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Sitting on the edge, he leaned back on his palms, waiting with his thick thighs spread.

I climbed onto his lap, hissing at the mere touch, his hardness pressing against me, demanding entrance. I ran my hand up his torso, grabbing onto the chain. Every part of me wanted to pull, even his eyes daring me, but I only held on, the metal cold between my fingers.

Maxim let me toy with his body, my tongue tracing the side of his neck, teasing, testing. He tapped into some invisible well of patience that I never quite found myself, his breathing steady but his arousal apparent.

The pulsing, the need, was overwhelming, but the second I lowered myself, eager for contact, he lifted me effortlessly, flipping us in one swift motion, forcing me face down.

He was the one chained, yet the power had shifted. Speed was his advantage.

“My turn to play,” Maxim growled against my ear.

Goosebumps rose along my skin as I pressed my face into the satin sheets.

His grip on the back of my neck held me tight, a chain of his own making, as he nudged at my entrance.

Maxim circled his hips, teasing, as the needy sounds slipping from my lips felt foreign to the rest of me. He never pushed inside, only slid against me in slow, torturous strokes. Innocent, but just as devastating.

His grip tightened, fingers sinking into my flesh as he held me down. This time I welcomed it.

From the moment I saw the bed, I wanted to explore the room. Now, I was doing it with him.

Life sure had a twisted sense of humor.

Just like our encounter at the club, he pushed the limits of my boundaries, testing my patience. Maybe even my sanity .

When his finger trailed over my ass, circling before pushing in, the pressure at the back of my neck merciful, I felt completely claimed.

Despite the stillness between us, neither of us seemed restrained.

I knew he was holding back, but I didn’t expect his next move. He slapped my pussy, the sharp sound echoing off the walls, then returned to the same position, me sitting in his lap, in control.

It was all a game. The power shifted with every move, tilting between us, never quite settling.

When I rubbed against his length, the head of his cock sent a sensation rippling through me.

I thrived on the control he gave me, relishing it even more, knowing he could take over at any moment. That, too, would feel just as liberating.

When his teeth enclosed around my nipple and his hands gripped my ass, we panted together. Maybe it was the most innocent act this room had ever witnessed, but to me, this was the slowest I had ever taken things.

I didn’t know why, but when we locked eyes, daring the other to look away first, the pleasure deepened. The orgasms took control. I didn’t understand of it, but I trusted the process and let it lead me wherever we were headed.

***

The walk upstairs sounded like a nightmare. Drowsiness was setting in, and I didn’t dare ignore it. It was a rare occurrence that my body demanded rest. I couldn’t afford to ignore this request.

As much as I longed to spend more time with him, I stayed put, slipping under the sheets. Maxim followed, either out of the same consideration or simply in solidarity.

We lay peacefully across from each other, and I cursed the darkness for sheltering the beauty of his gaze from me .

As my hands reached to where his chest rose and fell with even breaths, I traced the ink.

“What split it in half?” I whispered, my fingers brushing the butterfly tattoo that remained hidden in the shadows. The skin was smooth beneath my touch, only soft hair covering the spot.

I feared I had gone too far, but Maxim erased my doubts with his honesty.

“Even if they bleed me dry and notice the darkness mixed with the blood, I will die knowing I was undoubtedly me.”

His words replayed in my head, and maybe one day, when death comes for us, I’ll remember them and laugh. But for now, they remain poetry in the back of my mind, an inspiration of sorts.

As the silence stretched on, Maxim surprised me with a question of his own.

“Why not accept the protection and tie yourself to at least one?”

There was wisdom in his words. He understood how the world worked and what it meant to be excluded. What he didn’t know was that I wasn’t afraid of standing out or being different. I’d been searching for clarity my whole life.

There were many reasons behind my decision, but I only gave him one: “I do not wish to be owned.”

“Has anyone ever tried?” His voice concealed the humor, but the magnitude of the question was clear.

I gave a soft laugh. “No one has ever dared.” I propped myself up on my forearms, towering over his head. Riding the wave of confidence, I asked, “Why? Are you considering it?”

