Thirty Days of Shame Read online

  It’s so true. Pain and pleasure are twined around each other in my head now, like threads twisting to make a rope. I need both.

  Snap!

  My flesh quivers beneath the belt, and my whole body jerks.

  “Ten!” I cry out, and stand up, frantically rubbing my burning skin.

  “Did I say you could stand up?” His harsh breath is right in my ear.

  I sneak another glance at the clock. A few more minutes have passed. It’s after six a.m. now. They’re on the road.

  “No. Did I ask permission?” I spin around to face him. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re done. You had no right to make me pay for my uncle’s debt in the first place, and when you—”

  He shoves me up against the wall, pressing against me, a giant wall of body heat and muscle. I feel his rigid cock pressing into my belly.

  He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue forces its way into my mouth and takes control, swirling, and I nearly swoon. I melt into him. The entire time he held me prisoner, he never kissed me once. All those times he fucked me…his mouth never touched mine.

  Now it seems he’s making up for lost time. The kiss goes on and on, and he tastes sweet and warm. I never want it to end. I’d starve and die before I tore away from him. Pure pleasure flows from him and into me, through our connected flesh. He’s hungry, devouring me. My tongue swirls around his in an intimate dance.

  Finally he pulls away from me, and there is a dark, feral look of hunger on his face. Without him holding me up, I stumble. My knees are weak, and I can feel the pain of the belt marks pulsing in time to my heartbeat.

  “On the bed, now,” he barks at me. “On your back. Legs spread open, knees bent. Make me tell you twice, and your punishment will be fifty lashes.” He advances towards me until I’m backed up against the bed. “I’ll beat you until you pass out. Then I’ll revive you and finish the job.”

  I’m drowning in an ocean of lust. Why? His threats are sick, they’re terrible. I will never understand why fear and pain are such an aphrodisiac for me.

  In moments like these, he could make me do anything. My will is not my own; his words are my will.

  I fall backwards onto the bed and spread my legs, drawing up my knees.

  He starts kissing and licking his way down my stomach, and I hear him unzipping his pants as he’s doing it. Somehow, he’s shucked them by the time he’s between my legs, and kicked off his shoes and socks. He has a condom in his hand and he’s rolling it onto the thick column of his phallus that points straight up at the ceiling. Still wearing his shirt, though. Have I ever seen him without a shirt? It’s like if he got completely naked in front of me, he’d be baring his soul as well as his body.

  “Sweet, sweet Willow.” His words caress me, his tongue laps at me, as the burning stripes of his punishment glow on my ass.

  I stifle a moan. He moves to suck on my clitoris while one finger curves inside me, stroking my inner wall. It always finds exactly the right spot.

  “Oh, God,” I wail. “Yes. Oh, please. Please.” What am I begging for? I don’t even know. I’m mindless, desperate. I’ve been starving for him for so long now. And he must feel the same way, from the way he’s devouring me, with small nips and the swirling lap of his tongue.

  He moves up, and I stifle a groan of frustration, because I want his mouth on me forever. He keeps sliding up until he’s lying on top of me. He grabs my hands and pins them above my head.

  I want to grab the perfect globes of his hard, muscular ass and pull him into me. I want to control the pace, to drive him into me until he pierces my core.

  “Let me touch you,” I beg.

  “Who’s in charge?” he says sternly.

  “You.” It comes out as a sob.

  “Don’t ever forget it.”

  And then, to punish me for being needy, he slides into me ever so slowly. Inch by inch. Pushing into my tight tunnel, keeping my wrists pinned as I arch my back and thrust up towards him.

  “Please. I want it.” I’m a shameless, pathetic beggar.

  He stops, halfway inside me. “I know. You always have. From the moment you first saw me.”

  It’s true, and it infuriates me that he’s so smug about it. He uses my feelings against me, taunts me for craving him. “I hate you!” I scream at him.

  “Music to my ears.”

  And with that, he thrusts into me so hard that I slide back on the bed.

  Pause. He settles down, the hard wall of his chest crushing my breasts, his mouth on my ear.

