs apart. She held her breath as he pushed the knob between her legs, sliding the ivory bulb across her soft folds before pushing it against her clit. She gasped and he said, “Do you want me to stop?”

“Ye-,” she started to say but stopped when he slid the knob backwards and found her tight hole. He held it there for a moment, she sighed, shook her head and pulled against his grip on her hair. He slid the knob back and forth, teasing her slit and waiting for her reply to change.

“Do you want me to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse with the anticipation of her answer.

“No,” she finally replied in a strangled breath. He loved that she was conflicted, she was scared and knew this was wrong on some level, but she couldn’t hold back from her base desires. The two of them were very similar in that regard.

“Good,” he said and shoved the crop up inside of her. She jumped but immediately loosened her limbs, accepting the device. “That’s right,” he said in her ear while slowly rotating the whip in her pussy, “you do like this, don’t you? You like to be used, to be told what to do. I can feel your need flooding out of your cunt, my hand is wet with it.”

She nodded and moaned, backed herself up against him and pulled against the hand in her hair. He could tell she liked being held like this, liked losing control of her body.

She started to rock against the crop, riding it like it was a cock. He slammed it deep inside of her, savoured her moans and sighs, the wet sound of the whip in her cunt and the blood rushing in his ears.

He unwrapped his hand from her hair and in one smooth motion pulled himself free and started to stroke his hard length. She was going to cum, but he wanted her to wait. He pulled the crop free and watched her splayed legs, her tilted ass, waiting and ready. “Are you going to beg for it?” he whispered in her ear and pressed himself against her.

“No, I never will,” she replied, her breath ragged with her need. She didn’t pull away though, she leaned back against him, he could sense her willing him to continue. He didn’t. He gripped his cock and slid his hand up and down the thick shaft until he could feel his balls tighten. He hadn’t been able to release himself in weeks, this felt like crying after holding it in too long. Like pissing after a long bus ride. As much as he expected pleasure, he was expecting relief.

He wasn’t disappointed. He came hard all over the small of her back, spurts of thick cum dripped down her skin while he emitted a long groan. His head felt light with the release, as though unblocking something deep in the back of his brain. Columbia sighed heavily and tensed up, seeming perturbed at his orgasm and the lack of hers.

“Do you want to finish, little dove?” he asked, his cock softening and cooling against her ass while his seed oozed along the curve of her spine. He took a finger and traced through his cum, slid it back down and let the pattern dry on her skin. He pushed the whip down and ran the knob along her cleft. She nodded and shivered in anticipation. “Then ask for it, beg for my cock inside of you. I want to hear you say it...say you want me to fuck you,” he continued. “I know you’re hungry for it, you already crave me. Just say it and I will fuck you right now, give you your release.” He grew harder with each passing second anticipating her reply, waiting for her to beg him to plunge himself inside of her.

She was a hard bitch to crack though and she simply said, “No, I never will.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said and laughed, hiding his own growing frustration. “You know I want you to beg, I will wait until you ask for it, but I can’t say I’m disappointed in your spirit. You are a wild one, and I appreciate the challenge.”

“I’m not doing this to challenge you, I’m doing it so you’ll let me go,” she replied curtly. He could see her jaw thrust out as she turned her head towards him. “I don’t want to beg, I’m not your pet, I’m not desperate.”

“Are you sure about that?” he said and laughed again, dragging the knob between her legs, her body responded by opening up to him, her ass thrust out and her legs parted. “I don’t think you will beg me because you are desperate,” he whispered and leaned against her, “I think you will beg because you will realize how much you want me, how much you want to please me...and ultimately how much you want to please yourself. That’s not desperation, that’s clarity of vision. When your vision is clear, we will come together and you will be mine.”

“Will you let me go?” she asked again.

“I never will,” he said and smiled at her defiance. He was growing fond of her and could barely shove his cock back in his pants. He was tempted to take her there and show her how much she would enjoy him, but he didn’t want to become the Wolf in her tale, he wanted to be her everything. “Now let’s go choose your restraints, I’ll even let you help pick them out.”





Chapter Fourteen – Columbia




When the blindfold came off, Columbia blinked and covertly looked around. The room she was in had no windows, but was richly decorated with a thick carpet and marble accents. She recognized some items, but most of them were foreign to her. She knew they must be used in sex play, but had never been curious enough to find out about any of it. In any other circumstance, she might engage him in small talk, get him to talk about his obvious interest in BDSM. In this case, she shuddered and wondered how many women he had killed in here.

Columbia did her best to engage him, to smile at him and soften him to her plight. She thought it might work after he took the blindfold off. He really seemed to warm up to her a little, but it changed as quickly as it happened. He was a mercurial man, obviously mentally unstable, terrifying and yet strangely fascinating. She thought she recognized some of her own madness in his actions.

He raged at her, mistaking her acceptance of his appearance as mocking him. She supposed he was a proud man, used to being viewed as an attractive man. The scars on his face weren’t off putting to her however, she found them alluring, being so covered herself. There was something beautiful to be found in healed flesh, a physical reminder of hope and new growth.

He’d flipped a switch though; she saw it in his eyes. They went flat, the light went out and rage took over. It was like he became a different man, an angry man hell bent on destruction. She almost pissed herself out of fear this time, it was worse than anything she’d been through with her father. After his previous attempt to kill her, she was certain this was it; he would go through with her death this time. He dragged her to a heavy wooden cross in the centre of the room and tied her to it.

She mostly obeyed simply because she was in shock at this point. That’s what she told herself anyhow, but there was that damned blooming thought that he could gratify her in ways she’d never imagined if only she’d let him break down her barriers.

It wasn’t as though she was a virgin; she had just never had actual sex with anyone other than the Wolf in her house. Her father. But he had made her feel powerless and insignificant. He’d also never lit her nerves on fire and made her thoughts explode in bright points of light.

This man, Dimitri he’d said his name was, The Beast, he was dangerous, but not as scary as her father. Dimitri was like a wildfire, if he was to do things to her, it would be hot and fast and burn her to the ground. Her father was like a sickness, a wasting disease that slowly drained her of her life, her joy.

Dimitri also used words she’d never liked before, but they fell from his lips with his accent and deep, sensual timbre and seemed natural. Cock had made her wince the first time he’d used it. It was such a disgusting word, one that was never used in her world, but somehow it sent a scandalous thrill down her spine. Cock, cunt, pussy, fuck, he said them all in the same way, as though it were matter of fact. He was simply calling them what they were in the most basic fashion. She tried to picture Stuart saying these things and almost laughed to herself.

At her house, her father had mostly referred to things in other terms, cloaked terms. His favourite, when drunk, was it. Suck it, lick it, get ready for it. Columbia hated the sound of his voice and would retreat deep inside of herself at the use of the word it.

When he wasn’t drinking, when sober, he was ashamed of his actions. It didn’t stop him though, but he tried to make it seem fun, child like. He would say things like “lick my lolly” or “open your cunny”. This was worse than it, when he tried to sugar coat what he was doing, it made it seem more shameful and more her fault. He would look pained as he held her down, as though he was reluctant and she had asked for this somehow.

Dimitri didn’t sugar coat. She knew he wanted to get inside of her...pussy...cunt. Even thinking it made her feel rebellious, a big fuck you to every time she’d cowered in the face of a euphemism for rape. Dimitri didn’t hide; he made his intentions clear and even laid out firm and fast rules of expectation. This brought Columbia comfort, to know what he wanted and how he was going to get it.

It didn’t quite make it right though. She still wanted to go home, to escape this strange night and pretend it never happened. She would never tell a single soul what had gone on here, but she also knew she would never go back to her old life.

And the way he made her feel. Not just respond but fucking feel. Everything. The way he grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted her head back. The way he caressed her with the riding crop and eventually found her wet and waiting, wanting what he was doing.

It was insanity, she watched it with two different perspectives, two worlds lay on top of the other. In one, here on the left, is an innocent victim of a brutal kidnapper begging to be sent home. In the other, on the right, is a feral creature being brought to panting orgasm by a hot, dominant man. Nothing romantic, short and sweet and straight to the point.

She tried to reconcile both worlds, and kept failing. He was relentless, twisting the crop inside of her, encouraging her, whispering in her ear and finally masturbating himself onto her body. She knew she should be disgusted, normally this would be disgusting...in the light of day this would be so wrong. It was so hot though, here in the dimly lit room with this beast of a man, a hardened criminal using her body for his own need. She felt ashamed for liking it so much.

She wanted to tell him yes, she wanted to beg, but that stubborn part of her that had kept her placing one foot in front of the other for the last decade wouldn’t let her break. She might be lead to bend, but she couldn’t force herself to beg him for his...cock…no matter how much she wanted to find out how he could make her feel if he slid it inside of her and drove it deep.

She was silent as he rubbed his cum on her skin and teased her cunt with the crop. She couldn’t give in, wouldn’t do it. Finally he dragged her to a large cabinet full of whips and metal things and objects she couldn’t guess the purpose of...and some she could.

“What is your preference, little dove?” he asked her, as though offering her a choice of wine with dinner. It was that normal to him that this situation didn’t faze him. She wondered again how many women he had done this with before her.

“I, uh, don’t really care,” she replied but her eyes were drawn to a beautiful pair of silver bracelets, they reminded her of something a warrior of old would wear. She wouldn’t feel like a captive if she had them on, she would feel like a fighter.

“You like these?” he questioned and picked one of the pair up. “You have an excellent eye. These are platinum cuffs, designed and crafted by a certain Monsieur Delacroix, of Paris.” He took her hand and snapped a cuff on her wrist, locked it and held the key. “Beautiful, strong, expensive...and never used before. It’s almost as though they were waiting for you,” he continued, took her other hand and locked the cuff there as well.

“They are beautiful,” she said, her voice distant as she looked at them as simply jewelry. She almost felt as though if she didn’t acknowledge his claim on her at any point, then it wouldn’t be realized. She knew this was wrong, and some how this man would find a way to force himself inside of her, but for now she maintained the illusion.

“As are you,” he replied, stroked her cheek gently and immediately pulled back. “But I suppose you hear that all the time, until it loses meaning to you.”

He was shy, she thought, embarrassed to be attracted to her, fearful of her rejection. “Not at all,” she said, “I never hear it in fact.”

He looked disbelieving, as though she were lying about it. He quickly changed the subject and said, “You should get some rest,” and indicated for her to follow him. “I will show you to your room.”

He lead her out the doors and she was grateful, she was dead on her feet and could barely stand as she followed him.

Her room was a short walk away. He opened the doors and the lights of the city were laid out in front of her. She suppressed a sound of delight at how high up they were, she hadn’t realized. She thought she could see as far as Richmond, maybe the Gulf Islands even. This vantage point was intoxicating. She cleared her throat and gave her best impression of a disaffected captive. “Is this your room?” she asked, still looking at the view beyond him.

He turned, saw her face and she caught him give a small smile. She must be wearing her wonderment on her face, so she stiffened it into a cold mask of disinterest.

“No, this is your room,” he replied. “This is your bed, your closet and your private washroom. You will not be monitored in any way in this room; it is your small refuge of freedom. When we are settled in Hong Kong you will be given the same privilege. Now, should you choose to break the rules we discussed earlier, this freedom will be lost to you. If that is the case, I will leave you in the other room, or chain you to the foot of my bed. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said looking around, taking in the exquisite furnishings and beautiful pieces of art. Even the functional objects looked expensive and stylish, light fixtures and doorknobs, the closet doors. It was unbelievable to her that this would be her space, a far cry from the tiny room she had at home. But a prison nonetheless.

“I will leave you to it. Make this space your own, little dove, for as long as you are with me, you are part of my home. If you do as you’re told, you will have a very comfortable life and want for nothing,” he said, gave her a nod and left the room. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or sincere in his promise. As with everything he did, she couldn’t read his intention.

“Except for my freedom,” she whispered to his retreating form, and sighed in relief when he didn’t turn around to question what she had said.

The first thing she did was go to the bathroom. She ran a hot bath and poured an entire bottle of what seemed like expensive bath oil into the water. It made her feel good to waste his money; she could get back at him in small ways.

She stepped timidly into the water, let the steam rise around her and slid down until everything but her nose was submerged. She sat up and ran her hands along her skin, felt around her throat and was almost surprised to note there were no additional marks. His kind of brutal treatment surely left some trace, bruises would be expected but the level he took it to seemed like a scar or welt would be appropriate.

She grabbed another bottle of oil and drenched her wrist with it. She gripped the metal cuff and twisted hard, trying to force it off her body. It didn’t work, it only served to gouge her other hand with the diamonds. She repeated this on the opposite cuff to the same result. It appeared they were on her wrists to stay. Once she escaped, she could get them cut off and sell them to pay for a few month’s rent for her and Eden or something. She decided that keeping them on was a good thing after all.

It felt surreal to find herself soaking in a bath, even catching herself humming a little tune as she scrubbed herself clean, as though she were in a day spa. Any spa decked out like this would be out of her price range in the real world, she realized as she looked around.

She would be a well-kept pet at least. It was strange though, the idea of being owned. In this day and age, in this country. She didn’t know if he expected her to be his slave, or if he would keep her like a courtesan. She was nervous about his intentions, but that damned small part of her whispered in the back of her mind, imagine what he could do to your body…the pleasure he could bring. But would that level of ecstasy be worth giving up her former life?

She stayed in the tub until the water cooled and the oily bubbles dissipated. She pulled the plug and stepped out into a plush robe hanging on the back of the door. It was ridiculous, this juxtaposition of sensations, places and emotions. She waited until the water emptied, took several other bottles of product and poured them down the drain. It was stupid, a childish rebellion, but she felt like she had to have some control over her predicament. It was better than cutting her skin, and made her feel satisfied in some small fashion.

She found a walk in closet bigger than her bedroom at home and dug through several different sizes until she found pyjamas that would fit. She got them on, pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed. It felt nicer than she could have imagined. She’d watched a tonne of reality television shows over the years, and never understood how big the gap between the rich and the poor was until now. Her father had a love for any one of those real housewives shows and she would watch them with a detached curiosity. She never could have known how much she had been missing out living in a shitty little house in East Vancouver.

She snuggled under the covers and reached over to flick the light switch. In the darkness her brain would not slow down. Devoid of stimuli, her thoughts raced through her head like panicked rabbits, darting and running into each other until she bit her lip just to call them to attention.

First and foremost, her captivity. Mere hours ago she had climbed out into the kitchen and expected to make heroic demands on a wealthy developer. How had she ended up here? Had Debbie set her up on purpose? She didn’t think so, as initially this was going to be Edward’s assignment and she’d stupidly volunteered at the last moment.

Conversely she luxuriated in her surroundings, feeling guilty at finding pleasure from the rich bedding and soft clothing. The sheets must be a thousand thread count, she thought, although she didn’t really know what that meant. Should she be allowing herself to relax? Once she was free, she should tell a brave story of how hard she fought for her life, not how long she’d bathed and how well she’d slept.

She hoped Eden was ok. She was staying at a friend’s and would be safe from harm until tomorrow evening at least. Columbia glanced at the clock on the night table. It was nearing five in the morning; she had twelve hours to get back and save her sister. She dreaded what would happen if she weren’t there to intervene between Eden and her father. She knew Eden was much stronger than she was, but she still carried the sickening worry that she had failed her sister somehow. Eden would be sleeping comfortably and unaware that her life might change dramatically.

Speaking of sleep, she needed it and her eyes closed on their own accord. The final and most prominent thought in her mind at the moment was of Dimitri though. The mysterious, dangerous man who now held her life in his hands.

She’d lived for years as a prisoner to her father’s needs and desires, so naturally she would be ripe for captivity. That must be what it was, she was predisposed to some kind of mental problem that made her fall for her kidnapper. She’d read about it before, but this felt like something bigger, something more meaningful than Stockholm Syndrome. Surely the way he made her feel was more than a psychological break from reality. She was so twisted up in knots that she found herself thinking the same things again and again, a circular mental discussion that always took her back to the same place. In spite of his ability to kill her, he’d kept her alive. In spite of her scarred and ruined body, he obviously found her appealing…. and in spite of the fear he drove through her body like a deep river of adrenaline, she felt safe in his presence.

She was being ridiculous, she knew it. She was falling for the criminal sociopath who snatched her from the kitchen, that’s all it was. But the last thing she thought as she drifted off to sleep was what if he had let her finish?





Chapter Fifteen – Dimitri




He left her in one of the guest rooms so he could confer with the concierge and clean himself up. It had been an intense night, and he could tell Columbia needed to process what was happening to her.

He was excited, he felt like a child with a new toy, he wanted to keep playing but was afraid to break her. He wanted her to come to him fighting; she was no good to him if she had no spark left.

The concierge would return in two days, then preparations for the move would be finalized. Dimitri attended to a few quick transactions, things that required his signature...or that is Jarrod Jacob’s signature. Jarrod would soon fade away or die tragically, leaving his companies in shambles, easily taken over by others. Of course this was all on paper; Dimitri was behind it all.

He went to his room, paced back and forth in front of the window, a few anxious passes. He paused and looked out across the ocean to the North Shore Mountains and the lights below. He didn’t know how the time had passed so quickly, he regretted never taking advantage of the natural beauty right outside his building. How had he become so introverted and dangerously introspective? Decisions were difficult for him now, the options muddied by his lack of stimulation and his single-minded obsession with Sergei.

And now this obsession with Columbia. He rubbed his hands together and caught himself in the window’s reflection. He looked like a Bond villain and laughed at the sight. He remembered his fingers inside of her and held them up to his nose. He inhaled the scent of her cunt, the pungent tang of her that excited him to no end. The thought of his cock pressing up against her back, shooting spurts of cum on her skin, it was enough to make him masturbate immediately.

