The Debt (Sordid Debt Duet #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Jarek

The Pearl Icon, Sheraton Atlanta Hotel, Courtland Street, Atlanta…

The entertainment room buzzed with activity. Jarek and Tatiana stood at the bar. Their drinks were still untouched. The crowd’s chatter faded into white noise around them.

“Thank you for bringing me here tonight, Master Hades.” Tatiana brushed her hands along the edges of his open leather vest. As always, she carried herself with natural grace. Each gesture spoke of sophisticated poise. “An intense scene the night before you leave is the best goodbye present I could’ve asked for.”

“Ah, little one… we’re not saying goodbye. Remember I told you. We say—”

“See you soon.” Her eyes were hazy as she kissed him tenderly. “You seem thoughtful tonight,” she said as she studied his face.

“I’m memorizing every detail of you.” Jarek smiled as he looked her over with a lewdness that made her giggle. Dressed in a tight royal blue corset and a black miniskirt, she presented sin in every step she took. Her easy intimacy had served his purpose well these past months. She possessed an innate ability to lower barriers, to make people feel safe, and even managed to sway her grandfather to accept him as part of their lives. Of course, he had counted on that.

Unexpected moisture gathered in her eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

An unfamiliar tightness shifted in Jarek’s chest. His features hardened as he pushed it down with practiced efficiency. Emotion was a liability he couldn’t afford, especially not with Tatiana. She was a means to an end, nothing more. The perfectly positioned chess piece in his game against Polov.

“We still have tonight,” he said in a controlled voice. Every word, every gesture had a purpose this evening. “We both need to connect on a level higher than sensations and lust tonight, love.”

Being intimate with Tatiana had never been a bore. She was a sensual being who loved the way he subtly dominated her in bed outside of the club. “Tonight, we need to reaffirm the emotional connection we have deep in our souls that binds us together. Let’s turn that thread into an unbreakable golden one tonight. I’m going to take you to subspace, and once I achieve Dom space, I’ll be right there with you on that euphoric cloud. We’ll create a memory we can both hold on to until I’m back. It will be intense, but always remember, I will take care of you and will not push you beyond your boundaries.”

“I know you won’t, Master Hades.”

“I reserved a private dungeon room for our scene. This is going to be a very emotional one for us, and I don’t want a crowd watching when we find that level of peace in our minds.”

“I appreciate that more than you realize.”

Jarek’s jaw clenched at the complete trust she offered him. It threatened his carefully maintained distance.

Remember your purpose, Farrel. She’s a tool crafted for vengeance. Nothing more.

This scene was the final opus to make her completely vulnerable, completely his. Only then would she get past the resistance that was keeping her from taking that one step… the final step he’d orchestrated… marrying him.

“Come, the Black Pearl Chamber is upstairs.” He led her to the stairs. Tonight would seal his plan. She would be the one to propose the time had come to get married, which was the ultimate achievement he was after. He was the master of this game, and he refused to allow unexpected emotions to derail him.

The Black Pearl Chamber opened before them in a symphony of black, purple, and silver décor. A massive ornate bed dominated one wall, with its headboard curved like a dark pearl. Their footsteps disappeared into thick carpeting as Jarek guided Tatiana into the room.

The equipment stood like silent sentinels around the room—a spanking bench in one corner, a whipping post in another, and a St. Andrew’s cross commanded attention against the far wall. The lighting cast shadows across the various impact tools, hanging in precise arrangements on one of the walls.

Tatiana’s fingers twisted together as she took in the surroundings. “I’ve never been taken to subspace.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Would you explain it again? I know what it is, but…”

Jarek moved to stand before her, offering her his calming presence. “Subspace is a state of complete trust and surrender.” His voice dropped to that deep, soothing Dom tone that always centered her before a scene. “First, your body will respond to the initial sensations. Your breathing will deepen, your muscles will tense and release. Then endorphins will start flooding your system.”

He traced a finger along her jawline. “As the flogging continues, those endorphins combine with adrenaline. Your mind begins to disconnect from everyday concerns. Pain transforms into pleasure. That’s when time becomes fluid. Minutes might feel like hours or seconds, and you’ll float in a dreamlike state.”

