Moving slowly, I slip off my sweater and hang it on a hook before tugging off my tight pants and cotton panties, folding and placing them in a pile on the floor at my feet. I remind myself that the sooner I do as I'm told, the sooner the humiliation of getting practically naked for a complete stranger will all be over.
Gingerly, I reach for the white lingerie set.
The way my hand trembles midair and skirts the material, you'd think it's a live creature trying to bite me.
I don't want to do this.
But I know I have no other choice.
I sigh, taking hold of the lace and silk and pull it from the hanger to get dressed. I slip on the bra first, wrapping it around my narrow ribs and clasping it before slipping my arms through the straps. Then I pull on the panties. I slide the garter belt over my hips and toe into the thigh-high socks last.
I eye myself in the mirror. It's a stunning piece of lingerie. It hugs me in all the places it should, revealing boney curves and small but lush breasts.
I frown at my reflection. I wish I were as beautiful as the women who wear these sorts of things.
I rake my eyes up from my lanky body to my face. The aquamarine depths staring back at me are motley and vibrant against bloodshot veins and ash-white sclera. Bags weigh down the skin beneath my lower lashes and are ringed in purple and red. I look tired and my ribs are noticeably sticking out.
I've been too anxious to realize how hungry I am. My stomach is sunken in and is cramping with emptiness. Dinner last night was the only thing I ate the entire day yesterday and I hold little faith in eating today.
I'm running on fumes.
I use both hands to smooth down my thick ebony hair, tucking my long, stringy bangs behind my ears and brush my long waves behind my shoulders. I'm in serious need of a shower.
I take in an unenthusiastic breath before turning toward the curtain.
After a pause, I exit the changing area and enter the room where the deadly killer is lounging.
I find him on the black leather couch.
It irks me how relaxed he seems, especially when I'm such a mess because of him.
His eyes take me in, roaming from my hair to my breasts to my thighs to my feet. And back up again.
I flinch.
I might as well be fully naked with the way he's eyeing every inch of me.
Does he know how nervous he makes me when he looks at me like that? Does he enjoy seeing me tremble and squirm? Does he care or does depravity simply come naturally to him?
I clasps my hands together behind my back to keep them from shaking and to prevent my fingernails from digging into the skin of my thighs.
"Come closer." He says.
With a deep breath, I take three steps forward until I'm just a few centimeters away from his spread knees.
My teeth chatter fretfully with nerves as he slowly lifts his hand towards me. With his fingertips stretched, he skims his hand up the side of my leg feeling the mesh material of the stocking.
My knees quiver beneath his unwanted touch.
His head lifts to mine with a look about him I can't quite gauge. There's interest in those emerald depths which confuses me but there's also a flicker of something else. Something more dreadful.
"Do I scare you, Alina?"
What? My eyes snap to his before flicking them away.
I can't handle meeting his eyes for longer than a few seconds without picturing him hovering above Vladimir's bloody body; while the silver steel of his silencer dances in the moonlight cast in from the hotel window.
And every time he speaks the only thing I hear is his menacing voice threatening me as his hand wraps tightly around my throat, cutting off the air to my lungs.
So yes, he scares the hell out of me.
I shake my head quickly. "No."
He laughs under his breath. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" He asks, peering up at me with his big green eyes and long dark lashes.
My cheeks smart with a crimson blush.
I had no trouble lying to Vladimir. He was an idiot.
This man sees everything.
He knows when I'm lying and is skilled at making me feel vulnerable. Which I think he does purposely.
I don't want him to see me weak or know how much power he has over me. How much he really does scare me.
In my experience men in my world feel stronger the more scared they can make a woman.
The less scared I can pretend that I am, the less control he has over me.
So I do the unthinkable.
I swallow my fear and scrounge up courage I didn't know I had within me. I clear my throat and put on a brave face.
"Do you like what you see?" I ask, taking an impervious step forward between his legs.
His hand pauses mid-thigh as his eyes lift to mine again. I've taken him off guard.
I tilt my face down to meet his frown, feigning interest in his response.
I used to do the same with Vladimir when he would put me in an uncomfortable situation just to get a rise out of me. Sometimes it would piss him off and I'd be rewarded with a slap to the face. Sometimes it'd turn him off whatever high he was on and in turn he'd lose some of the energy he saved up to torment me with.
I'm hopping for the latter with my captor.
His fingers start again, continuing their path up to the panties I'm wearing.
His eyes are wild and his expression unsettling as he answers my question.
"No." He snaps the elastic band of the thong at my hip. I inhale sharply. "But Oleg Borkov will." He says.
I take a step back causing his hand to fall away to his lap with a quiet thud.
Why would Mayor Oleg Borkov enjoy seeing me in this?
He leans back in his seat casually peering up at me.
"Mayor Oleg Borkov?" I clarify fearfully. The Mayor Oleg Borkov from yesterday evening?
He nods once in confirmation.
I lose my breath.
I look back up at my kidnapper questioningly, but his expression is impossible to read.
I found the exchange between the two men last night to be strange and off-putting but I was terrified and my mind had been racing at the possibilities of why he had taken me hostage and why he had me spill the wine on Borkov.
When nothing came of it, I tried to not give it a second thought. I'd hoped it was all in my head, the adrenaline and fear was simply causing anxiety.
My eyes widen with realization.
He sold me to Mayor Oleg Borkov.
No... I shake my head. There's no way.
Is there?
My voice is trembling as I speak. "You want me to seduce Borkov, is that it? That's why we're here?" I ask, running my fingers through my hair, brushing it out of my face.
Just saying his name has vomit rising in my throat.
I take two big steps back as my captor stands up and calmly pulls on his suit jacket. He must have removed it and thrown it over the arm of the couch while I was changing.
