And I hope you're thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again
The Drugs Don't Work - The Verve
Friday 23 September, Seattle - CIA Safehouse
I watch Mia watching Volkov as he leaves the room, her arms folded across her stomach as if she literally needs to hold herself together.
"Why didn't we know any of this?" She turns an angry glare on Jensen who only just resists flinching on the other side of the table.
"I don't know."
"Someone had to know about Volkov and the hit on Christian. Why the fuck weren't we told?" Mia let's go, her anger giving her the strength to challenge with her body.
"I don't fucking know, alright!" Jensen pushes his chair back to stand and slams his hands down on the table. "I'm as in the fucking dark as the rest of you."
"Well, how the fuck did Volkov know how to find us?" Once more, she challenges him directly, her body leaning toward him.
"I. Don't. Know." And then as if it has just occurs to him about the big breach in security due to Volkov's presence here, he walks to the door and shouts some orders at the minions who swing into action.
Mia and I look on for a moment and I'm just about to start packing up the war room when she moves to pick up her jacket and sling it over her shoulder. She walks to the door.
"Babe, wait up, where are you going?"
"I'm going to get some answers. And just like that she storms out of the apartment. Feeling a little desperate, I give chase but the elevator doors close before I get to them, forcing me to run to the staircase. Four floors later I emerge onto the pavement outside to see her getting into a black sedan with Volkov, who pauses long enough to nod at me. Frustration has me punching the wall of the building, my knuckles coming off second best, as the car speeds off up the hill.
And that was the last I saw of her for two weeks.
Two days earlier
Sweat glistens on her skin as she holds her body in check.
"Relax into the harness. Let the weave support you." My voice is low as I release her into the intricately patterned ropes. Her body, previously tense, sinks lower in space. The celtic weave wraps halfway around her torso and I monitor the tension as she relaxes, her body suspended five feet off the ground. I watch the carabiners, checking the tensile strength of the three ropes that keep her safe. "Breathe."
Her breasts rise and fall with the effort of release. Her nipples taut with the strain. I'm mesmerised by the Bratva star that peaks out from under her sports tank. A taunting reminder of all that she has been through in the past few weeks.
"Do you trust me?" A loaded question. Why should she? Why would she trust anyone? We've all used her and let her down. We've all made decisions for her that have imprisoned her. Bratva, CIA, our marriage. The ropes are just another metaphor for constraint.
So, I'm always a little surprised when the blindfolded beauty whispers a firm, "Yes."
"Feel the blade." Her arms are bound behind her. The stiletto inserted in the decorative leather cuff around her wrist. "Find the release and count to 3."
I step away from her. Giving her space to complete the next manoeuvre. We've practiced it at least eight times tonight and she's only injured herself once. Once is bad enough. A bandage on her right shoulder blade is testimony to the slip of timing that could injure or maim. What a fucking hero am I for putting her in this position. If Danir hadn't recognised me from the dojo, he wouldn't have been so keen to get us aboard his ship. Now, he would pay millions to Kazanskaya to secure Mia so that I could give him my best. Another trap that I've inadvertently closed around Mia.
"1…2…3…" In one fluid movement, she flicks the release on the knife, shooting the blade out from her wrist. Holding her back at the right angle, it cuts the centre rope which is enough to make her barrel roll toward the floor. At the last minute, she twists and lands in a crouch, the final part of the movement, releasing her wrists and allowing her to throw her arms out to the side for balance. All that remains is the tell tale pattern of the celtic knot in her skin and three scattered piles of red rope on the floor.
"How did that feel?" I walk toward her, scooping down to pick up a pile and beginning the process of wrapping it back into a coil. I'm risking her life and mine with this little rope trick. Best not to dwell on that. I need her to be able to get herself free if something happens to me. But Danir knows enough about suspension that he might realise what I'm doing and then we'll both be dead, anyway.
She grins, as she stands up straight. "Perfect." She strips the leather cuffs off her wrist and recalibrates the knife before walking over to the table to place them into a bag. Turning, she rubs her wrists.
"Pain?" I concentrate on the rope and keep the distance between us. I do that a lot, lately. But I never take my eyes off her for long. She is stealth. She is sleek. She is deadly. She is damaged.