Tatiana’s breath caught. “And you’ll keep me safe?”

“Every step of the way, little one,” he assured her. “The repetitive motion and increasing intensity create a natural rhythm that will entice your mind to surrender control completely. Some subs describe it as peaceful darkness, others as floating in warm water. The outside world fades away until there’s only sensation and trust… and me, right there with you, connecting in our souls.”

He gestured toward the St. Andrew’s cross, noting how she unconsciously leaned toward it. “It’s an intimate experience, my pet, and you’ll be completely vulnerable, completely open. That’s why trust between Dom and sub is crucial.”

A tremor ran through her body. “I trust you completely, Master Hades.”

The words struck that unwanted chord in him again. Jarek forced himself to focus on his purpose and pushed the sensation aside. That trust is exactly what he had encouraged, Jarek reminded himself. Each step had been planned, leading to this moment. Still, as he watched her move toward the cross, something uncomfortable stirred beneath his carefully constructed control.

Tatiana stood before the cross with her back toward him. Her breathing was a rhythm of soft, anticipatory gasps.

“Let’s get you out of these,” he drawled as he stepped closer and, with gentle hands, began to undress her. The zipper of her corset whispered down, revealing the smooth expanse of her back. She shivered under his touch as he traced the line of her spine. The corset, followed by the miniskirt, pooled at her feet, leaving her in plain satin panties. Kneeling behind her, he slowly slid them down her legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he placed hot, wet kisses along the inside seam of her thigh. Her gasp sounded strained in the room. Straightening, he guided her to the cross.

“Up you go. Lean against it and let the beams support you.” She complied, and he quickly secured her wrists and ankles with soft leather cuffs attached to the cross. His control was evident in the careful way he ensured her comfort and safety.

Stepping back, he admired her form. Her body was a canvas, ready for the coloring of the flogger.

“We’ll start slowly to ensure your skin is properly heated. I don’t want you to end up with bruises,” he said as he selected his favorite, a black and red braided leather piece. Pressing against her naked back, he whispered into her ear, “Ready, Venus?”

“I’m ready, Master Hades.”

He began to caress her with the flogger by trailing the leather strips lightly over her shoulders, down her back, and across her buttocks. Her skin pebbled under the soft touch as her breath hitched slightly.

“Remember your safe words, Venus,” he said in a deep rumble. “Yellow to slow down, red to stop. Use them if you need to.”

He started slowly, the flogger striking her skin with a soft thud.

“Oh!” Her gasps followed each precise strike, landing with just enough force to warm her skin. He worked methodically, creating a crisscross pattern across her back and buttocks.

“Give me a color, little one,” he said as her breaths deepened and her muscles tensed and released with each impact.

“I’m still green,” she said in a breathy voice.

Watching her closely, he continued to assess every reaction, gasp, and arch of her back.

“Brace yourself, Venus,” he warned as he noticed her skin reddening. “I’m going to increase the intensity now.”

“Ahh! Fuck… Oww!” she cried as the sound of leather on flesh filled the room, a rhythmic symphony that echoed off the walls. The strikes came harder, faster, but never beyond what she could endure. He was meticulous, his control absolute. The red stripes formed an intricate web across her back and buttocks as testament to his skill and her surrender.

Jarek hovered at the edge of Dom space—a place of profound focus and control. Here, he was not just Jarek, the ruthless leader of the Somerville Irish Gang, but Master Hades, a Dominant who wielded power with care and respect. Each strike was a testament to his restraint, each word of encouragement a reminder of his responsibility. He had learned to control not just his actions but every emotion, every decision. This was not about punishment or pain but about trust and surrender.

“You’re doing beautifully, little one,” he murmured in a voice filled with pride. Her body was glistening with sweat, and her head hung forward as she sank deeper into the sensations. He could see the moment she began to drift. Her expression became peaceful as her body relaxed against the cross.

“You’re almost there, little one,” he cooed as he continued. The flogger moved like an extension of his arm as each strike aimed to push her higher. Her breaths turned into soft moans as her eyes fluttered closed. He saw the exact moment she entered subspace. Her body went limp with her expression serene. It was a beautiful sight, one that filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction and peace.