He wouldn’t though; he wanted to wait until he could release himself on her body, or inside of her. He imagined her eyes widening as he came hard, deep inside of her, tightening her cunt walls around him, pulling him deeper as he held his hand on her throat.

He had a quick shower and climbed into bed. Sleep came to him faster than it had in months. Sleep meant getting back to Columbia faster, and he could not wait to find out where their next encounter would take them.

*****

Dimitri regretted leaving the windows clear before he went to sleep. Usually he would hit the control that polarized the glass and blocked the sunlight, but he wanted to wake early to start his training with Columbia.

The bright light hitting his lids did not put him in the best of moods; he stretched and almost growled his unhappiness. Usually Dimitri slept on a cycle of a few hours here and there as he needed it, so the length of his rest wasn’t at issue. He simply objected to waking with the sun in his face.

He cleaned himself up, grabbed the iPad and placed his breakfast order for himself and Columbia, and got dressed. He didn’t know why he felt so self-conscious about his attire, but he wandered aimlessly in his closet room, fingering fabrics and planning his choice with the attention he would normally give to a formal evening. He finally settled on a simple linen shirt and black dress pants. He was barefoot, as he preferred when he was at home.

He went down the hallway to the guest room and rapped softly on the door. He heard her inside, so he opened it and went in.

She had chosen a loose fitting white cotton dress with no bra. Her hair hung thick and wavy around her face and down her back, and her face lit up when he entered the room. The moment she realized it was him, the expression passed to darkness and she looked away.

“Good morning, little dove,” he said, looking at his watch and adding, “although I suppose afternoon is more appropriate in this case.”

“Yes, good afternoon,” she replied softly, looking down at her hands. He was confused momentarily; during their time away he had assumed they were on the same page regarding their arrangement. Her reluctance now puzzled him, then he realized that she needed to be schooled again in terms of his expectations.

“Shall we go have breakfast?” he asked and held his arm out for her to hold, “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering ahead for you. I assure you there will be more than enough to choose from.”

“Yes,” she said and placed her hand on his offered arm and they wound through the apartment to the dining room. The cart was already there, stacked with plates of eggs, bacon, toast, oatmeal and fresh fruit.

“Do you have any dietary issues? Are you a vegetarian?” he asked politely as he made up a plate for her.

“No,” she replied and sat down in the chair he gestured to, the one next to his at the end of the great, carved, wooden table.

“You can do better than that,” he said as he set the plate in front of her, “I know I might have been a little harsh about the rules yesterday, but you don’t have to strictly stick to yes or no answers.”

“Yes, I understand,” she replied and waited for him to sit down with his own plate.

“See? You’re being cheeky, I like it,” he said and picked up a carafe. “Coffee?” he asked and poured her a mug when she nodded yes. He poured himself one and set the container down. “I think you’re doing it on purpose, you know,” he continued, “I think you want to be cheeky. I think you want to be punished.”

“Really,” she said, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “So I want to be beaten and almost choked to death, then played with and abandoned just as I was about to finish. Interesting perspective.”

“I did not mean those other things, and I believe it is a matter of perspective,” he said and looked her up and down, “for having survived all those terrible things, you certainly look healthy.” He reached over and lifted her chin up, exposing her neck. There were definite finger mark bruises reaching around, from both times he had choked her into unconsciousness. “A bit of bruising, but nothing you can’t handle,” he added.

“I know,” she replied, locked her eyes on his face and did her adorable defiant stare down thing again. Dimitri realized how easily she was getting under his skin, when all along he thought he was getting under hers.

“Why do you do that-” he waved his hand up and down her torso, “to yourself?”

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him with suspicion. She looked like she didn’t know if he was being sincere or ready to mock her and turn it into a training session. He couldn’t blame her, sometimes he didn't even know what would precipitate one of his rages, and she might end up severely harmed in the event of one.

“I don’t know,” she replied at last, her voice even and emotionless.

“How long have you been doing it?”

“I don’t know, maybe ten or twelve years,” she answered and took a bite of scrambled eggs. He was pleased that she wanted something that he had chosen for her. These marginal gains in her acceptance of him were driving him forward.

“How do you do it?” he asked and took a bite of his own meal. He chewed and watched her compose her reply.

“I use a razor blade and slash, that’s it,” she said and nibbled on a piece of toast.

“I don’t think that’s it,” he said, “I cut myself shaving and it never looked like that. You must have a lot of force behind it to get that deep. And those,” he indicated her wrists, “those were done for a purpose. Do you want to die?”

She deliberately took a bite of toast and chewed slowly, unwilling to answer he supposed. She surprised him when she finally did say, “I did, yes. I thought I did.” She glared at him accusingly and added, “That doesn’t mean you can strangle me to death though, you psycho.”

He stared at her until she looked away. He was guilty of her accusation, he had snapped yesterday and thought he would kill her, but he did not like hearing about it. Truth be told, he liked her fiery side and didn’t want her to ever become a timid creature around him. It wasn’t fun to play with her if she went limp and did exactly everything he asked of her. “I did try, but I stopped,” he replied in an even voice. He took a sip of his coffee and said, “I chose to keep you alive, never forget that.”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” she said, looking up at him again. She mirrored his action and took a sip of her own coffee. A good sign if some article on human behaviour was accurate. It indicated she was attracted to him. “And don’t you forget that I could have killed myself, but I chose not to. I am as much in charge of my life as you are.”

He laughed, a short bark, and said, “I won’t forget that, little dove. I promise.” He raised his coffee mug in a mock toast of her spark and took another sip. He meant it though; he really did admire her fortitude under the extreme circumstances she had been through in the past day. She took a sip from her mug and he smiled to himself as he watched the steam curl around her and cling to her skin, as though reluctant to leave the beauty of her face. She was mirroring him, and she did find him attractive somehow, in spite of his monstrous behaviour and equally monstrous appearance.

“How did it happen?” she asked, breaking into his reverie. She meant his burns, obviously, but now it was his turn to stall in order to find the words to tell her.

He pushed his eggs around his plate, looked up at her and said, “I was attacked.”

“Well, duh, I figured that out,” she smiled at him, and immediately looked fearful. She lowered her eyes and rubbed the silver cuffs on her wrists. She was amazing when she was conflicted, but he wanted her to relax around him and open herself up. She loved her little joking mannerisms.

“It’s ok, you can let your guard down,” he reassured her, “When we are like this, taking our meals, enjoying our conversations, you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

She looked up and gave him a weak smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said and picked at the melon on her plate.

“It was an attack, but it was unexpected,” he told her. He wanted to share this with her suddenly, as if exposing himself would bring her closer to him. He thought that’s how it worked; he had never been in a position to interact on this level. From early on he’d learned that to be guarded meant safety, to keep oneself disconnected from the rest of humanity meant survival and made his assignments easier. One did not scramble up the ranks of Sergei’s Bratva by weeping like a woman every time one was overcome with emotion.

“I guess that’s kind of the meaning of attack, right?” she smirked and traced her finger along the edge of the bowl of oatmeal.

“Yes, it was very unexpected,” he agreed, “It was my mentor and boss who decided to listen to the rumours, to accept the word of those who were poisoning his ear with dark tales of my treason.”

“Were you plotting against him?” she asked, obviously hanging on his every word. He was uncomfortable with this level of engagement but pushed forward to reward her for relaxing around him.

“No, in fact I was not. I viewed him as a father, he saved my life and I planned on serving him loyally until it ended,” he told her and watched her face. She looked sincere, so he continued, “I think he was feeling intimidated by my successes within the Bratva...I believe the word is “gang” in English. I was very good at what I did and I was very good at garnering support for him from all around the world. I believe he chose to listen to the lies because that is what he wanted to believe. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to kill me.”

“What kind of gang were you in?” she asked.

“I guess the best way to describe is like a mafia, a criminal organization. We were mostly Russians, with some members from other former Communist states. It was more like a family though, made up of men who were closer than brothers,” he told her. “Sergei was my mentor, he is the one who planned to murder me.”

“How did he do it? Were you burned?” she asked and reached for the carafe. He took it first and poured her another cup of coffee, watched as she added a dab of cream and a cube of sugar, then stirred it daintily. Every one of her small movements had him entranced, he could feel himself lowering his guard and he almost liked it.

It made him feel twitchy and uncomfortable though, like an awkward lover trying to impress his date. He pushed through this foreign territory and said, “Yes, I was burned. It was the most ridiculous of contraptions; I think that’s what made it worse. That he insulted me with the kind of strange device you’d see in a spy film. It was a desk that shot flames; we had seen it in South Africa the year before. I never imagined he had actually ordered one.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and watched him.

“I survived, that’s all that matters I suppose,” he replied and waved off her concern. It touched him though, in the years since the attack, he’d never heard that from a single person.

“Did you kill him?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “and I suppose that’s what drives my need for survival, I want to hunt Sergei down like a dog and put a knife in his heart.” He watched her for signs of repulsion, but she simply nodded in agreement, like he’d just said the most reasonable thing in the world. “Doesn’t that disgust you?” he asked.

“Not at all, why wouldn’t you want to take your revenge? I assume you’ve killed before, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for you to do it again,” she said.

“Yes, I have,” he replied, “I’ve killed many times and I will kill him eventually.”

“Can you get it…”she trailed off, looking up and down his scars.

“Do you mean to ask if I can get it fixed?” he said, she nodded so he continued, “I can, not perfectly but less noticeable. Then I could start going out again without frightening children and alerting Sergei’s allies to my whereabouts.”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as you imagine,” she said and paused, “so you don’t ever go out? Like never?”

“No, I do not,” he said, “I have everything I could possibly want right here.” He was lying but there were limits to how much of his weakness he would expose to her. It was bad enough that he had shared so much already; pathetic and weak were the words rising to the front of his brain at the moment. He decided to change the topic and asked her, “Are you done with your breakfast?”

“Oh, yes, I am,” she said and turned around to look at the food tray. “What a waste, why do you have them make so much food for just one man?”

“They eat what I send back,” he told her, “I like having the staff to accommodate my every wish. They are all paid very well, so there are no complaints.”

He stood up; pulled the phone he’d found on her out of his pocket and placed it on top of the tray. “They are paid so well in fact, that whoever owns this phone will be grateful to keep his job and get this back, remember?”

She was unreadable at this juncture, he held out his hand for her to take it. She did, but still seemed hesitant. She looked back at the door to the kitchen as they left the dining room and he sensed her tense up. He knew she was going to make a break for it even before she probably did.

She jerked away and made a mad dash for her freedom. She ran past the food cart and pushed it towards him as he pursued her. He stepped around it and continued after her. She was quick, this surprised him, her movements were almost feral. He caught her hair just as she reached the door. She would have found it locked, and he enjoyed the chase but was enraged by her duplicity.

“Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, little dove,” he growled at her as he dragged her back across the dining room, she made shuffling little steps to keep up. He stopped only to pick up the phone that had dropped and placed it on top of the tray once again. “I will not put up with these attempts to escape, there is no escaping this. The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be.”

He wrapped his fist in her hair tighter and lifted her into his arms. He walked down the winding hallway back to the room at the centre of the apartment and deposited her unceremoniously on the floor. She pushed herself up to sitting, and he had to give her credit as she looked up at him with her huge, beautiful eyes. She hadn’t shed a single tear.





Chapter Sixteen – Columbia




It had been a failed attempt at escape, pathetic at best. She hadn’t planned it; she had actually been enjoying their breakfast when her guilt kicked in. She shouldn’t be sitting here with a sociopathic rapist while Eden needed her. She’d made the rushed attempt on the door because she didn’t know how else to find her way back. The apartment was larger than she had first imagined, and even now back in the windowless room where he kept her captive, she had no idea which way was up. Even if she managed to get through the door, she wouldn’t know which way to run.

He was too fast for her though; it was almost as if he’d expected her to make a break for it, even when the plan had just hatched in her head seconds before her dash. He’d dragged her by the hair back to the room and was now standing over her. She didn’t cry, she remembered how much he hated it so she shut herself down when he got a hold of her. She knew at this point he wasn’t going to kill her, or if he did it would be for something bigger than a small attempt at escape.

She would have to settle in and accept his demands today, in order to keep him from escalating his rage. She recognized that switch in him; she possessed one herself. When she cut her skin, she turned something off inside of her, the thing that fought for self-preservation and survival. When she played at slashing her skin and opening the veins on her wrists, she went dead inside. She could see that happening to him, from the charming, bright-eyed man at breakfast to the flat-eyed monster he was now.

She needed to get him to flip the switch and realize where he was, who she was, so she knew not to push him.

She held her arms up, exposed her soft underbelly so to speak, and said, “I’m sorry, I only want to see my sister.”

He pulled her to standing and stared down at her. She could see the struggle inside of him; his eyes betrayed the turmoil he was fighting with. On one side she knew he wanted to smash her down with the back of his hand and fuck her right there, choke her to death and toss her body in the trash. On the other side there was some part of him that she had touched earlier, with her stories and kindness. She had seen this part of him during their conversation. Her heart was pounding and she felt like she could barely breathe because the air was so thick with his indecision.

The good side won, she saw his face relax and his eyes go back to normal. They lost the flatness, and the light returned. She could have clapped in relief when she saw him return. His voice was still emotionless when he said, “I understand, I had a sister once,” and led her to the wooden cross in the centre of the room. He pulled her arms up and clicked a metal clip shut on her wrist cuffs. “She was older than me, by five years. When I killed our father she was seventeen and already too far gone to be saved. He had done worse to her than he ever did to me, and she turned to heroin to escape her life. I was lucky. In Russia there are more options for men looking to change their lives, women are relegated to a limited number of professions. I was able to kill the bastard and run for the streets. I survived, she did not.”

Columbia could feel his pain as he spoke, “I’m so sorry,” she said and looked at his face. She wondered what things his father had done to be killed, but had an idea the two of them had more in common than she had initially imagined. He wasn’t looking back at her, but above her at the cuffs on her wrists or some other distant spot. His undamaged side was towards her and she studied his face, marveled at his classic good looks. He was truly a beautiful man, full of grace and self-possession that most men lacked. He had a timeless quality about him, in another lifetime he would have been an actor or model, recognized internationally and lauded for his appearance. In another life, he wouldn’t have been saddled with such tragedy. “What was her name?” she asked when he didn’t speak.

He looked at her, as though he’d forgotten where he was. “Galina,” he said, “her name was Galina and she liked milk on her strawberries and she smelled of the woods after the rain. I loved her when I was a child.”

“I’m sure you still do,” she said and left it at that. She lacked words to convey the emotion she felt, to let him know how much his pain meant to her. He looked at her for a long moment, and shook his head with the slightest movement.

“Yes, of course I do,” he said brusquely. “Now let’s get on with your training today.”

She knew a moment had passed, but she felt honoured to have been given the memory of a girl who smelled of rain and loved milk on her strawberries.

*****

“Are you going to try and escape again?” he demanded.

She couldn’t help herself, she didn’t know why she battled him or didn’t just lie about it, but some dark, strange part of her thrust out her lower jaw and said, “Yes, the first chance I get.”

He laid into her ass with the crop and she cried out. He had her facing the wooden cross, her hands stretched up above her and her naked body glistening with the sweat of her exertion. She had been answering the same way for almost an hour now, and he was getting more and more frustrated. They’d started off with small punishments, pinches and barehanded slaps for her impertinence.

But now, after answering him for the fifth time, he was laying into her. If she was being completely honest, there was a part of her that loved it. It gave her the same sensation and physical release she received from cutting, but without the long-term damage. Had she known about this a couple of years back she might have saved herself some of the worst damage. She could have found somebody to hurt her instead of hurting herself.

He stopped his attack on her, lowered the riding crop and stood behind her, breathing as though he’d just been for a run. Her skin stung and she had hot tears rolling down her cheeks, but she felt light, elated and almost turned on.

The last part disgusted her, how could this turn her on? Had the years of suffering her father’s rape actually crafted her into some kind of sick creature who could only orgasm after being beaten? Her face felt hot from the tears and the shame.

“Are you ready to submit to me? Beg me to fuck you?” he asked, his hot breath caressed the skin on her neck and he pressed himself against her naked flesh. She could feel his erection pressing into her, and she knew she was close to asking him for it. She wanted to see him naked, to touch him and taste him. She just didn’t want to beg him for this. Some shred of dignity, or some spark of defiance, whatever it was...she just wasn’t there...yet.

“I never will,” she lied, and tensed up to receive the blows. They didn’t come; instead he stroked her spine with the tip of his finger and sent little shocks along her body with his touch. She was beginning to recognize his pattern of anger, punishment, followed by pleasure and kindness. It must be from some Russian mobster handbook on treating your kidnap victims, but she had to admit, it really worked.

“I beg to differ,” he whispered and drew his tongue along her neck. She shivered from the sensation and felt the hair on her arms go prickly. Her nipples tightened and were rock hard, her pussy was slick with her own juices and he hadn’t even done anything to her beyond the whip and small strokes with his finger and tongue. She felt him press harder against her and she leaned her head against his chest, her hair fell down her back and pressed in between them, effectively pinning her like that.

He rocked against her, grinding himself against the cleft of her ass. She could feel the fine fabric of his expensive suit, it was soft, his shirt was soft, her hair was prickly and his cock was hard. Thoughts began to drop off in her mind until just a few remained. The sensation of their bodies moving together, his breath on her neck and her growing need to have him inside of her again.