"Not really. Circulation isn't really an issue while I'm up there." She shakes out her arms and rolls her shoulders. "I think its just repeating the manoeuvre that's taken it's toll. I'll be fine."
I nod. Hopefully, she will only have to do this once. Perhaps, not at all. But we need to have escape plans. Danir is not to be trusted and having Mia tied up and suspended from the ceiling during demonstrations is a good way to disarm one or both of us. I've already made it clear to him what she means to me. That may have been a mistake that we both end up paying for.
Mia begins to pack up her equipment, dropping the metal clips into pockets and tucking ropes into corners. Luckily, her friend, Tina, hasn't noticed the hooks we placed in the ceiling of the dance studio. If she has, she hasn't said anything. I make a mental note to recheck them before we train again tomorrow night. I finish wrapping the remainder of the rope into coils and walk over to the equipment bag. I can't help but notice how Mia moves further to the side as I approach. A massive 'don't touch me' flag, if ever there was one. Another side effect of her assault. We can fuck, but we can't touch. Not that PDA was a big thing for us. But I can't hold her hand when we walk or cuddle on the couch. She has to control the touching and she's becoming a fucking expert.
I want to ask her what she remembers. I want her to talk about how she feels. I know that I have to wait for her to open up but my patience is stretched, a thin membrane that threatens to break while it simultaneously smothers my face and stops me from breathing. Her glance in my direction is unwelcome. The mask drops down over my pain and I zip up the bag just as she starts the music.
I turn to her, my bones as tired as my soul, my muscles aching with the fatigue of the tension that hovers around us as we wait and prepare and wait some more. We haven't danced since before it happened. Perhaps this is progress. Perhaps it will just be a new form of torture. I opt to believe that latter.
"Not tonight, Molyshka." But she is already in front of me, her small palm held out, facing up in offering to me. After a beat, I sigh, place my own hand in hers and let her lead me into the centre of the floor. When we reach the middle, I stand still, hands at my sides, my hands itching to touch her but still so very unsure. My eyes follow her as she moves in intricate patterns around me, her arms brushing my skin until my nerves start to shout. Her hip touches mine and she turns, her ass presses back into my crotch, my already firming cock hardening at the contact. I'm about to step back when her hands reach behind her and she grasp my hips, pulling me firmer into her causing me to groan.
She slides down my legs, her back and hands never losing contact with my now aching thighs. I want to cry with how much I want her right now. But I don't want to be her fuck toy. I want to be her friend, her husband, her confidante. Passion is easy. I want tenderness and connection. She won't give it to me. She can't give it to me. And I fucking hate Hyde for taking that from us.
Her left hand snakes up her body, the back of her hand brushing her own cheek before it presents itself to me at chest height. I take it and use the smallest of nudges to send her into a crouching spin at my feet, her back ramrod straight as I support her in the turn. After three rotations, I take her other hand and pull her up, her body twisting to face me, as she jumps, her legs wrapping around my hips. The impact steals my breath.
My head tips back and I moan as her pussy pushes against my achingly hard dick and I throw my arms around her ass to hold her in place. I hate that I love this. I hate that she needs this. Leaning to her left, I support her upper back as she drops into a dip that serves her breasts up into my face while increasing the pressure at my crotch. Dropping my nose to her breast bone, my lips press into her skin before her torso travels from left to right through a deep arc that almost drops her head to the floor before she scoops up to the right, wrapping her arms around my shoulder and bringing our faces to within breathing distance of each other. We hold, sucking in the air between us before she drops one leg, leaving the other still wrapped at my hip, and she thrusts. I grunt.
"Mia!" I gasp. My body wants her more than it has any right to. She doesn't seem to understand how much I'm battling for control. She thrusts again. Maybe she does.
"Touch me." Her eyes are cast down, looking at my neck. Her hand touches my cheek, keeping me close in the dance. Too close. I won't be able to hold back. And whether she likes it or not, she needs me to hold back.
"You haven't talked to me about what happened." I counter, my hand snaking around her and taking her hand so that I can fling her out and away from my body. The relief of not having her pressing against my cock is not enough. My vision swims with an image of a really cold shower, my hand rubbing out a much needed orgasm, just to stop her from taking more solace in our sex.
