Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Not like this.
Finally, there is movement. And my heart-rate calms as his shoes clip across the cement floor in my direction. I think he’s going to fuck me now. And then he will go, like the rest of them.
Only he doesn’t. He stops just above me. And it’s the scent that always hits me first. That’s the one thing I notice about these men I don’t look at. This one smells good. Earthy like warm oak and spicy like cloves. He is too clean to be in this filthy room. I know it right away.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse his shoes beside me. Black leather oxfords. Polished and well cared for. Knots tied with precision, peeking out from beneath gray twill trousers. Expensive.
I’m curious. And yet my eyes resist the urge to travel further. Until he commands it. It’s not the command itself, but the deep accented voice that I recognize. The voice with the hard consonants and soft melody. A contradiction.
That voice, I’m certain, is the same one I heard two nights ago. When Arman was eating dinner and the doorbell rang out. Arman never greets company in the middle of dinner. But that night, when one of his men came barging in, he did. Whoever had arrived that evening was important. This man had power over Arman, which made me curious. In this castle, Arman is King. And I’d never seen him bow to any other.
But on that evening, he did. He graciously allowed for the interruption and even offered for the stranger to dine with him while I sat on the floor. The man declined and chose to stand for the few brief moments he was there. I wanted to glance up at him even then. But that was breaking my own rules. I never look at them. So instead, I focused on his shoes. Black oxfords. And listened to the voice. Deep and melodic. Unmistakably Russian and laced with warning. A warning that Arman didn’t seem to like.
He left, and I pushed the whole incident from my mind.
But now my resolve has abandoned me. So my eyes travel up. And up, and up, and up. He’s tall, this man. Taller than most. Much larger than Arman. And that pleases me.
I wonder if he’ll kill him. I wonder if he’ll let me watch.
He looms over me, his shadow eclipsing my much smaller body on the mattress. He’s broad shouldered and powerful. The type of man with a presence that can’t be ignored. Athletic and toned. A fighter, I think… maybe. Most of Arman’s friends are fat and old, and stink of cigars and vodka. But this one is sharp, both in dress and manner.
He wears a black suede jacket and a gray flat cap atop his head, which casts his face in shadow. I can’t see him, but he can see me. The weight of his examination is heavy, and my pulse responds. I don’t know why. Only that I’m anxious, and I want him to leave.
He doesn’t.
Because he’s here to fuck me. Only, he’s drawing it out. Taking too long. My dissociative fortress is caving in on me. Emotion seeping in. One I haven’t felt since Dmitri’s betrayal.
Anger.
It’s roiling around inside of me, catching my breath and stealing my peace.
I lift my chin and try to meet his gaze. I don’t know this man. But I want him gone. I have rules. I don’t talk. Because I’m afraid what might spill out if I do. The truth I won’t be able to contain. The space inside of my head is the only sanctuary I have. And he’s ruining that. I turn my focus back to the lines on the wall, but I don’t want him to see. I don’t want him to see me counting. Because that’s private. That’s mine.
“Get on with it, will you?” the words snap from my tongue in a harsh cadence, a shock to my ears.
My voice is rusty and foreign. Demented. I sound like an animal. Because I am.
The intruder remains silent. Nothing but silence, for a full minute. I know, because I count every second. And then his deep voice reverberates off the walls, surrounding me.
“Look at me when you speak,” he demands.
I turn my head back towards him slowly, only to find him kneeling in front of me now. Breathing my air, taking up my space. The shadow is gone, and his face is unmasked. Harsh and serious, with the type of blue eyes that can only come from Slavic genes. Ice cold and shocking in their intensity.
It has been many months since fear has held a place in my head or my heart. But the presence of this man stirs it to life again. Pulling me even further from my dissociative state than I’m willing to venture. Not a single one of these men have ever had the audacity to get intimate with me. To get right up in my face and look me in the eyes. I am merely a body with three holes to them, and they make their choice and cause me several minutes of discomfort before it’s all over. But not this one. I don’t know what it is he wants from me. I don’t want to find out either.