Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Luke hugged himself, looking up at him warily. “Are you going to punish me for trying to manipulate you?” His voice cracked a little.
Roman stared at him, considering his options. He could always order his men to rough him up, but the idea didn’t sit well with him. He blamed Luke’s deceptively youthful looks.
Roman would readily admit he wasn’t a good man. He’d done things that had surely reserved him a place in hell…if an afterlife existed. But he’d done those things to adults, not children. Luke Whitford wasn’t a child, but the air of innocence he had about him coupled with his baby face fucked with Roman’s mind. No, he didn’t want to hand the boy over to his men. But the boy must be punished. If Roman didn’t punish him, Luke might start getting ideas. Roman had been too soft with him as it was.
He said, “You will kneel in that corner, clasp your hands behind your back and remain that way until seven in the morning. No breaks, no bathroom, no sleep.”
Luke looked like he wanted to protest, but he closed his mouth and silently went to the corner and knelt on the floor, facing the wall. As far as punishments went, it was far from the worst, but Roman knew how uncomfortable and painful it would be to keep that position.
“It goes without saying that this room is under constant video surveillance,” Roman added, staring at the mop of curly hair. “You will not like your punishment if you choose to defy me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy murmured.
Sir.
Roman left the room, trying to ignore the way that little English word pleased something in him. An honorific like that didn’t exist in Russian—or rather, they were old-fashioned and no longer used.
He had to admit that sometimes the English language might be superior to his mother tongue.
Chapter 6
The first hour was okay. His stomach was full, the room was warm, and he even had something like a plan.
Luke was relieved and a bit surprised by the punishment Roman had chosen for him. He had expected worse. He had been a little apprehensive when he devised the plan to get caught in the act, but it all went seamlessly. Roman had bought it. Now that the guy was assured of his own superiority and cleverness, assured that he could see right through Luke, it would be easier to soften him up and lull him into a false sense of security. Luke felt a pang of shame before reminding himself not to be silly. Roman Demidov was a criminal. Men like him deserved nothing less. Besides, it wasn’t like he was planning to kill the guy or something. He just wanted to save himself. He just wanted to go home. That was all.
The second hour was harder, and the third hour was worse. He was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. His knees were sore from kneeling on the floor for so long and his arms and shoulders were starting to ache.
The fourth hour made it clear why Roman had chosen such a seemingly soft punishment. Luke’s entire body ached from the stiff position he was forced to maintain, his feet were asleep, and his neck and back hurt pretty badly. Luke had to remind himself that this was the plan. He had to be “punished” and accept his punishment for the Russian to think he was beaten into submission—so to speak.
But he almost gave up by the end of the fifth hour. His eyelids kept closing, his bladder was full, he was exhausted, his bruised ribs still aching from the beating he had received a few days ago, and he wanted to sleep so much it was a physical effort not to.
The clock on the wall seemed to be mocking him by marking time ever so slowly. Minutes dragged. Time crawled by at such a snail’s pace that he wondered whether the clock had stopped working. Luke kept himself awake only by imagining creative ways to torture and kill Roman. The asshole was probably sleeping like a baby right now in a soft, comfy bed, not a care in the world. Luke couldn’t feel his limbs anymore.
By six in the morning, he became vaguely aware that his face was wet from tears running down his cheeks. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to curl into himself and finally pass out.
He realized that he was no longer alone only when a pair of strong hands pulled him up by the shoulders. Luke’s legs gave out. He couldn’t move, his feet still asleep and his entire body hurting. He cried, hiding his wet face in the man’s wide shoulder.
“Shh,” said a gentle, low voice, long fingers stroking his hair. “You did well.”
A part of Luke’s dizzy, sleep-deprived brain screamed at him to stop clinging like a baby to the asshole who’d done this to him, but it felt very distant and unimportant. This felt good—the hands felt good—and he was so, so tired.