“I can’t,” she breathed raggedly, “I can’t explain it, but I just...I can’t…” She almost sobbed with her contradictory emotions. Her need was slowly overtaking her desire to fight back though, and she knew he could sense it.

He reached up and unclipped her from the wooden beam. Her hands dropped down, he stepped back and pulled her around to face him. She looked up at his face and was astonished to see he matched her feelings of desire. His face was mask of lust, of need, and control. “I still don’t believe you,” he said and applied pressure to the top of her shoulders. She guessed his intention and dropped to her knees in front of him.

“What would you have me do?” she asked and looked up at him from under her thick lashes. She knew what she was doing, she knew she would look stunning from this angle and she worked it to her advantage.

“Give me your hands,” he commanded. She lifted them up to him and he clicked the cuffs together, her hands were bound. She settled back down on her feet and dropped her hands to her lap. She was entranced as he untucked the front of his shirt, unzipped his pants and pulled out a cock that seemed unreal it was so large. She couldn’t help herself, her eyes widened and she blinked. It was also aesthetically pleasing, she would never tell him this, but she loved the look of it. She was also thankful it apparently hadn’t been damaged in the attack.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked in an innocent voice.

“You know what I want, open your mouth,” he said and she obeyed. He gripped his thick shaft with his hand and ran the tip of his cock along her lips, upper then lower, and pushed against her mouth. She traced her tongue along the slit, and the head that he had shoved into her. He grunted, a low, thick sound, an animal sound that weakened her knees. She was glad to be on the floor already, or she might have fallen down.

“Come on, little dove,” he said in a harsh whisper, “open yourself up to me. Give me what’s mine, I own your mouth.”

She loosened her jaw and slid her tongue around the head of his cock, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair and forced himself inside. She was unprepared for the strong reaction when he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, but he held himself there, he was relentless. “That’s right,” he said and didn’t move, didn’t pull back, “relax your throat, you can do this.”

His encouragement had a strange effect on Columbia, she breathed through her nose and forced herself to suppress another gag that was rising. She closed her eyes and opened her throat, allowing him to push further. He pulled back and she tightened her lips around the shaft, creating a suction. He groaned and said, “Fuck, yes, good girl. You’ve got it now.”

She was oddly excited by his approval, so she imagined how his cock would feel buried deep inside her pussy, and she shivered at the thought. She was surprised at how much she wanted this, all the fear and anxious desire to escape had left her mind, and now she concentrated on this moment with him. He wrapped his other hand in her hair and held her tight against him.

She could feel her saliva mixing with his precum, so she swallowed. He thrust forward at this and said, “Yes, drink me.” She almost writhed at his demand and swallowed again with the head of his cock firmly set against the back of her throat. He was breathing heavier, and started to slowly fuck her mouth, sliding in and out with rhythmic precision. Her lips made a wet sucking sound and his body smelled of fresh soap. He had showered for her.

He wasn’t going to kill her, she knew this with certainty, and in this moment she never wanted to leave. A dark corner of her mind considered the possibility that this was all part of her sickness, all part of the horrible things that had been done to her for years. That somehow it skewed her sense of being and allowed Dimitri to savage her body and claim it as his own.

But there was a bigger part of her now that wanted this, wanted to be owned by him, used by him...she just wanted him.

She made a small noise in the back of her throat as he withdrew, expressing her willingness as best she could. She wasn’t ready to beg him yet, but she did want him desperately. “You like this?” he asked and paused, leaving only a couple of inches inside her mouth. She tried to nod, but was unable to move her head that far, between his hand in her hair and his dick in her mouth, she was trapped. And she loved it.

In a bizarre twist, she found that the more he pinned her down, the more freedom she felt. It didn’t matter right now if this was from her father’s attacks, her own sick mind or too much internet porn, she didn't fucking care. All that mattered was the look on his face as he fucked her mouth slowly, holding her still and using her. She knew by the way he looked at her that he was no longer just using her body, he was trying to find a piece of her he’d never needed from anyone else. The scarred side of his face was in shadow, but she could still see some of it. The balance of ruin and perfection he wore on his body was perfectly poetic to every aspect of her life.

She felt him tense up and wished her hands were free so she could grab the backs of his calves and feel his body prepare to cum. He was breathing harder and staring intently into her eyes. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” he rasped, “come on, that’s good, just like that, open up and drink me down, little dove.” By now she was able to take as much of his cock that would fit, her mouth was working his shaft like a pussy and she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock as he pumped against her. She was proud of her newfound skill, and proud that she could bring him pleasure.

He stopped thrusting, she felt his cock jerk upwards and he came with a ferocity that astonished her. He pulled on her hair so hard that it brought tears to her eyes; he let out a long groan and said, “Fuck, yes, that’s my girl. You feel so good.” He then broke out into Russian, said a few words and leaned his head back. She wished she knew what he said, they sounded unbelievably sexy and she wanted to know everything that was going on in his head right now.

She swallowed every drop, she didn’t think she could, but she wanted to drink everything he gave her so she would please him. She could only think about pleasing him.

He released the grip on her hair and she felt him pull out of her mouth. She moved her lower jaw from side to side, loosening up her tense muscles. She had never worked that hard on a blowjob and she could feel the after effects. It had been worth it, he was stroking her hair and looking down at her full of satisfaction. He pulled her chin up to look at her face and said, “There you go, I knew you had it in you.”

He slipped his now soft cock into his pants, zipped them up and reached down to help her stand. She still had to look up at him, he was so much taller than her, and her knees felt wobbly from being so turned on, but she loved being this close to him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her, she felt vulnerable for needing him. She didn’t know if she liked feeling this way.

“Are you ready to beg for more?” he asked, his voice annoyingly detached. She didn’t understand how he didn’t want to get inside her cunt as much as she wanted him in there. But that stupid stubborn shred of self-respect, that defiance that had kept her alive wouldn’t let her say yes.

“No,” she whispered and looked into his eyes, daring him to make her say yes.

“We’ll see about that,” he growled and lifted her into his arms. She went limp, this time with lust and not fear. She melted against him and marveled at how small she felt in embrace.

He laid her on the wooden platform in the centre of the room, the place she had laid trembling in fear. The significance was not lost on her; this was almost a ritualistic space, one where he had tortured her for information and where he would now torture her by using her lust against her.

He unclipped her cuffs and she rolled to her back, trembling with excitement. He didn’t say a word, so she decided to keep her mouth shut. She was very close to giving in to his demands, to begging him for his cock, but she wanted to hold out for as long as possible.

He went to the cabinet and took out a crop. It was similar to the one he had used on her previously, but shorter with a metal handle. It had a similar bulb on the end and looked almost elegant in spite of it being an instrument of pain.

She could feel the lashes on her ass burn from the pressure of the table. It was oddly pleasant, a reminder that he had worked so hard on her body.

He held the crop in one hand and tapped the palm of the other. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. “I see we no longer need to tie you to the table,” he said in a smug, amused tone. “You are craving something from me, aren’t you?”

She stared him down, answering yes in her head but her lips refused to obey. That stubborn streak was still winning out.

“Could you be craving more pain? Do you love the sting of the crop so much already?” he said and laid the whip across her stomach. He lifted it and brought it down hard. It stung but didn’t cause enough pain for her to react. She kept her hands at her sides and kept eye contact.

“Or are you craving pleasure?” he asked and stroked her thigh with his fingers. His touch was fire; he left a burning brand along her skin where he traced his finger. “Do you know why I prefer a crop?” he asked.

“No, I can’t imagine why,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice nonchalant. It was hard though, she wanted to roll her eyes back in her head and writhe like a woman possessed. She just didn’t want him to know that he had that effect on her. Not yet anyways.

“I use a crop because it gives a nice weight, whips sting and leave beautiful patterns on the skin. Much like your scars,” he said and traced the roadmap of healed slashes on her abdomen. “I don’t use a paddle because it seems too playful, I use a whip because this is something you would use on a horse, and animal...property. I use it to remind you that you are now my property, and you will give me what I want.”

“And what is that?” she replied and raised her own eyebrow to drive home that she was totally in control of herself. She realized this was not something she would be able to claim for much longer.

“I want you to want me. I want you to beg me, to need me and to crave me,” he said and stared down at her, his hand resting on her quivering stomach. “I will be inside of you, night and day, you will never escape your need for me.”

He took the crop and lashed her several times up and down her thighs. She gasped out of surprise, but closed her eyes and let the sensations travel up her body. This was like cutting, the intense pain followed by a rush of endorphins. She never imagined being hit would give her the same high.

Dimitri stopped as quickly as he had started, and immediately went to work to bring her pleasure. He ran the crop along her body; the metal knob was cold at first but warmed up on her flesh. He massaged her gently with it, circling her breasts and trailed it down to her pussy. He parted her legs and she squeezed her eyes tighter, thankful for the dim lighting in the room. She felt exposed and uncertain, but needed to see where he was going.

He took the crop and teased her clit with it, the knobby end slid up and down the vertical folds of her pussy while he fingered her hole. He dropped the crop and reached up to grab her throat. A jolt of panic raced through her, but she knew at this point he wasn’t going to kill her; he would never kill her. The utter loss of control and helplessness thrilled her in a way she never thought possible.

He began to thumb her clit with two fingers inside, matching rhythm. His hand closed tighter around her throat and she started to slip away, into the oblivion she usually went to when experiencing physical pleasure.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he ordered and squeezed her neck, hard. He released the pressure when she snapped her lids open and stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said to appease him, but in reality this was more foreign to her than the abuse of her body thus far. She didn’t know how to maintain her conscious acceptance of what was going on with her body when she started to reach the heights of orgasm. Her usual route was retreat when the physical pleasure took hold. Previously she had been ashamed and disgusted when she felt this way, but now she was being forced to enjoy it.

“You will be present while I am working with your body, do you understand?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she whispered and nodded her head as much as the limited mobility of having his hand around her neck would allow.

“I want you to feel me,” he said and thrust his fingers into her pussy with each word for emphasis. He pinned her tighter against the platform without actually preventing her breath from flowing. She was panting in shallow gasps but more from the intensity of the moment than lack of oxygen.

She couldn’t help it, she closed her eyes again and began to retreat. It was too much to handle, him inside of her and holding her down. She wanted to feel him, she needed to feel him, but years of conditioning worked against her.

The hand around her throat squeezed tighter and he ordered, “Open your fucking eyes, look at me while I’m inside of you.”

She complied and forced her eyes open, blinking rapidly when she felt tears springing forth from the humiliation she was experiencing.

“I am inside of you, I own you now,” he continued and relaxed his grip on her neck. He continued to attack her pussy with his hand and waves of pleasure shot up her back and down her legs. She curled her toes and fought the need to close her eyes. “Can you feel that?” he asked and thrust his fingers inside again. “I am inside of you, I have your life in my hands. I could close my hand and break your neck, but I don’t...I pleasure you instead. I bring you pleasure, I bring you your life. Never forget that.”

She nodded and moaned, pushed her hips against his hand, wanting more of him. He added a third and fourth finger, but maintained the thumb pressure on her clit. She was moaning and sighing, her hands clenching and unclenching as her body responded to his demands.

She felt it then, like a dam breaking. Years of torture, self loathing, the night time rapes, the pathetic unrequited crush on Stuart, his disgust in the truck, her cutting and hating and giving up her life for Eden. All of it came crashing forth and hit her like a speeding vehicle.

She emitted a high-pitched gasp that sounded almost surprised. Everything came to the front of her brain at once and she wanted it gone. She wanted Dimitri to exorcise the demons of her past and force her to move beyond them. She wanted him to hold her in place, examine her entire shitty life and let the worst parts flow out of her, flow forth from some deep well of self hatred and exit her body.

He was drawing the poison from the wound and she needed him to continue this time. She needed him to do this for her; she was convinced of it. She didn’t care where it was coming from, some might call it codependent, some might call it Stockholm Syndrome...some might even call it fucking sexual healing; she just knew she needed it to happen.

Her eyes were wide open now and staring into his. He had a bemused expression on his face, as though he hadn’t yet realized the importance of this event. He loosened the hand on her throat and let her rise towards him, cradled her in his arm and he fucked her pussy with his other hand.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voiced cracked and she suppressed a sob.

“Yes, what?” he asked, watching her face, waiting for her reply.

“Yes, I want to stay,” she said, “I want to stay with you, to come with you, I want to be with you. I want to fuck you, I want your cock.” She sobbed then as she admitted her need to him...to herself. In such a short time Dimitri had transformed her, from a stunted, terrified little rabbit to a woman...a woman who knew what she wanted and at this exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to come.

But she felt him pull out. He intended to torture her again, withhold her orgasm. She couldn’t let it happen, he had realized something was different this time, but she knew he didn't understand how important this was.

She needed to let her pussy flow, cover his hand with her juices and let him set her free. She needed to burn everything rotten in her mind and let this new acceptance of her perversion take root.

But he was withdrawing; she could sense it in his body language. She could not let that happen. “Not this time, no,” she screamed and grabbed his arms. She pulled herself up closer to him and registered his surprise with satisfaction. She bucked her hips hard against his hand, enveloping him with her cunt and hung off him. Realization hit him the moment she sank her teeth into his bicep and screamed her orgasm. She bit hard; she felt him wince and admired his control. He did not pull back, did not push her away.

She kept her eyes open and stared right at the Bratva tattoo of the Virgin Mary as she came, fully aware and present in her body, for the very first time. She panted through her clenched teeth and rolled his flesh in her mouth. He groaned and whispered, “That’s it, now I have you, little dove. That’s my girl, come on, there you are,” as her pleasure peaked. She hung there on the precipice, the mid point in something new, hovering for a moment between who she was and who she was going to be.

He held his fingers still inside of her and circled his thumb slowly around her swollen clit. At once she felt a rush of energy coming from somewhere deep inside of her and she was released. She felt as though she left her body, as though she was looking down at this magnificent beast of a man, all muscles and tattoos and rough edges, and felt her heart swell. She didn’t even know if he knew what he had done. He had given her the freedom she so desired, by taking all control; he had released her from the horrors that had haunted her.

Her consciousness slammed back down into her body and felt a gush of juice flowing from her pussy. She opened her teeth and slid her tongue along the skin where she had bitten. She could feel the ridged indentations of her bite mark and heard his sharp intake of breath and she sucked. He slowly withdrew his hand from inside of her, pausing when she twitched and clenched her aftershocks against his flesh. He finally pulled it out and she knew he must be covered in the liquid evidence of her intense orgasm.

She looked up at him, almost embarrassed but past any sense of humiliation at this point. Her hair was tangled and wet with her sweat and he took his finger and brushed a tendril from her eyes, like a lover. She could smell the sweet tangy scent of herself on his hand as it passed her face.

“Now that is what I wanted to hear,” he said and smiled at her. This was the first genuine smile she had seen and his face radiated with it. He was a handsome man to begin with, but when his smile reached his eyes and they shone with his approval, she felt as though her fate were sealed.

She would be his; there was no other option for her. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, the depths of hell, through fire and suffering just to be with him. She would never let him go.





Chapter Seventeen – Dimitri




When she came at him like a ferocious little wild cat, he had been taken by surprise. He thought they were going to settle into another slow build up where he advanced, she retreated and they repeated the process until she broke down and he denied her pleasure again.

She had been abused in the past; tortured even if she was the one who had done the cutting, some fucking bastard had been the catalyst for her to destroy herself. He hated that man almost as much as he hated Sergei, every time he looked at her body, he felt an overwhelming desire to tear that man apart and let her bathe in his blood.

He thought she was helpless until she roared her need and sank her teeth into his arm. The first shock of pain had startled him; he’d almost slammed her back down and dropped his fist in her face. If he hadn’t been deep inside her cunt at that point, he might just have done this. The pain elevated him though, his cock was raging hard as he played with her, the sight of her wiggling around on the end of his arm was almost enough to make him lose his mind, but her bite had taken it to the next level.

The look on her face had been ethereal. She never closed her eyes, even though he could tell she was fighting to keep them open. She stared at his arm, his tattoo, as though letting it guide her through some dark places. He realized then how important this was for her, and continued to fuck her cunt with his hand, kept his thumb on her clit. Her intensity was almost otherworldly and he knew if he pulled away now, something in her would be broken. He was driven by her need for him; he pushed through the pain of her teeth in his flesh and took her beyond anywhere she had ever been.

He had a suspicion that he had been part of something big with her, a transformation of sorts. She looked completely different after she came. Her eyes were shining when she released his skin and sucked it tenderly. She looked up at him with her lips on his arm and he knew he had to have her at last. He knew he had to plunge his cock inside of her and release his own building madness. Everything he had been through in his life had led him to this moment. Every woman he’d turned away from, every whore he’d paid and sent on her way...every single horrific thing that had happened to him came to this exact moment and he was overcome with a singular thought...to make her his, to claim her heart, body and soul.

He watched her face as she came back down to earth from the heights she had reached. She licked her lips and met his gaze again. Her eyes were lit from within, the look of a woman who had just discovered the source of her power, her pleasure. He wanted take her there, on the platform, but could not. It was too cold, too sterile, and she deserved so much more.

His arm ached from her bite; he brushed her hair away and rubbed the wound. It would leave a bruise, and potentially a permanent mark. She saw him do this and drew back, fearful of his reaction to her aggression.

“No worries, little dove,” he reassured her, “It was worth the pain to hear you agree to my terms, to stay with me.” He stroked her hair and she settled down, he wanted her to trust him.

