Chapter 4
Kinsley
Welcome Home
The pounding and pain in my head were nauseating as I slowly came to consciousness. Confusion enveloped me in a thick fog. I had a hard time keeping my eyes open, and when I did, everything was dark.
A million thoughts hit me all at once, overwhelming my ability to think clearly. I was blindfolded, so I couldn’t see anything behind it. I tried to move my limbs, but they were still heavy. The panic was thick, and I began dry heaving.
The blindfold was a loosely tied piece of cloth, so I wiggled my head enough to shift it off my eyes. I couldn’t make out anything in the dim room, lit only by a small night-light on the far wall. My hands and feet weren’t tied, and as sensation trickled back in, I moved them a bit more.
Sitting up, I breathed in deep—my surroundings were spinning, and my head throbbed in time with each beat of my heart. It hurt to think, and the more I exerted myself, the harder it got.
Think, goddamn it, Kinsley. What’s the last thing you remember?
I took several deep breaths, pushing back the terror that threatened to consume me. This couldn’t be happening to me again. I sobbed.
I was picking flowers for Ivan. That’s right.
The thought of him brought tears to my eyes.
My hands trembled, and my body turned cold. The Mask had found me. Immediately, my hands flew to my throat, feeling for some kind of collar. My heart pounded with a thunderous rhythm, echoing in my ears.
An eerie silence hung in the room, amplifying my trepidation. The entire experience left me feeling vulnerable. Somehow, I’d found myself right back in the clutches of a familiar and menacing force. I knew better than to yell—I had already been taught that lesson.
Besides, it would only alert them that I was awake, and I still didn’t have full use of my body, so I tried to be as quiet as possible.
I had no idea how long ago I’d been taken, but I was still wearing the same clothes.
My blade? Frantically, I patted my pocket, feeling for the outline, and breathed out when I found it.
It wasn’t my normal one—this one was more compact and didn’t require a thigh strap.
Ivan’s words came back to me. “It matters to me that you know how to fight.”
In my head, I vowed I would fight to the death if need be. I could never live in the sick, twisted world of the Mask again. It was a miracle I survived it the first time. With a rattling sound, the door unlocked. My head swung toward it, my palms sweaty and my body shaking in fear.
Ivan’s shirt had come untied at some point, so it hung clear down to my knees. I moved my hand away from my blade but made sure I could reach it if I needed to. A towering figure opened the door and filled the frame. I wanted to crawl under the bed or find some place to hide.
Step by step, he advanced, each movement calculated and deliberate. My gaze remained fixed upon him. I fought to steady my breath, attempting to prevent hyperventilation, but fear pulsed through my veins, making the task all the more challenging.
The man stopped before me. He had a starkly shaven head, revealing the contours of his weathered face. In his piercing, light brown eyes, there was something dark, something unsettling lurking under the surface. The cruelty was unmistakable.
A dark brown beard sporadically adorned his jawline, making him look scraggly. And a collection of tattoos spanned across his knuckles, resembling intricate bands encircling his hands, almost like rings.
“Dobro pozhalovat’ domoy.” Welcome home.
I didn’t blink at his deep voice or use of Russian, just stared wide-eyed in disbelief.
“Oh, maybe you don’t understand.” He switched to English, his accent pronounced but not difficult to understand.
“I’m here to welcome you home, Mischa. Well, not home, home.
We had to make an extra stop after a problem with the plane.
For the time being, you and I will make do. ”
His words made the room grow dark as my fear pushed forward, threatening to make me blackout.
“You didn’t think he wouldn’t come for you, did you?” He perched on the edge of the bed.
With grimy hands, he pushed the hair away from my face, and I flew back and tried to put as much distance between us as possible. Pulling my knees up to my chest and turning my head to the side, I tried to calm my nerves. But instead, I retched, unable to control my fear any longer.
His lips curled in a twisted, evil snarl.
“You’ll want to breathe through your nose,” he said, only dialing my fear up several notches.
“Here are my rules. You will obey. No fighting, no trying to escape. I don’t play that shit.
I have no problem hurting you. If you follow the rules, you will remain safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Si-Sir,” I choked out.
His cruel eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. He must be the new collector, my mind reasoned. His face wasn’t covered. And I knew the original one was dead.
“I think we’re going to get along very well, Mischa.” His hand touched my knee.
“Sir, Mischa Natalya is dead, and I saw her buried.” The words slipped easily out of my mouth. It was like I was transported back to ten years old, and I was already falling back into my place. As those powerful memories pummeled my mind, I leaned over and threw up, some of it hitting his shoe.
He jumped back, slapping me hard. I grabbed my cheek, blood trickling through my fingers where one of his rings cut my face.
Cursing in Russian, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me off the bed.
Once more, his hand cracked across my face, the sting blooming hot across my cheek.
Before I could catch my breath, he shoved me—hard.
My back hit the bathroom door, swinging it open as I stumbled inside and then hit the ground.
“Take your clothes off, you stupid bitch. You stink,” he screamed.
Think, Kinsley, think. You have your blade. If you bide your time and use it strategically, you might live. Clear your mind and focus.
He said the Mask was thousands of miles away, getting everything ready.
From the look in his eyes, I could tell he was going to hurt me.
He wouldn’t do that if the Mask were here.
With the evilness I knew the Mask was capable of, he’d want that honor for himself.
I turned away from my captor, shakily unbuttoned my shorts, and slid them off.
