Chapter Seven
When the truck finally rolled to a stop, they were blindfolded and wrapped in blankets to cover their nakedness. Katarina didn’t see what happened to the other women, but she knew it wasn’t anything like her treatment. She had to find a way to help them while helping herself.
She was carried for what seemed like forever, through many twists and turns. Probably some secret passageway, because all the big bads had them. A way to escape from rival business associates or law enforcement—or simply a way to hide their activities.
When the blindfold came off, there was one woman dressed in a maid uniform and men standing at the door. Marcus was behind her, and they were in some kind of unreal wet room. It was all marbled, with the bath being the center of the set up—a roman bath, complete with naked, marbled statues of gods and plates with fruit and cheese, goblets of wine.
The opulence of the room—aside from that—defied any description, with gold leaf accents, and a strange stained glass vista on the ceiling of two wolves eating each other’s bellies. She’d seen it somewhere before, a fairytale, but she couldn’t remember which one. Her brain whirred into overdrive and she barely noticed when the maid took her blanket and led her to the bath.
The maid spoke in Russian and instructed her to bathe, to wash everything, and to shave herself if she had any hair at all anywhere other than her head.
“Da,” she answered.
Katarina was aware of Marcus’s presence behind her as she slid down into the hot water. After all of the hours in the truck, it felt good to get clean. She even liked the scent of the soap and shampoo that had been provided—honeysuckle lemon.
Marcus waded over to an opposite corner in the bath and kept his back turned to her. She was watching him as he watched, his big hands moving over his scarred body, the soap lathering in his wake.
She thought about touching him again, the topography of his scars and his tattoos, the map of his life etched on his flesh.
“Will you help me wash my hair?” she asked.
Katarina didn’t really need the help, she wanted the contact without really asking for it. She wanted the comfort of him, but she wanted to test herself, too. Remind herself who he was and what he meant to her—and that a few moments of his flesh inside hers for the mission didn’t mean anything.
It had been what she wanted.
“Are you sure you want me to help?”
“Yes.” She presented her back to him.
He moved toward her, the water lapping at her belly as his movements made tiny waves. Marcus took the shampoo and pooled it in his palm before massaging her scalp. Some of the knots in her neck and back began to unravel themselves and she was almost sorry when he began rinsing the strands.
She wanted him to touch her more, she wanted to feel safe again.
“Isn’t this a pretty vignette?” A woman’s throaty voice sliced through the intimacy of the moment.
She was a tall, leggy, blonde and naked except for the fall of diamonds in the necklace around her throat. Her skin was golden and smooth, just like her hair. Everything about her screamed predator. She was a like blonde shark, sleek and hungry.
This was Weronika Yukodvich.
“What a lovely couple you are.” Her eyes raked over them each in turn. “If I decide to share you, you’ll bring me a fortune at auction.” She laughed. “A mated pair.”
Katarina wanted nothing more than to tear the bitch’s throat out with her teeth.
“That’s what you are, aren’t you?” Weronika prompted. “Answer me.”
Katarina was going to say something about pigs and whores, but Marcus cut her off before she could.
“We’re whatever you say we are,” he said, still staring her down.
She laughed. “Maybe I’ll say you’re my stud and she’s going to Fedir’s stable. Would that piss you off? What if I said that we’ll go watch while Fedir introduces her to the bit?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do.” Marcus reached up and grabbed her, pulling her down into the water.
Weronika drapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers dragging slowly over his tattoos. Over his scars.
Katarina grit her teeth so hard she was surprised she didn’t crack her molars. She wished she was the one touching him like that—she wished she could touch him like that and not see the darkness.
The other woman’s laugh was like a cheese grater on her spine.
“You want me to play mated pair and fuck that bitch for your pleasure, I’ll do it. You want to fuck her or let your brother play pony, I give a fuck.”
“You will. You’ll give lots of fucks.” Weronika reached down into the water, stroking what Katarina could only assume was his cock.
She’d bet the Ukrainian woman thought she was witty. She wasn’t.
Katarina knew Marcus didn’t mean those words, it was just part of the op, but the whole thing still pissed her off.
“Don’t be jealous. Come to me,” Weronika motioned her over.
Katarina did as she was told and waded through the water over to the icy blonde woman who now held both of their lives in her hands.
She knew that even though it seemed Weronika was alone, she wasn’t. They were testing her and Marcus to see if they’d been properly trained—broken. If they were pliable and biddable. If they weren’t, they’d never see Fedir, or Red Wolf. They’d be chained, beaten, maybe killed.
Weronika inspected her, almost like one would good horseflesh. She checked her teeth, her hair, and even her skin.