  The he starts pumping, slowly, his breath harsh, drawing out the sweet, evil torture.

  He brings me to the brink, and then stops. Buried to the hilt. I’m on fire, burning to death from the inside out.

  “Who’s in charge?” he asks again.

  “You are,” I sob. “Please, please, please…”

  He must like that, because he starts thrusting again, pumping into me, hard and fast, until I shudder convulsively and feel myself shatter. Wave after wave crashes over me, hard, and I’m crying and thrashing underneath him, and he goes rigid. He groans in release, his fingers tightening, then finally relaxes.

  He slides out of me, lying there, breathing hard. He is next to me but not touching me. Not looking at me. A million miles away.

  I feel a familiar wave of sorrow and loneliness wash over me, just like it did back at his beautiful mansion by the sea.

  I let my eyes drift closed and pretend I’m falling asleep. I force myself not to sneak looks at the clock, instead counting out the minutes in my head. I count one Mississippi, two Mississippi… I count to sixty ten times.

  And then I feel him sit up. Naptime is over.

  I keep my eyes closed, dragging this out as long as possible.

  When I feel him shift impatiently, I open my eyes and glance up at him. “You always make me feel horrible after we have sex.”

  He actually looks puzzled. “How? I didn’t say a word, just now.”

  “Exactly.” I lie there, letting the dull, heavy weight of my aching need settle in on me. “You make me feel like a used condom. Something dirty and tainted, for you to come in and cast aside.”

  He sighs, stroking my face, brushing hair out of my eyes. That tender touch…it heals me and shatters me at the same time. It’s rarer and more precious than platinum. “You are not dirty or tainted.”

  Please be like this forever.

  “Once, you held me in your arms. For hours.” That was after his friend Feodyr dragged me to that nightmare rape-torture orgy that I barely escaped.

  “Yes.” He gazes down into my eyes, and his finger slides along my cheek.

  I bite my lip. “I still dream about that. I remember how it felt.” Tears fill my eyes and I look at the wall, blinking hard. “I felt safer and more…loved, more cared for, then I’ve felt in years. Maybe ever.”

  What I’m saying is true, but it’s also calculated. I’ve been obsessively studying survival skills, and this is just one of them. Make your captor care for you, and he’s less likely to kill you.

  I tried it before with Sergei, and it didn’t seem to work at the time, but now I realize that it did work, just very slowly.

  Oh, he’s still dangerous and unpredictable, and he could still be the death of me. But I’ve learned to read his moods, and this is the most open, the most reachable, I’ve ever seen him.

  He twines a lock of my hair around his finger. Like a normal man. Like a lover, not a jailer. “You know it has nothing to do with you. It’s me. What does love look like? I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know. My parents were drunken beasts who beat and clawed at each other. I grew up on the streets of the most dangerous neighborhood in St. Petersburg. I grew up among thieves and whores. Sex has never been about love for me. It’s a biological need, like eating, and once I satisfy it, I don’t need it anymore until the next time.” He sighs. “Or at least, that’s the way it was until I met you.”

  I hate that anyone had to grow up like that, b
ut it doesn’t excuse his horrible treatment of me.

  I stare at him, and my gaze is unforgiving. “You’re a grown man, Sergei. Your past is your past. You can’t blame it for how you behave today.”

  And I see the steel shutters descend behind his eyes.

  Something happened to him long ago, something that made him hate my family. Bringing up the past was a dangerous mistake.

  “My past shapes my present.”

  He slides out of bed abruptly, and stands up. Still wearing his shirt, but naked from the waist down. His thick cock dangles from a dark nest of curly hair, and my gaze is drawn to the hard muscles of his massive thighs before I look up at his face again.

  He’s retreated from me, and I can’t touch him anymore. Sweet Sergei is gone; cold Sergei is back.

  “Get dressed. You’re coming back with me.” He starts pulling on his boxer shorts and pants.

  I wonder where Anastasia and Yuri and Helenka are now.

  “Can I take a shower?” I ask. Stalling a little more.

  He shrugs. “Make it quick.”

