Chapter 12
S amara
“Excuse me. So sorry, all my fault,” I said as I brushed my hand over the drops of champagne down the man’s left arm before hurrying away.
In my right hand was his cell phone. A little trick Yelena and I picked up while on the run. Knowing how to get your hands on a quick cell phone that couldn’t be traced back to you was an invaluable skill.
Tuscan Red.
Georgia Clay.
True Ochre.
Burnt Sienna.
Cadmium Red.
To calm myself down as I made my way through the empty galleries, I recited the names of the colors I had seen in the painting.
Burnt Orange.
Mustard Seed.
Crimson Red.
Blood Red.
Ignoring the signs for the restrooms, I hurried down the stone stairs to the first level.
Motioning to the guard, I said, “Just need to use the ladies’ room.
The ones close to the event have lines.” After his nod of approval, I made a right and went down the small stone staircase to the deserted lower level.
After hurrying inside the bathroom, I locked the door behind me.
Taking out the phone, I prayed it wasn’t password protected as I hit the small, circular button.
The phone lit up. It wasn’t. Even as I dialed, I knew trying to call Yelena or even Nadia was hopeless.
They would never answer a call on their phones from a number they didn’t recognize.
Especially Yelena, and most especially if she was fleeing from Damien.
I prayed she got away. There was no point in both of us being dragged back to D.C. to face our fate.
Glancing back at the phone, I stared at the keypad and focused on the nine and one. The police were not an option, even I knew that. With a frustrated sigh, I wiped my prints off the phone and threw it in the garbage.
I never doubted for a moment that Gregor was a criminal.
There had been whispers about Nadia’s family connections since I was a child.
I also knew he was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Only a confident man, secure in his own power and connections, would have been bold enough to drag an unwilling woman to an event with some of the most influential people in Chicago on the guest list.
He knew I wouldn’t cry out or ask for help.
He fucking knew it.
Damn him.
And damn him for my body’s reaction to him. I was acting no better than the schoolgirl I was three years ago.
My cheeks heated at the memory of what he’d just whispered in my ear.
He was lying to me. He must be. He couldn’t honestly think I’d believe for one moment that he would be okay with his wife having an art career?
It was a lie, a manipulation, and I knew why.
It was yet another tactic of his. Drawing on images of control and discipline, even safety and protection, to bend me to his will.
Letting me think that while married to him, I could still have the life I wanted, that I could still have my dreams.
Damn him for doing it.
And damn me for falling for it.
As much as I hated to admit it, every time he issued a stern, heavy-handed command, my stomach flipped.
I needed to focus. I had captured the interest of a fierce opponent who already had the drop on me.
Unlocking the door, I stepped into the hall.
I instinctively ducked into the closest exhibit room when I heard voices.
It was the Thorne Miniatures Gallery.
Stepping deeper into the darkened gallery, I looked around at the light wood paneling with its neat rows of little windows.
Each window looked into a tiny room, a mini diorama, and was a perfect recreation of the home furnishings and architecture from France, England, and America over the last several hundred years.
Each one displayed a perfect little family in their perfect little world. If only.
“I thought I told you not to leave my side?”
I turned to see Gregor in the entranceway to the gallery. His presence immediately filled the small darkened room. The energy he exuded felt like a hand squeezing inside my chest.
“Gregor, please you need to listen to me. No good will ever come of this… of us. You need to just let me go.”
Taking a few steps into the darkened room, he shrugged out of his suit jacket.
“Dammit, Gregor. Did you hear me? We have to end this… this game, you’re playing.
Just let me fucking leave!” I shouted as I stamped my foot.
I knew I looked like an impudent child. Doing so didn’t help my cause considering he already treated me like a child.
My hand went back to rub my still sore ass as my cheeks heated from the memory of the humiliating spanking he gave me earlier.
“I heard you the first time,” he said as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, exposing powerful forearms.
Running a hand through my hair, I paced.
“Fuck!” I cried out in sheer frustration.
“What did I tell you about language, young lady?”
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I yelled stamping my foot again for emphasis.
Gregor’s hands went to his belt buckle.
I watched in horror as he slowly unbuckled it and slid the belt free.
My jaw dropped. He wasn’t serious? He couldn’t mean to…to…
Gregor took a step toward me.
