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“Please!”
Sweat drips down your forehead, tears streaming down your cheeks, leaving messy trails of mascara in their wake. It feels like he has had you here like this for an eternity, yet you know that it can’t have been more than a handful of hours. Your wrists stretch above you, the metal manacles around them biting into the delicate skin painfully. You are almost certain that the skin there is bleeding sluggishly; you don’t risk trying to check. Balanced on your tiptoes, heels long since gone, it’s taking all of your concentration for you to keep your footing.
You can hear him moving in the shadows, heavy footsteps falling just out of sight, the telltale rasp of leather being flexed between his fists. A single, harsh fluorescent bulb lights up the centre of the room. You think you are in some kind of basement, judging by the lack of natural light and the musky, stale scent filling the air. You can hazard a guess or two at where he may have had his men take you, though you don’t know for certain. They had made sure that you wouldn’t be awake for that particular little journey.
“Give me another chance,” you gasp as you feel the sharp sting of his belt landing across your bare thighs, the edge wrapping around the sensitive skin, biting into your flesh. You take a teetering step, your weight pulling harshly on your wrists. Gritting your teeth, you try to right yourself before you can do any more damage.
When you had accepted the job, you thought it would be easy. Another rich man asking to be seduced? That would hardly be a challenge with your unique skill set. You pride yourself on your experience running honeypot jobs. Learning that it was the head of the Kravinoff crime syndicate certainly complicated matters, as did the reveal that he wished for his eldest son to be seduced rather than hiring you to enjoy your skillset first hand, but it was nothing that you couldn’t handle. Or so you thought.
“I am not in habit of giving second chances. You have wasted my time. My patience,” Nikolai says slowly as he circles you. His suit is still pristine, not a hair out of place. From looking at him, you would never guess that he had been at this for hours. “ The opportunity I so graciously arranged for you to meet Sergei on familiar grounds. He was comfortable. At ease. And what do you have to show?”
He shakes his head, disappearing from view again. You bite your lip before forcing yourself to relax, to let go. It will only hurt more if you are tense, and you cannot risk biting through your lip should he catch you off guard.
A familiar sound of leather cutting through the air sounds seconds before the impact lands across your back, cutting from shoulder to the swell of your backside, leaving a trail of crimson dripping in his wake. It feels like your back is on fire, each mark carefully placed to maximise how much of the canvas of your skin he can use. Hands twist in your restraints as you struggle to keep your footing, lips parting, wordless gasp forced from between them.
Bumping into Sergei at The Den should have been the perfect set-up. He was there for dinner and drinks for his baby brother’s birthday. Nobody ever enjoys family birthdays like that. He should have jumped at the opportunity to go home with you for the night — to at least ask for your number if nothing else. Instead, you had gone home empty-handed.
Again.
Some small voice at the back of your head thanks any deity listening that Nikolai doesn’t know about your other failed attempts to catch Sergei’s attention. You had been unsuccessful with both of your initial attempts; first, in catching his eye at a coffee shop just two streets away from Dmitri’s penthouse, and then when you had attempted a more bold option to engage in conversation when your pathways had ‘coincidentally’ crossed in the local park near his brother’s apartment building. The man had seemed more inconvenienced than charmed, much to your consternation.
“Nothing! You take my money, and give nothing. You are no whore; you are a thief. Perhaps I should take what I am owed, as you show no signs of completing job, hm?” Thick hands fall to your waist, the heat of him radiating through the torn shreds of your dress. Warm breath trails across the nape of your neck. You swallow back a whimper.
“He wasn’t there this morning. My contact works as a concierge in the building he is supposed to be staying in. They said he went out last night and didn’t come back until late this morning. There was some kind of incident—”
Nikolai stills behind you, hands tightening painfully around your waist. Bones groan beneath his touch; you know there will be bruises painting your skin come morning. If you make it that long.
“Incident?” he says sharply. Before you can respond, a string of furious Russian falls from his lips and his hands leave you. The sound of footsteps retreating echoes across the concrete. You let your head fall forward, hanging heavily as he leaves you in place.
“Mister Kravinoff, please. I can still complete the job. I just need a little more time. If I can just find him—”
“No. You wait for further instructions. My Sergei will be back soon. Your services may not be needed after all. I expect half the payment to be returned,” he says, voice growing more distant as he moves about the room. The rasp of leather through fabric makes the last of the tension in your shoulders seep out, body thankfully slumping in your restraints.
“Half?” you say cautiously; an offer that sounds too good to be true often is.
“Information is worth something. Not full amount, but something. I trust there will be no problem?”
Your mind flashes to your painfully low bank account. Living in the city is hardly cheap. Having such expensive tastes makes it even more challenging. You don’t have enough to return half to him and still make rent at the end of the month. Not unless, by some miracle, you manage to find another high paying client before the week is through.
You swallow hard, weighing up your options. “I don’t offer refunds.”
Footsteps still. “Is that so? I fear we may have problem after all. I paid for a service in full. How do you propose to fix?”
Eyes sliding closed, you take a steadying breath. It’s a foolish offer to make. Completely ridiculous. And yet… “Perhaps I could show you what expertise your money has paid for, rather than Sergei?”
Nikolai laughs. Loud, and echoing, and cruel. “You could not handle me, little girl. Look at you. Already broken, and I have barely started. You would not survive the night.”
Gritting your teeth, you twist your wrist, folding your thumb in a way in which it is not supposed to go. You had hoped to avoid this, but when needs must… a layer of skin scrapes off painfully as you force your thumb and hand through the manicales. Judging by the pain radiating from your hand, you have dislocated it at best. You try not to think of the worst case scenarios.
Footsteps approach. You work quickly to slip your remaining hand out of the manacles, winding your hands around the cuffs as best you can to try and hide your escape until the last possible moment. Nikolai circles you, a cruel look twisted on his lips.
You move with a confidence you don’t feel, draping your arms around his neck. Satisfaction sparks in the back of your mind as his eyes widen, his hands automatically moving — one to your waist, the other to your throat.
“I think you will find I can survive a lot more than you would think. Would you like to test those limits, Mister Kravinoff? Half of what you have already paid me should buy a man like you… until midnight. If you like what you see, we can renegotiate my fee. How does that sound?”
Dark blue eyes glint beneath the fluorescent light, staring down at you, unblinking. “We have a deal. Who knows; if you impress me, I may have need of your services again.”
Coyly toying with his tie, you look at him through lowered lashes, a smile stretching on your painted lips. This, you know how to handle. Once you get down to it, Men like Nikolai are all the same. “That is good to hear, Mister Kravinoff. That is very good indeed. Let’s get down to business, shall we? Why don’t we move this somewhere more comfortable.”