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The moment they all leave I pull in a shuddering breath, clamping my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. Fear rushes through my veins, making terror ricochet my entire body as I process everything they just told me.
Part of me doesn’t want to believe anything they just said, but what would be the point in them lying? I’m here, their prisoner on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere. I have no way of escaping, and I believe Dimitri was telling me the complete truth when he said that anyone who tries to help me escape will be killed.
The stupid thing is, now that I know why I’m here, the three men that took me feel like the least scary thing about this whole situation. I don’t know how my mom got mixed up with a Russian mobster, or if I am this big boss’s daughter, but these men believe it to be true. Which means if Grigoriy did give me to his second in command as some kind of fucked-up gift, then I really am in danger. And as much as I don’t want to feel even an ounce of gratitude toward my kidnappers, being here, in relative safety, is much better than finding myself as some psycho old guy’s new whore.
It’s ironic that being the daughter of a prostitute taught me to value my body. I was barely a teenager when I vowed that I’d never follow in my mother’s footsteps, and I’d always choose the people that I allow to touch me.
Unfortunately, when you’re from a small town where everyone knows your mom used to offer blow jobs in exchange for grocery gift cards, it was almost impossible not to be judged by her reputation. Teenage boys can be cruel and relentless and by the time I was in eighth grade, I knew none of them would ever treat me with enough respect for me to allow them anywhere near me. So, when I boarded the bus away from Aunt Darla at eighteen, I was a virgin.
There is nothing romantic about being a homeless teenager, and in a city the size of Columbus there are a lot of kids on the streets. I fell foul of lots of hardened, heartless people, until I met Jack. He was nice. He’d run away from home to avoid his abusive father and he wasn’t an asshole to me. It’s not exactly a movie worthy love story, but sometimes when there was only one bed at the shelter, we’d offer to share. He was always such a gentleman, never touching me or trying to take something I wasn’t willing to give.
One day, he stole a bottle of vodka from a convenience store, and we got blackout drunk and fucked in the toilets at the back of a cheap ass sandwich shop. The earth didn’t move, and all our problems didn’t fade away when he pushed his condom clad dick into me. But it was my choice, and he was nice about it, so I probably have a better first time story than most people do.
A week later, he confessed he was gay, but he wanted to try not to be and he figured if he was going to have sex with a woman, he’d want it to be me. He stopped coming round after that and I don’t know what happened to him. A part of me hopes he found a happily ever after, and I’d rather think that than accept the reality that he could be dead, or worse.
I need time to think, but deep down I know that the choice to be a part of this has been taken out of my hands. I don’t know if it was Dimitri, Lev, and Viktor who doomed me, or the man who apparently provided half of my DNA, but either way, I’m here and I don’t think I can escape.
They promised to keep me safe, but aren’t they treating me like chattel too? Just like they said Grigoriy would. I need to know what makes these three men any different than the ones they’re trying to destroy.
This isn’t my fight, but sometimes you have to lose a few battles to win a war. If they’re going to use me to try to defeat the Russian Mafia, whether I agree or not, then making them think I’m on their side can only work in my favor. If they succeed in what they plan to do and destroy the old boys club mafiosi, then maybe when this is all over, they’ll let me go or I can sneak away during the victory. If they lose, then I can play the victim that I am and run. Either way, playing along right now is how I’ll get away from them in the end.
I don’t sleep, my body is already rested from spending so much time unconscious in the last couple of days. So instead, I sit in this insanely large and ridiculously comfortable bed, and try to figure out what I need to do to make them think I’m on their side.
Guys haven’t exactly been on my radar since I dragged my life from the gutter and into Monica’s apartment. But no matter how much I’ve tried to deny it, I’m still my mother’s daughter. I might be scared of the three men who stole me, but I’ve still noticed the way they each look at me.
Viktor wants to play with me, Lev wants to take care of me, and Dimitri… well Dimitri wants to own me.
I might be inexperienced when it comes to sex, but I know men. Convincing Viktor and Lev that I want to help will be simple, but convincing Dimitri is another thing altogether. My husband is the kind of man normal mothers warn their daughters about. Not my mother, obviously, she’d have told me to suck his dick until he gave up his wallet and his bank account details.