The butts of two guns can be seen peaking out from the holster on each side of his ribs. There's also the rounded end of his knife tucked into a pocket of the holster on his right hip reminding me of the times he's used his weapons to threaten me.
He takes an excruciatingly exaggerated amount of time to button back up his jacket before dragging his gaze back to mine. His expression is no longer an empty, bored look.
I almost trip as I take another step away from him, scared of the now dangerous gleam in his eyes.
His glare is murderous.
Without a word from either of us he takes a lunging step forward catching me by the arms before I can take another step away.
"Ragazza sciocca," foolish girl, he mutters.
His accent's heavy and full of contempt as he reaches up to caress my cheek.
I hold still, not letting his touch get to me. Not letting the fear he's causing to sink below the surface.
That's what he wants.
"You are going to entertain Mayor Borkov as repayment for spilling your wine on him, of course." He tells me, running his thumb over my mouth, pushing my bottom lip down and releasing it, making it smack back up against my top lip with a pop.
I blanch.
"Y- ..I- You!" I stammer in shocked outrage. "You're the one who forced me to spill the wine on Borkov in the first place!"
A bout of angry tears wells in my eyes, threatening me with their release as hot fury burns my cheeks.
My skin turns a splotchy red on my arms and chest, and probably my face as well.
This whole time I was so consumed with what he wanted from me and what he was going to do to me, I never truly considered that the person who will be the one to hurt me isn't this killer in front of me but a monster far more vile.
He told me he wouldn't hurt me but selling me to Borkov is way worse than anything he could have done to me himself!
The fact I expected anything more from him has my anger building, but this time it's directed at myself.
Why am I so gullible and naive? Why didn't I get myself out of this mess years ago when I still had the chance?
His shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's not like you haven't done this sort of thing before."
My jaw drops.
"You son of a bitch!" I sneer.
His anger flares at my words I can see it in his eyes the way they bulge and then narrow as if he's not used to being spoken to like this. Especially from someone he's kidnapped. But it doesn't stop me, I can't contain my frenzy of words.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I ask. My hands fist at my sides to keep from shoving at him. That would not end well for me.
He snatches me up by both arms with a tight grip on my biceps and backs me into the changing room pushing me up against the wall with a loud thud.
I wince waiting for the pain to settle in but it never comes. Luckily, the soft blue sweater I hung on the wall absorbs most of the impact.
He doesn't stop until he is towering above me, his hot breath tumbles threateningly down my face.
"Let's just say you owe me for keeping you alive." He growls.
Always fucking growling.
My eyes flick between both of his emerald depths. I'm not sure if it's bravery or meeting my limit of abuse but a flash of rage consumes me.
I rip myself from his grasp and shove away from him.
Surprisingly he releases me, taking a step back, but maintains a scathing glare as he watches me like a hawk. His restrained anger is rippling off his body in waves.
Feeling deranged, I yank down both of the stockings and garter belt and tug them over my feet not giving a damn that he's watching me.
His chest is rising and falling heavily just as mine is as I bend and strip naked in front of him.
With blurred vision, I unclasp the delicate bra and tug it down my arms, leaving my breasts bare before him. I don't even care to cover myself, I'm too angry. Shamelessly I wad them all up together and throw them at his face.
He seizes them from the air with precision.
Naked from the waist up and filled with mounting frustration I snatch my pants up off the ground and pull them on over the new panties I'm keeping, shoving my old ones into a back pocket, before pulling my sweater over my head and slipping on my shoes.
Without a word I elbow past him out of the dressing area and storm to the front of the store.
He trails close behind.
I don't stop when the attendant asks how everything went or when the killer throws a small wad of cash onto the counter silencing her.
Instead I heave open the heavy door of the building and stumble down the steps in an angry daze.
I look over my shoulder to find that my kidnapper is hot on my tail as I speed-walk down the sidewalk and cross the street, dodging traffic like a madwoman.
He isn't running after me, he doesn't even look that worried about my hysterics, just annoyed, as horns blare and a taxi driver yells obscenities at me.
He looks as if he is simply out for a leisurely stroll rather than chasing his escaped hostage.
I face forward and continue speed walking.
I wish I could run away from him, run until I'm free. But I know he won't let that happen. I'm too important to him.
And now I know why.
Tears weigh down my eyelids until they become too heavy and fall over the edge.
With wet cheeks, I do the next best thing to escaping.
I dart swiftly to the left and enter an open air cafe.
"Where do you think you're going?" I hear his low voice spoken harshly against my face as he catches me by the elbow, halting my frantic escape.
His hot breath touches my skin before his furious words do. I lift my eyes to the patrons of the cafe and the workers milling about.
It's busy. There're too many people around,
too many witnesses for him to try to do anything too violent without making a scene and bringing unwanted attention to himself.
I'm confident he won't slam me up against the wall or shove the gun in the crook of my neck. He's at a disadvantage.
I think he realizes the same thing at the same time because his grip loosens around my arm and he straightens his posture to be less imperious.
"I'm hungry." I throw over my shoulder without sparing him a look as I wipe-dry my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my fingers. "And if you want me to go along with whatever you have planned between me and Borkov then you'll let me eat." I flick my eyes toward him. "I'm no good to you if I starve to death, now am I?"
He glares at me.
I glare back.
"Just the two of you?" The hostess steps up to the podium, interrupting our contentious stare off.
Without looking at her I tilt my head in question at my kidnapper. His eyes sparkle with rage. "Just the two of us, Mr. Lenkov?" I ask him sweetly. Too sweet.
The vibrant green of his eyes becomes dark as he narrows them at me before turning to the hostess and grumbling a tempered, "Yes."