Page 3

Anya

My mind is numb, and I cannot help but look at him. His dark eyes are framed perfectly by those impossibly long lashes. Devil. He was my captor, and yet, here I am, observing him and admiring his features. What is wrong with me? I can’t help it, though; his sharp, strong jawline and his lips make me want to sit on them. To be honest, I haven’t had good sex in a long time, and in the everyday world, I would love to ride someone like him. On one hand, this is not the time or the place to think about it, but on the other hand, I have no choice. He is taking me wherever it is, and I must submit. If it were not for this situation, I would be submitting to him in a completely different manner.

He breaks the silence first. “You’re quiet now, zayka. Saving up all that fire for when you fuck yourself again? Or should I help you next time?” This asshole smirked.

His hand drifts to my knee, a lazy brush that sends a jolt through me, and I clench my thighs shut, fighting the shiver crawling up my spine.

“Don’t worry—I wouldn’t do something you don’t want. I only take those who beg for me.”

Heat floods my core, unwanted and sharp, and I glare at him, voice rough as I snap.

“I don’t even know your name, asshole. And you are talking about me begging for you? Who are you? Maybe I should just call you “asshole”? I think it fits you well. You look like one, act like one, so you must be one.”

He turns his head just enough to pin me with those dark brown eyes and his devilish squint.

“Pavel,” he says, slow and deliberate, like he’s branding it into me. “Remember it, sweetheart. Asshole is also good, zayka, but Pavel is better.”

“Fuck you,” I growl.

“Oh, I wish you would, to be honest. I think you would like it. I know I would.” He smirks.

My wrists ache, the zip-ties biting deeper with every twist, a dull throb that matches the pulse between my legs—hot, insistent, humiliating. He is not wrong. I would love to do that, but not like this. Something is definitely wrong with me.

Pavel drives like he owns the fucking world. His smile is gone, but that malicious glint in his eyes hasn’t—it’s there, watching me every so often, stripping me bare and barely even turning his head.

“So, since we are on a personal subject, Pavel. Let’s start over. I am Anna, but I guess you know this already. The question is, how do you know me, asshole? Oh, excuse me. Pavel. The least you can do is tell me what to expect. You watched me masturbate, didn’t you? You dirty fucker. Now, you owe me an answer for the little peepshow you saw. Don’t you think so?” I snap.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just smiles widely.

“Somewhere you’ll learn your place but don’t worry, zayka, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says finally.

“Excuse me? My place? What is this? The kindergarten?” I laugh, sharp and bitter, leaning forward as far as the ties let me. “My place is anywhere you’re not, you sick fuck.”

His eyes flick to mine, aggressive and dangerous, and that smirk creeps back.

“Keep telling yourself that, zayka,” he murmurs.

Heat floods my face, rage and shame twisting into something molten, and I kick out—hard—slamming my heel into the dash. The car jolts, but he doesn’t blink, just chuckles, low and filthy, like my fight’s a game he’s already won.

“Fuck you,” I growl, lunging at him, teeth bared, ready to bite, to tear, to do anything to wipe that smug look off his face.

Suddenly, his hand snaps to my throat, pinning me back against the seat, thumb pressing just hard enough to feel my pulse race.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he purrs, leaning in until his breath is hot on my lips, and I can taste the smoke on him.

“I am not here to hurt you, zayka. It’s the opposite. Continue to play this game, and you will leave me no choice. I could have taken you when you were spread out naked on the bed a few hours ago. I did not. I chose not to. Yet, here you are, making an enemy out of me. Think a bit using that beautiful brain of yours. Continue to kick and scream, and I will shove something into your mouth. This way, you won’t be able to say a word. Understand?”

My breath hitches, my core clenching despite myself, and I hate it—hate the way my nipples harden, the way my thighs tremble. His rough grip around my neck makes me feel things I shouldn’t.

“Try shutting me up,” I spit, voice shaking but defiant. “I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

He laughs—dark, guttural, a sound that vibrates through me—and his grip tightens just enough to make me gasp. “I’d like to see you try, zayka.”

His thumb slides down, tracing my collarbone, and I want it to go lower, but this is so wrong.

The car slows, rolling into a cavernous underground garage—concrete walls, a fortress that swallows me whole. My stomach drops, panic traveling up my spine, but I don’t let it show.

He’s out in a flash, circling around the car, and I brace myself—ready to bolt, to fight, to do something. The door opens, and I lunge—but he catches me, slamming me against the car’s side, my cheek pressed to the freezing metal, my wrists wrenched higher behind my back.

“Fucker—” I snarl.

“Where are you going, little rabbit? We have arrived at your new home. Feel free to run, but you won’t be able to escape very far. Believe it or not, here I am, your only ticket to survive. Stick with me, and you will be fine. You and that beautiful pussy of yours.”

“Sadistic asshole!” I hiss, finally stumbling to my feet. He misses me, but he does slip an arm around my waist as soon as I’m stable and nudges me forward towards the building.

We enter the building, take the elevator up, and enter a penthouse. I have never seen anything like it. The decorations on the walls remind me of some futuristic movie. They are lavish and unique. There is a beautiful statue standing right next to the elevator of a naked, gorgeous, dark, curvy woman pouring water from a vase back into a stream where fish are swimming. A lot of intricate details. It’s quiet in here; I cannot see or hear anyone. We go up the stairs and up the stairs again; there are so many rooms that lose count. Suddenly, he stops at the door—black, unmarked, just like the others, and kicks it open, revealing a room where a massive bed dominates the space. There is a bar in the corner gleaming with bottles and a single chair facing the bed. He pushes me inside, and I catch myself on the edge of the bed, spinning to face him.

“You’re staying here, zayka,” he says, his voice low. “I’m not going to bother with locking the door, and you can’t get out through the windows. You are too high up. You run, I’ll hunt you down. You fight, I’ll tie you to that bed. Are we on the same page, zayka?”

My stomach twists, heat pooling low despite my rage, and I jerk free, stepping back. “You can’t keep me here,” I growl, fists clenching, wrists throbbing where the ties still bite.

He closes the distance, his hand snapping to my throat again, pulling me flush against him.

“I can and I will. Your dirty work caused you this. I hope you understand that it is not me who brought you here. It is you who brought this situation upon herself. Are we clear?” Then suddenly, he presses me against the bed. I shove him, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t budge—just grins, pinning my arms behind me.

“Keep that up,” he growls, “and I’ll tie you down to the bed…naked for me to watch you again.” He smirks. The door stays open as he walks out, a taunt, a dare—and I’m left burning. Questioning all of the choices I have made so far. I have an idea who this is, but I could be wrong. This is Pavel. I saw information about him on Dmitri’s computer. I remember that he does not work for Dmitri directly, but I know they are associated. If it is him, then I should be dead already. So why am I not dead? I have so many questions running through my head.I need him to give me answers. He is like a mountain that does not shake. I am bound and hate how much I want him to come back. Not only to answer my questions but to use this bed for what it was meant for: for him to watch me. I know I am sick, and that is okay.