As if she reads my mind, she swings back in until she is wrapped around me from behind. Her arms, one high, one low, keep me in place, her right hand firmly on my dick.
She laughs at my dismay. I don't want her to laugh. I don't want her to mask her emotions and pretend that nothing happened. She needs to talk. We need to sort through a thousand shitty emotions that will eat away at our relationship if we don't. Pretending it didn't happen isn't healthy. I place my hands over hers, stopping her from moving her palm over my crotch because I'm that fucking close to coming in my pants.
"Are we going to talk?"
Abruptly, she lets go and walks over to turn the music off. I'm still heavy breathing in the middle of the room, as I watch her close herself off. Again.
"Mia…"
"What?" She turns to face me, angry tears threatening in her eyes. "What do you want me to say, Ethan? I don't remember any of it. I was drugged. Hell, I don't even know if anything really happened."
She turns back to the table and throws her phone into the bag, picking up the handles and slinging it over her shoulder before turning back to me. The attitude says 'discussion over', but it is far from over.
"Pretending it didn't happen won't make it go away." I keep my voice a lot calmer than I'm feeling inside.
"Pretending I remember any of it won't help me to deal with it." She throws the bag back on the table and walks over to me. But when she gets within touching distance, she won't look at me. She looks past me, rendering me invisible in the conversation. "At a practical level, I know it happened. There was evidence of what he had done. But I can't remember it. I might as well have not been there. And part of me doesn't want to be there."
"Babe, I get that. But not remembering the assault won't lessen the impact that it has had on you." I lean to the side, trying to catch her eyes.
At first, she keeps her eyes focused on that middle distance between me and the wall behind me, stoically resisting connection. Then she turns to stare at me and I could swear I see hate. It's enough to make me step backwards. "You mean the impact that it's had on you. He stole your shiny toy and defiled it and now you're the one who can't deal with it. You hate that he's been where you've been. You hate that you're not the only one."
"That's not true." Fuck. Now I'm the one who's going to cry. This is so not what I'm feeling right now. I never expected Mia to be a virgin when we got back together. The fact that she was almost undid me. I didn't deserve her. In any way, shape or form. Hyde will never steal the gift of purest love that she gave to me.
"Then why the hell don't you want to fuck me? Why won't you initiate sex? You never refuse me when I take it but you don't want to touch me. All you see in me is a victim. Someone that you used to love. Soiled and sullied."
"That's not fucking fair, Mia. I want to touch you. I want to make love to you and make it all go away. I want to mark you and fuck you and make sure that you and the world know that you're mine and nothing that prick has done is going to change that. But I can't just take you because my inner caveman needs to pee all over you. You need to tell me what's going on. You need to get some counselling to help you deal with the fall out. I'm not going to make demands of you or stake some sort of claim in the hopes that it suddenly makes you feel clean."
"Clean. I'm dirty? Is that it?" Her hands come up and she pushes my chest with the palms of her hands, forcing me to step backward. "You can't stand to fuck me because I'm ruined."
"No. That's not what I meant. I just don't want you to be strong because you have to be. I want to help. I want you to heal." I grab her hands before she can push me again, pulling them down to my side. I'm about to pull her into a hug when she lifts her arms through the centre of our bodies and breaks my hold.
"I'm not fucking broken." She steps back, eyes focused down to the side of me, her hands clenched into angry fists, her veins corded and stressed on her neck and collar bone. "He's an ass. He's a rapist and a kidnapper and he did this fucking horrible thing to me. But I'm not going to spend another minute of my time being his victim. And neither should you." She looks at me.
My eyes shift from her face to her shoulders. "Then why did you get the tattoo? What was that all about?"
"I…" She has no answer. I know why but I need her to say it. She folds her arms across her body and turns toward the mirror. For a moment, she studies herself, seeing the star in the same way I did. "I wanted to claim what happened to me. He committed a crime. He violated me and I wanted to make sure that even though I won't press charges, even though he won't have his day in court, that I could manipulate my Bratva connection to ensure he gets what he deserves." Her eyes shift from the star to mine as we stare at ourselves reflected in the large wall of mirrors. What I see in her eyes is not reassuring. It is violent and full of vengeance and retribution. I get it. I just don't like seeing it on her face. I don't like the way it consumes her features and feeds the rage inside her.
