Lauren's brow furrowed. "So, you have to be my babysitter? Sorry, dude."
For the first time, she saw something other than stoic irritation on Broken Nose Guy's face. His tight features relaxed slightly. "I volunteered for this position, Miss Lauren."
She had to admit, she was shocked. "Why?" Lauren blurted, "Why would you do that? I'm going to bore you half to death." She leaned forward earnestly, "I'm incredibly not exciting, seriously."
There was a small cough from the man that might possibly be characterized as a rusty little chuckle. "And I would like to keep it that way." He looked at the girl's confused face. "You don't belong in this world. Mr. Williams is decisively interested in keeping you as apart from it as possible. As am I." There was more. That Broken Nose Guy used to have children. Three of them. He hadn't seen them for years. The wife had up and left without a trace, even with his more advantageous search skills. He thought of them all the time, missed them desperately. And just as desperately grateful they weren't here to see what he'd become. Not that he would ever say any of this to Number Two's new wife. What on earth had possessed the man to marry someone so ridiculously naive and inexperienced?
Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Lauren stared at him as she finished her muffin. "What's your name?" she asked suddenly.
Broken Nose Guy stared at her for a moment. "Charles," he admitted finally, "Charles Straker."
"Can I call you Chuck?" his new charge asked.
Finishing his coffee, Broken Nose Guy said, "No."
The new Mrs. Thomas Williams ran home, absently keeping to central streets so the BMW following her could keep pace easily. Finally pausing in front of Thomas's (not hers, she reminded herself sternly, the Crime Lord's house) she nodded to the car idling alongside her. "Bye, Chuck!" she called, "I'm in for the rest of the day!"
The man in the passenger side of the car looked at Broken Nose Guy. "Did she just call you Chuck?"
Putting the car in park and turning it off, Charles settled himself more comfortably. "No."
It was late afternoon when Lauren's shiny new iPhone 'pinged' with a text from her groom."Be ready by 7. Straker will be waiting for you in front of the house. Wear something elegant, similar to last night. T."Holding the phone, Lauren squeezed it a little too hard, putting a ripple in the screen. Thumbs finally moving over the buttons, she gritted her teeth against everything she wanted to say to this arrogant British asshole.
"Fine."
Pausing for a moment, she knew it could be read as churlish. And Lauren did not want another spanking. Though... her treacherous thighs tightened against a tingle in her lower parts, remembering being over Williams's lap. Sighing, she added to the text,"I'll be ready."
Getting ready in the gleaming white of the master bathroom, the girl kept looking at the big bed, neatly made up with fresh sheets and looking completely innocent. She was still utterly confounded by her nearly instant capitulation to that horrible man- the man who terrified her and shot her father - admittedly, not really an emotionally scarring moment - to force her to do what he wanted. But even being terrifying, he had shown her kindness when she'd broken down. Gave her the choice to sleep with him or not. He'd even pulled back- and most flatteringly, made it look like an effort- when she'd hesitated. "It is your choice," he'd said to her, "I will not take it from you." Her hand paused over one cheekbone with a brush laden with bronzer. What did that make her? To give her virginity to this man? Toenjoyit? Finally not able to spend one more brain-frying moment trying to understand herself, Lauren sighed and finished getting dressed. This time, she was wearing a strappy red silk dress with a long, swishing skirt that went just over her knees. She left her hair down, suddenly remembering vividly how it felt to have his big fist in her blonde curls, moving her head back and forth to meet his lips. She'd struggled over what she wore underneath the dress for longer than anything else. If she wore more of that flossy lingerie from her hellish "Hen Party," it was admitting she wanted more of what they'd shared the night before. But if she didn't... did it make her look weak? Scared of Thomas? Unable to bear one more moment of questioning herself, Lauren went bare-legged, skipping the hose and garters, but pulled on the racy red and black bra and panty set. There. Not a message one way or another. Sort of.
To her surprise, her scary new husband was actually waiting outside for her as The Corporation car pulled up to the restaurant. It was one of the clever new creations from a chef raised in his youth on going to raves in random warehouses, who insisted on catering a new location every week. Gingerly taking the broad hand presented to pull her from the car, Lauren eyed the old shoe factory perched on the Thames. "Let me guess. Chef Gustav?"
