Chapter 20
ALINA
I was warm, comfortable and though it defied all logical reasoning…safe.
The silk sheets were so smooth against my skin as I rolled over and buried my head into a soft pillow. The scent of warm spices and a masculine cologne filled my senses and urged me to fall back into a restful sleep.
God, these pillows smelled so good. They smelled like…him.
I jerked awake.
My bed was not warm or comfortable.
My apartment was anything but safe.
Every night was filled with shouts from my neighbors, screaming matches, and gunfire.
My sheets might as well have been made of burlap, they were so rough, and my pillow smelled faintly of cloyingly sweet strawberry dollar store conditioner, poverty, and mildew.
Where was I?
Memories of what we had done flashed through my head, and I started shaking. I was being held against my will in some high-end apartment—or maybe hotel—God only knew where.
Pavel Ivanov, one of the most feared men in the Russian mob, freaking kidnapped me.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I listened for any noise, any sound that would tell me if there was someone else in the apartment.
Nothing.
No movement, no breath, no footsteps, no music or television. Nothing.
I didn't know where he was, how long he would be gone, or when he was coming back.
I did know that this was my only chance to escape.
A sharp jolt ran through me, and I couldn't tell if it was panic or determination.
All I knew was that if I wanted out, now was the time.
I still didn't trust it.
Why would he just leave me here like this? He didn't put the handcuffs or hood back on me. He just left me sleeping peacefully in his bed.
It didn't make sense. What if it was a trap?
Still, I slowly, quietly crept to the bathroom, not trusting that he wouldn't pop out at any moment.
When I peered into the large, white-tiled room, there was nobody there. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, going straight to the mirror to stare at myself.
I looked the same—no, worse than that.
I looked well-rested, and my skin had a glow that it didn't before. Sure, some of the glow was the warm-to- the-touch pink stripes left by his belt. And I had several faint bruises forming on my thighs from his fingers.
But I looked more alive than I had in years. What did that mean?
It was just from the silk sheets, I told myself as I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it look less like I’d grabbed onto a live wire. Then carefully I went to remove the metal plug.
Taking it out stung even more than when he'd pushed it inside of me. Still, I gritted my teeth and gripped the jeweled base to pull the oblong orb out.
It took a few moments, but once I finally got it out, the relief I expected didn’t come. I felt somehow empty. Like I was missing something. It was like he was no longer touching me.
The small voice in the back of my head urged me to put it back in; to go back to that bed and wait to see what sinful delights he had in store for me.
That little voice begged me to be a good girl, to bend to his will and let him show me all the things I was too afraid to experience before he made the decision for me.
Memories of his lips and tongue on my breasts while his cock gave me the most incredible pleasure filled my mind.
My fingers brushed the pink stripes he had left across my ass in the club. They were sore and still a little warm to the touch, but the pain just kindled thoughts of the pleasure. The way he touched me, tasted me…even the way he put me on my knees and made me take him in my mouth.
Part of me wanted to give in to it all .
To savor the domination, and know that whatever I needed, he would take care of. There was a kind of peace in not having control, in giving all that responsibility over to someone else.
Why did I always have to choose?
Why was every problem mine to solve?
For a moment, the thought of going back into that bed and letting him handle everything was so unbelievably tempting that I almost caved. Just the idea of being able to give up my control, my own responsibilities, and the responsibilities that were thrust onto me by others was almost overwhelming.
So should I put the plug back? Go back to bed and let him find me without it just to see how he would punish me again?
I shook my head, clearing the silly idea of staying here with him. Of giving up my freedom to be, what? His pet? His whore?
No. That wasn't who I was.
I didn't want to be his toy.
I wanted freedom.
Freedom from him.
Freedom from my father's debts.
Freedom from obligations that never should have been mine.
Leaving the plug on the counter, I cleaned myself up as best as I could before creeping back into the bedroom.
It was still eerily still. Quiet.
The only sound in the room was my heart hammering in my chest.
I still didn't trust it .
It didn't make sense, but I didn't want to look this gift horse in the mouth, either. If he wasn't going to be here to make sure I stayed, then there was no reason for me to stay.
I just needed clothes, and I would be gone. No one would ever hear from me again. I'd figure out how to buy a new identity, how to start over somewhere where Alina Russo didn't exist.
It was going to be hard, if not impossible. But it couldn't be worse than this.
It couldn't be worse than demeaning myself by serving drinks in that hellhole. Nothing was worse than getting groped by old men who reeked of desperation and piss.
It couldn't be worse than scrubbing bloodstains out of carpets and mopping them up from tiled floors while pretending I didn't recognize the smell.
It couldn't be worse than having to watch my grandmother slip further and further away from me, her mind almost completely gone, and seeing the signs of neglect on her body and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
All I had to do was take this opportunity and run. When I was safe and settled, I would return and sneak my grandmother out as well. Maybe I'd find a state with better senior facilities. At least hope was free.
I rushed to the wardrobe, opening it to see designer suit after designer suit, all in the finest fabrics, all whispering wealth and decadence.
I could take one. I would bet sliding one of his jackets on would feel like I was wrapped in his powerful arms.
