Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Your father?” I ask him, they share a last name. And what is the Bratva?
“Yes. Of sorts,” he says, but he offers no further explanation.
I shiver when we enter the massive house. It’s freezing cold, and I’m not dressed for this weather. But soon, Kazimir ushers me into an entryway. People I assume are servants stand at attention, dressed in black uniforms. Their spines are as stiff as swords, their eyes focused beyond us. This is no warm welcome reception. Kazimir issues commands in his native tongue, and people run to retrieve the bags. He takes me by the elbow, a sterner gesture than by the hand, and guides me down a narrow hallway toward a doorway that stands closed.
“You will meet Dimitri first,” he says. “You will speak to him with respect and defer to me if you have any questions. He commands the Bratva and is like a father to me.” He leans in and brings his mouth to my ear. “You have many questions. Now is not the time to ask them.” His voice takes on a stern, corrective tone. “Respect, young lady.” I’m tired and cold and this is ridiculous.
“Fine,” I say, not sure why he’s making such a point to be so demanding about this.
His hand crashes on my thinly-clad backside so swiftly, I’m breathless with shock. “You will refer to me as sir,” he says. “You will behave demurely and respectfully in the presence of Dimitri.”
My stomach churns with nausea and my backside throbs. What sort of alternate reality is this? Am I some sort of slave? I look discreetly around us, looking for signs of chains or devices he’ll use to hold me hostage. That’s what I am. Held hostage. A prisoner.
Chills skate down my spine.
“Sadie,” he warns.
“Yes, sir,” I say, though it feels weird, and I’m a little confused.
We stand outside the office door. The floors are covered in thick carpet, and gilded frames line the wall, pictures of snowy landscapes and beautiful mountains, but an air of coldness pervades our surroundings.
“Pay very close attention to my commands,” he says. “Your training has already commenced, and Dimitri will expect that I’ve already bent your will to mine.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “And I haven’t had the time I usually do.”
My training? Bending my will?
He says it as if it’s so normal. Expected. I’m just some twisted notch on his belt.
“And let me guess,” I say, ignoring the warning in my belly that tells me to curb my temper. “If I disobey you’ll punish me.” I’ve heard the threat and felt the smack of his palms now that I know what he’ll say next. I spit the words out. I’m angry at him for taking me. I’m angry at him for betraying me. I’m angry that the one man who ever showed an interest in me at all only meant to manipulate me. And I’m getting sick of the threats of punishment, like I’m some sort of lapdog who should cower under her master’s whim under the threat of a rolled-up newspaper.
I close my mouth, half expecting him to snap at me and hurt me, but his face barely registers any reaction at all. Instead, his jaw clenches and he eyes me for so long, I wonder if he’ll speak at all. Finally, he shakes his head.
“It’s a shame,” he says. “But the situation can’t be changed.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask in angry confusion.
“You have the makings of such a beautiful submissive.” The cold tone of his voice makes me shiver. “But your defiant attitude shows me I don’t have the luxury of the training I’d have chosen.”
I blink in surprise, dread pooling in my belly when he cuffs my wrists with his fingers and holds me to him. When he nods at a man standing guard by a door, the guard goes ahead of us, returning a moment later to welcome us in. He speaks in Russian, but his bowed head and welcoming gesture are clear enough. I don’t know what to expect, or how to prepare. So when the door opens, I scream as Kazimir grabs hold of my hair so roughly I feel the ache flare along my scalp. I try to get away but he’s too powerful, too tall, his hand on the back of my head unreachable. Tears blind my vision as I claw helplessly forward. He drags me in front of a large black desk cast in shadow, shoves me to my knees, releases my wrists, then cracks his hand on my backside so hard I fall forward and land on my hands. My heart stammers a crazy beat in my chest. My eyes fill with tears. I’m suddenly the little girl beaten by the ones in power over her again.
“Stay there,” he snaps in English. “If you move, you’ll feel my belt.”