27. Katya
CHAPTER 27
KATYA
I’m not sure how to feel when Fyodor loads me into the wheelchair and takes me down to the car, but I don’t think I’m meant to feel excited about this punishment. That’s what it is, right? He’s watching my every move because I can’t be trusted, but I’ve really missed having my every move watched. I’m a performer at heart.
I want to be with him, especially after the way it felt to swallow his hot cum, to actually fucking please him fully for once. It feels like I’m always disappointing the man when all I fucking want is to be good for him, and sitting there and working his cock while he stared at me adoringly? Yeah, that scratched the itch.
We don’t use that same garage we did the night I arrived, instead heading out through the lobby of the apartment building. The ceilings here are even taller than the ones in his apartment, with marble vaulting, a restaurant, a reception desk, and security. There’s even a store, but I can’t see it as he pushes me in the other direction.
This is insane. The building is like a mall. What else is hidden here? He doesn’t speak to anyone as we pass, but several people wave as he takes me into a different parking garage to one of the cars I saw the night I arrived, but it’s not the one he brought me here in.
He lifts me to place me in the seat, and I hate to admit how used to his strong arms I’ve gotten. It’s not been a full week yet, and I think I would die without his touch. Maybe I should be more concerned about that, but what are my other options really?
We drive out of the garage and onto the street, and I’m surprised to see that a bit of the cold is breaking. It’s late February now. The date on the dashboard says the twenty-ninth, and I feel so out of the loop for forgetting that it’s a leap year. Why is it that a trip outside with Fyodor is the most normal I’ve felt in ages?
We drive through the city, and despite living here for years now, I’m like a tourist. I’m hungry to see all the things I’ve been missing out on. I didn’t realize just how aching and hungry my brain was for something other than four white walls and the television. I didn’t ask him where we were going. I assumed my opinion of our destination didn’t matter either way, so why not be surprised.
Everything is great until we cross a red bridge with peeling paint that leads into the shady part of town where he bought me, where his sons are now in charge and not him. Even the river beneath lacks water with craggy exposed banks, a sign to avoid this area, the good fortune has gone.
“Where are we going?” I ask, adrenaline spiking in my system even though I reasonably know he’s the biggest and baddest man around. Biggest in multiple ways, if I’m being completely honest.
“The club. I need to speak to my sons about what happened.”
“Why?”
“They’re not answering their phones.”
“Is that unusual?” I don’t know a lot about the mechanics of adult relationship with parents since I never got to have one.
“My sons like to complain. I’m not used to silence of any kind from Irakily and Daniil.”
“You’re worried about them?” I ask, trying to decipher the harshly stoic expression on his face. How is he even more handsome when he’s frightening?
“I think they know something, and I still haven’t heard from Marta. That’s highly unusual.” His brow pushes together, the stress really weighing on him, and my heart aches a little. Am I just causing him more problems?
I don’t say anything, and the silence between us grows tense.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Kotyonok.”
“Can I stay in the car? I don’t want to go back in there.” While that’s true, that’s not really my problem.
“That’s the opposite of a punishment.”
“I thought I was just on suicide watch,” I complain.
“It’s both, actually, but that’s not what you wanted to say.”
I hate that he knows me so well so fast.
“When Marta gave me the meds, I think she gave me something else too. I felt weird.”
Either I’m crazy or a flash of blush creeps up his neck.
“I had the doctor start you on antidepressants.” That’s news to me and I’m not sure how to feel about it, but there are more pressing matters to worry about. He doesn’t offer me much choice in anything so it’s not a surprise.
“When did you do that?” I ask.
“A few days ago.”
“Whatever this was has not been going on for a few days.” I don’t what the truth is, but I’m sure of that.
He doesn’t accuse me of lying, which I take as a positive, but he’s quiet the rest of the way. My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest and avoid reliving these particular memories. I wonder about Natalia and Scott. Is she okay? Did he know what he was doing to me? Was he supposed to get a cut?
We arrive outside the club, and it looks smaller than the last time I was here. Without Franco at my side making everything worse, I can breathe, but we don’t stop on the street like I did when he took me here, and they forced me out of my wheelchair and onto my healing legs.
My entire body shivers as I think of the pain, but before I can get too upset, we slip into the parking garage. The last time I was here, I had just watched Franco die, but I was safer than I’d been in a long time. I was with Fyodor. Frankly, I like how many points of security he’s built into his life, and I don’t care enough to judge him for why they’re necessary. After so long of being exposed, it’s nice to feel safe and even fortified. Why blame him for something that makes me feel so good?
As much as I’m glad to be with him, I wish we were anywhere else. My hands shake as he climbs out of the car and unpacks the wheelchair. I’m embarrassed when he opens my door and helps me into it, partially because the action registers as love to my insane, touch-starved brain.
The other reason I can’t explain exactly, but it’s shameful not to push myself too far. If you don’t try so hard you hurt yourself, then what are you even doing? It’s insane, and I know it as I think it. No one can live up to it. But I’ve been living with that mentality for so long it’s sunk deep into my bones, and I’m not sure I can ever let myself off the hook.
