Page 22 of Bratva Sacrifice

I think I’m going to call out of work horny.

The text comes through to Nicola’s phone five minutes before Katya’s shift ends, and with it comes a surge of triumph. I have seen her every day this week, either for a few minutes during the day—where I make sure to dump my change in the tip jar, earning both one of her sweet little blushes and the goodwill of her coworkers—or for a date after she is done for the evening.

Still, she does not let me drive her back to her motel, and so each night ends earlier than I would like. I have considered, once or twice, stealing her phone for a few minutes. Just long enough to silence her alarm, make her miss her train.

But she wears her short skirt for me again. She lets me touch her beneath it. And when I do, she purrs just like the kitten she is. She likes the kissing, she likes my tongue in her mouth and my hand between her thighs. She needs to be touched and stroked. She likes it when I tell her she is such a good girl for letting me mark her soft skin, letting me slip my fingers beneath her skirt and pet her sweet pussy.

She is so easy to please and so eager for even the slightest hint of affection. She comes to me at just the crook of my finger, like I have already tamed her to my hand.

Anatoli is pissed that I have not yet tired of this game. That I waste my time and his with what he considers to be foolish errands. That he is relegated to babysitter, following koshechka to and from her work, or late into the evening when I deposit her at her train station to return home. He is not stupid enough to say it, but his temper grows shorter every day we are here in this city he hates.

I don’t give a fuck. When I fuck Katya for the first time, I want her soft and sweet for me. I want her foolish infatuation, her tender touches, her adorable little blushes and sighs and moans. It amuses me that she thinks she is choosing me.

Later, when she learns that choice was made for her already, I will discover what those little claws she keeps sheathed can do. And I want that, too.

I slide Nicola’s phone back into my pocket. She does not text him when she is with me. She does not text Darren anymore, either. Little Katya gives me her trust in this way. It sits in the palm of my hand like a toy I can play with.

Katya, too, is in my palm. Mine, whether or not she knows this.

The bell above the door jingles as I enter. The staff have grown accustomed to me. Darren gives me a friendly wave on his way to the back room. He is pleased for Katya, that she is dating. Probably he will miss her when I take her, like a loving father would. He will worry for her. Possibly he will even report her missing. But he does not know her real name. Her phone is a burner. The coffee shop has no cameras. Even to the police in this town, Katya will be a nothing more than a ghost. A woman with no past, with no lingering traces left that she even existed to begin with.

Soon enough, she will be only a memory to these people with whom she has shared so short a time.

Katya brightens when she catches sight of me. Her eyes are soft, her cheeks glow with pleasure. She is already sliding out from behind the counter, untying her apron as she heads for the back room to retrieve her things, eager to be with me again.

Her coworker, the girl who is still in high school, slides a coffee to me across the counter. Black coffee, which is still my preference despite Katya’s attempts to turn my tastes toward her favored sugary drinks. “On the house,” she says. She likes me, too. Katya says she has come much closer to purchasing the car she wants over this past week, because of my tips.

I let Katya see me stuff a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar as she returns, purse slung over her shoulder. Her smile is one of self-satisfaction, like she has outsmarted me. “I clocked out two minutes ago,” she says. “So that’s gonna go straight to Becky and Jared.”

She is so pleased with herself, a bounce in her step as she takes the hand I extend to her, her small fingers encompassed by mine. “Hungry, koshechka?” I ask.

She gives a small shake of her head. “I ate late today,” she says. “Darren had some errands to run, so I was on my own until two.” Despite her contentment, her eyes dart as we exit the coffee shop, her fingers squeeze mine. It is a small motion, an unconscious one. Katya is nervous over something, but she takes comfort from my presence at her side.

I open the car door for her, and she slides inside, no longer wary of being alone in it with me. “Seatbelt,” I remind her, and she fumbles with it as I climb into the driver’s side and start the car. “Something is wrong,” I say. “Tell me, Katya.”

A little sigh. Her nose crinkles as she catches the scent of my coffee as I set it in a cup holder. “It’s probably nothing,” she says, with an awkward shift of her shoulders.

“Maybe this is so,” I tell her. “Tell me anyway.”

“I think—I think someone might be following me.” She winces, as if confessing this much makes her sound crazy.

Someone is following her. But I am curious how it was she noticed. Whether Anatoli was careless, or whether Katya is just more cautious than I expected. “To work?” I ask. “To your home?”

“Not…all the way,” she says, and her head thumps back against the seat as I pull the car out into traffic. “It’s just—there’s this guy I see a lot. And I know it sounds crazy, that lots of people take public transportation. But it just gives me a bad feeling. I don’t think our schedules should line up that perfectly. Right?”

“Katya, you are smart to be cautious.” And Anatoli is a fucking prick. I don’t think he’s careless at all. I think he wants to be out of Minneapolis. Possibly he has let Katya see him on purpose. Made himself noticeable in a way she cannot ignore.

“My family was—is—into some kind of sketchy stuff,” she admits, pressing her toes into the floor mat as if ashamed to say it. “I…ruined some of their plans when I ran away. Pretty badly, I think.”

Da. It was pretty fucking bad for them. It would be worse if she had not taken Nicola’s burner phone with her.

“I don’t know how they could have found me, though,” she says. “I was so careful. Maybe I’m just…seeing things that aren’t there.”

I will have words for Anatoli later. It’s not an offense worth a bullet in his brain, but it is worth a slap to his head. I have been enjoying myself, and now he ruins this for me.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says again, but her shoulders are tense. She does not even believe herself, and this—this is wise of her.

I cannot have Anatoli watching her any longer. My schedule must adjust accordingly. I settle my hand on her knee as she likes, and she relaxes just a little, like this is soothing to her. She finds comfort in my touch. “Let me take you home,” I say.