But these three men are a team. It’s clear that ultimately Dimitri is in charge, that’s why it’s him I’m fake married to and not one of the others. To Lev and Viktor, I may be a prisoner, but I’m still a person. To Dimitri I’m a possession and he’s clearly the type of man who holds on tight to the things he believes to be his.
When they left me up here, they didn’t close the door and I know it was a test to see if I’d run. Honestly, a part of me has been screaming to do exactly that since they walked away. But the key to my freedom isn’t an open door, it’s trust. Their trust.
My stomach growls and I glance at the clock. It’s almost six and I’m hungry. No one mentioned what time dinner was when they asked me to join them, so I decide just to head downstairs and see if anyone is around.
Throwing back the comforter, I twist my legs to the floor and slide down the edge of the ridiculously high bed. A part of me expects them to barrel through the door and confront me for getting up but when, after several moments, no one comes, I pad into the bathroom.
The bathroom is stunning, luxury at its finest, but I try to ignore how nice everything is and instead decide to risk taking a shower. At some point today, my hair has been braided, but even though I don’t smell, I feel dirty. The thought that the silent, scared man who scurried in and removed my IV without ever looking at me touched me while I was unconscious and incapacitated, makes me want to scrub at my skin until I remove all traces of his touch.
Stripping off in a bathroom with no door, in a house where all pretense of privacy has been taken from me, sets my teeth on edge. But if what Dimitri said earlier is true, he watched as the fucking doctor stripped me of my clothes and dignity and examined me inside and out. A part of me wants to cry and wail and shout at the way they violated me, but how can I pretend to be going along with them, if I’m too angry to even be civil?
Instead, I push the fear and horror and trauma of whatever happened to me while I was unconscious to the back of my mind. One day, when I’m free of these men and far away from this fucking island, I’ll unpack it and deal with the ordeal, but not today.
Today, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then peel the shirt up and over my head. Stepping into the shower I turn on the water, luxuriating in the icy liquid soaking me before I scrub my skin raw when the ice turns burning hot.
I wash away the fear, the anger, the pure unmitigated rage at the way my life has been stolen from me, like it was so inconsequential that no one but me will ever care that it’s gone. I scrub away the phantom touch of men I don’t know, don’t trust, and who I never gave permission to put their hands on me. By the time I wrap myself in one of the huge, soft towels I feel stronger, like I’ve rebuilt a wall around me, a barrier to protect myself from his place and those men.
Stepping back into the bedroom, I search for my clothes that were on the floor, but they’re gone, the floor clear and empty. Swallowing down tears, I roll back my shoulders and step into the closet. One entire side of the gargantuan room is filled with women’s clothes, but I can tell from a glance that the elegant things that fill the rails are nothing like my usual style, which is an eclectic mix of nineties grunge and boho chic.
Ignoring the side of the closet that is filled with more pastel and silk than I’ve ever seen in my life, I turn and eye the side filled with men’s clothes. Even at a glance, it’s obvious whose clothes belong to who, and I eye the rails for a minute, trying to decide how I can put together an outfit that will make me feel more like myself.
In the end, I take boxers from Dimitri’s dresser, and a pair of black sweatpants from Lev’s section. Pulling them on, I roll the waist to keep them up, then drag a muscle shirt from Viktor’s part of the closet. Tying the shirt into a knot at my back, I check out how much side boob I’m showing in the mirror, and decide that as long as my tits aren’t bouncing free it’s all good.
Staring at my reflection, I take in my outfit. Lev’s pants are too big, but they’re comfortable and soft. The waistband of Dimitri’s boxers is poking out from beneath where I’ve rolled the top of the pants, and there’s a wide band of exposed skin between the top of the pants and Vik’s baggy muscle shirt.
My hair is a disaster, but I just finger comb the strands and pull it over my shoulder. Despite how much I’ve slept, I look tired and there are dark circles beneath my eyes, but then I suppose kidnap and imprisonment isn’t exactly R&R.
Steeling myself, I turn and force my feet to walk out of the closet and toward the door that leads to the exit. This room might be my gilded prison, but stepping out of here and toward them seems like more of a death sentence than just staying in this room and hiding.
