The Beast (5 page)

He strode from the room with purpose, intent on finding this girl before she found him. He clicked open the security door and slipped into the dining room off the kitchen. He paused at the door connecting the two and heard her exclaim on the other side. He assumed she had tripped on something in her unfamiliar surroundings. This boded well for Dimitri, highly effective assassins didn’t often bump into things.

He opened the door carefully, to determine where she was. She had her back to him, she was bent over rubbing her shin and completely unaware of him approaching her from behind.

She stood up as Dimitri reached for her. He was balanced
on the balls of his feet, as silent as his entrance had been. He noted how large his hands seemed next to her tiny body, he would have to be careful not to injure her before he found out why she was here. He grabbed her in a swift motion. He pressed his hand against her mouth and pulled her body towards him. He wrapped his other hand around her throat and held her tight until she started to lose consciousness. Her blood supply was pinched off by his expert touch, but he could feel her body’s strong protest in her fluttering pulse. She felt nice, she smelled nice. Dimitri’s body responded to these stimuli.

He held her tighter, and just as she slipped away she must have felt his hardening cock pressing against her. She struggled weakly in his arms, but finally succumbed and went limp. He took the hand from her mouth and let her f
all over his arm. Her head lolled back, exposing her white, elegant neck. Her thick black braid fell down and hung there, swaying gently as he walked. He wished he could have seen her eyes before he laid her out, but that would have been too risky. He stared at her face for a moment too long and felt caught up in something bigger than himself, but shook it off as another sign of his madness.

Resi
sting the urge to tear into her on the spot and fuck her in her shredded clothing, Dimitri exerted the professional control that had allowed him to survive in the criminal world for so long. He lifted her higher into his arms, marveled at how small she was now that he carried her full weight. She felt no larger than a child, but her body was that of a woman, a very beautiful woman. He took her into the room in order to tie her up and interrogate her, but half his brain was being drawn down by one strong undercurrent, the image of her helpless body splayed open, ready for him to use.

Sleep did not come as easily as Columbia anticipated. The kitchen was hot and noisy; people came and went the entire time she was there. That entire staff for one rich prick, it boggled her mind.

Every time she thought she could doze off, somebody would drop something or scream at somebody else. The worst were the guards who would wander through from time to time and hit on the girls in the kitchen. Columbia ended up pulling her hood up over her head and forcing herself to close her eyes.

She drifted in and out of sleep. True to his word, she had been stowed somewhat away from the main traffic in the kitchen as far as she could tell. It was loud enough with the cook’s music blaring and the constant chatter that she felt safe to sleep with no fear of being heard.

A couple of hours into her long day, the door to the cart opened. A smiling young Indian girl popped into view. “Hey, you need a bit of a stretch?” she asked in a crisp British accent.

“Yes, how did you know I was in here?” Columbia said and climbed out. She stretched and looked at the girl, then peeked around her at the rest of the room. The staff was all out of the room at the moment.

“Marco told me,” she smiled and walked away. “Come with me if you need to go to the loo. Their break is only about ten minutes”

Columbia ran after her, she did need to, desperately. The girl was short on information but seemed somewhat interested in the plan, or Marco, so she was helping.

Five minutes later and the girl was shutting her back into the cart. Columbia had the smallest moment of panic as the door clicked shut again, but soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next time the girl let her out; she paused before locking her up again. “This is the last time, in about an hour we’re going to shut the kitchen down and you’ll be left alone. Sneak out at that time, I’ll make sure to leave the door unlocked between us and the rest of the apartment. Ok?”

Columbia nodded and said, “Thanks for everything, wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” the girl replied and clicked the door locked.

The last hour crawled, Columbia’s muscles ached and her back felt like she had twisted a nerve. She was sweating and could feel a droplet travelling down the curve of her breast, under her layers of clothing. There was no way she could reach it to scratch, so she concentrated on other things instead.

Like Stuart. How could he have acted that way last night? How could she have acted that way? She wasn’t sure anymore what had actually happened. He kissed her, he touched her, and then he ran his hands along her bumpy skin and recoiled with terror.

