THE GATEKEEPER

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.

Far, far worse.

Maykl

I rise with the sun and get up to shower. I liked having my little warrior settled beside me far more than I liked her out in the living room where I couldn't see her. Where I was worried about her discomfort.

Blyad'. I don't know how I'm going to get any information out of her when I'm so unwilling to inflict even the smallest amount of pain.

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I make my shower quick and discover my sense of urgency was correct. She's rolled herself off the bed and is crawling her way across the floor like an inchworm.

Considering the state of her undress, it's a very alluring sight. I watch her, letting her keep it up as I pull my clothes out and get dressed. Letting her entertain me with her bare ass undulating to the sky like she's humping my floor. "That's pretty, malen'kaya Valkiriya."

She knew I was in the room. I'm sure she knew the moment the shower stopped that I'd find her. She sighs and rolls over onto her back to look at me. "I have to pee."

I love that she's not afraid of me. That she's making petulant demands.

That's wrong.

I should definitely want her to be afraid. How else will I get the information I need from her?

But it satisfies me on some deep level that she's not traumatized by what I've put her through. That she still has her indomitable warrior spirit and is fighting back in the ways she can.

I give her a glimmer of a smile and tilt my head toward the bathroom. "Then you're going in the wrong direction."

She holds her bound hands out like she wants me to help her up.

I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. "Nyet. I am enjoying the show. Thoroughly. Please continue, little warrior. It's a lovely sight."

She huffs her displeasure but manages to roll back to her belly and make a 180 to start inching in my direction.

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Fuck.

So. Hot.

I never thought I'd be the type of guy who fantasized about keeping a woman captive. Forcing her to crawl. To serve.

But everything about this scenario is turning me on.

Until I notice the rug burn on her forearms.

I lurch forward and scoop her up to balance on her bound legs then toss her over my shoulder to carry to the bathroom. I let my hand slide up the back of her bare thigh. She smells like sugar cookies and warm bread and faintly of sex.

I set her down in front of the toilet and stand over her as she lowers to sit on the seat, pinning me with a defiant look.

Showing me she's not cowed by my handling or intimidated by me towering over her, watching as she uses the toilet.

She makes a show of using the blade of her taped hands to unroll a length of toilet paper then raises her brows at me expectantly.

I waffle between telling her to drip-dry and helping. Which is more disempowering?

Since I don't intend to allow her to dress, I decide helping is the best option. I finish and inspect her elbows and knees. The skin is chafed. She'll probably get little scabs, but there's no real harm. Still, I don't like seeing any kind of marks on her.

Except my handprint on her ass.