He’d never felt this way before, not in the years he’d been on the planet, not with any of the women he’d ever been with. The whores, the girls, the women...all of them had passed through his life like water through his hands, leaving not a mark on him. This girl though, Columbia, as beautiful and fragile as a little bird...he wanted to cup his hands and lose not a drop. He wanted to hold her in his arms and carry her through his life, never let her go.

She stretched, a small gesture, but one that emphasized the natural grace of her body. Her orgasm had left a flush on her skin and her scars stood out, red against the creamy white. She was beautiful in the light, the sweat glistening on her forehead and a smug, content smile tugging at her lips.

“I want you to fuck me, Dimi,” she said and looked up at him from under her long, thick lashes.

“What did you call me?” he asked, it stirred some memory in him.

“Dimi, I think I shall call you Dimi,” she said and laughed, a tiny tinkle of sound that fell off her lips with an exhalation of breath.

“Not many people have ever called me that,” he said to her and swept her into his arms. She moved her hands to the back of his neck to support herself, but she was nothing for him to carry. “And I do believe I can fulfill your other request,” he added, kissed her parted lips, and carried her out of the room, down the long hallway and into his bedroom.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he walked.

“Away from here, to a place you deserve to be,” he replied.

He had never shared this space with another human being. He had never spent the night with a woman, or slept beside one. His constant paranoia forced him to keep his distance, even before he was being hunted by his former mentor. She moved her head and took it all in, the obvious masculine touches in the heavy furniture and the odd item thrown in by the designer to give it...something. Dimitri had never been good at paying attention when the nuances of design were thrown at him.

“This is your room?” she asked when he set her down.

“Yes, my space,” he said. “I felt compelled to bring you here to…” he trailed off. Where was his manhood? Where was his voice?

“I like it,” she replied. “It’s very you.”

He didn’t have a response; he was having the hardest time reconciling this situation. There was a woman in his realm, and a woman he thought of as his prisoner. Hours before he had thought nothing of punching her, making her bleed and beg for her life. He could have flicked his hand and ended her life as casually as ordering another drink in another life.

Not now. Now he felt like a giant in front of her, an awkward, bashful creature not worthy of her ethereal beauty.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked him. She stood directly in front of him, stuck her lower jaw out and defied him to say no. How could he at this point? He was so far gone that he was becoming a different person, a man unsure of his own heart.

He was sure he wanted to kiss her though, to taste her mouth on his and feel her breath in his lungs.

So he did.

He reached out and pulled her towards him, she melted against his body, their heat burning into each other. She sighed and smiled, looked up at him and waited. He held her there, gingerly, not wanting to harm her. The same hand that had slapped her face hours ago now touched her with the careful study of a blind man feeling her features for the first time.

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said at last when he had drunk his fill of looking at her.

“Now who’s the liar?” she replied and laughed, the same ironic disbelief that he had barked when she claimed him handsome.

“No, you really are quite breathtaking, little dove,” he insisted and wrapped his fingers in her hair, knotting it in his knuckles. She had her mouth partially open as though to reply, but the anticipation hung thick in the air and she thought better of it at the last moment.

Her mouth was soft and pliable, hot and wet and waiting for his. He lost his indecision the moment his lips touched hers and he snaked his tongue against hers. He kissed her then, with a force and intensity that surprised even him.

Dimitri wasn’t really a kisser. He had kissed women, but it was always more of a perfunctory path to get to other places. He was immediately consumed with kissing Columbia, he wanted to kiss her, he could imagine hours spent exploring her mouth with his. The heady feeling he had when he was entwining his tongue with hers was akin to several glasses of hard liquor. She intoxicated him.

She made a small noise against his tongue; her breath vibrated from her throat and touched his mouth. It was strange to him, that he felt her voice against his flesh, adding another dimension to this experience. He wanted to devour her with all of his senses, to consume every inch of her, never coming up for air.

She ran her hands over his body, up to his head and rubbed the hair coming in. He touched her naked body, felt the scars along her arms and rib cage, and knew he needed to feel them on his body.

He pulled away from her, took a step back and looked her up and down appreciatively. He had never felt this vulnerable, this exposed before another human being, but he wanted to open himself up to her. She sensed something in his hesitation and said, “I need to see your body, I want to see you.”

She reached up and started to unbutton his shirt. He put his hands on her wrists and said, “Wait.” He could feel the cold metal of her wrist cuffs against the heat of his palms, he claimed her and yet he was afraid. He feared her disgust, her judgment; in this moment he wanted her acceptance more than anything he’d ever wanted. And Dimitri had learned long ago that wanting anything would lead to crushing disappointment.

“I need to see all of you, Dimi,” she told him and continued to the next button. “Nothing you show me will scare me,” she added and undid the next button. “I want to feel our bodies together, I don’t care if yours is ruined, so is mine. I want to feel you against me. I need this.”

He helped her unbutton the rest, slid his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. He opened them wide and said, “Here I am.” He lowered them slowly and pulled her against him. Her breasts pressed against his flesh, his scars, he felt her heart beating against him in a fluttering betrayal of her own heightened emotional state.

She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes were breathtaking from this vantage point, and she said, “After everything you’ve done, taking ownership of me, beating me, almost killing me...and I scare you?” She laughed and reached for his pants.

“This scares me,” he told her and let her undo the button, slide the zipper down. “Wanting this scares me, Columbia. Wanting you…” he trailed off as she reached inside and grasped his cock in her tiny hand. She wrapped an arm around him and held him tight while sliding her hand along the shaft, playing with the head and exploring him.

She removed her hands, looked up at him again and said, “I like what I’ve seen so far,” and reached out to touch his stomach. She started with the healthy side, ran her hands along the smooth flesh and smiled. She then trailed her hands along his scars, the burned side of him. She was tender, careful; she knew this area would be more sensitive. He was alight with her touch; her fingers left trails of flame along his puckered flesh. He grabbed a handful of her hair and leaned to kiss her. She opened her mouth to him and he was lost in the whirlpool of sensation. Her own scars under his fingers, her hands on his burns, the feel of her tongue on his, and the taste of her mouth after she had swallowed him.

He needed to taste her. His urgency overcame any sense of hesitation, her acceptance removed all doubt and he wanted to plunge into this crazy, heady moment like he never had.

He stepped back and slid his pants off his hips, his boxer briefs followed. He was barefoot, so at last he was as naked as she. He liked the way she looked at him, she didn’t see his burns, she saw him and she wanted him.

“I need to taste you, little dove,” he said and swept her up in her arms. She giggled in surprise and he was immediately addicted to the sound. He needed to make her laugh more often.

He strode to the bed and laid her on her back, her feet at the edge of the mattress, she curled her toes in anticipation. His cock was raging hard, it took everything he had to not dive on top of her right then and fuck her like an animal. But he needed to taste her, he wanted to please her again, to make her come on his face and feel her need on his tongue.

He kneeled before her, spread her knees wide and crawled between them. She was staring down at him with a terrified look on her face. He almost laughed, after everything he’d done to her; this was when she managed to look the part of a captive about to be devoured? “Does this not please you?” he asked as he paused directly in front of her beautiful pussy. He could smell her earthy scent, his cock wanted to get in but his tongue was winning out this time.

“I’ve...I’ve never done this before,” she said and exhaled. He realized she had been holding her breath.

“You aren’t doing anything,” he reassured her. He reached up and stroked her face, ran his hand down her neck and settled on one of her breasts. He played with the nipple until it hardened under his attention, equal to his own hard cock. “I am going to be the one doing this. Your only job is to lean back, close your eyes if you must, and enjoy my face buried in your pussy, my tongue in your cunt.”

“May I watch?” she asked in a breathy voice.

“Oh yes, you most certainly may,” he said and smiled. She was a bold girl, this one. He pulled his hand off her breast and motioned to a pillow above her head, she wiggled a little and caught hold of it, put it under her head and settled in to admire his performance.

“This is...sexy,” she said, “I never thought seeing you like this would be such a turn on, but it is.” She sounded surprised as she discovered new territory. He wondered who she had slept with, he knew she was no virgin, but she seemed inexperienced. He suppressed the sudden urge to find each one of her previous lovers and put a bullet in the back of their heads. This was his now, and the thought of any other man enjoying his woman brought forth irrational rage.

“It is sexy because I am doing this for you,” he told her and mentally shook off the image of any other man on top of his beautiful little dove. “I want to give you this because I enjoy it as much as you do. I love your face when you cum,” he continued and parted her folds, just inches from his face. He marveled at the simple beauty of her pink flesh, opening for him, wet for him. He slid his finger up her inner folds and found her clit. He rubbed it gently, coaxing it to harden under his touch. He watched her as he did this, saw her get that far away look, then focus on his face. She smiled again, but didn’t leave, didn’t let her mind wander. He knew she was front and center and watching him between her legs.

He dove in like a starving man. Dimitri was not a pussy eater; he had done it in the past, mostly out of curiosity. In the Bratva, eating a cunt was seen as a weakness, a sure sign your cock wasn’t doing its job. Dimitri didn’t give a fuck about anything he had ever been told or ever thought about this act before he met Columbia. He wanted to cover his face in her, bury his tongue inside of her, make her scream his name and beg for more. Not out of any sense of ownership, this was not an exchange of sorts as it always had been for him, but out of the pure and simple desire to get as much of her as he could and give her as much as himself as possible.

To Dimitri, eating her pussy was an act of love, one that he felt in his heart as surely as he felt it in his cock. He was falling in love with this girl, this naive, beautiful girl who had crashed into his life with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. Words escaped him, so he showed her the only way he knew how; he gorged himself on pleasing her.

He slid a finger inside of her and followed it with his tongue. She gasped and pushed herself against his face so he dragged his tongue up her slit and found her clit. He fucked her pussy with his fingers and relentlessly sucked and nibbled her sensitive button until she was grabbing at his head and thrusting herself against his face. She moaned and gasped again, sighed and said, “Oh Dimitri, yes, that’s it,” as she started to reach her peak. He felt her cunt tense up from the inside and her hands dug into his skull. He thought about growing his hair longer so she could have something to hang onto when he pleasured her again.

Her entire body went stiff, she pushed herself up into a graceful arch of orgasm, her legs quivered and her pussy pulsed as she came.

At once she fell back onto the bed with an exhalation of air. He drew his fingers out of her, but left his tongue on her clit. He could feel her pulse in the engorged flesh; he ran the tip of his tongue along the bud and enjoyed her shuddering aftershocks.

“Oh my god,” she sighed and reached down to tug at him. “Come up here,” she said, “I want you to hold me.”

Dimitri pulled away from her wet pussy and slid his tongue up the length of her body. He nibbled her ear and pulled her into his arms. She was limp and satisfied, smiling as though she’d just won some amazing prize.

“You are beautiful when you cum,” he told her and brushed the hair from her forehead.

“You are a good liar,” she said and laughed, “but you look good with my pussy all over your face.”

He reached down and slipped his forefinger into her cleft, slid it up slowly and watched her eyes widen as he hit her clit. He brought it to his mouth, sucked it and said, “I look good because you are delicious,” and kissed her. His tongue found her warm and waiting, they fell into a fevered kiss and explored each other’s bodies with the palms of their hands. He felt her scars, her bumps, the roadmap of her life etched on her body, and his heart swelled with pride for her strength.

“I want to fuck you,” he said against her lips, their shared breath ending in laughter as she nodded.

“Are you going to beg for it? Beg me for my pussy?” she giggled and looked him in the eye, daring him to react.

“I will never,” he said and sat up. He climbed off the bed and smiled at her surprised expression. He rolled back the luxurious comforter and climbed into his familiar spot. He reclined against his pillows and stroked his cock, watching her with a grin on his face. She didn’t move, and began to look uncertain. “Come here,” he commanded and loved how quickly she responded. She flipped over and crawled up the bed on her hands and knees.

“Are you going to make me beg for you?” she purred and wiggled her ass as she moved. She stopped when she reached his side, looked at his cock, raised her brow and said, “Are you really going to make me beg?”

“No,” he said and sat up, pushed her onto her back and kept stroking his cock, “I am going to make you perform.”

“What do you mean?” she said and giggled, but cut herself off when he forced her knees apart and moved between them. He still had his cock in his hand and he looked down at her with the eyes of a hunter with his prey in sight.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded, and she moved her hand down to her cunt, she knew what he meant. She watched his eyes, glancing at his cock every few seconds, and started to play with herself.

“Like this?” she asked breathlessly, “Is this good?” She pulled her beautiful pink folds apart and exposed her glistening wet heat. He nodded, unable to speak, focused on her soft cunt. She used one hand to keep herself open, and ran the other one down her slit to find her entrance. She pushed the finger inside of herself, thrust it in a few times, and pulled it out. She brought it up to her mouth and sucked herself clean. “I do taste good,” she said and gave him a little smirk.

“Yes, you do,” he replied and pushed her legs farther apart. “Now I want to find out how you feel.”





Chapter Eighteen-Columbia




She wasn’t sure about playing with herself in front of Dimitri. She felt like part wild sexual goddess and part shy, fearful captive. She knew she pleased him; his face was intense and focused on her performance. She couldn’t take her eyes off his cock, she had sucked it, touched it, and now she wanted to fuck it. But it worried her, the massive size and his animalistic tendencies. Worried and excited her if she were being honest.

His body aroused her more than she thought possible, his scars were hauntingly beautiful and fascinating to her. She loved the added sensation of running her hands over them, feeling the smooth skin, hard muscle and patterned scars. It reminded her of the slashes that covered her own body, made her feel less self-conscious and more at ease.

She tried flirting with him, but he was too serious about this, so she became aware of the implication of the moment. She was going to feel his cock inside of her pussy, there was no other way to phrase it, this was a big deal. He was motionless between her legs, watching her like he expected her to do something. She tensed up and said, “Do you want me to keep touching myself?”

“No, little dove,” he told her, her heart melted every time he said it now, “I want you to come to me.”

Columbia pulled herself up and kneeled in front of him. Even on their knees, he towered over her; she was enthralled by his sheer size. “Now what,” she asked and looked up at him, looking obedient but feeling her nerves on fire with anticipation.

He didn’t answer; he pulled her up to him, sat back on his calves and brought her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his hips and felt his cock slide against the cleft of her ass. He kissed her deeply, ran his hands through her hair and pulled her up.

“I want to fuck you now,” he whispered in her ear. She could feel the heat of his breath on her lobe and shivered. “But I still want you to beg for it”

She was beyond caring at this point, she tossed whatever stubborn sense of self control out the window and replied, “Dimi, please, please fuck me, give me your cock. I am begging you, please.” To emphasize how much she wanted him inside of her, she reached down and grabbed the shaft, pulled it slowly to her entrance. “Please,” she breathed as the tip parted her cunt, ready to thrust upwards into her waiting heat. “Please fuck me, I need you to fuck me.”

He smiled, looked her in the eyes and said, “I thought you’d never ask,” as he pushed upwards. She felt split apart; every nerve ending was alight with the sensation of being stretched by his massive cock. She wanted this to never end, the feeling was divinity and desperation wrapped up in an intense need to feel more from him. He was lifting her now, impaling her up and down on his hardness, taking control even though she was on top. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Their gaze was hot and she couldn’t look away. She wanted to know him like she had never known another human being. She wanted to be fucked by him, fuck him and consume him until she knew his every thought, his every desire, his very heart.

She was making unintelligible panting noises interspersed with cries of surprised pleasure. She rolled her head back and let her hair fall, brushing her own ass as it swung from side to side in tempo with their movements.

Dimitri hooked one hand behind her back and held her tight against him. He took his other hand and reached up to wrap it around her throat. She started, not expecting violence in the act of love, but kept her head back when she realized she wanted him to choke her.

He was fucking her cunt and with each thrust he tightened his grip on her throat. “You are mine,” he grunted as he pumped into her pussy. “You are mine and nobody else’s. I own your body and now I own your mind. Don’t you ever forget that.”

She sighed and accepted this, she knew she was his and there was no point denying it. She might as well scream at the mountains to get out of her way. Dimitri had managed to pry open her hardened heart and tear it apart in the course of hours. He managed to lick her wounds and piece her back together in the course of a day. “Yes,” she said and cried out, “Yes, I am yours,” as he fucked her.

She felt her orgasm building, from that deep place she had only recently discovered, in the back of her mind or the base of her spine; she didn’t know exactly where she drew from. It was starting to rise and her body began to stiffen up. Her head no longer lolled backwards and Dimitri loosened his grip on her neck. She lunged forward as she peaked and bit his shoulder as she came.

She came hard. He still had his hand around her throat, but she could breathe as she ground her teeth against his skin. She imagined it must hurt him, but he simply exhaled and said, “Fuck, that’s it, I can feel your pussy fighting against me, trying to keep me inside of you...you’re hungry for my cock.”

Her orgasm came in waves this time, traveling up her body and undulating up and down her spine. She ground her pussy against his cock and her teeth against his flesh until she had spent herself. She released her teeth and licked the bite mark, running her tongue along the ridges as he slowed his thrusting inside of her. His hand tightened around her neck and he pushed her back. She barely had time to recover before he was driving into her again, harder than before, with more purpose.

“Your cunt is amazing,” he said and breathed hard, “I could die right now and be a happy man.” He pinned her in place with his hand and held her around her waist with the other arm. She was his to fuck and had very little option other than to enjoy it.

Seconds after her orgasm she felt a new one building. This one felt more savage, animalistic. He was fucking her and she had no way to stop him, she could feel her throat getting tighter and tighter and her breath came in shallow gasps. Pinpoints of light appeared at the edge of her vision and she felt like floating. The world was starting to darken in spots along her line of sight. “Dimi,” she gasped, her voice raspy, barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” he said and slowed his fucking, concern in his eyes. He loosened his grip and waited for her to go on.