She was a
freak; he had discovered that and found her lacking. She thought about perfect Debbie, the bitch, and felt guilty that she had kissed Stuart. What had gotten into her, other than all those beers, but she swore long ago she’d never use alcohol as an excuse for bad behaviour. Not like her father.

“He didn’t mean it, Daddy was drinking,” had been her mother’s mantra growing up. The problem was, he really did mean it. He liked it. The booze just made him feel less guilt.

Columbia never wanted to be like that.

She heard a thump on the outside of the cart and the lock was disengaged. She listened as all the staff left the room and finally it was silent. She would have time to sort her issues with Stuart out later. She
thought she heard Marco say the code phrase, but waited ten minutes, making sure everyone was actually gone, and slid her leg out the door. She paused, she thought she heard something, decided it was nothing and continued.

The lights were dimmed in the kitchen, but she could still see what was going on. She walked to the door outside and found it locked. That was strange, usually door
s lock from the inside. Latching it from the outside made her uncomfortable, why was Jarrod Jacobs so worried about keeping something in?

She walked back towards the cart and ran into the sharp edge of a low bench. “Fuck,” she exclaimed, then shut her mouth when she heard how it echoed in the quiet space.
She bent down to rub her shin where she had made contact with the bench.

She slowly stood up and
thought she heard something again. The smallest whisper of fabric or a misplaced foot, but before she could determine the direction it was from, there was a hand clamped over her mouth and one gripping tight around her neck.

She panicked and struggled against the pressure, but had no chance. She deduced it was a man who had captured her, and his grip was iron strong. She saw bright lights blooming in the corners of her eyes behind her closed lids. She tried to take a breath but her efforts were met with resis
tance under the determined hand that had her tight. Every nerve ending was alight and she felt as though she were falling into a deep abyss.

She tried again, one last ditched effort as she felt her consciousness slipping away. The man was breathing hard in her ear, she thought from exertion until her body slipped and she brushed against his thick hardness restrained in his pants. She tried to whimper, “Please don’t…” but no words made it past the hand around her neck. With a small shudder and a gasp, she lost her grip on the world and slipped into darkness.

He took a carefully controlled breath and nudged the door to the room open with his foot. It was a windowless space in the centre of the penthouse. It was designed for maximum control with minimum effort, so a single man could truss up a willing victim in no time flat. The architect had raised his eyebrows at his request, then sat back and nodded knowingly when Dimitri described it. Dimitri had the distinct impression that this wasn’t the strangest thing one of his rich clients had asked for.

He set her on the narrow wooden
platform in the centre of the room and stepped back. She really was magnificent. From this angle he saw her pulse beating steadily on the curve of her neck. Her breasts were full and round and moved slowly as she breathed. Her legs were long for her body, lean and gently angled under the black tights she had on. Her stomach was flat and her hips wide, triggering some primal instinct to cover her like a stallion and fuck her until she was his and only his.

He shook his head and tried to concentrate. It must have been too long in between whores, that was all. He pulled her arms over her head and used silken white ropes to bind her there. He blindfolded her, aga
in regretted not seeing her eyes, and moved to her feet. He pulled her legs apart and made sure she couldn’t move. He would wait by her side until she woke.

He dragged a heavy mahogany corner chair close to the platform. The fact that he knew it was a corner chair carved from mahogany made him smile to himself and glance towards to girl. She looked like th
e delicate kind of little dove who would look him up and down, take note of the many expensive items located about his space, and find him lacking. Girls who possessed this kind of rare beauty always sniffed out the grubby street urchin he had once been, no matter how much couture he draped on his body or how much money he threw at his past in an attempt to outrun it.

He sat carefully, felt the wood creak under his muscular frame, and watched her. She was dressed in all black form fitting clothes. A black hoodie, zipp
ed up, black yoga pants and ankle high black leather army boots. Nothing expensive or remarkable.

He moved as though startled as a thought crossed his mind. He needed to look for identification. He was a man familiar with killing or fuc
king women such as her. This in-between was unnatural for him, was he going to kill or fuck? He did not know.

He ran his hands along her body looking for a pocket. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth as he ran his hand along her firm thighs. She was such a delicate creature. Who had sent her? Was she one of Sergei’s or contracted out by somebody who worked for him?

