Katarina
Now
Iscowl at my reflection in the mirror. My long hair shines like satin and stinks of rose water. Eric’s preferred scent. My fingertips itch, irritated by the shortness of my baby pink nails, and my balance feels off because I’m teetering on child-size heels. And as for the dress…
“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Vivienne?” gasps Emily, overcompensating for my lack of enthusiasm.
Thankfully, this is just a fitting for the wedding tomorrow but it makes me wonder what I’m being molded into. Eric’s token wife? His fuck toy? His prisoner? I haven’t asked for details. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the least bit interested in how I should fit into his life.
The only future plans actively being discussed at present are the business deals Eric and Vasili are cooking up. They talk of merchandise as if I don’t know each item in their distribution network will have a pulse and a name.
I tug on the boned bodice of my dress, pulling loose a few of the Schwartz crystals. An inordinate amount of padding pushes up my ample breasts and they bounce precariously as I heave up the skirt. Moving isn’t an easy task with so many layers of lace and chiffon weighing me down.
Vivienne’s finding it more difficult than Emily to ignore the anger radiating off me. Her fingers tremble as she picks up the fallen crystals. “It fits exactly as it should.”
Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Being dressed like a mannequin with no agency of my own? And I thought my uncle was overbearing.
I can already see how other aspects of my life are being controlled.
The private chef assigned to our villa has provided perfectly balanced and highly nutritious meals, and just like the beauticians, my every request for carbs or god forbid, chocolate, has been overridden by Eric’s very specific instructions.
Biting my pink glossed lips that also taste of fucking rose, I scan the room, my gaze settling on the dresser where Vivienne has laid out her tools of the trade. “Could I suggest one or two tweaks?”
The seamstress swallows nervously. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hmm, let me think,” I say as I shuffle and slide over to the dresser.
My open palm hovers over the collection of ribbons and tassels as if I’m a prospector searching for gold.
I ignore the needles and threads, the swatches of material and the spare padding Vivienne couldn’t quite stuff into my bodice.
It’s only as my hand stops above the dressmaking shears that my fingers tingle.
Emily sucks in a breath. “Katarina, I don’t think–”
“No, you don’t, do you?” I snatch up the shears.
“I don’t imagine many people around here do.
” My mouth twists into a wicked grin as I lift a layer of my dress.
“The problem is, I do think, Emily.” Lace tears with my first strike.
“I have opinions. Strong ones. And I hate being ignored. So this is me…” The blade slices downwards to the hem of the skirt, splitting the top layer in two. “Getting your fucking attention.”
“Oh… Oh, dear,” Emily squeaks and hurries out of the room as I continue to shred my dress.
I arch an eyebrow at Vivienne. “Would you be a darling and help me cut my way out of this hideous thing?”
Vivienne whimpers. “I should… I should go and…”
When she disappears after the housekeeper, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was off to pack her bags.
Only Alexei remains, arms folded over his chest and his expression impassive as he watches me slice through more layers until I can see my feet. Kicking off my shoes, I imagine Killian watching from a corner of the room, cheering me on. “You’re a mad, psycho bitch, Kitty. It’s why I love you.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. Stupid durak for getting himself killed.
My hands can’t move fast enough to cut the skirt from the bodice and I nick myself more than once. The torn shreds of ivory chiffon and lace are soon stained red, but I keep slicing and tearing.
When the skirt is reduced to a single layer with a high split to expose my bare, recently-waxed legs, I long for something else to cut. What else can I do to defile the mannequin Eric thinks he’s purchased? Ah, yes.
Grabbing a handful of my hair, I hold the long strands close to my shoulder and run the shears right through. Ribbons of raven-colored silk float to the floor.
I can’t remember a time when my hair didn’t reach the small of my back. Other women envied it. I liked it too, especially when it was bound around Killian’s fist. No one else can be allowed to do that.
As I hack off more locks, a weight is lifted from my shoulders. I’ve never felt so free. Until a man’s arms bind my back against his solid chest, my upper arms trapped by my sides.
“Enough!” Eric barks.
I inhale the scent of musk that reminds me of mothballs and death as I’m lifted off my feet. I’m only an inch or two off the ground when I open up the shears. Still able to bend my elbows, I turn the exposed blade to one of Eric’s wrists.
“I suggest you put me down if you want to live,” I say quietly.
A shadow appears in my periphery. One of Eric’s guards is on my left, firearm raised. On my right, Alexei assumes an identical pose. He’s the one I glare at.
“Seriously?” I demand, staring down the barrel of the gun he’s pointing at me.
If I want to survive this, I have to surrender, but it’s not an easy decision.
Survival under these circumstances isn’t necessarily the best option.
Do I want a quick death or a painful and protracted one?
Am I that desperate to have Eric bleed out over the remnants of the dress he chose for me, just like he chose my shoes, my nails and the shape of my bikini wax.
I apply just a little more pressure to Eric’s wrist when a woman’s laugh breaks the tension. It’s not a polite chuckle. This laugh will be streaking Sasha’s cheeks with tears. My stomach spasms. It’s the same laughter I’d heard the night Kira was gunned down.
I’d been allowed to stay with Yana and Kira when we’d arrived at the training camp, but we had to share a room with Sasha, who was planted for no other reason than to make my life hell.
We were amongst a larger cohort of seventeen- and eighteen-year-old recruits, all being tested to our limits.