“I know better,” he proclaimed.

His tattooed arm spread across my back, pulling me closer.

I was so caught up in the moment that I missed my chance to stop him when his fingers began tracing the bumpy skin of my back.

His movements faltered .

“Who did this shit to you?” Maxim snapped, his anger deepening with each breath. I didn’t pull away; it was too late anyway. A part of me knew it was time to share my story.

The bumps and scars that lived rent-free on my skin were fragments of who I was. A constant reminder of the cuts and stitches I put this body through.

There was no name I could give him. No one to blame or direct the hate toward.

It was… “Myself,” I admitted bluntly.

I admired him for daring to even ask, for caring enough to brace for the answer.

“You don’t get to the top by letting others carry you. I had to take matters into my own hands,” I revealed, searching the darkness for his reaction.

There was no verbal response. Perhaps his thoughts were too preoccupied.

I lay my head back down, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

“You saw it?” I asked, shifting the focus.

He knew what I was referring to: the video. I wasn’t sure what had prompted me to ask, normally I wouldn’t care.

“Andrei played it long ago,” his voice confirmed. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“I was eighteen…”

Maxim nodded. I imagined he had been in a similar situation at that age.

His palm slid under the fluffy pillow I rested my head on. Our bodies remained close, though not as much as before.

Through it all, I didn’t think about how many rules I’d already broken with him, things I’d sworn off.

Like cuddling after sex or sharing a bed.

Or how vulnerable, both physically and mentally, I was around him.

We’d only known each other briefly, but it felt right to be okay with these things, to allow myself to live a different life than the one I was leading .

For just tonight, I wasn’t Taya the assassin. I was Taya the woman. But I knew, there wasn’t one without the other. And when the morning came, they would become one once more.

***

The day had twenty-four hours, and if I managed to get two hours of sleep, I considered it a good one.

Between language classes, combat, and target practice, I had no spare time.

I couldn’t afford to waste a minute, being this late to the game.

Besides, staying busy worked. It kept the second thoughts at bay.

Two months in, following the agreement with Ilya, Uncle and I became acquainted.

An ex-member of a special Russian force called the Spetsnaz, he was a mean-looking motherfucker.

A gash decorated his face from the forehead to the bottom lip.

A bear fight, they whispered around the compound.

I laughed, though it wouldn’t surprise me if the gossip was true.

Since I refused to leave the country, Ilya flew him in from Russia. The introduction was short-lived. A brief stare down, followed by a single-worded reply “Go,” and I had no choice but to follow. It’s safe to say I haven’t sat down since.

The demonstration of my skills went equally well. No acknowledgment meant I didn’t impress.

Not expecting anything else, I prepared for what was to come.

A helicopter dropped us off in a forest clearing deep in the Alaskan Range. October offered a damp feeling in the air. With nothing but trees and fields surrounding us, Uncle pushed basic supplies into my hands: a wooden bow and arrows, before he took off.

They instructed me not to follow. Left on my own again, the biggest test of them all.

Every morning, I woke at dawn and hiked up the mountain.

Set up camp and slept. By the time a new day came, I repeated the process.

Up and down, I ran until the skin peeled off my toes in bloody blisters and my mouth turned purple.

Outdoor survival skills weren’t the only lesson I got.

If I failed to provide for myself, I starved.

To stay covered, I built a temporary shelter, just in time. Nothing to be proud of, but as soon as the ground froze and I had hypothermia to worry about, the enclosed space served me well.

To avoid losing track of the time passed, I carved a line on a tree branch each day. I even learned how to spark a flame and keep the fire going.

The forest remained undisturbed, and I spent hours admiring its beauty.

Beautiful but deadly. It was painfully obvious my fragile human body didn’t belong.

A month in, I still hadn’t gotten used to the random noises nature produced.

A crunch of branches, the wind echoing in the clearings, bird sounds at random times.

When the snowy night came, I stayed close to the small fire, staring ahead into the darkness. It wasn’t an animal I awaited.

He was out there, biding his time.