“Don’t stop,” she said and smiled, “don’t ever stop.”

“Oh, little dove,” he replied and tightened his hand once more. “I love how you’ve given yourself to me,” he continued and pushed up against her cunt again, building speed as he went. “You know your place is with me, by my side, but you know I own your life. I could take this away from you at any moment,” he said and squeezed hard, causing her to whimper in pain. He released immediately and kept his pace. “I won’t though, I won’t choke the life out of you because you trust me, you trust me, little dove, don’t you?” he added and looked into her eyes.

“I do,” she whispered and struggled for a full breath. “I trust you with my life, my heart, with everything. I belong to you.”

With that his entire body tensed and he held her tight against his cock. She could feel him pulse deep inside her pussy, filling her with his hot cum, adding to her slick juices. “Fuck, Columbia, I could get used to needing you,” he said as he released her throat and brought her body against his. He held her tight, she could feel their hearts frantically trying to keep time as he stroked her hair and nuzzled her neck.

She felt drained and yet energized, it was an odd sort of in between feeling. She wanted to lay in his arms and snooze, but she wanted to jump up and down on his bed and yell, “I fucking love you!” to him and the mountains beyond.

He tilted her face up to his, ran his hand along her cheek and up to her hair. He seemed to be in the same mesmerized state she found herself in. “You are so beautiful,” he said and kissed her nose. “It seems surreal that you are here with me now.”

“I know,” she replied and smiled, “I can’t believe you didn’t kill me.”

She immediately regretted saying it, his eyes looked pained and he broke their gaze. He looked over her head, to the distant mountains and said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you…this place...sometimes I just feel so out of control, so crazy.”

She pulled his face back to look her directly in the eyes. “Don’t apologize,” she told him. “You didn't kill me and that is all that matters. How were you supposed to know I was just an idiot dropping into your lap in the name of some stupid political shit? You had every right to be paranoid, cautious.”

“But you,” he said and laughed, “I mean you are gorgeous, but obviously not a killer. I sometimes think being alone with my thoughts for so long has made me a little mad. You bring clarity to the world though, you’ve brought me back into focus.”

He picked her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed, her head resting on the luxurious pillows. He picked up her foot and started to massage it, played with her toes and ran his hand along her calf. “You are perfect,” he said and moved to her thigh, passed over her slit and brushed it with the back of his hand. He laughed when she instantly responded by tilting her hips to offer him access to her inner self. “I think,” he continued running his hand along her body, “that we should order something to eat before you waste away to nothing. I’ve become so single minded living here that I don’t want to fuck you to death.”

She reached up and pulled him down beside her, melted against him and curled up in his arms. “It would be one hell of a way to go though,” she said and looked up at him. He was smiling at her, the smile that reached his eyes, and she said, “I can’t imagine a better way to exit this world.”

His face grew serious and he told her. “I don’t want to talk about you leaving, not this world nor my apartment. I don’t want to think of my life without you in it.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” she said, surprised by how easy this felt. She hesitated and bit her lower lip, missing Eden and even her mother in a sharp jolt.

“What troubles you?” he asked and rubbed her lower back. She loved his attentiveness and almost purred when he touched her.

“I’m thinking about my little sister, Eden,” she told him, “I’m the only one she has to take care of her.”

He was silent, his hands moved, slow, gentle circular motions along her spine, but he said nothing. She knew he was considering what she had said, contemplating how he should reply. “I will send them money, I will help them.”

She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, and she knew she wanted to stay with Dimitri, but she still felt compelled to go home for some reason. She was afraid to ask though, not wanting to anger him. “That will do, I suppose,” she said and sighed. “I would like to see them though, before we go.”

“I am sorry, little dove,” he said and drew his hands along her spine, sending waves of warm delight through her body. She was utterly relaxed physically, but mentally she was plotting how she could convince him to let her go for an hour even. “Now that you’re with me, I can’t risk it, I can’t risk you leaving.” He stopped his languid movements, cupped her chin and tilted her face towards his. “I hope you understand, perhaps when we are settled in Hong Kong you could send for them to visit. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want to lose you. I take this seriously, I can’t let you go.”

She smiled at his declaration, and said, “I do understand. It’s hard on me, that’s all. I hate the thought of Eden being in danger…” she trailed off, not wanting to talk about the thing she was afraid of. Her father had no place in her world now; he had no power when she lay in Dimitri’s arms. Instead, she closed her eyes and snuggled against his broad chest. She felt him reach down and pull the covers over them, and she fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of her own breathing.

*****

“Here, try this,” Dimitri said and held out a blob of something dark on a spoon. Columbia delicately took it in her mouth and let him feed her. The texture put her off, and it felt like something popped in her mouth, but the flavour was rich and buttery.

“I like it,” she said and wiped her lips, “what was it?”

“Russian black caviar,” he said and laughed when she widened her eyes.

“Fish eggs?” she mouthed in an exaggerated pantomime.

“Yes, fish eggs,” he replied.

“I’ve had fish eggs before, I get them at sushi sometimes, but they taste nothing like that,” she said, “it is delicious.” He looked pleased at her approval and slid the knife into the small tin containing more. They were on the roof top deck taking their late lunch in the brilliant sunshine. A gentle breeze brought sounds of the city from down below and she watched the seagulls float on the updrafts. “It’s strange up here, isn’t it?” she said after a few moments of quiet.

“How do you mean?” he asked and handed her a small delicate cracker with more caviar. She felt positively scandalous, like something from a reality TV show, caviar and champagne on top of a multi million-dollar penthouse on the waterfront.

“I mean, it’s a weird juxtaposition, you feel so free and light up here, but you’re really just on top of an expensive cage, aren’t you?” she said and immediately regretted her choice of words when she saw his face go dark.

“I can’t let you go,” he said, his voice low, “even if I wanted to, I can’t. I don’t know how to explain it, but my mind has decided that you belong to me, and my heart…” he trailed off, apparently unwilling to continue his confession.

“My heart feels it too,” she said and touched the top of his hand to reassure him. “I was just being silly, waxing poetic to listen to the sound of my own words. I talk too much, my father always said-” she stopped speaking, not wanting to invoke that part of her past in this beautiful setting.

“You’re not being silly, I don’t think that’s possible,” he said and took her hand in his, “and please keep talking, I love the sound of your voice.” He bent and kissed her hand, slipped his tongue along her skin and sent a shiver down her spine to her pussy. She could feel herself growing warm and wet with his every touch. “I need to know though,” he said and she tensed up, “I want you to tell me about this father of yours. Is he the one who drove you to do...that to yourself? He is the Wolf in your story?”

She nodded, and looked away. On the distant breeze she could see two birds riding the drafts. They drifted effortlessly as she watched; they appeared to be crows, black against the blue sky. Suddenly one of them plunged straight down, out of sight. She was alarmed by this sudden drop, but had faith the crow survived. It knew what it was doing and wouldn’t kill itself on the wind.

“He is,” she said, “he’s the Wolf in my fairytale. You could never be, you scare me, but not like that.”

He looked chagrinned, and she knew he wanted more information. “What did he do?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“He did anything and everything he wanted,” she replied, unsure what to tell him. She had never given voice to the things that her father had done in the dark in her room. “He’s not really my father though, if that helps. He’s my stepfather; he married my mom when I was pretty young. He started on me right away, and after my sister was born he kept it up. I felt like if I could keep his interest, he would leave her alone.”

“You are incredible,” he said, his eyes full of admiration. She was relieved; she was terrified to see disgust on his face. “You sacrificed yourself, your life and your dreams to keep her safe. You are one of the strongest people I have ever known.”

She straightened in her chair, buoyed by his approval and appreciation. She didn’t know she could open up like this and not be shunned, it meant a lot to her. “I think Eden will be able to take care of herself,” she said, “I’ve been keeping my father at arm’s length for a while now, and he’s not turned to Eden because she’s a mouthy little thing. I’m really proud of her.”

“I’m proud of you,” Dimitri said and leaned forward in his chair to kiss her. He held her face in his hands, his huge strong hands that could tear apart anything that threatened her ever again. He held her with all the reverence and tenderness you reserve for something precious, and in that moment Columbia felt precious and beautiful. She was addicted to how Dimitri made her feel. His tongue was demanding and pinned hers immediately, then entwined itself around hers, endlessly. The kiss felt endless, like they could fall off the side of the building and plunge into their own updraft, drift on the wind. She felt like that crow, like she was going to drop out of the sky at a terrifying, heart stopping speed, but knew she would be safe, she would land on her feet. Or Dimitri would catch her...either way, she would never crash again.

He pulled back and stroked her cheek, a small smile on his face. “Shall we finish this lunch here, or would you like to take some back to our room?”

“Our room?” she laughed, “I like the sound of that.” She picked up the champagne, stood up, balanced a plate of cheese and crackers on her arm and said, “Yes, let’s finish this down there.”





Chapter Nineteen – Dimitri




He was a man obsessed. He didn’t think Columbia understood how obsessed he had become with her in such a short time. He supposed all signs pointed to it, and if the myriad of daytime talk shows he’d rotted his brain with from time to time were correct, he could be accused of being codependent or falling too fast.

But he was falling, he fell. He could feel her in his bones, his marrow, his blood...his cock. Every time he thought about how close he had come to killing her, he wanted to tear at his flesh and howl at his near self-destruction, for if she were gone from him now it would be an act against himself.

They sat in the sun and talked, ate, laughed. He hadn’t been this easy around anyone for...as long as he could remember. He loved making her giggle, the way she held her hand up and covered her mouth when she was eating, he loved the way she pushed her thick, black hair over her shoulder when she was leaning forward to tell him something serious. He loved that she was opening up to him, like a little egg hatching, the tiniest little life pushing itself through the shell. He was fascinated with her.

Back in their room--for it felt natural to imagine this space as hers now; after all, he belonged to her, so anything he claimed as his should be hers as well--they set the small plate of food on a dresser and brought the champagne to bed with them. She was dressed simply in a light yellow sundress they had found in the guest room, he didn’t know who had filled the closets with clothing, but they could have only had Columbia in mind. It spoke of sun-kissed beaches and lazy afternoons spent planning their future together.

He slid the small straps from her shoulders and watched it drop to the ground, pool in a pile of expensive fabric. She was stunning, her eyes were bright and her mouth lush and full from the kissing. Her abdomen was deeply bruised from his earlier punches, and she still had his finger marks around her throat. They suited her perfectly. Her scars were pale, they seemed to only stand out when she was aroused or when he was whipping her and she was flushed with excitement. She wiggled her ass at him and dove into the centre of the bed, rolled over and beckoned him to join her. He did.

“Are we drinking from the bottle?” she giggled as he slid his body against hers.

“Oh shit, I forgot the glasses...do you mind?” he said, reluctant to leave her now that he was in contact with her skin.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said and smiled, then took a long draw from the bottle. He watched her swallow, the muscles in her throat undulating as the liquid passed, and had a sudden impulse to wrap his hand around her neck and feel those muscles strain to keep her airway open.

He was disgusted with himself, gave his head a shake and said, “It makes it hard to toast, but here’s to two imperfect beings finding each other in the dark,” and took a swig himself. The bubbles danced on his tongue and he had an idea. She reached for the bottle, but he kept it with him and wiggled down. He took another mouthful, handed it back to her and climbed between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a hushed whisper. She was holding the bottle in one hand; with the other she reached down to stroke the top of his head. She parted her legs and he spread her lips open with his fingers. Champagne in mouth, he clamped himself on her pussy, allowing the bubbling liquid to surround her clit. She gasped and moaned. “Oh, that’s good…really, really good,” she said and held her hand still on his head.

He flicked his tongue against her clit and slid two fingers into her pussy, adding pressure to the inside of her. He curled them towards his face and dragged them slowly in and out, consistent with the pressure and the tongue on her sensitive button. She was sighing and thrashing her head around on the pillow. He looked up at her, from this angle she looked larger than life, a goddess statue come to life, something straight out of Old Russian folklore.

He swallowed some of the champagne but kept the suction on her cunt, licked her clit and fucked her deep inside with his fingers. He’d only brought her to orgasm a small number of times, but he already recognized her signs. He’d never cared before, being with women had always been about his orgasm, theirs was collateral. Not with Columbia, hers was his driving need, the force behind his every action, he wanted to make her pant and groan and call out his name.

As if on cue, she tensed up, gripped his head with her hand and panted, “Dimi, oh fuck, that’s so good...I’m coming...fuck…” and she did, she came hard. He felt her cunt clench tight around his fingers and her clit hardened under his tongue. He swallowed the last of the champagne and licked her sweet pussy from top to bottom, sucking every drop of her juice he could find, needing it more than any champagne or vodka he’d ever had.

He withdrew his finger and gave her one last, long lick up her pussy and smiled at her.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” she said, and stretched. She set the champagne bottle aside, propped on pillows. She parted her legs even wider and said, “Come up here, let’s...cuddle.” She smiled and raised her eyebrow suggestively.

He moved up towards her, climbing along her body until his cock found her sopping cunt and he paused. He was on his arms over top of her now, covering her body with his. She looked very serious, he said, “Cuddle? Is that what you have on your mind?”

“I...yes,” she said and reached down to feel his cock. She gripped the shaft and guided the head into her folds. “I want to cuddle,” she said breathlessly and smiled. “I want to cuddle like this,” she continued and pushed upwards, impaling herself on his hardness. He could have reached his orgasm right there, the moment her hot, velvety heat wrapped around him. He showed considerable control as he slid into her, dropping down onto his elbows and looking down at her face.

“I like the way you cuddle,” he said, his voice a low whisper and a small smile on his lips. The smile was gone the moment he started to fuck her. He slid his length into her as far as he could go, and pulled out, increasing his speed with each pass. His rhythmic thrusts jerked her body with their momentum and she hung onto his upper arms for support. Her eyes were alight and she made the most amazing little noises of pleasure as he fucked harder.

“Dimi,” she gasped and her eyes opened with surprise, “I’m going to come again.”

“That’s it, fucking tighten your cunt around me. I own that cunt, I own you. Milk my cock, take it,” he said in a low voice. He wanted to tear her apart with his lust, he was ravaging her body and she loved it. He reached up, still propped on his elbows, and grabbed her neck with his hands. They were the perfect distance in this position, and he tightened them around her throat as he fucked.

“Oh,” she rasped, “that’s good.” Her eyes were wide and intense, locked on his as she came again. He felt her body tense and she struggled to pull herself up to him, to drag him deeper into her cunt. He felt her spasm, hot and tight around his cock, and he was done. With one last, hard squeeze of his hands, he joined her, felt the tightness in his balls release and he twitched his completion deep inside her. It was almost painful, it felt so good. Dimitri experienced a huge surge of emotion as he emptied himself inside the perfect, beautiful girl lying under him. He looked at her face; almost serene as she shared his pleasure, and wanted to yell her name from the rooftop, wanted to build monuments for her, declaring his love.

Suddenly every stupid love song, North American sappy romantic movie, the men he’d seen turning into dumbstruck idiots chasing some cunt over the years...it all made sense to him. He wanted to tell her something, anything, but his English was lost to him momentarily. He hovered above her, let himself soften inside of her, and stroked her hair and face, looking into her eyes. He finally said the only thing that came to his mind, “Fuuuuck me.”

She laughed and said, “I just did. And that’s it? I thought you were going to get all sappy on me, by the look on your face. But, that’s why I love you, you’re such a romantic.”

He knew she was teasing, but hearing her say the words made his heart beat faster, his palms sweaty and his tongue tied up in knots. “You steal my words,” he told her and shook his head, amazed at his own apparent vulnerability.

“You give me my voice,” she replied and ran her hands along his arms, stretched and slowly twisted under him.

He rolled off her and cradled her in his embrace. She nuzzled against his neck and closed her eyes, started to drift into sleep. He wished he could join her, enter her dreams and ensure nothing dark ever haunted her there. He knew he had dark places of his own, knew the cracks had always been there, but staying in the dark meant he never had to see them, to acknowledge them.

Columbia was lightness, airiness, the warmth of sun on his skin. Since she entered his life, such a short time ago, her light was bleeding through those cracks, exposing his darkest fears. The funny thing was that once the light hit them and exposed them in her beautiful radiance, they seemed smaller. His fears and anxieties thrived in dark places, as Columbia slowly opened these places up, they dissipated like so much smoke on a windy day.

It was all happening so fast, he supposed too fast some might say, but when you feel it, you know it, and you can’t help but allow yourself to be dragged along by events that are larger than yourself. And love is the largest thing of all.

He pulled away from her slowly and let her fall back onto the pillow, her dark hair fanning around her head, her pale skin decorated with her scars, perfect and beautiful. He needed to contact the concierge about her papers, so he pulled the comforter up to her chin and went down the hall to the office. At the door he turned and took one last look at her, snug in his bed, his space...their space. He shook his head and marveled for the hundredth time that day at how quickly life threw things at you. Sometimes, in the event of Sergei’s attack, it was a punch to the face. Sometimes, like now, it was a gift, something you didn’t know you wanted until she landed on your lap, climbing out of a food cart in the middle of your life.

*****

He waited until the concierge appeared on screen before revealing the need for this call. He didn’t want to risk giving him information about Columbia via text; he was terrified at the thought of Sergei’s men finding out about her. He knew that would immediately put a target on her head and he would have to constantly wonder if they would harm her to get to him.