Some with family links to the Bratva were treated well enough, but others like Kira, who had been claimed as the spoils of war, were considered fair game.
Kira had been raped by our guards shortly after we arrived, and while I protected her for as long as I could by seducing Grigor, she never recovered from her trauma.
I helped her through her panic attacks, but as our time at the camp drew to a close, I was powerless when a video of her being assaulted was posted online and attracted bids from men willing to pay to do the same.
It was inevitable that she’d make a run for it.
When she crept out of the lodge that night, I tracked her as she weaved between the watchtower spotlights. Sasha shadowed us both, and when her laughter cut through the stillness of the night, I rushed for cover and could only watch in horror as Kira’s already broken body was peppered with bullets.
Sasha’s continued peals of laughter bring me back into the room. From one nightmare to another.
“Sestra, you should see your hair!” she snorts. “Oh. My. God. I can’t…” She heaves a breath between more barks of laughter. “I hope your hair stylist can work miracles. But then again… I’m sorry, Eric, but it’s better you know from the start that you’re marrying a sewer rat.”
I’m facing away from the door and twist to sneer at her. “I bet it doesn’t look as bad as yours did when I swapped your shampoo for glue. My only regret is I didn’t put some in your mouthwash too.”
“You did me a favor,” she bites back. “Destruction is a chance for rebirth. Look at me now. My hair grew back stronger.”
“As will I,” I warn. “And when I come seeking justice, you’re the first person I’ll seek out.”
“I look forward to that day,” she hisses.
“Shut the fuck up!” snarls Eric. “I don’t want to hear another word from either of you.”
My jaw clenches. I hate being told what to do, and as I fight Eric’s hold, the edge of my blade glides gently across his wrist.
“Fucking bitch!” he yells, snatching his hand away and dripping blood over us both.
I’m not surprised when he grabs what’s left of my hair and forces me forward until my cheek presses hard against a window.
The glass shudders, but I don’t cry out.
I stare out across acres of lawn towards the spot where I’d been standing when the storm hit yesterday.
For now, the skies are clear and the sea crystal blue.
There are no landmarks in sight, but the fishing boats are back.
I don’t have much time to plan an escape, but I have more time than Kira had. With a good enough running jump…
Eric presses his face next to my ear. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns. “You’d never clear the rocks.”
When we hear the approach of sharp heels, Eric turns on Sasha. “You, keep away from her. She’s mine to play with. No one else’s.”
“You’re such a party-pooper, Eric. And there I was, about to offer help.”
“What kind of help?”
“You’re not contemplating having your new wife look like that, are you? Let me work on her and I’ll deliver the bride of your dreams by tomorrow evening.”
Keeping his forearm pressed against my back, Eric takes a small step back to appraise me. His blood smears my shoulder, but the wound is already healing. It’s his own fault for not taking the shears from me as soon as he grabbed me. Amateur. He’s lucky I only gave him a nick.
“What do you have in mind? She’s practically feral,” he says to Sasha. “Something else Vasili failed to mention.”
Sasha’s clipped footsteps draw nearer. “For the dress…” I feel her gaze looking me up and down.
“Keep the bodice, it’s still intact but we’ll need a new skirt.
” Her laugh is more of a chuckle this time.
“I’ll ask Vivienne to make it removable to give you quicker access on your wedding night.
You’ll already have your hands full keeping that one down. ”
“But alas not full enough.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Sasha replies. “You’ve been complaining her tits aren’t big enough. Have you told her she’s booked in for a boob job yet?”
My grip on the shears tightens. I could still stab him, but I don’t need to see the two guards to know their guns remain trained on me. “I’m not going under the scalpel for any man.”
Eric leans in and trails his tongue over my shoulder, lapping up the smear of blood. “You’ll do as your husband tells you, cosmetic surgeries included,” he corrects. “It’s all in the contract.”
“Fuck you.”
“I can see you’re going to be quite a challenge.” He doesn’t sound displeased by the prospect. He’s proving to be one of those men who loves any excuse to express dominance.
“A thought occurs,” Sasha says as if suddenly struck by inspiration, when all her scheming is planned well in advance. “I might be able to ensure she’s in a better mood for you tomorrow.”
I scoff. “How are you going to do that? Will you deliver Grigor’s head on a platter?”
“That I can’t do, dear sestra. But there are the toys I gave you that’ll get you nice and worked up for the big event.”
Toys? Multiple?
I hadn’t looked inside the crocheted eggplant. I’d seen the crown of Killian’s molded cock and…
Eric releases the pressure on my back and checks the wound on his wrist. He’s scowling as I turn towards him, gripping the shears like a knife.
Before he can react, I flip them so the handle points outwards, offering them up.
If I’m going to die, it won’t be to kill this non-entity.
There are others on the island I need to take out first.
My husband-to-be takes the shears. “Good girl.” He’s smirking when he turns to Sasha. “If you can manage to get my bride nice and wet for me by our wedding night, I’ll give you a million dollars.”
“I don’t want your money,” Sasha says innocently. “I simply want my sestra to be happy.”
Eric kisses my cheek before leaving me alone with my friend. Except we’re never alone. Alexei remains alert as I approach Sasha.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much, sestra.”
Sasha shrugs. “Call it pay back,” she replies. “But if you really don’t want to go through with the wedding, make a run for the cliffs by all means. That’s a sight I’d love to see.”