Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I’m moving you,” I explain again. “If you’re good, I can cut these free when we get to our destination.”
“I won’t be good,” she threatens.
A rush of fondness surges, and when it mingles with my guilt, I’m tempted to abort the whole mission. But no. I can’t. I’m so damn close now. Besides, she knows everything about me. I stupidly, idiotically, gave her every detail, so her father could come after me and the Chicago Bratva. There’s no stopping now. Not until he’s dead.
“I know, dietka.” I stroke my thumb down the curve of her cheek. “But I can handle you.”
That’s what she likes. Being bad and getting gently punished. I’m using that kink against her– no, for her–fuck, I don’t even know anymore.
I’m using her kink to try to make this work for her.
Bozhe moi, I hope it does. Traumatizing her would be unforgivable.
I leave her on the bed and wheel the large crate Feodor delivered with the van over to the side of the bed. I brought it in last night while she slept. At the same time, I scrubbed the place of all traces of our fingerprints or DNA.
Her eyes fly wide now, and she shakes her head. “No, no, no, no.”
“It’s okay, malyshka.” I scoop her wiggling, protesting form up and pivot to gently lay her in the soft bed of shredded paper inside the crate. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to pretend I’m giving you a little cage time before your punishment.”
She stills for a moment, her blue gaze wide. “What?” she croaks. Her nipples bead up beneath my white shirt.
I lightly brush my thumb across one. “It’s a game, dietka. You’ve been a bad girl. I’m putting you in your cage to wait for your punishment.”
“N-no.” I can tell she’s tweaked by the suggestion. Her eyes dilate, lips part.
I nod firmly. “I need you to be a good girl.”
“No, Adrian.” She’s scared. Of course, she is. The gummies seem to take the edge of it, though. Her body remains relatively relaxed. “You can’t do this.”
“Please, Kateryna. I don’t want to make threats or knock you out. Play this game with me.”
She locks eyes on me, searching my face. “Where are we going?”
I shake my head and tie the gag around her mouth. “No!” she screams around it.
“Just until you’re in the van.” I tuck a sweater around her, so she won’t get cold, close the lid of the crate, grab my packed duffel bag and quickly finish wiping the apartment of any prints or DNA either of us left behind before I wheel her out. Then I lock the door and leave the key under the mat for the landlord.
As soon as I get the crate loaded in the van–thank fuck for the liftgate–I open the lid to the crate and take off the gag, placing my finger on her lips. “See? You can trust me, no?”
Kat’s startled gaze skitters around the ceiling of the van and back to my face.
“Be good.” I leave her in the back with the lid off and shut the back gate then jog around to the driver’s side. My phone rings, and I check the screen.
Ravil.
I decline the call, even though I know it will cost me when I see him again.
If I see him again.
I check under the front seat of the van and find Feodor left me a pistol as I asked. I tuck it in my jacket pocket now.
“Adrian?” The fearful pitch of Kat’s voice makes my chest cold.
“Right here. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not selling you. I’m not leaving you. Okay?”
“Cage time,” she says weakly and relief rushes through me.
I was asking a lot for her to turn this into a sexual fantasy and not a terror, but she’s trying.
Driving in the UK is a total pain in the ass because of the left-hand side of the road, but I handle it. I get to the dock, where I climb in the back of the van.
“Gag goes back on, malyshka. After your cage time, I’ll give you everything you need. Da?”
She closes her eyes and hums softly like she’s working to keep herself from freaking out.
“Good girl,” I murmur and reattach the gag then close the lid.
I sure as hell hope this works.
I unload the crate from the van and wheel it in front of my shipping container. The guy named Rodion is there, waiting for me. I give him 200 pounds, and he opens it up and lets me in with the crate, closing it behind me.
I immediately remove the lid from the crate, so Kat can get eyes on me. “I’m still here,” I say, as if my presence is a comfort to her. As if I’m not the guy who has her tied up in a crate about to set sail for America.