I was close to falling asleep on my tarp on the cold, rough ground when steady hands wrapped around my throat, forcing me to fight for my life with all I had.

After days of staying in these harsh conditions, combined with exhaustion and hunger, what I had wasn’t nearly enough.

In a chokehold, he brought me to the edge of consciousness. Misery and despair were feelings I tried so hard to be free of, yet at the moment, they overfilled me.

At least, as we rolled around, I hadn’t tapped out. Blackness greeted me, and I let the darkness take me under. The only sign of what had occurred was when I awoke on the ground, coughing my lungs out.

The cycle went on .

At random times, he would attack. There was no pattern, no logic to follow. You had to stay alert. Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Forced to rely on my senses, over time, I got better at spotting him before he launched.

Confident in my ability to protect myself, I even dared to counterattack.

That’s when he switched to weapons.

Scars covered my body. Deep stab wounds I refuse to erase. With no choice but to learn how to tend to them myself, some healed worse than others.

I submitted myself to this experience willingly. Some fucked up part of me allowed me to wear them proudly. Without a second thought. Never covered, they became an interconnected part of the handful of tattoos I got.

Not once have I thought about quitting. Never resorted to begging to be taken back to the compound.

What did I have to return to? An empty apartment and a meaningless life?

The thought of what one might consider a domestic life disgusted me.

Failure wasn’t an option. Ilya was very insistent on seeing the training through.

He had a shit ton of money, that much was clear.

Why he wanted to invest it in me was the part I couldn’t make sense of.

What was his motive? He hired the best of the best to pass their knowledge to me, of all people.

Why not himself? I once again didn’t ask the right questions.

I haven’t felt special, like once before.

I had an agenda of my own.

Uncle’s training finished half a year after living and fighting in the wilderness. I was losing my sense of humanity. Becoming one with the elements.

An obnoxiously loud helicopter brought us back to the compound where Ilya awaited, desperate to be brought up to speed with my progress. Given the approval of the teacher, we parted ways with a handshake. I watched Uncle drift away as I instinctively held both hands around my neck .

The first mission was to clear a compound north of the city, an act of retaliation for the killing of a Bratva member in cold blood.

One of the lower-ranked gangs saw this as an opportunity and took it upon themselves to make their mark.

They picked the wrong group to mess with.

Ilya briefed me on all that needed to be done, and I agreed, feeling up for the task.

With a camera strapped to my chest, I stood in the compound. I was dressed in the outfit I stuck to whenever I was working: all-black leggings, a long-sleeved t-shirt, combat boots, and my hair styled in a single braid that swung with every move.

A Bratva member dropped me off at a nearby location.

Guns and knives were my backup. My weapon of choice was a bow and arrow.

No longer one of those wooden kinds used for hunting.

The money my mother stashed for me came in handy, allowing me to purchase the weapon.

A modern model with a sleek look and almost no weight to it.

Ilya contracted a specialist to make all the customizations, the only other person I permitted to touch it.

It had features and precision no gun allowed you to have.

Sure, it cost me precious seconds to reload, but that’s not how I rolled.

The targets rarely saw me coming, and I often aimed from a distance. If I had to engage in short-distance hits, I commonly used knives.

Many reveled in the sounds the knife made when you sliced someone’s throat.

Enjoyed their pain and suffering. In my mind, the targets were a task to complete, an object made of walking X’s marking the spots.

It was a methodical process. I counted the hits in my head, one by one, until they totaled zero, and I was done.

Zoned out.

The first mission was a success. Ilya opened his favorite vodka to honor me, and I savored the taste.

The following week, the recording ended up being uploaded on the black market. The video served as a promo, and the inquiries poured in.

I was eighteen .

The inbox soon filled with jobs I was underqualified for, but I took them and learned on the go.

To this day, I recall where the marks were on my throat, even if they’ve long faded. I feel the powerful squeeze and the initial panic that overtakes you. I see the smoke coming from the gun my loving mother held.

The past had a way of catching up with you, even if you did everything to move on.

Yet, it didn’t haunt me; instead, it made me who I am now.

Stronger. Feared rather than fearful.