He closed his eyes, and for the first time, he felt her… or rather the intensity of the emotions swirling through her. It left him with a feeling of sereneness… For the first time in years, a yearning to be loved overcame him. With determination, he withdrew from the depths of the connection. Love would never factor in their relationship. Hate… definitely, but never love.

Jarek slowed the flogger, pulling back as the strikes became lighter, softer, until they were barely more than a caress. He guided her back from subspace gently.

“That’s it, Venus. Come back to me now. Slowly, gently.”

He dropped the flogger and stepped closer. With gentle hands, he traced the reddened lines on her skin. He unfastened the cuffs and caught her limp form as she sagged against him. Wrapping her in a soft blanket, he carried her to the bed and cradled her against his chest. Her eyes fluttered open and were hazy, but her smile was tender and grateful.

“Welcome back, little one,” he whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. In that moment, it was just the two of them, Dominant and submissive, bound together by the depth of their emotions, trust, and surrender. The outside world, even his untethered need for vengeance, faded away, leaving only the peace and intimate connection of the moment.

“I felt you… it was as if your soul connected with mine, calming me, keeping me focused and safe. It was…” Her eyes turned misty as she searched for words. “It was epic.” Cupping his face, she kissed him with such depth of emotion, it threatened to break through the iron wall Jarek had erected around his heart. “Thank you, my love. This is a memory I will forever treasure.”

“As will I, love.” His expression turned grim. He would treasure it for different reasons, though. This moment marked the achievement of what he had set out to do. Tatiana Polov was ready.

And with the message Polov is about to receive, the shit is about to hit the fan… as the saying goes.

The thought brought a smile to his face. Picking up her clothes, he helped her dress. “Come, it’s time to go home.”

“So early? Aren’t we going to—”

“No, love. Tonight, there’ll be no sex. Tonight is about experiencing sensations and developing emotions on a level we’ll never reach by fucking each other. For the rest of the night, it’ll only be you, me, and the memory of what we experienced in this room together.”

Gregor Polov

Early morning at the luxurious estate of Gregor Polov, Berkeley Lake…

Gregor’s footsteps sounded ominous as each thunderous one reverberated off the steel-reinforced walls. His hands fisted as rage coursed through his body. The dank air of the underground bunker carried the metallic scent of blood and the musty smell of earth. The shelter was a relic from the Cold War paranoia that he had claimed as his own since it was conveniently located on the banks of the lake of his estate.

A growl rose in his throat as he stalked down the hallway. The bunker’s renovations had transformed it into a fortress of secrets, a place where screams would never reach the surface. Fresh steel support beams gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting, contrasting with the original concrete walls that wept with perpetual dampness.

“I’m going to kill the bastard,” he sneered. His usually composed features had transformed into a mask of barely contained fury. A muscle twitched violently in his jaw as he ground his teeth. His usually calculating and cold eyes now blazed with murderous intent. His nostrils flared with each breath, like a bull preparing to charge.

At the end of the corridor, Gregor paused. Withdrawing brass knuckles from his pocket, he slowly worked them over his fingers. Each scrape of the metal against his knuckles fed the anger inside him.

Standing in the doorway, Gregor stared at the man in a once-immaculate suit that now hung in tatters around his frame. Dark patches of blood stained the expensive fabric. A deep gash above his eye still oozed blood as testament to Skull’s efficient work.

“So... finally, I know who the real traitor is. My supposed best friend and confidant, Barto Petrov.” A twisted smile cracked across Gregor’s face at the sight of a man he had trusted with his life… until now.

“Gregor?” Barto lifted his head to squint at him. His vision was thwarted by the bright light shining directly above him. “What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

“You have the gall to even ask?” Gregor’s fist pulled back, then snapped forward to connect against Barto’s chin with such force, a sickening crack sounded through the room.

“ Blyat’ !” Barto moaned as blood flowed freely from his mouth. “If this is about me forming an alliance with the Dragovich, I already told you—”

“I know what you told me, Barto, but what you omitted to tell me is that through your coalition with The Cuban Corporates, the ties I had with the Martinez Cartel were automatically severed.”

“What are you…” Barto’s face turned as gray as the walls. “That’s nonsense. The Cuban Mafia rules the South Coast and the six families of the Martinez Mafia, the northwestern coast of Puerto Rico. They have no connection with each other.”