“So soft and pale. I bet you’re very beautiful under him.” She nodded to Marcus and Weronika cupped her breasts, working her fingers over the nipples until they were pert and hard.
Katarina knew the drill. Her body responded to the manipulation while her mind went blank and she shut down except for that automaton quality Marcus had talked about. She’d be the machine, because it was what she had to be.
Weronika dipped her fingers down to push between Katarina’s legs and she didn’t fight. If she’d been into it, it wouldn’t have been unpleasant. The woman knew what she was doing.
“Mmm. We can’t have that, malenkaya.” Weronika’s voice was a throaty purr. “You’ve left us alone and I’m afraid our party guests won’t enjoy that at all.” She turned to Marcus. “Bring her back to us.”
Weronika lifted her to the side of the bath. “Spread those pretty legs and I’ll train you correctly. You’ll be slavering for it like a bitch in heat when I’m done with you.”
Katarina hadn’t thought it possible to hate any more than she already did. It burned her so hot it was like a hundred suns charring her insides.
But she did as she was told.
She reminded herself what she’d offered in exchange for this. Anything. She’d meant it. She’d have to swallow her hate, her fear, and her fury.
So what if Weronika knew how a vagina worked? So what if she made her orgasm? It was a bodily response. Like laughing when she was tickled. Didn’t make her like it. Didn’t mean she wanted it to happen.
How many times had she wished that she could actually enjoy it when she had to use her body? So many she’d lost count. Katarina wanted to be well, to be whole. She wanted to glue all those shattered pieces back together and she’d done a great job, but there was just this one thing that didn’t fit.
Sex was a leftover shard and the wounds had closed without it.
Or maybe it was still ripping them open?
She spread her legs and Weronika continued the inspection, pressing her fingers against her, pushing inside of her softly, priming her.
“Up on your elbows so you can see what he does for you.” Weronika instructed.
An unfamiliar, almost forgotten rush exploded deep in her belly when she saw Marcus bent between her legs. It intensified when she could feel his breath ghosting along the sensitive flesh.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, if it did. They were supposed to be alone, it was supposed to be about intimacy, connection.
Maybe, even healing.
Now every chance she’d had of that was gone.
He was touching her and she’d come and it would be irretrievably tied to this situation, to Weronika, to Red Fucking Wolf.
It was a new kind of violation that was even more catastrophic.
“Are you sure you want my mouth on her and not you?” Marcus asked.
He wasn’t really asking Weronika anything. She could see it in his eyes. Even after everything, he was asking her—Katarina. He’d blow this op to shit just to save her.
Only no one could save her, even if she wanted to be saved.
She met his eyes and parted her lips. It was as close to yes as she was permitted. Maybe in more ways than one.
When his mouth touched her, it was just like in all the books. All the ways she’d heard of pleasure.
It was everything she’d hoped it could be, and nothing at all like it at the same time.
Bliss spiraled in time with his tongue and suddenly, it didn’t matter where they were, who was watching. This was hers. She could take it for her own.
Katarina cried out as she shifted to get closer to him.
His fingers anchored around her hips, drew her forward, lifted her to his mouth.
Good fucking Christ, but this was the best thing she’d ever felt.
And it was ripped from her just as quickly as she’d found it.
Cruel hands suddenly jerked her away from the pleasure, and held her aloft like a ragdoll. Meaty fingers pressed up into the tender flesh by her jawbone, forcing her jaw open and shiny, gold Ukranian Fort 12 pistol shoved into her mouth.
“One move, Marcus Grant, and I’ll blow her fucking head off.”
She took a deep breath and concentrated. His voice was deep, guttural, and he spoke with a heavy inflection.
The fingers that held the gun were covered in gulag tattoos and she tried to memorize them. The skulls on his third finger that began as a ring and then covered his whole finger represented people he’d killed. The skulls covered his hand and trailed up right arm.
Katarina wasn’t afraid. All of the newly budded feelings that had been born with the sensations were gone. The machine was back and she’d never been more grateful for it.
“Brother, darling. You’re ruining my entertainment.”
“No, no. Just wait until you see what I have in store for this one.” He rattled her again as if, as she’d thought before, she was no more than a ragdoll.
He was very strong. She’d need a plan to take him down.
Marcus stood stock still, unmoving. His body was tense, strung tight.
Then it hit her.
Fedir called Marcus by his name.
Had the Bloods betrayed them?
It was almost as if he sensed when the knowledge hit her, because he laughed. “Yes, I know who you are too, Katarina Dupree.”
She’d never given the Bloods her name.
Wellington knew who she was, but he couldn’t know what she was doing. Could he?
“All be known in time, my little elite princess.”
