I wince and stumble as the blood returns to my feet. Maykl grabs the roll of duct tape and maneuvers me into his bedroom. He leaves the light off.
“Get in the bed.”
Somehow, I don’t think he’s ordering me to his bed for sex. That would be the logical conclusion, but he doesn’t have that sexual edge to him right now that he had earlier. Like when he spanked me and slid his fingers between my legs.
If he is interested in sex, I’m not sure what I would do.
Whether I should fight and show him I don’t want it or return to my seduction of the enemy play.
I don’t know whether I’m afraid of Maykl forcing sex on me or excited by it.
If I base my determination on our last encounter, I’m excited. But what he showed me last time is that he enjoys a little violence with sex. And if that was how he acted before he discovered I’m the enemy, how much rougher would he be? What would he demand of me?
I crawl in the bed, and he rolls me to my side and tapes my ankles together. He winds something soft and silky–must be the tie he used on my wrists yesterday when our sex was playful–and ties it snugly around my neck. It’s not tight enough to choke me but enough that there’s pressure there. Then he lies down behind me.
The tie around my neck tugs as he picks up the ends of it and wraps them around his fist.
“Try to get away this time, Valkiriya, and you’ll find out how willing I am to snap your neck.”
The corners of my lips tick up as I realize what just happened.
Oh, Maykl. Such empty threats. I smile to myself in the darkness.
He wasn’t even willing to leave me to sleep in a chair all night. This guy may look like a monster–and I’m sure is a monster on many levels–but he’s a fool when it comes to women.
Or when it comes to me.
I quash that thought as soon as it rises.
Of course, there’s nothing special about me.
These bratva men like to keep women as objects. As toys or playthings. That’s what Anya was to Aleksi, the man she came to Chicago with. He’s dead now, too. Died in a shoot-out with the rest of his cell. What happened to Anya and Mika after that, I don’t know.
For the years after the bratva exacted our father’s payment from her, Anya sold herself to them. Found the man who would pay the most. Who would support her and Mika? Someone who didn’t mind her drug addiction. Didn’t need her to be anything but willing.
The bratva aren’t permitted to marry. It’s part of the code. That’s why sex is always transactional with them.
I attempt to roll a bit forward to alleviate the pain in my shoulders from having my hands bound behind my back for so long, but it tugs on the choker around my neck.
I shove backward to make it possible, my ass hitting Maykl’s loins. His dick surges between my legs.
Oh, boy.
I’m less afraid now, though. More sure that this man can be manipulated or maneuvered or somehow tricked into letting me go by his unwillingness to harm me.
I test my theory. “Please. My arms are killing me. I can’t lie in this position, Maykl.”
He doesn’t move or speak, but I suspect he’s thinking it over.
“Please? Just a change of position. Tie them in front of me. Or over my head. My shoulders hurt.”
“You’re a prisoner. Pain is to be expected.” His voice is gruff, but I imagine I hear the notes of him convincing himself.
I try to think of a good answer to that but can’t come up with one.
After a few moments of charged silence, Maykl grunts and gets up. When he returns, I feel the blade of his scissors before they snip through the tape. I groan as the blood rushes down my arms, needles and pins prickling everywhere. I open and close my fingers and shake my elbows to speed the process.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “Thank you so much.” I might as well give him a bit of sugar. That’s certainly the right measure with a man like him.
He rolls me to my other side and tapes not just my wrists together, but my fingers and thumbs, as well–no doubt so I can’t use them to free myself. When he finishes, he wraps his fist in the ends of the tie once more and pulls me toward him, so my face is right in front of his.
“Be good, moya malen'kaya Valkiriya, or I’ll make you suffer.”
Lies, I suspect.
“Thank you,” I whisper again.
In the darkness, I see his frown. He knows I’m playing him again.
I know he’s letting me.
It’s an uneasy truce, but it definitely could be worse.