“Good-” the concierge paused and look at his watch, “evening?” he said when he appeared, bleary eyed, on the monitor.

“I am sorry to disturb your sleep, friend, but this is of the utmost urgency,” Dimitri told him.

The concierge widened his eyes and said, “Are you ok? Did they come for you?”

Dimitri smiled and said, “Not at all, but plans have changed. We now need passage for another member of our household, a girl.”

The concierge did not change his expression, but rubbed his eyes and narrowed them. “A girl? Did I hear you right?”

“Yes, I cannot get into details, but arrange it please.”

“You mean a child? Or...a woman?”

“Well, if you want to get specific, a woman. Get everything lined up and we can send her photograph and details when you arrive.”

“But these things take time, and we were moving just days after I return. And you know I will be there on Friday, that’s just two days from now,” the concierge protested.

“Just do it, my friend. I will explain it all when you arrive.”

“Yes, Sir. I will do as you ask. But I don’t like it. I don’t like you throwing a wrench into the workings at the last minute.”

“You have no idea how accurate that description is,” Dimitri said and laughed. The concierge looked confused, Dimitri knew it had been a long while since he saw his boss happy; it must look like madness from overseas. “Just make the calls, all will become clear and I will see you soon,” he said and wrapped it up. He smiled to himself after the concierge went offline, he could only imagine the storm brewing in his friend’s mind. This was a side of Dimitri that had never been seen, a man in love.

He padded down the hallway to his room, everything looked different to him somehow, brighter, as though his vision had been clarified. He slid into bed next to her warm body and allowed himself the indulgence of an afternoon nap with his lover, his love.





Chapter Twenty – Columbia




She woke with a start, unaware of her surroundings. In her dream she had felt her father’s weight on the mattress, pushing it down as he crept up her bed like a stealthy predator. She knew, in her dream, what would follow. He would wrap his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream or breath, and shove himself inside her, dry and fast, pain radiating from her cunny, as he called it. She whimpered in the darkened room, unsure of the time or circumstances that brought her here.

“Shhhhh, little dove, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Dimitri whispered in the dark and pulled her close to his body. The moment she felt his strong arms around her and ran her hands over his broad chest, she knew the terror had passed. She was safe here in his arms.

“I was having a nightmare,” she said and wiggled close to him, “about my father.”

He ran his hand over her back and stroked her hair, “It’s ok, I’m with you now. Nobody will ever hurt you again,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

“What time is it? It’s so dark, did we sleep that late?” she asked him.

He stirred beside her and pushed himself up on an elbow. “I don’t think so,” he replied and reached for something on the bedside table. He held his arm out and the windows changed, they became clear.

“Oh my god, how did you do that?” she said and sat up. The sun was setting and the evening shadows from the North Shore Mountains stretched long into the water.

“Technology,” he replied and sat up next to her. He handed her a small remote and said, “Push that button, the windows go dark, push that button, they go clear. That’s as much as I know. But if it impresses you, then let’s say I invented this amazing magic, I am a magician.”

She played with the buttons a few times, then handed the remote back to him and told him. “Naw, I don’t need fancy technology to be impressed.” She reached down and grabbed his cock, making him grin at her bold move. “You’ve got everything I need right here.”

They fell back onto the bed and she climbed atop him, rode him awake and reinforced the creeping feeling in the back of her mind that she was helplessly, undeniably meant to be with this man for the rest of her life.

She curled back up in the safe circle of his arms when they had both reached their finish. She laughed to herself at how much her world had changed and he asked her, “What’s funny, little dove?”

Once again her heart melted when he said those words, and she grew serious at her next thought. “I am thinking about how much life can change in the blink of an eye,” she said, “I mean, three days ago I was hell bent on self destruction, living on the narrow edge between life and death, and agreeing to this stupid plan just to impress a guy I thought I liked.”

He stiffened and was quiet, finally saying, “Who is he?”

She laughed again and replied, “Nobody for you to be concerned with, Dimi, he’s just a boy.”

“What about other lovers?” he asked, pausing for the answer.

“I’ve had no other lovers,” she said and her face went dark. She didn’t consider her father a lover, and nobody else had been worth the risk of exposing her scarred body to.

“You have obviously been with somebody,” he prodded gently.

“I told you about that, my father, that was the only person and I would hardly call him a lover,” she spat.

“I am so sorry,” he said and pulled her face to his for a kiss, “I am such a jealous ass that I couldn’t see how much this conversation hurt you.” He kissed her deeply; she could feel his apology on his lips. She loved how possessive he was in fact; it made her feel secure. She knew, logically, that this didn’t make sense, that he was probably a controlling psycho, but it felt a lot safer than anywhere else she’d ever been. He pulled away and looked at her, a fire in his eyes, and said, “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

She thought about it. Really thought about it, really wanted it, but had to say, “No, I couldn't do that to my mother. She needs him, as crazy as it seems, I don’t know what they’d do without his income.”

“You know that’s not a problem,” he told her. “I could have him taken care of and send them more money than they’d ever need.”

“I will think about it,” she said. “But give me some time, this is all such a brand new idea that I don’t know how to process it.”

“I’ll give you all the time in the world, you just say the word and it’s done,” he reassured her and pulled her close.

She felt her stomach growl and wiggled away to look at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight in the evening and she knew, from experience, that the kitchen staff would be gone. Had it only been a day? It had been, just a day since she thought she was going to die, then found herself revived and renewed by the most unlikely of men.

She sighed and pushed herself up. “I’m starving, can we get something to eat this late?” she asked.

“We can get anything we want at any time. You will never want for anything when you’re with me,” he said and noticed her frown. “Except your freedom, I know this hurts you now but you will eventually regain it, I promise. At this time I need to keep you close, for your own safety.”

“What safety? You know I would never leave you, but what are you concerned about?” she asked.

“I am one of the most hunted men in the world, one of the most dangerous and powerful men in the world failed in his attempt to destroy me. Since then I have defied him with my very existence and enraged him with my continued financial success. I am a smarter man than he, and he knows it.”

She took this information in and shook her head. She said, “This is all so crazy anyways, all of it, why not add ‘Internationally Wanted Criminal’ to the top of the list?”

“I was a criminal, little dove, I did terrible things for reasons you might never understand. I do not apologize about my past, but I do apologize that I am now bringing you into this dangerous world,” he said and pursed his lips. “For that I am sorry, if anything were to ever happen to you…”

“I am tougher than you think,” she replied, “and besides, they don’t know a thing about me, right?”

“Not yet,” he agreed, “but they will. Sometimes it feels like Sergei’s people are one step ahead of me. As though they only gave me the illusion of anonymity in Vancouver to extend the hunt, to make it sweeter for him to kill me. I know this is not the case, but in this life, you can never be too careful.”

“I suppose everything happens for a reason,” she said, rubbing his arm to calm him down. “I mean look at me, I have had such a fucked up, terrible life but in a weird way it prepared me for you.”

He looked at her, startled, and asked, “In what way?”

“I have been living in fear for over a decade, fear for my life, fear for my sister’s life. I’ve been essentially held captive by my father. It does strange things to a person, to lose personal freedom.”

He nodded his agreement and indicated for her to go on.

She thought about how she wanted to phrase the next part and said, “So in a way, I was ripe for the picking. I mean, you captured me and I fought a little, but not that hard. I know this might be, you know what they call it, Stockholm Syndrome? But it feels so real that I would argue with anyone who might deem it such.”

“I suppose,” he agreed with some reluctance. “But I would argue that sometimes two people are just meant to be together, their souls align perfectly.”

“I believe that is part of it,” she said, “But even our sex...I mean…” she trailed off and looked down, embarrassed to go on.

“You can tell me,” he coaxed her, “tell me anything.”

“I like it, I like it when you grab my neck and I like the pain. But I don’t think that’s normal, I don’t think I’m normal,” she told him and felt tears welling up in her eyes. “Every time I think about you fucking me and holding me down, I get so wet, I want it so bad...but maybe that’s just from my past? Is that my father still controlling me?”

He took her in his arms and soothed her as she cried. She worried because she knew how much he hated tears, but this time it didn’t seem to bother him. “Don’t ever think that, you are exactly who you are because of the things that happened, but they don’t define you. There are plenty of normal people who want harder and crazier things than we’ve ever done,” he said but she felt skeptical. He went on, “Think of it this way, human desires, lust, they are a destination, you arrive at what turns you on eventually...be it wearing a latex body suit and being fucked up the ass, or laying under your husband in the dark, waiting for him to finish. Which of these is normal?”

She shook her head; she didn't know where he was going with this.

He went on, “Ok, my English isn’t perfect, so I might not be getting my point across. I love women, I want to fuck women and be with them.” She pulled back and glared at him. “Ok, I’m making this worse. What I am trying to say is that I am straight, but I have done some things in my past that would lead you to think otherwise. When I was a child, I was used...and when I left my home I was desperate for cash so I did things to survive. These do not make me any less of a man because I still want pussy...your pussy.”

“I am so sorry you went through that,” she said and ran her hand along the scarred side of his face, the skin felt bumpy under her fingers which still gave her an odd thrill from the sensation.

“I meant to say that I am normal, in spite of it,” he replied and touched the scars along her arm. “We are normal. Whatever we do here is normal. If desire is like a destination, then you are not defined by how you arrived.”

She finally understood what he was getting at. Her father no longer controlled her life, he had been involved in shaping her, but he had nothing to do with the here and now. All of her lust and desires, they came from her...and Dimitri. She lusted for him and the crazy things he did to her, how his body was perfect for her, scars and all…and how safe he made her feel. “I think I see your point,” she said and touched the scars along his rib cage. “No matter how damaged we were by our lives, we are whole when we are together. No matter how we got here, the thing that makes us normal is exactly what we decide together.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed and kissed the top of her head. “You have summed it up in two sentences where I struggled for words. You are amazing.”

“Ok, I can agree with that, now can we go eat before you really do fuck me to death? And call it normal?” she said and laughed.

*****

They raided the kitchen, the place she had remained hidden all that time, expecting to jump out and find Jarrod Jacobs. It all looked different now, she felt drunk on the high of their mutual acceptance and admiration. It was an incredible feeling.

As he pulled items out of the oversized glass fronted fridge, she perched on a stainless steel stool near an island. She was about five feet from the door to the front of the penthouse; a sudden dash and she would have her freedom. His back was to her, he was rummaging for some kind of cheese he insisted she try, and she turned the stool to look at the door.

On the other side was her freedom. Even if there was a guard at the door, she could probably surprise him and make it past. She was wearing a lush, red bathrobe and soft slippers, but she could still find a way home. It was her city after all. Once they got to Hong Kong she would never be able to get away. She stared at the door and thought about Eden. She might still be at Kate’s house, when Columbia didn’t return for her and Kate's mother couldn’t find theirs...she might have kept her there.

Or she could be at home. Alone. With their father. The more she stared at the door, the more she worried about her little sister. The more she considered Dimitri’s offer to kill him. She would discuss it with him tomorrow, when there was a possibility of doing something about it. For now she would have to believe that Eden was at Kate’s and Columbia was allowed to enjoy the rush of new love with no feelings of guilt. Besides, some part of Columbia reasoned, she had put her own needs and safety aside for years to protect her sister. It might be time for her to live her own life.

She turned the stool back and saw Dimitri standing there, watching her, his face an unreadable mask.

“I was just-” she started to say, but how could she explain it?

“You were just thinking about running, I know,” he said. Her heart flip-flopped in fear and her pulse increased dramatically.

“I wasn’t going to,” she protested, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I know,” he said and smiled, “I wanted to see what you would do, given the chance to make a break. You didn’t even stand up, you’re not going anywhere.”

She exhaled and smiled back. Her heart slowed and her body calmed down. She wasn’t in danger; he knew she wanted to stay. All was right in the world again.





Chapter Twenty One – Dimitri




His heart dropped when he turned from the fridge with the Norwegian cheese, his favourite. He saw her staring at the door, and he knew she was contemplating her freedom. He quietly set the food on the island and tensed, waiting for her to make her move. He knew he could grab her before she made the door, but it would crush him if she tried.

But she didn’t, she turned back and blanched white when she caught him watching. Part of him wanted to make her squirm, fear his anger and remember this moment the next time she wanted to escape. But he couldn’t, this was Columbia and he had to reassure her immediately.

She didn’t make the attempt, which was the most important thing, the thing he focused on. She looked so relieved when he wasn't angry that he felt a pang of guilt for ever abusing her. He vowed from that moment on to only touch her roughly in times of love, for their mutual benefit, their version of normal.

“Shall we go eat before we both waste away into nothingness?” he asked her and all at once felt ungainly and vulnerable for being so relieved that she chose to stay. She grinned and nodded. He mentally gave himself a shake for being so weak and pointed to a bottle of wine he had chosen. “Why don’t you find an opener there in the drawer in front of you, and bring the bottle?”

“Of course,” she replied, found it, picked up the bottle and followed him into the dining room. Dimitri laid out the food and they dove in. He fed her little morsels of his favourite cheeses and foie gras, tidbits from here and there around the world that he had picked up a taste for in his travels.

“Tomorrow night I will order a real meal, I promise,” he said. “I want you in perfect health, I take care of my-” He stopped himself. He wanted to say pet, but that wasn’t it, courtesan? That didn’t seem right either. Family? He supposed she was, but that didn’t indicate to him the level of his devotion to her.

“Pet?” she continued for him and laughed. She must have seen his stricken look and said, “Don’t look so freaked out, I don’t mind being your pet. I know it sounds odd, but I like the idea that I belong to you. It makes me feel very safe.”

“Well, I don’t like the word pet. I will come up with something, but until then I will care for you, have no worries. For dinner, what would you like? I will have them prepare anything your heart desires.”

He loved the look on her face as she thought about it. She was really giving this some thought; of course such a sensuous woman would enjoy feasts of the body, mind, and palate. Her face lit up suddenly and she said, “Steak and lobster! I have never had a really good steak, and I have never ever had lobster. Just the fake stuff.”

“Perfect, your wish is my command, I will put the order in now.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the app to place their dinner order. When that was done, he saw he had a text from the concierge.

He opened it and read, “Is this your visitor?” The message had a photo attached, a grainy security camera image of Columbia walking with the young man he recognized from the phone she had with her. His stomach dropped and he felt shaky. Had Sergei’s men already discovered her?

“Yes,” he typed his reply and looked up at Columbia. She was nibbling on a delicate pastry, a French affair stuffed with foie gras. She was so perfect, and so vulnerable. She would never be able to defend herself against Sergei’s men if they came looking for her. Dimitri would have to double his guard and increase his paranoia if he wanted to keep her alive. What had he done, bringing her into this? She saw him looking and smiled, her face radiant and her eyes glimmering with her realized love, the love he had for her reflected back at him. “I have to attend to some business,” he told her and walked to the office down the hall.

He sat down and waited for the concierge to reply. He finally wrote back, “She is beautiful, but in danger if Sergei’s men gain access to our security system. You should do her a favour and send her home, let them think she is simply a staff member.”

Dimitri knew he was speaking the truth, his oldest friend was speaking from a place of concern for Dimitri, but he also recognized the danger Columbia would be in. The friend of an enemy becomes an enemy, and in this case Sergei would think nothing of killing Columbia to hurt Dimitri.

Or worse. The thought of his beautiful girl being held captive, raped and destroyed by the pigs that Sergei had in his Bratva, it made his stomach clench and his fists tighten.

He didn’t care, the safest place for her was right by his side. Even if Sergei didn’t know who she was, when he found out, Dimitri was determined that he could keep her safe.

“I will not. Continue as planned,” he wrote back to the concierge and returned to the dining room.

Columbia was sipping her wine and looking lovely in her red robe. It was a good colour for her, in spite of it not being actual clothing.

“I will have to buy you more red,” he said as he sat down. “You look ravishing in it.”

She blushed and took his hand, “I would like that. I used to just wear dark things, hoodies and jeans, because of the...you know, the scars.”

“Don’t cover yourself around me,” he told her, “they only serve to enhance your beauty, remind me of how perfect you really are.”

“Ha!” she barked, “I’m far from perfect...but if you’re saying it, I’ll take it.” He reached over and took her hand in his, stroked her arm and looked in her eyes.

“You are perfect for me, everything I never knew I was missing in my life,” he said and stood. She was seated and looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of anticipation. He pulled her up to stand in front of him, unhooked the tie around her waist and slid the robe off her shoulders. She was breathing faster, he could see her chest rise and fall in her excitement.

“I have never been happier,” she said and slipped her hands under his tee shirt. She lifted it and helped him out of it. She opened the tie on his pants and kept her hands on his hips as he let them drop. He reached down and found her ready, hot and wet and wanting him.

“I need to fuck you,” he said, his voice harsh with his desire. “I need it like I need air to breathe, I need to get inside of you, to feel your cunt tighten around me, to feel your neck in my hand and your teeth in my flesh.” He reached behind and swept everything off the table in a crash, lifted her onto it and shoved her knees apart.

“I need you too,” she replied and pulled him against her, guided his cock inside of her and wrapped her legs around him. “I need this, I need you inside of me, fuck….” she trailed off, distracted as his cock was buried deep, hitting the end of her. He held her there, impaled on him, frozen for half a breath while they both fell into the fever of their fucking.

He pulled back and she held onto his arms, steadying herself for the next impact. He hit her with such force that she bounced up off the table and exhaled with a “ooomph.”

He pulled out slowly and she whispered, “Oh my god, this feels so fucking good...insanely good...what are you doing to me?”