  I hurry into the tiny bathroom and shower for as long as I dare. The water is luke-warm, and the hotel shampoo smells like cheap fruity perfume. When I come out, I get dressed and we leave the room.

  His men have been waiting outside for him the whole time. I recognize Jasha, Maks and Slavik. His most loyal foot-soldiers. They’d do anything for him, no questions asked.

  Slavik has a bandage across his nose and two black eyes, I notice. That’s the kind of life these men lead.

  There’s a dark car with tinted windows waiting in the parking lot. The last time I stepped into a car like that, I was subjected to a month of terror and ecstasy that broke me apart. Every choice was stripped from me. I became a flesh puppet, jerked about for the amusement of my cruel master. Never again, I vow to myself.

  I slide my glance over to Sergei as he slams the motel room shut behind him, and I try to mentally calculate how far Anastasia and the kids could have gotten by now. Sergei still hasn’t asked me about them. He doesn’t care about them, never has. He thinks I’ll just walk away from them without a word. He thinks I’ll just let him take me back to his house, that giant, beautiful torture palace, so we can resume our cruel dance.

  Let him think that for a while longer.

  Chapter Five

  I picked the motel for its strategic location. It’s always busy around here, which makes it harder for anyone to drag me into a car kicking and screaming without anyone noticing.

  We’re right across the street from a twenty-four-hour diner. “I’m starving,” I say. “I didn’t get a chance to eat today.” That’s a lie, so I stare at the diner as I say it, rather than at Sergei. “Could we go over there and grab some lunch before we hit the road? I feel like I’m about to be sick.” I’m trying to make it compelling. If he thinks I’m merely uncomfortable, he may not care.

  He shrugs. “I’ll send Maks to get you something.”

  I give him a skeptical glance. “Are you afraid I’ll try to call out for help if we go into a restaurant?” But I keep my voice light and non-threatening.

  “Maybe.” He glances at Maks, who shakes his head in annoyance and heads across the street.

  “Grilled cheese and fries! And a chocolate shake!” I yell at Maks. Maks doesn’t bother to look back; he just raises his fist to give me a middle-finger salute.

  “Keep your voice down,” Sergei says, with a pleasant smile that doesn’t fool me at all. “Stop trying to draw attention to yourself.”

  He gestures at a bench by a lamppost, and I sit down. Jasha and Sergei settle down on either side of me, a pair of giant bookends squeezing me between them. Slavik stands next to the bench with his arms folded, constantly scanning the street. Always expecting the worst, seeking out all the potential hiding spots where Sergei’s enemies might lie in wait. The rooftops, the alleys, the doorways – in Sergei’s world, they’re not part of the architecture. They’re camouflage for snipers.

  I’ve lived like that myself ever since we went on the run, and it’s exhausting. It paints the world around you in an ugly light.

  But I’m happy to see there’s a line of people out the door of the diner, and Maks is at the end. This should take a while.

  I push my hair out of my eyes and blow out an exasperated breath. “Why would I try to escape? I think we’ve already established that you can find me anywhere. How exactly did you find me again?”

  Sergei shrugs and brushes aside the question of how he tracked me down. “If you made a big enough ruckus, if you called for the police, it would draw unwanted attention to me. That’s not ideal for a man in my line of work. Mind you, I’m more cautious than your uncle. My businesses are all clean. An audit would turn up nothing. But still…I like my privacy.”

  If he wants privacy, he’d better not try to drag me into his car.

  What he doesn’t know is, I’m not going with him. I’m not going back to that beautiful prison, where I’m at the mercy of his cruel moods.

  I’m done with being a prisoner. I’m done living my life as a victim of my genetics.

  Yes, I was born into a family of drug dealers and illegal arms dealers.

  But that was them, not me. I never wanted any part of it. I didn’t even find out what we really did for a living until after my parents died and I moved in with my uncle. Vilyat was far less cautious about keeping his activities secret, and I stumbled on the truth when I was home from college.

  I was horrified – but I was also trapped. My family was extremely controlling, and for me to leave, I would have had to go into hiding, with no money and no job skills.