Tears streamed down my face, and an incredible sense of humiliation had me letting out a small sob. I lifted Ivan’s shirt, not wanting to part with it, my only tie to him. Standing before this monster, wearing a pair of light pink lacy panties that matched my bra, I realized how vulnerable I was.
“Take them off,” he ordered, pointing at my panties.
The look in his eyes had my heart squeezing in my chest. I took them off, folding them and putting them on the inside of my shorts. This made my blade more accessible, so I would be ready to strike. All I needed was the opportunity.
“Looks like someone has already had a piece of you. I wasn’t sure, but those hickeys and bite marks on your ass speak volumes. I’m glad I held off. This will be so much more fun with you awake.”
I closed my eyes, trying to push the thought of Nik and the marks he’d left from my mind. I needed a clear head. Focus.
“Now the rest,” he hissed. I had my back to him as I removed my bra. But hearing him groan had me turning my head. He’d unzipped his pants and pulled them down, and his hand was pumping his dick.
“You should know your price has gone down. Virgins always bring in the biggest prizes in our world. And I can’t wait to see the look of fury on his face when he realizes you’re not pure.
I took pictures earlier, while you were asleep, as proof you came that way.
And just so you know, they’ve already been sent in. ”
My heart sank and the bathroom blurred as tears filled my eyes. The shame his words brought was overwhelming, and I struggled to breathe through it. The humiliation burned in my gut, cheapening what I’d shared with my Kings.
“Turn around.”
He stood behind me as I hesitated. I took a deep breath and did as he asked. A small amount of space stretched between us, too much for me to make a move.
“Master, don’t hurt me,” I whispered and dropped into a perfect Nadu position.
It had the desired effect. His eyes grew wide as the position gave him a full view of my vagina. He mumbled something in Russian that I couldn’t quite make out, and I sat with my eyes down. My hair fell over one eye, and I trained my sight on his feet as he drew closer.
“Suck my dick, bitch.” He thrust it in my face, and I fought everything in me to not throw up again. I focused my attention on breathing.
You can do this, Kinsley. Do you want to live? If so, then don’t think, move. Survive any way you can.
I kneeled up so my mouth was level with his dick and took the tip of him into my mouth.
He grabbed my head and shoved himself farther in, and I gagged from disgust. His eyes closed as I made a pass over him, and I reached for my blade.
The one I had grabbed was slim, and the actual blade hid inside the key-shaped handle.
When it was folded, it looked like an ordinary key, probably the main reason he didn’t take it.
I knew from my training with Owen where the femoral artery and corresponding attached ones were.
Knowing I would need to hit it at the perfect angle and how deep I would need to go, I focused all of my senses on this moment.
My goal was his death. The blade fit perfectly in my hand, and a surge of power ran through me.
Pain needled at my scalp as he gripped my hair tighter with each brutal thrust into my mouth.
With him completely distracted, I made my move, releasing the lock with a quiet pop that I felt more than heard.
The small blade was cold yet familiar. Ivan ensured I knew how to use a variety of styles.
There was no time to think the moves through—it was pure instinct and sheer determination.
Returning to the Mask’s form of hell wasn’t happening.
I angled the blade low, right near the groin, where the artery ran beneath the skin, and plunged it in.
It was clumsy and a little shallow, but he grunted, jerking back with a snarl, more annoyed than anything.
The second jab went deeper, and his eyes flared wide.
He looked down, no doubt confused. The scent of copper was strong, and slick red spread down his leg.
Something about that was so satisfying—it fueled me.
Lightning fast, I tugged it out and then repeated the move several more times.
Just the way Owen taught me so long ago.
On the last pass, I twisted right where it counted.
He screamed, the sound ripping past his lips and echoing off the bathroom walls.
He stumbled, legs collapsing under him, one hand scrabbling at the counter, the other pressing uselessly against the flood.
His blood was everywhere. On the tile. On my hands. It covered me and was still warm.
But he was on borrowed time. Three minutes at most. And I became feral. As he writhed on the floor, I brought the knife down a few more times in a frenzy. My grip slipped on the slick handle, and the blade sliced through my palm, but I hardly felt the sting.
“You bastard, I will never go back,” I screamed.
The disgusting taste of him lingered on my tongue, and I spat to rid myself of it. It landed with a satisfying sound on his stomach. He lay there in shock, his blood gushing out of him as he lost consciousness.
For good measure, I embedded the small blade in his ugly dick. A guttural warrior cry ripped from my throat—something wild and unrecognizable, as if it had been buried in my bones all along, waiting for this moment to rise.
If someone else were with us, the scream would bring them, but I didn’t care at that point. I meant what I said: I would kill myself before I went back.
Naked and covered in his blood, I sobbed and then reached for my clothes.
I yanked them on, not caring that they were soaked and stained red.
In my haste, I slipped on the mess and landed hard on both my knees.
I ran out of the bathroom, looking for my shoes, but couldn’t find them.
Adrenaline fueled me as my heart pumped so hard and fast, I feared I would have a heart attack.
Dashing over to the door, I brushed my messy hair out of my eyes to see better, then grabbed the handle, but my hand slipped off.
I screamed in frustration and fear as I tried it again.
The mixture of my blood and his made gripping it hard, but my second try worked.
No one had come running in to save him, so I was confident we were probably alone.
Inhaling deeply, I summoned the courage to swing the door open, my heart pounding.
As the fresh air hit my skin, an instinctive need to survive had me hitting the ground running in a sprint.
Above me, the sky was painted in shades of darkness, the moon itself hidden.
Brooding storm clouds devoured the sky, and I ran, searching for light.