His brow rose with the barest hint of surprise and respect, but Thomas nodded. "Several of the Russians are terrible food snobs- I was quite surprised as well. There are constant mentions of"???? ?? ????,"and"????? ??????? ?????."Lauren burst out laughing before suddenly realizing Thomas had spoken the phrases in perfect Russian. A language she would not be expected to understand. Trying to stifle her chuckles, she shrugged innocently.
"Sorry... I don't know what you said, but it sounded so funny. Especially following the vision of the Bratva as "food sno-"
Thomas's arm was suddenly a cruel vise around her waist and he yanked her into an alcove. Lauren began shuddering when his mouth pressed against her ear. "You willneversay that word again. Simply speaking it out loud is enough to have you killed." He felt her body trembling violently, but he forced himself to continue. Shaking her roughly, Williams snarled, "Do youunderstand?Answer me!" Some unfamiliar part of him cringed a bit when he heard her swallow a terrified sob.
"Y-Yes." Lauren drew in a deep breath, trying not to pull away from his painful grip on her body. "I understand. Not a word."
Forcing down the uncomfortable feeling of regret, knowing that all the ground they'd made the night before was suddenly demolished, Thomas drew in a breath and loosened his grip. "Very good. Now be a good girl and behave nicely." He could feel his bride pull away from him in an almost visceral way, though she didn't move a muscle.
"Of course." It was the last thing she said to him for the rest of the evening. Lauren smiled, nodded, even laughed on occasion at a joke in their guests' accented English. This was, after all, not unfamiliar to her. She'd been raised attending her grandfather's- then her father's boring-as-shit corporate dinners, expected to be a delightful little prodigy designed to make Frank look even more impressive. She went back into the old motions of keeping her hands in her lap, ankles crossed prettily and appearing to listen intently to the guest next to her and remembering small details that would make them feel special, make them feel important. This made her unfortunately excellent memory travel back to other times when this charming trait was misunderstood, but Lauren shoved the ugly images down and mechanically played her part. Her life depended on it.
To her surprise, Romanoff wasn't the problem tonight. Her interest in his children the night before had suddenly relegated her to "honored wife and daughter" status, and his conversation was nothing but fatherly. In fact, when a younger, brash lieutenant took advantage of Williams's absence from the table to take a call as a moment to leer at Lauren with a few suggestive phrases, it was the older Russian who snarled at the man to "Shut the fuck up- or I shall cut your dick off and choke you with it!" To his approval, Williams's new wife simply turned to him and deftly changed the subject. He nodded, answering her questions and getting the strained atmosphere of the table back to normal. This girl- she was young, but she was a good fit for the murderous Number Two. Thomas may be an arrogant?????, but he was a smart one.
So, Thomas knew nothing of the ugly moment with the younger Russian. He simply returned to the table to see his lovely wife deep in conversation with the blood-soaked Romanoff as Number One regarded both of them with mild surprise. His pride in his beautiful choice of a bride rose higher. Clever girl.
There was no dancing that night to soften Lauren's rage and terror. No sudden surge of protectiveness to send Thomas out of his urbane, controlled self. So when the young couple bid goodnight to Romanoff and the rest of the terrifying Bratva and were ferried home, Lauren pressed herself as tightly as she could to her car door and her dark husband observed the movement expressionlessly. Very well. The girl was sulking after her correction for her loose lips. No matter. He was quite confident of his ability to loosen her thighs as easily as her mouth. But back in Hampstead Heath, Lauren swiftly exited the BMW and went for the stairs.
She paused and stiffened as Williams's rough fingers trailed down her back. "Ready for bed so soon, little girl?"
Thomas knew it was the worst possible thing to say when it was clear his new wife stifled a shudder. "No, I'm not... sleepy. We have our first big dress rehearsal next week. I'm going to practice. But I'll be quiet, okay?" He leaned in, trying to look at her face, lowered and turned away from him. When Lauren refused his fingers on her chin to turn and look at him, he dropped his hand.
"Very well. Do not stay up all night."
But Lauren was already rapidly climbing the stairs, not looking back. "Of course. I'll be quiet. Goodnight."
Nonetheless, Thomas laid awake for several hours longer, listening to her fierce movements in "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor." He recognized the piece from Bach, and vaguely admired the way his reluctant bride attacked the piece, over and over until she conquered its complexity and forced it into a ribbon of perfection, streaming from her cello. Finally rubbing his throbbing temples and groaning, he fell asleep.