  I considered running when I found out, but I also saw how my aunt was slipping into a medicated haze, and how much my cousins needed me.

  Well, no more. They’re free, and I’m done. I would rather die than live life as a slave.

  After all, what would happen to me if I went back to Sergei’s house? He’s got some hidden agenda, and I have no idea what he plans to do to me.

  I know that if I run, he is very likely to hunt me down and kill me. In his world, letting someone wiggle their way out of an agreement calls for retribution. If he doesn’t come after me, he’s admitting weakness. So he wouldn’t even have a choice, not if he wants to stay at the top of the heap. It’s him or me.

  I’m not suicidal. Far from it. I’m terrified.

  But if I disappear behind those white stucco walls again, I’m afraid I’ll never emerge.

  I don’t trust this version of Sergei, because his moods are mercurial, shifting without warning or reason. Yes, so far he’s been less cruel – at least out here in the open. But first and foremost he’s a warrior, and everything he does is strategic. He’s trying to lull me into a sense of false security, and the second I slide into his darkened vehicle, he’ll go right back to the way he was, or worse.

  “Why do you even want me back?” I ask him in a low voice. “You were holding me for collateral. My uncle already cut and ran; you know he’s not going to pay you and he doesn’t care if you torture me and then serve me up as stew.” Maybe I shouldn’t give Sergei any ideas. I clear my throat and forge ahead. “I have no value to you anymore.”

  He ignores me, staring straight ahead.

  “How is Lukas?” I ask.

  He gives me a nasty look. “Fine. I make sure of that, every day. But you left him behind, so you’ve lost the right to ask about his welfare.”

  Now I’m pissed.

  “You told me I’d never be allowed to see him again, even though you knew it would hurt him deeply, so don’t try to make me feel bad about leaving. If I’d stayed, I still wouldn’t have been allowed to see him, you hypocritical motherfucker. Any pain that child is suffering, you are one hundred percent responsible for,” I snap at him.

  He nods. “Fair point.”

  Well, this is something. He’s actually letting me disagree with him, without threatening me or brutalizing me.

  But it�
��s not enough, and it’s much too late.

  And we fall silent.

  The silence stretches on and on. The sun is rising higher in the sky and heat shimmers up from the sidewalk. Sweat rolls down my forehead and stings my eyes, and I wipe it with the back of my hand. I can’t remember where my fake glasses are. I’m not wearing makeup anymore. I didn’t style my hair in waves this morning, and the dark color is starting to fade. Willow is re-emerging, and Sarah is fading.

  I wonder what kind of disguise I’ll use when I escape this time.

  If I escape.

  I pass the time dreaming up new hair colors. New looks. Red. Platinum blonde. Green contact lenses? Brown contact lenses?

  None of his men speak a word. People glance at them as they walk by. They can’t help it; Sergei and his men demand attention without trying. They’re too big, too dangerous, to blend in. They’re like a pride of lions moving through a herd of gazelles.

  Maks finally brings the food back to me. When I thank him, he mutters, “Fuck yourself” in Russian.

  “Better than fucking you,” I reply, also in Russian. “At least I know I’ll come.” That last bit is in English. Jasha chokes on a laugh, and I see Sergei’s lips twitch in an almost-smile.

  I force myself to eat, taking my time between each bite. I chew slowly and thoroughly. I’m too nervous to eat much.

  Then I walk over to a garbage can, and Sergei comes with me, attached to me like an enormous shadow. I toss the fast food containers in. His men are standing about twenty feet away, watching us, scanning the crowd, always aware of their surroundings. I glance back at the parking lot. The dark car has moved to the sidewalk now, and its motor is running.

  “You weren’t that hungry after all,” Sergei says, looking mildly amused. Damn it, he knows I’m stalling – I’m sure of it now. I feel a shiver of unease.

  But a crowd of people are walking towards us, and I have my chance. Probably my only chance.

  “I’m leaving,” I inform him.

  “You really think so?” He cocks his head to the side, looking at me with polite interest.