He found no weapons and nothing to indicate where she came from or her identification. In the hoodie pocket she had a torn Skytrain ticket, a wadded ten-dollar bill with some loose change, and a receipt from 7-11 for one Coke and a couple lottery tickets. He found no tickets.

He took the items and laid them on a low table near the platform. Inspecting them gave him nothing. He knew no more about her than he had five minutes ago.

She made a small noise, a moan in the back of her throat followed by a long sigh. Dimitri leaned in and watched her face; she appeared to flutter her eyelids under the blindfold and grew still. He felt her pulse; it was throbbing under her skin, as it should be. He could see light red finger marks blooming on her neck. His hands had done this. His cock responded to the thought of her struggling under him, fighting him off, trying to get away.

Boredom and frustration did strange things to a man. Years earlier he never would have imagined choking such a beautiful woman while driving himself deep inside of her, but at the moment this image became almost all consuming. He reached out and placed his hand around her throat, lining his fingers up with the bruises forming on her flesh. He squeeze
d, ever so softly, and felt his body respond to her flesh. She moaned and moved her head. She was regaining consciousness so he removed his hand and watched her carefully.

She wiggled her hands against the
ropes; her entire body shuddered ever so slightly. The smallest of movements snaked through her limbs, she was testing her bonds. She was awake.

He didn’t move, stilled his breathing. This was one thing he still excelled at, avoiding detection.

She strained against the ropes, pulled her right foot and found her limits. She twisted and struggled, stopped and exhaled loudly.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice was low and throaty. A bedroom voice, a sensual voice. Dimitri immediately knew the kinds of noises that would erupt from her throat in the act of pleasure. He wanted to make her moan, sigh, scream his name and beg him to never stop.

But he still didn’t know who she was or if she had been sent here to kill him. He said nothing, did not move.

“Is anyone there?” she called out again, louder this time. “I know you’re there, fucker! Who the fuck are you? Why am I tied up?” she continued. “Hello,” she said, her voice drawn out into a near whimper. Dimitri felt a slight tug of empathy for the girl on the platform, but it was lost immediately under his need to learn more about her intentions.

“Listen, asshole,” the girl said with a determined tone, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but people know I’m here. They’ll come for me.”

Her chest rose rapidly with her breathing, panic was creeping in as she realized the extent of her situation. Dimitri stayed still for a few breaths and finally walked to her side. She heard him and turned her face towards him. “Who are you?” she asked, tension thick in her words.

He leaned close to her, inhaled her scent, vanilla and flowers, and said, “I think the real question here should be…who are you?”

She flinched at the sound of his voice and ineffectually tried to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m in the wrong place,” she replied, her voice cracking with pent up hysteria. “I’m not even supposed to be here.”

He moved slowly to the other side of her head and whispered, “So you weren’t sent here to kill me? I find that hard to believe.”

She flinched again and edged away from the sound of his voice. She was breathing rapidly, her skin was flushed and her voice trembled as she said, “No, I don’t even know you. I just wanted to talk to Jarrod Jacobs...but I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to react. He stood up straight and looked down at the small figure laid out in front of him. Jarrod Jacobs was his most recent alter ego, the wealthy playboy son of a Texas billionaire, owner of several multi national corporations. Jarrod Jacobs didn’t exist though, not outside Dimitri's private accounts and online world. Jarrod only existed on paper, and only to protect Dimitri from Sergei while providing a name to run Dimitri’s legitimate businesses.

“What do you want with Mr. Jacobs?” he asked from high above her.

She craned her neck and tried to pinpoint the location of his voice. “I, um...I’m here on behalf of the Mount Pleasant Community Protection League. We are protesting his proposed development at the corner of Main and Twelfth,” she said, her voice was small in the large room. She gained confidence again as she recited her obviously pre-rehearsed speech.

He rocked back on his heels of his feet and laughed. “That’s it? The only reason you’re here?” he demanded.

“Why else would I be here?” she asked, her voice quavered again and she was losing her confidence.

“Don’t you find it odd that somebody would sneak into my private quarters in order to deal with an issue that could be brought up at City Hall?” he replied. “Of course I’d wonder what brought you here.”