He pushes me across the concrete and into the secret entrance at the back of the club. He opens the door, and before he even pushes me inside, the hallway smells like stale beer and hell. The violations that happened here resurface, and I have a hard time breathing evenly.
“Kotyonok, when I saw you on the stage for the first time, you didn’t show an ounce of fear. You put that brave face on right now.”
“Some bitch had just peeled my pussy open and checked my hymen while a man I used to trust watched.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“Yet it’s not the worst thing you’ve survived, is it?”
I can’t explain why it helps, but it does. I survived this, and somehow I’m able to do exactly what he asked. I take a deep breath, and rather than pretend none of it is real like I did last night, I remember the man refusing to let me die is Fyodor Domalachego, and I don’t need to be afraid with him at my back.
He pushes me over the threshold, and I stay in the moment only because he’s with me. The smell is so similar, but it’s missing the pop of gunpowder it had when he shot Franco. There are no running hoses or people showering women and shuffling them around the halls today. It almost seems like it never happened at all. This is just some seedy club.
We emerge at the main entrance to the club, and a man standing by the door nods at Fyodor. My cheeks heat as I wonder if he was one of the many witnesses to my disgrace. Has he seen my pussy? At this point, so many people have, there’s no use in wondering. When that bitch pushed me over, I flashed everyone on that side of the room.
He doesn’t pay me any particular attention, so maybe he didn’t, and then I’m embarrassed that Fyodor has convinced me to think so highly of my own pussy. A young woman stands behind the bar, and the look of concern on her face makes me think she was working the night they auctioned me. The bar is also on the right side of the room. Either that or she heard the stories.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Fyodor grunts.
“Something wrong, Pakhan?” the doorman asks, and the girl runs out from behind the bar to see if she can help him. A jealous surge courses through me as I see the way she looks at him, but can I blame her? His size alone is an attraction, but he’s also gorgeous.
“Who the fuck cleaned this up, Ivor?” He gestures to the place Franco died and the very obvious remaining stain on the floor. If the goal is to let everyone know that Fyodor killed someone right there, they certainly did it. “This hasn’t been sitting here for four days while my fucking sons let people in the door, has it?”
“Irakily had his friend Stefan do it,” he tells Fyodor, managing to answer the question without getting in the middle.
“Who the fuck is Stefan?” Fyodor runs his hands through his hair too hard, and I reach up to stop him, trying to hold his hand instead. I know the move was a little bold, given the nature of our relationship, but it still stings like hell when he rejects me.
“The auctioneer. Stefan is the auctioneer, Pakhan.”
“And he clearly has no idea how the fuck to get out a blood stain. What’s your name?” He points at the girl behind the bar.
“Rose,” she stammers and blushes on the one syllable.
“You know how to get a blood stain out?”
“Better than that.” She shrugs.
“Do what you can, and if it doesn’t clean up nice, the doors don’t open tonight.”
“Yes, Pakhan.” She scurries off to grab supplies, and an uncharitable part of me believes she’ll use the same brush they scrubbed my body with.
“I paid a lot of money to cover this up. I paid a lot of money to clean this up. Where the fuck is it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, Pakhan. I couldn’t say for sure.” He sniffs a few times and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “The boys have been in the office a lot, you know.”
“Is that where they are now, while they’ve been fucking ignoring my calls?”
He doesn’t say a word this time.
“Fuck.”
“Should I grab them for you, Pakhan?” Rose asks.
“Last time someone went back there, Irakily broke their orbital. I wouldn’t suggest that Rose.”
“I’ll take care of my sons, and save everyone’s eye sockets.”
He wheels me back to the office, which is the first thing that surprises me, I expect him to leave me behind. As we approach the door, I expect him to knock, but why should I be surprised my room isn’t the only one he has a key to.
He holds up a finger to keep me quiet as he fits it into the lock and then opens the doors. His two sons didn’t do anything in particular to me, but they’ve definitely seen me naked and shuffled around this filthy club. The larger one is dark-haired like Fyodor, and the slightly more slender one is startlingly blond by comparison. I might feel self-conscious about how much they’ve seen, but they’re both bent over a pile of cocaine.
The blond immediately realizes we’re there and stares silently. I’m not sure what he’s thinking or feeling, but with the cocaine dusted across his face, the slightly stunned expression could have nothing to do with us. The one who takes after Fyodor does another line before he realizes the door is open.
“What the fuck? Shut the door,” he shouts before he turns and sees his father standing there.
“Papa.” He rubs his hand across his face like that will eliminate what we just saw or the pile of coke in front of them waiting to be sniffed. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like the reason you were so pissed about the fucking money is pretty obvious now.”
“It was the principle. This isn’t anything.”
He steps into the room, leaving me just outside, but the door remains open.
“I should have known you boys were using again to fucking involve Marta in our issues.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Papa,” the blond one says.
Fyodor pushes the door shut and closes me out of their discussion.
“We don’t have shit to do with Marta. What the fuck is she doing here?” the big one shouts, loud enough to hear through the heavy door, and I don’t need to worry about missing anything. The conversation about what a waste I am is plenty loud enough to hear.