“The same thing you’re doing to me,” he replied and thrust ahead again, knocking her upwards with the force. He wrapped one arm around her back to steady her and reached up with his other hand, found her delicate throat, and tightened as he plunged into her. He increased his rhythm, her cunt opening to him and clenching around him as he tried to pull back. She gasped when he squeezed her throat, but he continued to fuck hard.

She reached behind her and braced herself with one hand, the other hand still holding on to his bicep. She took the impact of his thrusting and the tightened grip around her throat with increased force of her own. She reached up and held onto his shoulders as their bodies moved against each other.

“I want to come,” she said, “I’m going to come.” Her voice was husky and drove him wild. He went at her with a new energy and held her steady by the throat.

“Wait,” he commanded her and she groaned her response, needing to release her orgasm but obeying him. “I will tell you when you can.”

“Yes,” she replied, giving him the old answer he loved, a simple yes or no.”

“That’s my girl, you know who owns this pussy,” he told her and looked into her eyes. He could see her desperate need building, she wanted to let go and flood his cock with her juices, but he wanted her to wait until they were there together.

“Please,” she told him, “let me come.”

“No,” he replied and tightened his grip on her throat. Her cunt clenched in response and he knew she was loving every second of this. Their normal. Him taking her to the edge of the abyss and bringing her back, safe in his arms.

She pulled herself towards him, he bent his arm and allowed it, knowing what to expect. Their normal. Her bringing pain into his world of pleasure, mixing the two in an exotic cocktail of nerve endings and endorphins.

When she sank her teeth into his chest, he almost called out, almost screamed “fuck” or “I love you” or “never let me go”...but he didn’t. He grunted in response and rode the wave of sharp pain until he felt his own building tension crest.

“Come now,” he told her and held her against his cock, forced her to be still as they crested together. He could feel her moan vibrate in her throat against his hand and the hot exhalation of breath hit his skin where her teeth were sank in. She looked up at him and they shared their moment, he felt her orgasm on his cock as he released, filling her with his cum. She rolled her eyes in the back of her head momentarily as she finished, then made contact again immediately. “That’s right, that’s my girl. Come with me,” he rasped and thrust upwards one final time.

He felt the tension leave her body as her orgasm receded. His own was slowly leaving his tense muscles and he relaxed the grip on her throat. Earlier bruises stood out, so dark they appeared black on her flesh. He regretted marking her with his need, but felt helpless in the face of it. He knew only one way to love her, to show his love for her, and he accepted that it was his normal. He felt joy that it was her normal now as well.

She released his chest muscle, licked the bite mark and looked up at him, her eyes shining with triumph. “Sorry,” she said. “I get a little carried away.”

“Never apologize for what you need to do,” he said and pulled back, his cock softening as it left her body. “I will never hold it against you,” he continued and offered her his hand, helping her off the table. She stood in front of him, her face at the level of his bite mark, she reached up and touched it, explored it with her fingers.

“You can see the perfect indentation of my teeth,” she said and looked up at him. “It’s almost pretty.”

“I’ll make it my next tattoo,” he declared impulsively. “I’ll wear a token of your affection at all times, bite somewhere above my heart when we find somebody to do the work.”

“I could handle that,” she said and laughed. “Yeah, you make it really hard to stick around, I get to buy pretty things, eat whatever I want, and bite the hell out of you when I come.”

He picked up her robe from the floor and helped her into it. “And on top of everything else, I wait on you hand and foot,” he smiled as he put his own clothes back on. “I am the most attentive pet owner you’ll ever meet.” He winked at her, surprising her with the gesture, and she laughed. “Let’s go have a swim before bed,” he told her and took her hand. “I have a feeling it’s going to be another long night.”

*****

Sergei was coming for him; he could feel it from the tips of his toes to the hair on his head. He was crouched in the apartment, in the dining room, and he couldn’t find Columbia anywhere. He called her name softly, and thought he heard a small whimper from the food cart near the door. He knew he had to get to her before Sergei did, or she would be killed.

The door opened and two men entered, guns drawn. Big guys in matching black suits; they must be Sergei’s security detail. He was going to spring on the nearest one when he heard her call his name from the cart. “Dimi? Are you there? Help me Dimi, I’m so scared.”

The man nearest the cart held his finger to his lips and indicated the source of the noise. The two men stepped carefully towards Columbia’s hiding place and Dimitri’s blood went cold. They were going to find her and they were going to kill her.

“Hey assholes,” he yelled and stepped out from behind the dining table. Both men turned to him and he realized he wasn’t armed; he was wearing his sleeping attire and was barefoot. He reached instinctively for the knife on his midsection but remembered taking it off to be with Columbia. He would have to take them down by hand.

He tried to move fast, but it was as though his feet were stuck in cement. He punched towards the men, but couldn’t move. One of them turned back towards the food cart, where Columbia curled up in the dark, vulnerable and precious. The other kept coming towards Dimitri.

He got his hands around the man’s throat and squeezed as hard as he could, screaming for Columbia to get away the entire time. The man’s eyes bulged under the pressure and he was grasping at Dimitri’s determined hands, his fingers like claws. He scraped the skin on his hand and was trying to say something.

Dimitri listened carefully as the man’s mouth formed wordless noises. Finally he heard, “Dimi, please stop, you’re hurting me.”

Dimitri woke up and found his hands tightly wrapped around Columbia’s throat. She was tearing at them, clawing them and he could see stripes of blood covering the backs of his hands and his forearms. He released them immediately but she fell back, unconscious as he let her go. She had really put up a fight.

“Columbia! Wake up!” he cried and gently shook her. Her face was pale, seemingly drained of blood, and the bruises on her neck now appeared dark red and black. Fresh fingerprints showed on top of the ones from before. He felt like he was going to vomit, a sense of helplessness and uncertainty washed over him and he felt like he might go on a rampage destroying everything in sight to release the feeling.

She gasped, a small sound but one that crashed against his ears with the volume of a jet engine taking off. He leaned down, pushed the hair off her forehead and kissed her softly. “Please, come back to me. I can’t live like this, knowing I did this,” he whispered and kissed her lips. She responded, moved her tongue weakly against his, then stopped.

“Please, little dove, come back,” he whispered again and cradled her against his chest. She was so beautiful; he felt tears spring to his eyes. He realized at that moment that he was a much bigger threat to her than anything else on the outside. He was a monster, dark to the core and unable to be trusted with delicate things. He remembered the lamp he had destroyed on purpose, the walls he had punched over the years, the hours spent attacking the punching bag, releasing his rage and darkness.

If he were around Columbia, there would surely come a time he would turn on her. He was like a rabid dog, ready to turn on the ones he loved in the blink of an eye. She had to leave in order for her to be safe.

He was going to make the hardest sacrifice imaginable. He was going to give her the freedom she still craved. He would have to force her to leave in order to save her from himself.

She shuddered and inhaled, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He smiled and kissed her lips, felt her respond with passion this time, and watched as she opened her eyes. She looked up at him, confused and alarmed, obviously unaware of what had just happened. He was grateful for that, at least, that she didn’t know he had almost killed her in her sleep. Now he would face the greatest challenge of his life, convincing her that she had to leave.





Chapter Twenty Two – Columbia




She opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was Dimitri’s face, full of concern. She thought she saw tears in the corners, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

“Hey,” she said and was surprised at the sound of her voice. Her throat hurt, more than when Dimitri had almost killed her on the platform. She hadn’t realized how rough their sex had been.

“I am sorry Columbia,” he said, his voice low and filled with sorrow. She could hear it in his tone, see it on his face.

“Sorry for what?” she asked and pushed herself up, out of his arms. She had a creeping sensation that this was going to lead to a horrible thing. She knew he was going to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

“I need you to leave.”

She shook her head, tried to process what he had just said. “No,” she said and stared him down, defying him to say it again.

He did. His voice broke as he repeated, “I need you to leave.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she yelled, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m your fucking pet, remember? You can’t just kick me out!”

“I am so sorry, little dove, I just need you to leave,” he said in the same infuriating calm voice.

“You can’t say that! Stop saying that!” she said and hit his chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied and didn’t move, “if you stay I will hurt you.”

“You are hurting me, how can you say that?” she yelled again and hit his chest harder with her little fists.

He grabbed her wrists and said, “I just woke up with my hands around your throat, I was one step away from killing you. I would never survive if that happened. I need you to leave.”

She froze in stunned silence. She noticed the gouges up and down his hands and forearms and realized her throat was really painful, it felt damaged.

He watched her as the truth sank in. His face was now a mask of pain and he said, "Listen to me, Columbia. You have taught me what it means to be human. You reminded me what it feels like to feel anything besides my all-consuming need for revenge. You have shown me how to find my passion and my purpose in life. You gave me back my heart, but because the monster still resides inside of me, I must send you away. I don't want to hurt you Columbia, I would rather tear out this heart than be the cause of your pain."

"But I don't want to go, you can't send me away Dimi, don't send me away," she sobbed as his words hit her and she realized what he meant to do. She wept and hung on to his arm, he didn’t pull away, he didn’t seem angered by her tears. He held her close and let her cry, stroked her hair with his fingers and rubbed her back

"You must go back there and face your demons, my pet," he sighed, "as I must face mine. You must go while you can, while you are still safe from me."

"It's too late for that," she cried. "I'll never be safe from you again. I’m nothing without you now that you’ve become a part of me. I can’t just go back like nothing happened. Everything happened! You happened!” She paused and let the tears flow. “We happened.”

“I know, I know. This hurts me as much as it does you. But I can live my life in peace knowing you are ok, knowing that you are living in the sunshine somewhere, married to some gentle lover, making beautiful babies with him, and thinking of me every once in a while. I will live every minute of every day thinking about you, little dove, but I need you to live. If you stay, I might kill you. Sergei might kill you. If you stay, I will wonder every moment if this is going to be your last.”

She stood up and walked off the bed, dropped onto the floor in a determined stance. “I won’t go,” she said and picked up the bathrobe, slipped it on her shoulders and said, “I just won’t go.”

“You have to Columbia,” he said firmly. “I am sorry, but you have to trust me on this. Your life is in danger if you stay.”

“I can’t live without you!” she shrieked at him, “how am I supposed to survive?”

“I will take care of you, I will give you more money than you could spend in a lifetime,” he told her, getting out of bed and walking to her side.

“This isn’t about money, Dimi, this is about us. What happens to us?” she demanded.

“I will never forget you, but I can’t hurt you. If you stay here I will destroy you.”

“I don’t want your money,” she said and looked up at him, “I want you.”

He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. Her heart was screaming; her mind racing and her fists were clenched. She wanted to scream and punch him in the chest until he realized how utterly ridiculous he was being. She sobbed against him, and trembled when he wouldn’t back down.

She pulled back, looked up at him and said, “Please? I’m begging you, can I stay? Is this part of your test? If I beg for your cock, let you whip me into oblivion, fuck my ass, tear at my body...if I let you do anything you want, will you let me stay?”

His silence was his answer. She knew then that he was not going to budge. He wanted her gone, so she would go. She pushed him away from her, wiped her nose on the sleeve of the robe and turned to leave his room. “Will you at least see me out?” she asked and felt a tug of satisfaction when he followed her.

They went to the guest room where she picked out another pretty yellow dress, a summery creation of flowing, airy fabric. She felt light and feminine in it. She chose a light coat and asked him for her old leather boots back. She didn’t care how she looked at this point; she chose the dress to leave him with a memory of how pretty she was.

He took her to the room in the center of the penthouse, the place he’d kept her at first, and removed the wrist cuffs. Columbia sobbed in his arms after he took them back and he said nothing, just made comforting noises and stroked her hair. She felt helpless and guilty, because the tiniest part of her wanted freedom. But now that she was faced with it, she wanted to throw it back at him and tie herself to the wooden cross in the middle of the room.

He finally pulled her back, kissed her forehead and said, “I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

It was early afternoon, so they went through the apartment, around the kitchen, to the front entrance. A guard was on duty and his face went pale when he saw Dimitri. He immediately recognized the mysterious man he had been working for.

“Sir, is there something I can help you with?” he asked as they approached.

“See to it this girl makes her way to the elevators,” he told the guard, “and give her fare for a taxi home.”

She looked up at him one last time, his face was unreadable but she knew he must be hurting. Her throat still ached and her head hurt. She knew her life would never be the same, and as quickly as she had found him, he was pushing her away.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked him, her voice pleading with him to let her stay without saying the words in front of the guard.

“This is how it has to be,” he said and gave her a quick hug. “I will think of you every day,” he added and turned, leaving her alone with the guard. She stood there, stunned and unable to move.

“Miss? Right this way please,” the older man told her and handed her a folded fifty-dollar bill. She took it, looked at it and almost couldn’t comprehend what she was supposed to do with it. She forced her feet one in front of the other, doing her best to remain upright. How does one continue to function when the world has been turned upside down, shaken like a snow globe, and set back down, letting the pieces fall where they would. By the time she got to the main floor, her heart was shutting down. She felt humiliated and used, and had half convinced herself that this was Dimitri’s plan all along.

She reached up and felt her throat and realized that he really did love her; he was truly sending her away for her own safety. How could she have fallen in love so fast for a man who could kill her as she slept? What kind of strange woman was she?

She walked to a nearby store for change, got to the bus stop and caught a bus that would drop her off near home. Eden would be home from school by now, and she would have an hour or two until her father made it home. She wondered if her mother had even noticed her absence, or if she were hiding out somewhere gambling away her last dollars.

Columbia didn’t know how she could ever go back to her old life, but until she made any big changes, she would have to face her family. She wished Dimitri were here, holding her hand, giving her the strength she needed to get through the days ahead.

She wished she had taken him up on his offer to kill her father.

*****

“Where have you been?” Eden screamed in delight when Columbia walked through the door. She was happy Eden was home, she had no keys to get in on her own. “Where did you get this dress? Why do you look so different?”

“I borrowed it from a friend, and what do you mean different?” she asked and hugged her little sister.

“You look...mean and sad, and like you got in a big fight,” Eden said and dove into an explanation of her homework, school drama and the two nights she’d gotten to spend at Kate’s place. Columbia was relieved, at no point was Eden left alone with their father. She felt hollow though, listening to Eden’s rambling stories. Previous to Dimitri, she almost lived vicariously through her little sister, hanging on her every story about all the things she’d wanted to do herself. She reached out and ruffled Eden’s hair as she spoke. Eden stopped talking, looked her up and down and said, “What was that for? You’re acting weird. Were you abducted by aliens or something?”

“Ha, no, I just missed you,” Columbia replied. “I need to go lay down for a bit before I start dinner,” she added and went to her old room. She flopped onto the single bed and tried to ignore the scratchy, cheap blankets. She closed her eyes and thought about Dimitri, how weird and intense the past two days had been. She didn’t think being away from him would hurt as much as it did, but she felt at times as though a great weight was on her chest, pressing down and making it impossible to breathe.

She reached up and pulled the collar of the jacket down, put her hand around her own throat and squeezed gently. It hurt, she could feel the damage Dimitri had done while she’d been sleeping, but she still kept her hand there, allowing the pain to calm her nerves. The pain kept her focused and alert, and she would need that over the next little while as she put her plans into place.

She must have fallen asleep. She woke to her bedside alarm beeping, she always had it set for an hour before her father returned from work so his dinner would be ready.

She sat up, stretched, and contemplated changing her clothes so her father wouldn’t notice the new dress. The thought of taking off the last thing she had of Dimitri was sickening though, so she kept it on and pulled an old, heavy knit cardigan over top to hide the dress and the bruises.

She went through the motions of preparing him his meal, frying hamburgers, making mashed potatoes and gravy, and setting it all out.

He arrived before his usual time, ten to five. The sky was still light, as it was this time of year. The season was getting warmer and it would be full on summer soon. When he opened the door, she got a whiff of the cherry blossoms from Mrs. Douglas’ tree next door.

He hung his cap on a hook, sat down on a chair and unlaced his boots. He worked on the docks, so steel-toed boots were part of his uniform, as he always said.

He got up slowly, walked through the small kitchen past the table and opened the fridge. He took two bottles of beer, opened them both and returned to the table.

He sat, both girls were silent and waiting for him to talk so they could gauge the mood he was in.

He set one bottle on the table near the top of his plate and took a long swig out of the other. He set it down with a deliberate thump, settled his mean, dark eyes on Columbia and said, “Well, look what we’ve got here, the little slut dragged herself back home.”

Eden looked down at her hands and said nothing. Columbia stared at his narrow face, his thin nose, his eyes that were too close together and said, “Yup, I reckon I did. Now would you like some potatoes?”

His expression was almost comical if she didn't know what was coming next. He stood up, so did she, and he held his hand back and slapped her across the face.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” he shouted and Eden cowered. Columbia, however, stood tall, straightened her spine and stared him down.

“I will speak how I want,” she told him in a steady voice, “I am old enough to have my own voice. In fact, you’re just damn lucky I’ve decided to keep that voice quiet over the years or you’d be in jail.”

He hesitated for a moment, his ugly face searching hers for signs of a bluff. When he realized she wasn’t backing down, he sat and said, “Eden, give me them burgers.”

Columbia had her small victory, but she knew she would pay for it eventually. She made small talk with her father and kept getting up to get him another beer, so that night she was safe at least, he was passed out in his old leather recliner before eleven.

She went to bed shortly before midnight and wondered what Dimitri was up to at that exact moment.

*****

She slept in; her depression probably had more to do with it than any other reason. Without Dimitri she felt listless, unable to even fake interest in anything outside of her own little ball of misery. She was still wearing the same clothes from Dimitri’s when she left the house. She couldn’t bear to take them off just yet. It was a little chilly for such a light dress and jacket, but she didn’t care. She wanted him with her. She missed the platinum cuffs on her wrists, even though she’d had them for such a short time.