"Because if they know that you're connected to Elena, her Bratva associates will kill him in jail." It takes a moment for her to realise what I've said. To acknowledge that I see her. Then she nods. "And this?" I move in until I am standing inches away from her left shoulder. We both watch as my hand reaches forward to trace my finger over the lilac butterfly that hovers near the star, over her heart. After a few minutes her hand sneaks up to cover mine, pressing both of our hands against her heart. I can feel her heart beating in her chest. The rise and fall of her breath distracts us both. Then she turns to face me, pulling us away from the reflection and back to the reality of us, in this space. Two people who desperately need to find each other.
"Because, no matter what he did to me, no matter what they do to me, I will always belong with you. Because I have always been yours and you are mine." My hand is still in hers and she strokes her thumb over my skin.
Slowly, gently, I pull her into my body and wrap my arms around her. My fingers thread through her hair, pulling the hair tie out and letting her dark tresses fall in waves down her back. In the semi-darkness, her eyes glisten with unshed tears and I hold the sides of her face while I kiss her eyes, her forehead, her jaw, her lips.
"I can't let him win, Ethan. I can't give him any more air." The words are whispered in between sighs as I lower her to the floor and gently make love to my wife.
Two Weeks Later
Descending into the bowels of Orpheus feels as shitty as it sounds. I arrive on my own, maintaining whatever ruse is necessary for other bidders not to be alerted to my anxiety. I dread any sort of interaction with Danir, mostly because I'm not sure if I can maintain a cordial distance and not punch his fucking face in. We searched everywhere. Surveillance was placed outside Orpheus, at Elena's house, Esclava and several Lincoln Corp premises around Seattle. We were stretched thin and getting nowhere. And since Mia was missing, I had to go missing as well. I made no contact with her family or friends because we simply could not tell them anything. Besides, from that first day, when she drove off with Volkov, we started receiving coded messages to tell us she is still alive, still in Seattle, still on track for the auction. Mia has gone deep undercover at Orpheus and there is not a Goddamn thing that I can do about it.
Jenna greets me in the reception area, flanked by two giant body guards, neither of whom appear to speak English. She's all business as she runs through the program for the evening. I watch her carefully for any sign of nerves but she's all business. Calm as all fuck.
"Tonight will be a cocktail event in the main bar." This surprises me but I guess mixing and mingling is de rigour for slave auctions. Who knew?
"I think I remember the way." I'm about to move past her when a hand reaches out and stops me.
"No, Mr Kavanagh. Please follow Renee." Out of nowhere, a young woman appears with a smile and a painted on dress. I'd be appreciative of the escort but my complete terror with regards to Mia's whereabouts makes me a little snippy. She leads me back through to the foyer and presses the button for the elevator. A few minutes later we ascend to the floor above and I follow her into an executive lounge. A bar lines the side wall, with subdued lighting and a flashy display of top shelf spirits. A small group of men in various states of Armani, are receiving their first round of drinks while their body guards hover in the rear, propped up at high stool tables as they sip on sodas, so obviously uncomfortable at the enforced surrender of their weapons. No one will die tonight, unless they can achieve it with bare hands.
Further into the room, I see others sitting at tables overlooking the main bar below. Prime viewing real estate, I'm assuming. I clock Senator McCluskey at my three o'clock, all bluff and blunder as he makes loud and off colour jokes to the guy, Tim, from BerrickTech. Who knew a tech CEO would be interested in acquiring a slave? He gives me a once over and something in his eyes tells me that there's more to his presence than speculative interest. I think about that as I turn my attention to where Volkov is leaning on the bar, alone.
As I approach, he signals the bar tender who quickly produces a tumbler with Grey Goose. Half a dozen of Bratva's finest seem to be lurking near to us, all employees of Orpheus or at least Lincoln, I presume, and all watching the room carefully. No honor among thieves because I'm pretty sure that they're all packing some serious heat.
"Za druzhbu myezhdu narodami" More than a little rattled by his choice of toast, I raise my glass and try to conceal my nerves.
"Is that what this is? Friendship between nations?" The irony is not lost. The big guy near us is listening to every word and even if his English is shit, I bet his Russian is just fine, fuck you very much.