That wasn't what I needed. I slammed the doors and went to the dresser, ignoring the pang of regret and longing in my body.
The first drawer had more than I expected.
Thousands of dollars in cash, all neatly stacked and wrapped with paper strips labeled $5,000, $10,000 or $20,000.
The stacks were all made of fives, tens, twenties, or fifties. Small, unmarked bills.
What the hell?
Pavel had cost me two steady jobs and taken my virginity.
This was the least he owed me.
The next drawer down had T-shirts and the one below that had workout shorts and a pair of gray sweatpants.
I thought about what he would look like in the gray sweatpants, how they would cling to his thighs, the outline of his cock visible.
Mental images of him coming back into the room wearing nothing but these sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his abs glistening with sweat from an intense workout, came unbidden to my mind.
"Get yourself together," I whispered, shaking the images out of my head.
What was wrong with me?
I slid on the sweatpants, tightening the drawstring as much as I could before tying it off. Then I grabbed one of the white T-shirts. It was so soft and smelled like him.
As I slid the shirt on, I realized I had been right about the jacket, because just wearing this shirt made me feel like his arms were around me. Unfortunately, the fine fabric was also too thin to be completely opaque.
I needed something more .
I rummaged around and found a winter coat that hit my knees. It was huge, but it would keep me well hidden, and it wasn't going to be the strangest thing people saw in DC.
One quick glance out the window had confirmed where I was. The Washington Monument was easy to see in the sprawling cityscape.
Quickly I shoved money into the pockets of the sweatpants and more stacks in each of the pockets I could find in the coat.
My phone and purse were nowhere to be found, but I really wasn't expecting to find them. Either Pavel had them and I was never going to see them again, or they were left at the club, in which case I was still never going to see them again.
It was a pain, but if I was going to survive this, Alina Russo was dead. I didn't need her ID.
Finally, I needed to find something to put on my feet, but one look at the monstrous shoes that were lined up on the bottom of his closet told me that wearing those would draw more attention than I needed.
Ignoring a woman in clothes that were too big was one thing, since she could be making a fashion choice, or was possibly a tourist making do after their luggage went missing.
Regardless, most people went out of their way to not notice other people.
But when you added tripping around in clown shoes, staring would be unavoidable.
Instead, I went back to the dresser and searched until I found socks. Two thick pairs of wool socks pulled over my feet and halfway up my calves would have to do.
One last peek in the mirror told me I looked ridiculous, but no more or less ridiculous than any other person walking the streets of Washington, DC.
There really was something magical about a place where a crooked politician in a four-thousand-dollar suit, probably on the prowl for a sex worker, could walk down the same street as a woman who looked like a fashion school dropout, and people would avoid them both as if they had the same disease.
I would at least blend in enough that no one would take notice.
The coat was really nice, maybe oversized, but I didn’t think anyone would really pay any attention. If they did, they could easily assume I was making a statement of some sort.
Creeping into the main room, I looked around, expecting to see Pavel sitting in a chair staring at his phone, or pacing around with a glass of vodka in his hand.
Nope. He wasn't here.
The stack of papers was still spread out on the table, and I took the chance to grab the photos that he had of my grandmother and me from when I was a child. They weren’t much, but they were all I had left.
With each step I took to the front door I grew more convinced I was tempting fate. When I peered through the peephole, there was nothing in the hall, just a crisp white wall hung with inoffensive art across from the door.
With my breath catching in my chest, I slowly pushed down the lever and opened the door just a sliver.
And there he was. Some man, standing with his back to the door. Broad shoulders covered in a dark blue suit jacket.
The way he stood told me who he was.
Security.
Whether he worked for Pavel directly or was hotel staff, I had no idea. Either way, he'd stop me, and then God only knew what he would do. I couldn’t imagine Pavel would hire anyone unless they were at least as unscrupulous as him.
Did he even know I was in here? I could pretend to be a call girl or somebody he picked up, doing the walk of shame. But would he want a turn? I didn't want to risk it.
Carefully, my breath still caught in my throat, I closed the door and set the latch back without a sound.
Hope bled from my body as my shoulders slumped enough that the coat almost fell off of my shoulders.
No, I refused to give up that easily.
I straightened my spine, lifted my chin in the air, and walked around the apartment, searching for another exit. There had to be another way out. This suite was too big for there not to be a second door somewhere.
I headed toward the back and found a living room area. It still smelled of smoke and had two teacups and glasses sitting on the coffee table.
On the other side of that room was a small door, designed to blend in. A servants’ entrance.
Hope blossomed in my chest, but I pushed it down just as quickly. While I had to try—there was no doubt about that—what were the chances that Pavel would leave something so obvious completely unguarded?
I ran to the door, first pressing my ear against the wood. It was cold to the touch and there was no sound on the other side.
With one final glance behind me, my hand trembling on the handle, I inhaled sharply and pulled the door open.
I waited for a yell, a guard telling me to get back inside, or threatening me. There was nothing.
Only a dingy, off-white hallway, with no natural light, no art, and no signs of life.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run.
I was free—for now.
Taking one last breath, I gripped the handle, pulled the door closed behind me, and stepped into the cold hallway.
I didn't know where I was going—only that I had to run.