Chapter 7 #2
"Yes!" I cry out, the truth tearing its way out of my throat. "Yes! I want to leave! I hate you!"
"Hate is good," he whispers. "But deceit... deceit has consequences."
He lifts the glass to his own lips.
I watch in confusion. Is he going to drink it?
He tips his head back and takes the entire mouthful of wine, but he doesn't swallow.
I watch his throat.
His Adam's apple stays still. He holds the liquid in his mouth, his cheeks slightly puffed with the dark vintage.
He tosses the empty glass aside. It hits the floor and shatters into a thousand diamonds.
Before I can flinch, he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back over the top of the chair, stretching my neck, until I can only look up at the ceiling.
He lowers his face to mine.
I realize what he’s doing a second too late.
"No," I muffle, trying to twist away.
He crushes his mouth against mine.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a breach.
His lips are hard, demanding. He forces his tongue past my teeth, prying my jaw open with the sheer strength of his grip.
I struggle, I gasp, and that is my mistake.
My mouth opens.
He seals his lips tightly over mine, creating a watertight seal, and tilts his head forward.
The cold rush of the wine leaves his mouth and floods into mine, tasting of oak, blackberries, and the sharp, chemical bitterness of the pills.
I gag, trying to push him away, trying to spit it out, but he’s too strong. He presses his body against mine, pinning me to the chair, and clamps my jaw shut around the liquid, refusing to let me spill a drop.
He holds me there, our mouths fused, the wine trapped between us.
I’m drowning in him.
He strokes my throat with his thumb in a cruel motion.
"Swallow," his body commands.
I can't breathe. My lungs burn for air. The liquid is at the back of my throat, threatening to choke me.
I have no choice.
I convulse, and then I swallow the toxic mixture down. The burn of it slides down my esophagus, carrying the tainted wine straight into my stomach.
Only when he feels my throat work, only when he’s sure I’ve taken it all, does he stop.
But he doesn't pull away.
He releases my jaw, but his mouth stays on mine, and he kisses me.
It’s deep, slow, and devastating. He isn’t kissing me for pleasure; he’s kissing me to prove that he can. He sweeps his tongue through my mouth, tasting the remnants of the wine he forced me to drink, licking the bitterness from my teeth.
It’s a mockery of intimacy.
My head is spinning from the lack of air and the shock of the violation, and yet, traitorously, my body responds to the heat of him.
Finally, he breaks the kiss.
I slump forward, coughing and sputtering, gasping for air. A single drop of red wine escapes my lips and runs down my chin like blood.
"You bastard," I gasp, wiping my mouth with a shaking hand. "You... you poisoned me."
He stands over me, wiping his own mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are dark, dilated pupils swallowing the blue.
"It’s not poison," he says. "It’s sleep."
He checks his watch.
"It acts fast when dissolved in alcohol. Ten minutes? Maybe twenty before your legs give out."
Panic flares in my chest. I try to stand. The room tilts violently. The alcohol and the shock hit my empty stomach, carrying the drug straight into my blood. The edges of the room begin to swim.
"I need to..." I stumble, gripping the table for support. "I need to go to the bathroom. I need to throw up."
"No," he says, grabbing my arm.
"We have work to do before you nap."
"Work?" I slur. My tongue is thick. Far too thick. "I can't... I need a doctor."
"You don't need a doctor. You need a pen."
He drags me out of the dining room.
My legs are heavy. I stumble, my heels twisting on the floor, dragging as dead weight.
He supports me easily, his arm around my waist.
"You tried to play a game," he says, his tone cold against my ear. "Now you pay the entry fee."
He marches me down the hall to his private study and kicks the door open.
Inside, computer screens glow in the dark, casting a blue light over the room.
He dumps me down in the leather chair.
I’m swimming. The edges of my vision are blurring into gray static.
"Konstantin... please..." I whisper. "I'm tired."
"Look at the screen," he orders, grabbing the back of the chair to wheel me closer.
I blink, trying to focus on the monitor.
ROUTE 4-A: ATLANTIC LOOP. CARGO: AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY. STATUS: AWAITING AUTHORIZATION.
"What is this?" I mumble. "Atlantic Loop? That route is dead."
"Not anymore," he says. "The ship is loaded. It leaves tonight."
"No," I shake my head, dizzy. "Unscheduled... dangerous... union rules..."
"It’s illegal," he corrects me, leaning down. "There’s no agricultural machinery on that boat. And if you had behaved at dinner, perhaps I would have authorized it myself. But you wanted to drug me. You wanted to make me vulnerable."
He grabs my right hand.
"So now, you share the risk."
He places my hand on the fingerprint scanner.
"Authorize it," he says.
I try to curl my fingers, to pull away, but my muscles have turned to water.
"No, I won't."
"You will," he snaps.
He presses my index finger down onto the cold glass.
Beep.
FINGERPRINT ACCEPTED.
"One more," he says.
He grabs my chin, twisting my face toward the retinal scanner mounted on the monitor.
"Open your eyes."
My eyelids are so heavy. I want to close them. I want to sleep. The darkness is calling me.
"Open them!"
He uses his thumbs to force my eyelids apart. The red light from the scanner blinds me, sweeping across my vision.
Beep.
RETINAL SCAN ACCEPTED.
SHIPMENT AUTHORIZED.
"There," Konstantin says. "Done."
He releases me.
I slump forward onto the desk, my cheek pressing against the cool wood.
Through half-closed eyes, I watch the screen as the status bar turns green.
Authorized.
I launched the ship.
Whatever is on that boat—whatever illegal, dangerous cargo he’s moving—my name is on it now.
"Why?" I whisper. A tear leaks out of my eye to track through the makeup on my cheek. "Why did you make me?"
He leans down, brushing the hair off my forehead. His touch is surprisingly gentle now.
"Because now we are partners," he whispers. "Now, you cannot run to the police. You are as guilty as I am."
He scoops me up into his arms.
I don't fight him. I can't.
My head lolls against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat.
"Sleep now," he says.
The darkness rushes up to meet me. The last thing I feel is the movement of his walking, carrying me deeper into his lair.
And the last thing I taste is the bitterness of the wine he forced past my lips.
The poisoned cup.
And I swallowed it all.