She kept her body still, determined not to betray them further. Not to react at the mention of elite, but it had to mean he knew who she really was. Elite princess was a bit of an overkill, of course, she’d been taught by her very proper Russian mother than all things Ukranian were crude and overkill.
“See how still he is?” Weronika laughed as she pointed at Tin. “He’s like one of the royal guard. I wonder what it will take to break him.”
“Perhaps a video of Katarina’s reunion with an old friend? I’m sure that would do nicely.”
“Katarina!” Marcus roared, the sound echoing up from some dark place deep inside of him.
She couldn’t speak, but he had to let this play out. Katarina hoped he could read it in her eyes.
Fedir didn’t remove the gun from her mouth, but instead, continued to hold her like some kind of prize with one massive arm as he carried her through a passageway. It was possible she could’ve broken free, but she had to see where this was going. Had to see how close she could get to Red Wolf.
They emerged into a large room of terrors. It was obviously meant for torture. From the sleek, metal table with its array of pain implements, to the chair that had been wired up with electrodes, and even an iron maiden.
Sadistic fuck.
He deposited her on the table, gun still in her mouth.
When he twisted to secure her feet, safe in the knowledge that the barrel of the gun would keep him safe, she snatched a scalpel from the table and hid it in her palm. His complacency also kept him from checking her hands when he strapped her down.
“Comfortable?” He removed the gun from her mouth.
“You’re not going to get anything out of me, so you might as well kill me now.”
He laughed. The fucker actually laughed. “You think I want to torture you for information?” Fedir raised a brow. “I don’t need to. I already know everything. And soon, so will your team when they discover both of the men who betrayed you. ” He laughed again, obviously amused. “No, no, my little love. I want to torture you because I like it. It gives me pleasure.”
He ran his fingers down the side of her face.
“There’s someone here who wants to see you.” He looked up and waved, as if inviting someone in.
And he had. He’d invited in the devil himself.
Wellington Ashley leered over her, eyes beady and bright, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hands, his clammy, disgusting damp hands moved over her body.
Flashback after flashback hit her like prize punches, each one connecting harder than the last. Her defenses kicked in and she started to shut down before the terror could freeze her solid in this moment, keep her in this nightmare.
“I’ll leave you two alone to celebrate your reunion,” Fedir laughed. “But don’t fill up her dance card. I do want my turn.”
Wellington leaned in close to her face and shoved his tongue in her mouth, his sweat dripping on her face.
Darkness swallowed her. It was so easy to drown. It was endless and soft, safe and secure. She could hide there forever where, like Vonnegut said, nothing hurt and everything was beautiful.
But a Marine wouldn’t do that.
Katarina Dupree wouldn’t do that.
It was easier to hide, easier to escape, but not everyone had that luxury. She could do something. She could change the world with the stroke of her blade.
Katarina had endured him once, she could endure him again. She could endure him through whatever she must as long as she could keep working that strap with the scalpel. She didn’t know how long it took, if it was a century or a second—in this place, they were the same.
He was speaking, but she didn’t hear a word he said. All she could hear was the sawing noise of a blade tearing through the weave of the strap. The final snap when it was free broke something in her, too.
“Wellington,” she began, her voice sure and strong.
He’d positioned himself over her and he looked up at her face.
The smile that bloomed on her lips like a rancid flower tasted sweeter than honey because as she smiled, she drew the scalpel across his throat with a quick slash. Not too deep, she didn’t want death to be a surprise.
Katarina wanted to watch as it dawned on him that he was dying, that she’d killed him. Then, she wanted to see as the light went out in his eyes like turning off a switch.
It wouldn’t be turning a light off, it’d be turning one on. For her and countless others.
She released herself from the other restraints as Wellington stumbled, his palm pressed against his throat. He gurgled, blood bubbling at his mouth as he tried to save his own life.
Katarina didn’t have anything prepared, no speeches. Just vengeance.
He crashed into the iron maiden, falling on the floor and the blood spurting faster now. Wellington reached out a hand to her, as if in some universe she would help him.
“Die already.” She approached him.
Only his death, this dying of the light… it wasn’t what she’d thought it be. He was almost dead and the monsters were still under the bed.
The room in her head was still dark.
There was still no way out.
He was dead and she was even more alone now than before. The vengeance that burned inside of her had dimmed and all that was left was fear.
Yet something else he’d done to her.
She bent over him, straddled his torso and leaned down close to his face. “I hope you’re burning in hell.”
The last word ended on a sob.
She didn’t fucking cry. There was no crying in the Marines.
Hot tears streaked down her face, burned like acid.
She plunged the scalpel into his chest, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. So she stabbed him again, and again, and again.