She decided to walk to the bank, check her account and have her card replaced. She knew without going that she was now a very wealthy woman. Even though she wouldn’t give him her information for a money transfer, she had a feeling he would have already tracked her down and stayed true to his word.

She was going to move out and take Eden with her. That was the only way she could happily leave as long as her father was alive. She couldn't leave Eden alone no matter how much she wanted a life of her own now.

As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she heard her name being called. Stuart was standing under a tree a short distance down the street; he was holding her purse.

“Hey Stuart,” she said as she approached him. She didn’t know what Dimitri had done to her, but seeing Stuart now made her previous crush seem like a ridiculous attempt at normalcy. She wasn’t his kind of normal though, she preferred her and Dimitri’s way of seeing things.

“Oh my god, Col! Where were you? We’ve all been frantic about you. What happened?” Stuart said as she reached him.

“It was the craziest thing. It turns out it was the wrong guy, can you believe that? I ended up hiding out for a bit, then hooked up with one of the kitchen crew. I’ve been at his place for the last day,” she lied right to his face.

He clearly didn’t buy it, but he shrugged and chose to believe her. “Here,” he said and held her purse in her direction, “you left this in my truck.”

“Oh yeah, thanks. This saves me a lot of trouble, I was just about to go replace my cards.” She looked at him and saw him through different eyes. He was such a boy. How had he ever sent her heart racing or entered into her fantasies? Dimitri would be able to crush him like a twig. She turned to leave and said, “Ok, thanks for this, see ya,” as she moved away.

“Listen, about that night in the truck. I feel horrible, I reacted like an idiot, I am so sorry,” Stuart said and grabbed her arm, “Is there any way we can start over?”

“What about Debbie?” she asked as she turned back around to face him. “I’m not going to start anything with somebody else’s boyfriend. I just had too much to drink that night.” She was reaching for any excuse to throw him off without hurting him.

“I broke up with Debbie, yesterday,” he said, “I wanted to show you how much I care about you, so I did it. Now we can be together, like you’ve always wanted.”

His face was so sincere and so ridiculous that Columbia had to suppress her laughter. She felt nothing towards him now, perhaps some sympathy at his misguided attempt to prove his interest in her. Debbie was a bitch though, so in the end Stuart was better off without her. “Stuart,” she started and sighed, “It’s just that-”

He cut her off, “Don’t go on. I need to say this. That night in the truck, I felt your arm, I behaved like an asshole. I’m sorry, I don’t care what’s wrong with you, I am willing to forget about it and just get to know you.”

“That’s just it Stuart, there is nothing wrong with me,” she told him with a small smile. “I’ve recently realized that I am normal, I am beautiful and there is really absolutely not a damn thing wrong with me.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he pleaded, “it came out wrong. I just want you to know that I accept you no matter what that is.”

She yanked the sleeve of the jacket and showed him her arm. The cold made the scars stand out an angry red against her pale skin and the criss cross patterns were beautiful. Dimitri thought they were beautiful. “This is what it is, it’s nothing. I cut myself, that’s it. I don’t have some kind of disease or something that needs your acceptance. It just is, a part of who I am. You might find it disturbing but there are people in this world who find such things appealing.”

“I...I…” Stuart stuttered his response, “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry you hurt yourself, that you feel like you need to.” He looked nervously at their house, knowing the source of her apparent psychosis, but terrified to name it. Her father would have Stuart pissing himself before he got a word out. Columbia didn’t know why she ever thought he could be her saviour.

“It’s ok Stuart,” she told him and pulled the jacket down. “I’m fine now, I’m happy. But let’s face it; you need to find yourself some sweet young environmentalist who cares about the city as much as you do. Eat your vegan meals, ride your bikes, go to your rallies and save the planet. That girl is not me, but you will find her.” With that she turned and walked away. He called to her as she hit the end of the block, but she didn’t turn back. Stuart was a nice guy, and he deserved a nice girl. Columbia had the sneaking suspicion that after being with Dimitri, she would tear a nice guy like Stuart apart if she ever decided to take him up on his offer.

She hummed all the way to the bank where her suspicions were confirmed. Her account now contained a number with more zeroes behind it than she thought possible. The bank teller’s eyes widened in shock when she saw the amount and slid the print out across the counter at her. Columbia took out a few hundred dollars just to have, but didn’t know what she’d do with the rest. Life didn’t feel like much of a consolation prize when she didn’t have Dimitri in it. She wasn’t suicidal, she was just...empty.

She went home and decided to have another nap. The last thought on her mind as she slipped into sleep was of Dimitri’s incredible eyes, the way they burned as he plunged himself into her and wrapped his hand around her throat.

*****

The alarm went off indicating her father’s imminent return. She went into the kitchen and found Eden actually doing homework. She smiled, ruffled her hair and said, “Hey, there might be some hope for you yet.”

Eden pulled back, looked her up and down and said, “Seriously, dude, what is wrong with you? Are those the same clothes you were wearing yesterday? Gross!”

“I just love you, remember that,” she told her little sister, “Now how about we order some pizza?”

“Oh my God, are you serious? Wow, ok, can I get that ham and pineapple we had at Auntie Lizzie’s house?” Eden asked with sudden enthusiasm for Columbia’s apparent changes.

“Yes, you can order anything you want,” Columbia told her, “chicken wings, pasta, garlic bread, dessert, drinks…the whole shebang!”

“Oh my god, this is crazy...ok, let me grab the menu,” Eden said and studied the folded paper flyer with the intensity of a grad school candidate. Columbia understood how exciting it was though. They weren’t exactly poor; they just never had any money. Her mother barely scraped by after she spent her paycheques on gambling and drinking...and possibly drugs. Columbia had never bothered to ask. Her father made decent money on the docks, but they rarely saw that either. He paid the mortgage on the house, gave Columbia a couple hundred bucks a month for groceries and spent the rest on himself.

Pizza was a rarity, so much so that the pizza place didn’t even have their number on file. They had never delivered to their little house.

After the order was placed, Columbia turned the TV on and called for Eden to watch a silly teen drama.

Her father came home just after the pizza got there. Columbia had tipped the kid with an extra twenty and laughed when he wouldn’t stop thanking her. They laid their feast out on the counter and dug in.

“What the fuck is this?” her father asked after he took his boots off and grabbed his two dinner beers. “Where the hell did this shit come from?”

Eden swallowed the piece in her mouth with a gulp and lowered her eyes. Columbia looked him square in the eyes and said, “I bought it.”

“How the fuck did you pay for this? Is this about the other night? That guy friend of yours? He pimping you out now, making a little money off your slutty ass?” he demanded, took a long pull off the bottle and slammed it into the table.

Columbia could feel her heart beating faster and she clenched her fists. Her father’s face was red with anger and distorted as he kept screaming accusations at her. She turned to Eden and said, “You should go to your room.”

“But-” Eden protested, she hadn’t finished her first slice of pizza yet.

Columbia didn’t even look at her, she gritted her teeth and hissed, “Just go.”

Eden stood up and took her plate with her, grabbing the cardboard container of wings and a can of Coke along the way. They were never allowed to have food in their rooms, but even Eden sensed that things were being done differently around their house now.

Her father had gone quiet and was watching her with squinted eyes. He took another long swig of beer and set the bottle down with a thud. “So you gonna explain to me what the fuck is going on around here all of a sudden?” he snarled.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Columbia replied in a steady voice. “I will be taking Eden and moving out. I can’t live with you anymore, the sight of you makes me sick.”

“You’re the sick one, always coming on to me, crying for me to stick it in you. Asking me if you could suck it,” he said, matching her tone. “You’ve been a freak from day one, and a little slut too.”

Columbia stood up and turned to walk to her room. She heard his chair scrape the floor behind her as he pushed himself away from the table. She turned, as if in slow motion, and saw him coming for her. His fist connected with her face and everything turned to red.





Chapter Twenty Three – Dimitri




The most difficult thing he’d ever done was let her go. He watched on the monitors as she left his apartment and got onto the elevator. As she walked away, he felt his entire existence shrink, like the air had been sucked from the room. He walked to the guest room where she had spent the night and curled up on the bed. He held the pillow against him, it still smelled like her. He fell asleep like that, pathetic, sniffing a pillow, curled on a bed that was too small for him...and feeling lonely.

When he woke up he tried to imagine what she was doing. It was evening, so he went into his office and sat at his desk, trying to summon her to his side through sheer will alone.

He knew it had been the right decision; she was fragile and unable to survive in his world. He knew she had a fire in her, but that would take years to develop...if she survived his nightly rages.

He’d never slept with anyone, so he never knew what he did in his sleep. Most mornings he woke covered in sweat, the sheets twisted around his body and the bed a mess. It never occurred to him that he was haunted by Sergei in both worlds, waking and sleeping.

He found her information with ease, and tracked her bank account. He set up a transfer from an offshore business account of his, entered a number, thought about her tinkling laugh and her velvety cunt and added an extra zero to the total. Money was nothing to him, more of a means to fuck with Sergei than anything else, but he knew in her world it would make a difference. He never wanted her to make bad choices based on her finances; at least he could give her that.

Perhaps in time, once he eliminated Sergei and took control of the Bratva himself, he would be able to come back for her. If they could sleep in separate beds, she should be ok. He wasn’t sure running the Bratva was the thing he wanted to do though, but if it meant keeping her safe, he would do it.

Until then, Sergei would delight in finding out about her, finding out about Dimitri’s major weakness.

His transactions done, he texted the concierge. It was Thursday; he would be home in the morning. Most likely he was in the air at the moment, but Dimitri needed to connect with somebody else to rid himself of the feeling that he was the last person in the world.

“Followed your advice, ready to jump on time,” is all he wrote. He knew this would please the concierge, but it still made him feel sick to his stomach.

He got up and went to the gym, a few hours in there would clear his head and help him ease the pain of losing Columbia, his little dove.

*****

“Excellent choice,” the concierge said as Dimitri pointed at a random colour on a paint palette in his hand. “That was the last decision, I will get these off to the designer at once.” He shot him a side-glance as he left the room, but Dimitri barely noticed.

He was in a funk. That’s what the concierge called it anyhow. They had been going over the plans for the penthouse in Hong Kong and Dimitri couldn’t recall a single thing he chose. He would not be surprised if every colour led back to something that reminded him of Columbia. Her black, thick hair showing up in the black leather furnishings. Her green, sparkling eyes in the jewel tone paint. He simply didn’t fucking care about his surrounding unless she were with him. He felt like letting her go had been the worst decision he’d ever made.

He sat in a club chair in the middle of his bedroom...their bedroom...and stared out at the mountain. He remembered Columbia’s delight with the windows and the view...and his cock. He craved her on his cock; he craved being inside of her. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever be the same.

“Let’s discuss packing, what will you be bringing from this place?” the concierge asked as he returned to the room. “I have compiled a list if you would like to go over it. The Renoir from the Library, for example. I know you love that piece.”

Dimitri waved his hand towards a small pile of clothing on his nightstand. “I’m taking that,” he said.

“What is that?” the concierge asked, his nose in the air. “Do you want me to pack it now?”

“No!” Dimitri growled and stood up. “I will keep it with me.” He strode to the bed and picked up the pile. It was the hoodie, tights, bra and underwear from Columbia’s first night here. The things he’d taken from her when she broke in. He held them up to his face and inhaled her scent. He knew he looked like a crazy man, an insane idiot, but he didn’t care. Everything was meaningless without her by his side.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” the concierge asked, concern on his face.

“I don’t know if I can ever explain it,” Dimitri replied, “it was...I don’t know, my friend. I’ll only know I’ll never be the same.”

“You made the right choice though,” the concierge reassured him, “she would have been a walking target. You saved her life by letting her go before Sergei’s people made the connection.”

“I know,” Dimitri agreed, “but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The concierge stood wordlessly for a moment, then launched into a detailed explanation of their travel plans. Dimitri didn’t hear a word the other man said, but was eternally grateful for the distraction. His old friend knew exactly what he needed to make it through the next few hours...days...years...however long it took him to be able to breathe without thinking of her face with every beat of his heart.

*****

The concierge shook him sometime during the night. “You need to wake up, you need to see this,” he told Dimitri.

Dimitri slowly surfaced into consciousness and sat up in the bed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and said, “What is it? Are we in danger?”

“No,” the concierge said, “but your friend might be.”

“What friend?” Dimitri asked, cleared his throat and went on, “What is going on?”

“Your girl, she’s at the front. I didn’t know if I should let her in or not,” the concierge told him, “I needed to ask you first. This is entirely up to you, but you know I think she doesn’t belong with us.”

“She belongs nowhere else,” Dimitri said and pushed himself out of bed. “Go, let her in! Send her back! She has returned to me.”

The concierge left in a hurry and Dimitri pulled some loose pants and a tee shirt on. He suddenly felt bashful in front of Columbia and didn’t want to greet her in the nude.

He paced at the end of the bed a few times when he heard the concierge in the hall. “Don’t just go in there, let me tell him you’re here.”

Columbia clearly didn’t listen, the door swung open and she was there, a glorious vision in yellow and red. She stopped and the concierge appeared behind her. “I tried to tell her-” he started to say, but Dimitri waved him off, the concierge left and shut the door behind him.

He noticed the blood then. She was wearing the same yellow dress she’d left in, but she was covered in blood. Her hair looked matted with it, her face was smeared with it and there were huge sprays of it down the front of her dress. Dimitri had killed enough people to know that she had been involved in a bloody and violent struggle.

“My god,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Columbia, what’s happened? Are you ok?”

She started to cry, her tears running down and streaking through the blood on her cheeks. She walked towards him, slowly, on trembling legs. He noticed a cut above her left eye and a spreading bruise. He never hit her there; he knew this was fresh. “I killed him,” she cried out as she reached him. He opened his arms and cradled her against his chest. He could do nothing but hold her close as she sobbed.

“Who did you kill?” he asked, but already knew the answer.

“My father,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest, “I took a knife and I stabbed him. I stabbed him so many times. There was so much blood...I never knew there would be so much blood.”

“Shhh it’s ok,” he told her and stroked her hair. He could feel the dried blood there, she smelled of it too, pungent and tangy. “You did the right thing, coming to me, I can help.”

“I can’t go back,” she sobbed again, “I can’t go home, the police will take me.”

“It’s ok,” he said, trying to soothe her, “It’s ok, it’s all over, and soon you won’t remember a thing. It will be all in the past.”

She raised her head and looked at him, her face streaked with blood and tears, her eyes shining and fierce. She grabbed his arms and gripped hard, her face intense and she said, “That’s just it, Dimi. I don’t want to forget. I liked it...I liked it so, so much.”

His heart swelled to hear her speak those words. The one thing that had kept them separate now cleaved them in ways he could share with no other. He recognized her killer’s heart, and knew she would match him in the art of assassination. He had met his match, from head to toe, through and through, she was the one for him.

“My love, little dove, my heart...to hear you say that,” he said and kissed her. She had her lips parted, waiting for him, and he could taste the tang of her father’s blood mixed with the salt of her tears. She was fierce and magnificent, and she would survive in his world.

“I need you,” she said and stepped back, tore off the blood soaked dress, dropped it to the floor and kicked off her boots. “Fuck me,” she told him, “don’t make me beg.”

He pulled his tee shirt off, it was now red with the blood from her fresh kill, and threw it on top of her clothing. She couldn’t wait; she pulled his pants down and stood in front of him, her face full of hunger.

He lifted her and took her to their bed. He was entranced with her beautiful blood-streaked face, like a proud warrior queen of old, fresh from battle. She was smiling as he pushed her legs apart and climbed between them. “Don’t ever send me away again,” she said as he ran his hands all over her body, marveling that she was in front of him. “I can’t survive out there, without you. Please let me stay.”

“I will never let you go,” he vowed to her and slid upwards to find her entrance. He knew in that moment, when he pushed inside of her for the first time since realizing how much he needed her, that he would never destroy her. He might have his dark predilections and urges, but her love, this pure, savage love would keep her safe in his arms. Together they would walk through the night, rolling and twisting like titans in each other’s arms, but in the morning they would be whole and better for having faced the dark by each other’s side. “I love you,” he said and held still inside of her tight heat. His cock pulsed against her cunt as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“I love you too,” she replied and held onto his arms. “I love you more than I ever imagined possible. I thought I was dead before you, you gave me life.”

“This must be love,” he said and leaned down to caress her neck while he withdrew his length from her pussy with excruciating precision. He thrust himself back inside of her, back where he belonged and felt her cunt tighten around him, pulling him further inside.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh and let her head fall to the side in absolute bliss, “Yes, this is love.”

He increased his pace and her body reacted under him, she pulled herself up towards him and hung off his broad shoulders. He sat up and brought her with him, impaling her further on his cock, slamming into her. They were entwined and upright, she wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to him in her need.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into her ear and wrapped a hand around her throat. At first she gasped and leaned her head back to accommodate his large hands. He was gentle with his grip, aware of how sore she must be after the other night.

After a moment or two he could feel her need building and knew she is going to come at any moment. He waited for it, the anticipation building his pleasure almost as much as the act itself.

Perfectly timed, she pulled herself up again, turned her blood-streaked face towards his forearm, replied, “I love you too,” and latched her teeth on.

They came together, pain and blood and sweat and tears a testament to the bond they were forging in that moment. Something deeper than love, something bigger than either of them, and something so far beyond the realm of normal that it was almost mythical.