“You fucking idiot! The Martinez Mafia drives products into the U.S. via the South Coast. Since I was the one ensuring their routes were safeguarded under the guise of TAPs network, they could only achieve unchallenged shipments by having a lucrative contract with me.”

“I thought Tatiana kept TAP clean.” The confused look on Barto’s face only served to escalate Gregor’s anger.

“She does, but I have the means to utilize her network under the radar.”

“I still don’t understand what it has to do with the Cubans and me.”

“Your new best mate had the time of his life informing me last night that his uncle, in other words, his father’s brother-in-law, was none other than El Rico Martinez, the Don of the Martinez Mafia. Now that the Dragovich are controlling the South Coast shipping routes alongside you, I’ve been… cut loose !” He spat out the words. “His words. I lost not only the local South Coast groups but the entire alliance I had with the Puerto Rican underworld. All because of you!”

“He knew,” Barto whispered as his eyes darted back and forth. “He must’ve known.”

“Who? Who the fuck are you babbling about?” When Barto didn’t answer, Gregor lost control. The copper knuckles caught the light as his fist swung forward.

The brass knuckles connected with a sickening crunch, sending Barto’s head snapping sideways. Blood and spittle sprayed across the concrete floor. Gregor’s chest heaved with labored breaths as he struck again and again. Each impact was punctuated by a guttural roar of rage.

“WHO?” Another blow. “TELL ME!” Blood streaked across Gregor’s expensive suit, but he was beyond caring.

Barto’s face was a mess of purple bruises and split skin, yet his eyes held a terror that went beyond the pain Gregor was inflicting. His lips trembled, and his teeth were stained red.

“P-Please,” he whimpered between strikes. “You don’t understand what he’ll do…”

“You’re scared of that motherfucker?” Gregor grabbed him by the throat. His fingers dug painfully into his flesh, threatening to cut off his oxygen. “What I’ll do will make his threats look like fucking child’s play.”

Finally, Barto broke. His words came out in a desperate rush, “The Dark One. It was the f-fucking D-Dark One of the S-Somerville Irish Gang.”

Gregor stepped back. His blood-slicked knuckles dropped to his side. The pieces clicked into place like a death sentence. All the losses, the systematic dismantling of his empire, none of them had been random. He had suspected as much but didn’t fully believe The Dark One was responsible for everything that had happened—it had been too big, too widespread, and involved a shitload of money. Whatever drove the bastard had gone beyond punishing Polov for using a Boston bank for money laundering. There was something deeper, more sinister at play. The Dark One had been orchestrating everything from the shadows, and Polov had been too blind to see it.

“Where is he?” Gregor’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“I don’t know. He kidnapped me, and…” Barto raised his mutilated hand; the still healing stub was a testament to his torture. “He took my thumb. I had no choice, Gregor. He was going to kill me.”

Gregor’s laugh was hollow, devoid of mercy. “I might have owed you because you took care of my idiot brother when he threatened me with a coup.” His eyes blazed with murderous intent. “But now you’ve taken everything from me, and I owe you shit... you, on the other hand… you owe me.”

“Gregor, please! We’re friends! Brothers!” Barto’s pleas echoed off the walls as Gregor turned toward the door.

“I’m done with him,” Gregor said to Skull in an eerily calm voice. “Make his suffering last. I want to hear his screams as you cut him. He doesn’t die easily, Skull… let him bleed out in the end.”

As Gregor walked away, the first agonized scream chased after him, and soon another followed. The methodical rhythm of Barto’s execution followed him up the corridor in a symphony of betrayal and retribution. Each step carried him closer to the surface while his mind churned with thoughts of vengeance against the phantom who had brought him to his knees.

The Dark One had gone too far. He had declared war, except it was a different war than the territorial ones other mafia groups had waged against the Polovskaya Bratva over the years. Wars he had always won and knew how to fight. The Dark One was different.

“How do I fight a ghost, a phantom?” The echo of his voice down the hallway mocked him. His fist connected with a thud against the wall.

“I’ll find you, you fucking bastard, even if I have to burn down the whole fucking city of Boston.”