But it wasn’t really him she was stabbing.
It was herself.
For failing, for being a victim, for not being able to heal, even after she’d killed the thing under the bed. The memory of him had become its own stark terror, its own living, breathing entity that would stay with her until the cold, dark of her grave.
Maybe longer.
Maybe he’d be there waiting for her.
Her arms ached, her fingers cramped as she stabbed again, and again…she couldn’t stop. Katarina choked on her own tears, sobs torn from her like small, breakable things.
***
Marcus didn’t like killing women, but he’d do it.
“Everything you do to me, they’ll do to her,” Weronika said suggestively. “You can decide if those will be good things.” She ran her finger down his chest. “Or bad things.”
The part of him that wanted to protect Katarina, it would do anything to make sure she was safe.
Except, she was his teammate, not his woman. Hell, even if she was his woman. He had to have faith in her skills, what she brought to the team, he had to trust in that or they had nothing.
She was a Marine.
Just like him.
He looked at the woman in front of him. She was so confident that he’d not do anything to endanger Katarina. That he’d stay in the bath and touch her, fuck her…
Marcus thought about the women in the truck. He thought about how many others Weronika had done that to. How many people had she killed? She was a woman, but she was a piece of shit, just like Fedir.
He drew her closer to him and then shoved her under the water.
She was no match for his strength, even though she put up a hell of a fight, flailing and kicking, biting him, trying so very hard to live.
Marcus left her body in the bath.
He proceeded down the hall where he’d seen Fedir take Katarina and found the man himself as he was lighting a cigar.
Fedir was as big as he was and he had a gun. Marcus had to wonder if he could take him down before Fedir could pull the weapon, or…
“My sister is dead?” he asked calmly.
“Yes.” Marcus didn’t see a reason to lie.
He finished lighting his cigar. “I told her if she plays games with dogs, she will get bitten.” Fedir took a deep pull from the cigar. “I believe we are at an impasse.”
“How so?” Marcus was naked in a Ukranian mobster’s lair and said mobster was across from him with a gun. He wasn’t sure how that qualified as an impasse.
“I was under the impression the rest of your team was occupied with other missions. It seems I was wrong.” He flicked his ash as if he had nowhere else to be.
“Actually, it seems you talk too much.” John “Mercury” Thrace said, in his deep, raspy voice from behind him. “I put enough poison in his box of Cubans to wipe out Cuba. He’s got the constitution of a fucking goat.”
Fedir swayed on his feet. “I will not fall. I kneel before no man. I have stars on my knees to prove it, blyat!”
Mercury looked him for a long moment and pushed on his chest with his finger and the big Ukranian fell to the ground—dead. Merc seemed satisfied with a job well done.
“Questioning him might have been good.”
“Bah.” Merc waved his hand. “We got a whole cache of cellphones his “guests” left behind, which is better. We can track them from every cell tower they ever bounced a signal from.”
“What’s going on? How did you know where we were?”
“We found Tre waiting at the place on Jarboe for your mysterious employer and figured the shit went south. No man behind, right?”
“Yeah, I got to get Nickel.”
“We got packs waiting for you outside. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Local PD is going to be here any minute.” He made no other mention of Marcus’s nakedness. Of course, Merc wouldn’t. Bradley might’ve said something about it being one hell of a party.
Everything had gone down so fast, how had the guests known to run? Something was fucked up in fuckedville.
He opened several doors before he found the horror tableau of Nickel covered in blood and sobbing as she stabbed Wellington Ashley’s dead body.
Marcus reached for her and the scalpel sliced at his arms, but he didn’t care. He finally got it out of her hand as she realized who he was and it clattered to the floor just as she collapsed in his arms.
“I’ve got you, Katarina. You’re safe now. Evac team is here.”
He didn’t tell her to be quiet, didn’t tell her not to cry. He simply held her and let her sob for a moment.
“Police are on their way. We have to go.” He did his best to keep his voice calm and soothing.
She hiccupped, snot running down her nose. “I can’t stop.”
“Yes, you can. You can do anything.” He saw an open cabinet stocked with white sheets. “I’m going to grab some sheets.”
She seemed to gather herself more easily then. “I… your arm’s bleeding.”
“Just a flesh wound.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You were right, Marcus. Revenge…” She shook her head. “It left me empty.”
“I didn’t want to be right about that.”
She snorted. “Who always said that they never get tired of being right?”
“I suppose I’ve been known to say that a time or two.” He wrapped the sheet around her. “You were right too. We got through this. It’s over. Fedir’s dead.”
“Weronika?” she growled.
“That bitch is dead too.”
“Good. Let’s go home.” Katarina allowed him to pick her up and carry her out into the light.