Chapter 12 Kirill
KIRILL
It was the right thing not to kiss her.
I repeat that over and over in my head as we have lunch together and then I continue my work late into the afternoon.
Tess is distracting, but I’m annoyed to find that I enjoy her company.
She mostly sprawls on the sofa, reading, shifting positions from sitting, to lying on her back, or her stomach.
Every new movement has me imagining railing her there.
My erection takes up so much blood, I double-check all my work because I’m convinced the distraction will mean I make a mistake as I try to keep my attention on my favourite part of the process that ends up with me having a captive.
Stripping the assets of the man in question, and finding creative ways to give them to the children he hurt.
Usually, I draw out the time with my victims and make them pay. Have them reveal everything about their friends, and savour their agony.
Today, I work as quickly as possible. It still feels good, but I settle for unimaginative solutions like bank errors, lottery wins, and an anonymous trust fund for the younger kids.
Since my victim is dead now, I can’t discuss with him who he’s linked with offline, or make him sorry for the pain he inflicted. I set up a fresh online trap to catch a new prisoner, and try not to think about what I’m going to do with Tess.
I can’t quite shake the echo of what Tess said last night about me wanting company, and there being better people than my evil victims.
Her. There’s her. I think I’d like to keep Tess as my captive, which is pretty fucked up even for me.
In the end, I make her dinner. My staff has discreetly stocked up everything I’d need, including quick options, but I find I want the honest labour of cooking for her, and the cosy isolation of it being just the two of us and no one else here.
She has to come to the kitchen with me, and she sips tea and watches me as I stumble my way through cooking the favourite dish of my childhood from a recipe I found on the internet. Proper steak in the stroganoff, salad, and butter and dill covered potatoes.
And I’m ridiculously proud when we sit down together to eat and she says it smells delicious. I’m even more pleased when she digs in and then closes her eyes in pleasure.
“Kirill…” she begins hesitantly, after complimenting the food far more than it deserves.
“Lapochka.”
“Is that really your name?”
I suppose it sounds strange to her English ears. “Kirill Yakovlev.” I smile. “What else do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she breathes, and her curiosity is a shot of something hot and pleasurable. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.” I expect her to make some comment about our age gap, but she doesn’t. Perhaps she shares my opinion that it’s the gap between her innocence and my black heart that’s the real issue.
“What do you do?” she asks. “Like, when you’re not in a mask?”
I’ve already revealed my most cherished secret—my hobby—and brought her to the private house I retreat to when London is too much. Holding back further is absurd.
So I toy with my food and say, “I’m the head of the Blackfen mafia. It’s part of South-East London.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Though I mainly work with computers. I enjoy computer coding and puzzles. I took over Blackfen almost by accident when I killed the previous kingpin.”
“You’re a mafia boss.” She says it like that explains everything, and I suppose she’s not wrong.
“But I usually make my money by hacking into the accounts of rich men who abuse their power, and taking their money.”
“Who?” She’s leaning forwards, intent. Food forgotten. “How?”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. She’s adorable. “I know you could guess some names, but don’t you think you’d rather not be any deeper in this than you already are?”
She tilts her head, and there’s doubt in her eyes as she agrees with a quiet, “Yeah.” She pauses. “I can’t imagine spending time with those men. Doesn’t it repulse you?”
This I don’t want to talk about.
“I don’t hurt children or innocents, but don’t allow your soft heart to think I’m a good person,” I say harshly, and it instantly spoils her curiosity.
“I got that vibe,” she mutters, digging into the salad with violence. “Don’t worry. It was clear at the point of kidnap.”
Ah. Yeah. With how much I love her company, I keep forgetting that she’s not here voluntarily. What felt like a fun game of stopping her attempts to ask for rescue, wasn’t actually a game for her.
“I don’t like it, that’s the truth.” I shouldn’t tell her this, but I’m incapable of rational thought when it comes to Tess.
“I don’t enjoy spending time with those scum.
I do it because I sometimes get information that I can’t access digitally.
People still do things offline. Apparently,” I joke, but it falls flat.
I’m silent for a moment. “And in a way, it’s only what I deserve. ”
“What?” Her fork pauses halfway to her lips.