“Wait, are you Mister Jacobs? You should know that they never listen to us at the City,” she said, trying to sit up. “We tried that, but you’re tearing down the neighborhood to put in four square blocks of towers. You’re ruining it for those of us who live there.”

“Then move,” he said and wondered if this meant she really was just an innocent girl who managed to stumble into a wasp’s nest. It didn’t matter at this
point; she was not going to get out of this unscathed.

“It’s not that easy,” she said and curled her lip in the smallest of sneers. This only served to enhance her full lips and Dimitri leaned down close to her again to drink in the sight. “Not all of us are loaded, it’s not like I can pick up, move to another country and make a new life for myself,” she continued.

“What did you say?” he said, standing straight again and frowning. She must know something, why else would she have brought up his own flight from Russia and subsequent name change?

“I simply pointed out that most of us aren’t rich enough to move when some asshole decides to tear up our neighbourhood,” she replied. She was moving her head slowly as if listening for his slightest movement. She licked her lips, a simple action but one that triggered something deep inside of him. He wanted to take
her; he wanted to see her struggling at the end of his cock, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with lust. Every cell in his body vibrated with his need.

“If your house is in the development zone, you will be compensated for it. Fair market prices,” he told her, leaning over her again to watch her mouth as she spoke.

“We aren’t being compensated for having a twenty five storey tower thrown up across the street from us,” she replied, “It’s my family home, where I grew up. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” he said and thought about his own childhood home. A
four-storey apartment building outside of Moscow, long demolished to make way for new development. In an odd way, he understood her emotional attachment, even though he had been gone from his own home for years before it happened.

“Where are you from?” she asked, her voice was sharp in the silence of the room.

“What do you mean?” he replied. “I’m from here.”

“You sound Russian,” she stated and was still.

Dimitri was taken aback for the second time that night. He had been coached by the best vocal experts in Moscow years ago, to lose his accent. He knew it wasn’t perfect, but he had assumed in the years since he’d been living here that it was almost undetectable. How had she picked up on it? “Yes, I am,” he said, doing his best to stretch the vowels out and keep his voice even.

What was he going to do with her? Even if she wasn’t sent to kill him, he couldn't have her running back to her group and tell them all that Jarrod Jacobs was a Russian. The thing was that he
didn’t fully believe her story; he couldn’t believe her story. If he believed her, then he was going to torture and potentially kill an innocent girl. Although women were regarded as property in the
Solntsevskaya
Bratva,
he had only killed those who deserved it.

If he was being honest with himself, he killed men and women differently for a reason. There was a distinction between him using his knife on men and thrott
ling women with his bare hands.

And if he was being completely honest, he had to admit that there was a definite thrill to
be gained from holding a woman’s throat in his hand and crushing the life from her body.

But to kill a girl who’s only crime had been coming to the wrong apartment at the wrong time? Even he couldn’t convince himself it was a good idea. He would have to interrogate her to be absolutely certain that she was who she claimed, but he couldn’t make the decision to end her life until he got to that point.

As he stood above her pondering the chance that he might spare her, she breathed in and said, “Mister Jacobs? Are you still here?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“You’re not really from here, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” she continued. Her voice trembled with pent up emotion.

“No, I cannot,” he replied and turned to leave the room. He heard a
small noise, an echo of a sob and turned back. She had her face away from him, but the quiver in her limbs betrayed her emotion. She was doing her best not to cry. Dimitri did not want to let her tears influence his choice regarding her fate, he despised women who cried, so he simply left the room and clicked the lock shut.

On the other side he turned back again and
leaned his forehead against the carved wood. He heard her sobs from the other side and felt his chest tighten in response. Deep in his gut he was responding to this girl on a level he didn’t recognize and it made him feel unstable and a bit out of control.

Unable to
process his confusion, he straightened his back and rapidly walked down the hall to his office to check for further information regarding the concierge’s travel plans. If only his friend was here, this wouldn’t be an issue. Captivity had turned Dimitri’s mind to mush and he no longer had the skills he had once possessed, the ability to discern danger and the decisiveness to carry out what needed to be done without hesitation.