I don’t have to know I exceeded expectations. I’m already aware I’m good. Better than good, actually and fuckboy didn’t even get my full potential. About three hard strokes with my neck turned a certain way and his less than mediocrepickleerupted. It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. I gagged myself and puked his nasty baby gravy right into the toilet as soon as he left my room.
It’s been six days since then.
He hasn’t come back for another taste and I’m almost surprised. Nearly a week in, and the girls are already looking ten times healthier. They’ve been listening, too. Two of them, Amy and Larissa, had horrible withdrawals for nearly three of these six days. They seem so much better now. Finally eating and keeping down their food. We spend about half an hour of our time together mapping out our assault when Declan finally puts all the pieces together and comes for us.
…And I know he will…he is a wizard, after all.
Mikhail went out of his way, after what I couldn’t even call a blowjob, to supply me with everything and anything I asked for regarding me and the girls. I’ve outfitted them in lingerie that accommodates their best features. They’ve got decent products for their hygiene and general upkeep. I was even able to get him to agree on supplying them with condoms to sweeten the idea of not bringing home something Ajax can’t clean off to their oblivious wives. As for me…I’m going for the‘whore couture’approach. The boss lady has to be slightly better dressed than her little minions.
Of course it’s red. Lots of satin, including my sheets. I get a curling iron. That’s a small win. You realize how much you take for granted when you don’t have it anymore, that’s for sure. I did get one more thing…a non-negotiable item.
A sleek little painted skull mask that I assured Romanov was for the ones with a taste for a bit more kink.
It almost seems like he’s doting on me in some weird way. Which is great, because I’ve got a bit more freedom to roam the pleasure house and pocket little things that we’ll need when the time comes—like the two small knives I jacked from the kitchen this morning when I begged for coffee. It doesn’t mean I’m okay with the fact that I had to do what I did, and itdefinitelydoesn’t mean he’s off the hook for the way I plan to make the bastard suffer. Itdoesmean…that I have the means to make a little room for bigger plans, moving forward. If I canpretendthat I’m unbothered by being forced to do something I’m not willing to do…I might be able to get us all out of here in one piece. Broken, yes…but free to start rebuilding the women we’ll become after this.
I was told to get myself ready after working with the girls today.
Looks like tonight’s the night.
Play the good girl.
Look the part.
Put on a show.
Build the hate.
And then feed on it so I’m ready to play with the demon when it’s time to let it out. I can do this. I have to. I think I always knew that it would take something big to learn how to understand what the rest of the world sees when they look at me. Spoiled, pampered and ungrateful. Always getting my way…evenwhen I accept some consequences. I never thought it’d be this. I have no one to blame but myself. That’s not to say I won’t still be the bitch that I am while I serve my sentence for the wrong I’ve done.
I stood in the bathroom, fluffing the last curl that I ironed into my hair, and there was a knock at the bedroom door.
“Showtime,” I sighed, pushing my tits up and adjusting the bodice of my gown. Time to charm the pants off whoever just bought me…and hang him with them.
Tee-hee.
CHAPTER 16
The Pawn
“No! It’s been over aweek, goddammit!”
I’m hanging on by a thread. I’ve successfully chewed the skin off my lip. I can no longer say a fucking word about the way Seven Grey makes a buffet out of her fingernails, and if I have to look at the empty side of the bed another damn day…I’ll lose it. I swear, I’ll lose it. Dan sighed, sitting in my bat cave at the apartment, while we looked over every piece of information we’ve managed to gather as to where they would have taken her.
Which is shit.
Nada.
Zip.
We’ve got traffic cam footage that cuts off at Bristol Street…because the good town of Castine has the budget of a middle-class family, and that budget doesn’t fucking cover fixing the broken, outdated tech. I’m gonna absolutely fix that problem by offering my service and money to mend them,but…it sure as fuck doesn’t help me right now. I’ve got a general direction of where that SUV went that could have changed a thousand times after the video loses the trail.
We did dig into some forensics that the police department has no idea we have access to, but that was another bust. We alreadyknowwho he is. Doesn’t tell me where he went. We did, however, find out that two of the three bodies in the suite where Bridget was hiding, were none other than Zach and Angus McKinley. They were obviously working with Mikhail Romanov, and so the only thing that makes sense, because Bridget had no gun, is that they turned on them. The question is…why?Bridget had to have something to do with that.
I brought up everything I could find on Mikhail Romanov. Dan and I sat there, looking at three different screens for what seemed like forever. Two sons. Vikter is sleeping with both eyes open with the critters. The other son, Jekhov, is apparently in actual Russia…running drug operations and some kind of weird hostile takeover of random crops? There’s gotta be something more to that, but I couldn’t fucking care less. He’s not gonna be a problem until I take out his fucking daddy. I clicked over to Mikhail’s financials, comparing them to what we have of Jonas’s dirty dealings and Dan stopped me.
“Wait…go back.” I zoomed in on the file he was pointing at. “Pull up Mikhail’s bank transactions from the time you said they took Bridget and Malek’s wife.” I did, and…now I see what he’s looking for. “That transaction there, matches the one in Jonas O’Dell’s file. Not the money, but what theybought.”
“Yeah, but it’s a wholesaler. If we’re looking for property, it wouldn’t be anywhere we could easily find it. It would be something offshore, or hidden as something else in plain sight,” I argued.