With a raised arm, I warned him. “Don’t you dare take another step. I’ll scream for the guard.”
“That guard and I have an understanding. He won’t be coming to your rescue.”
Quickly I scanned the room, but the only exit I could see was through him.
Before I could decide what to do, Gregor lunged.
I screamed anyway.
The force of his body pushed me back against the wood paneling so hard I could hear the glass window crack. Before I could utter a sound, his hand was at my throat.
Squeezing just hard enough to scare me, he stared down into my eyes.
There was only icy determination in the hard-silver depths of his.
Leaning down, he whispered into my ear, his low voice making his anger that much more ominous. “I warned you, malyshka. With me, there will always be consequences.”
“Please,” I choked out. “Just let me go.”
“No.”
Using his other hand to grab my upper arm, Gregor swung me around till he was behind me, his fingers still wrapped securely around my throat. We stood in front of a two-foot-wide leather padded bench in the center of the gallery.
“Kneel.”
I shook my head as the tears slid down my cheeks. It scared me. For the first time in my life, I was really fucking scared. At least in my apartment, I didn’t know who or what I was dealing with, confusion and the need for answers kept the panic at bay but now… now I knew only too well.
Switching his hand to my hair, Gregor twisted the curls around his fist. “It wasn’t a request,” he growled before forcing me to kneel on top of the bench.
Using the back of my hand, I swiped at my eyes and begged, “Please, Gregor. I promise I’ll behave.”
Ignoring my plea, he commanded, “Lift your dress.”
I sobbed. “Don’t make me, Gregor.”
He snapped the belt in his hand. The sound of the leather hitting leather reverberated around the small room.
I fell down onto my forearms, burying my face as I cried.
“Now, Samara.”
With one shaking hand, I reached back and grasped a fistful of fabric. I lifted it up.
“Higher. Show me that heart tattoo again.”
Oh God! My tattoo. The small pink heart just above my right ass cheek. That he had seen it made my face burn hot.
Afraid to anger him further, I rose on my haunches and lifted the back of the dress with the pink crinoline in both hands before leaning back down. The layers of sheer ruffles flipped over my head, partially hiding my shame as I could feel the cold air hit my bare ass.
I jumped when Gregor put his hand on my lower back. His fingers dipped between my cheeks to grab the thin band of my thong. I could feel his knuckles rub against my skin as he made a fist.
Knowing what was coming, I braced myself.
With a yank, he wrenched my panties off.
They were just a flimsy piece of silk, but at least it was something. Now I was completely exposed.
Those same knuckles caressed my left cheek before the tip of his finger traced the heart outline of my tattoo.
Then I felt nothing.
He had removed his hand from my body.
I held my breath.
There was no sound, just tense silence.
It was worse than when he chastised me.
Then, I heard the thin hush of air before the awful sting.
Hard leather connected with soft skin.
The thin strap of his dress belt seared my ass, leaving a trail of heat and pain.
Balling my hands into fists, I buried my face between my forearms and cried.
Again, and again he punished me with his belt. My throat was hoarse from my sobs. My skin felt raw and bruised as the pain spread down my thighs and up my spine.
Humiliation at being found in this position kept me from crying out for help.
Fear kept me from trying to escape his wrath.
My body rocked forward with each swipe of the leather. My small passive way of trying to lessen the pain.
“Move your ass again, and I will flip you over onto your back, spread your legs, and whip your cunt, do you understand me?” he ground out. His harsh words came in bursts from his own exertions.
From that point forward, my agony only increased. Holding my body rigid, I absorbed each crack of his belt on my vulnerable ass, afraid to move so much as an inch.
Finally, it stopped.
Instead of his belt, I once more felt the tip of his finger. He traced the outline of my heart tattoo.
“You can barely see it. I like that you have the perfect way to tell when I have punished your ass enough. From now on, I won’t stop till I see your skin blush the same dark pink as this little tattoo.”
Even the slight pressure of his finger hurt.
I couldn’t even think straight. I could only feel. Humiliation, pain, fear, fucked up desire, all rushed over me in dizzying waves.
I stayed where I was with my head hidden behind the pink ruffles of my crinoline. Afraid to face him. Afraid to move without permission.
His hand trailed over my ass to slip between my thighs. Two fingers caressed me.
“Are you still a virgin or has someone taken what was mine?”