“The company of men like that.” I shrug, feeling raw and naked. “I think sometimes it’s appropriate. Compensation for my crimes.”
Her mouth twists as she takes that in. “But now you have me as your captive instead.”
“Yes.” I have her. Best thing that’s ever happened to me. That thought pops into my head unbidden. And I fear I don’t want another prisoner.
“Is there anyone else you could spend time with?”
“There’s a group who want me to join them. The London Mafia Syndicate,” I admit reluctantly.
“Why don’t you?” she asks. As though it’s that easy.
“Because I hate people?” Except her.
“You don’t hate people,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You like people so much, you keep the worst sorts alive in your dungeon so you can talk to them about coding.”
“That is not the sort of torture they endure, and it’s not the reason I imprison them.”
“Right, you protect children, too. Very people hating.” She rolls her eyes, and it’s difficult to deny that she has a point there. “And cook your prisoners delicious Russian food.”
“That’s only you.” Tess is special.
“I appreciate it. You’re certain you don’t do this to talk to someone who can’t get away?”
“No. I keep them because they deserve to suffer.” And because I fear I would be as bad as they are, if I didn’t have an outlet. And killing child molesters is an excellent outlet.
“Why did you start this hobby? Was there…?”
“If you’re expecting a tragic backstory, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.
I was just a very nerdy teenager who spent a lot of time exploring the internet, including the dark web.
” I chew the steak and don’t meet her eyes.
“I was mainly searching for hints on how to break through firewalls so I could steal money, but obviously there’s other content available.
I didn’t like it, I avoided it. But it never occurred to me to do anything about it until one day I stumbled into…
” I trail off. I don’t describe it. I don’t even want to think of it.
I swallow. “The violation of that tiny child at the direction of a man thousands of miles away purchasing his sick entertainment made me angry.” That’s a tepid word compared to the boiling fury that erupted in me, unexpected and hotter than the core of the earth.
“I’d just had a successful hack and stolen what was for me a lot at the time.
About twenty thousand pounds. I used it to track down the man. ”
“And then?” Her blue eyes are calm seas. No judgement.
“I’d always known I had a bad part of me, but I’d tried to keep it down. Hidden. Repressed. And when I saw him, it wasn’t enough to steal his money or make him beg for forgiveness and repent his ways.”
She nods, and for the first time, I wonder if this could really work. Maybe Tess could accept who I am.
“My first kill was one of the fastest. It gave me a taste for it. The whole process of hunting, capturing, toying with and eventually ending these men was a greater sense of achievement than merely stealing their money. So I continued.”
I expect her to be outraged or disgusted, but she tilts her head to the side as though she’s thinking.
“In my psychology degree, we learned about personality disorders that make being a criminal more likely. Things like lack of remorse, guilt, empathy.”
“Mm.” Like me.
Except, I care about Tess. I really, really care about her. I feel bad that I’ve kidnapped her.
Just not quite bad enough to let her go.
“Is that part of how you find them? Because they have those traits?”
That’s not what I expected. “No, but go on.”
And she begins to explain the theories she’s learned, and keeps asking me about how I work. Before I know it, she has me telling her about different sorts of coding loops and how I use computer algorithms.
And her eyes are sparkling. She’s having fun. I might not be great with people, but she seems to take in her stride every part of me that others find objectionable.
Dinner is finished as we pick at it for hours.
I didn’t make dessert, but I give her free rein on the freezer that’s full of ice-cream and we squabble over the best flavours.
She offers me some of hers from her spoon, and I lean over the table to take it and she looks me in the eyes the whole time.
And if I didn’t know better, I’d say she enjoyed herself.
We say good night at her bedroom door, and I warn her that she can’t escape. Then I check on her activity on her phone as I lie in bed in the room across the corridor from her.
She’s in my blood. Being separated from her feels very wrong, as though she’s part of me, rather than a woman I only met yesterday.
I miss her. The taste of her. The feel. The way my heart expands in my chest.
I want more of that.
Yeah, my cock is throbbing and desperate. But unusual as that is, it’s nothing compared to emotion. For the first time in my life, I care about someone else. I want her to be happy, and not only that, her happiness affects me.
“My door was unlocked,” she justifies as soon as she walks into the kitchen.