Volkov chuckles. "Perhaps, our governments might struggle with the concept but we're family, you and I. That matters where I come from." His voice is low but I'm pretty sure the guy behind the bar is all ears, too. Either Volkov has massive Russian balls or he's setting me up. The bar tender wanders to the end of the bar and whispers something to one of the henchmen. Suddenly, with one quick signal, all the beef and burlyovksy's withdraw from our immediate vicinity, leaving us in privacy and that's even more fucking scary than their proximity. Have I mentioned? I don't trust Volkov.
"Where is Mia?" He doesn't exactly flinch but the question has thrown him.
"I presume she is in one of the training rooms, preparing with all the other girls." He takes a sip of his drink. A stalling technique. "That's usually how these things work."
"If you say so. Where has she been for the past two weeks?" Once more, my question is snagging on his ignorance.
"I haven't seen her since I dropped her at Esclava two weeks ago." There's concern in his face. And I still don't trust the fucker. "Are telling me that you lost track of her? The CIA is slipping."
He's being flippant but he's rattled. Good. If we hadn't been getting those coded messages, I would have beaten the shit out of him already. But I have to trust that Mia knows what the fuck she's doing. Making her 'uncle' uncomfortable is simply a bonus that makes up a little for the fact that my nerves are on edge and I'm ready to hurt someone if I don't see Mia for myself.
"So. Lincoln is a no show?" Both the Lincolns have failed to turn up tonight which sends a chill through me. They've been underground since the day of the bombing. If they've managed to skip the country then Mia and I are likely to have our little tour of duty extended until we track them down. Presuming Mia is actually here tonight. And I have to presume or I will shatter into a thousand pieces.
"This surprises you? Whoever killed Belousov also wanted to ensure that Lincoln would be implicated in the unfortunate incident at your brother's mansion." He says it as if he is offering me more crumbs to follow. I'm not buying his bullshit.
"Or were you simply trying to tidy up the loose ends?"
He hasn't been drinking much but on that note, he swallows down the rest of the liquid in his glass and signals the bar tender for a top up. Then he turns to face me.
"I don't care much if you trust me or not, Mr Kavanagh. I do care if my family is hurt by this little charade you are playing."
I give a hollow chuckle. "Just like you cared about, Elena." I have no love for Elena but no woman deserves to be sold off in marriage to be beaten and bartered for sex. Volkov might not have been present when Lincoln treated his sister like shit but he didn't do anything to stop it from happening.
"You know very little about my sister and the unfortunate choices that she has been forced to make. But she is strong."
Now he's just fucking me off and I've had enough of the small talk. I want to see Mia. I need to see Mia. My body is burning with the rage of not knowing where the fuck she is. I haven't slept properly since she disappeared. I'm a desperate man. But I'm not going let this prick into my anxiety. He's got no fucking place in our lives. "So is Mia."
He pauses long enough for the movement below us to interrupt the flow of this conversation. A door has opened and a line of ten women file into the room. At first glance, they appear to be decked out in evening gowns but on closer inspection, each girl is barely covered in sheer fabric that leaves little to the imagination about what is underneath. Nothing.
Mia is the last one to enter the room and she looks the most lucid of all the girls, which doesn't say much, as she scans the room quickly. I know she will be looking to see who is in attendance, escape routes, threats and possible weapons. She's thorough but as she glances up and notices the gallery, I can see that she's out of it. Not ready to fall over, like some of the girls, but definitely under the influence. I'm guessing that the wall of windows before us is one way glass but she's not fooled as she turns to say something to one of the other girls. When the girl turns her face up to the glass I recognise Mia's friend Lily. What the fuck?
"You'd better hope that you're right about her, Mr Kavanagh. Shes' going to need strength in the weeks to come." At that Volkov becomes a ghost, disappearing into the shadows of the room. I'm tempted to follow him but then the main doors open behind us and Danir enters with his entourage.
UNICORNS! SAVE THE UNICORNS!
I hope that all the pieces of the previous stories are starting to come together for you. We're nearly there. Unfortunately, I'm going to be off line for a few weeks. I'll keep writing whenever I can but I might have limited internet access so uploading to the site might be problematic. Please be patient and I'll be back online as soon as I can.
Look after yourselves, love Sasha xxx