Stella
I sit in the front seat, curled up as far away from this fucking psycho as I can get. He’s tied my hands with some nasty nylon cord, and the duct tape across the face really hurts.
You wouldn’t think it would hurt, would you? Everyone on TV does the duct tape thing so regularly. I never imagined it was so fucking painful…but it totally is.
Russian psycho looks over at me constantly. When he slows down for an intersection or something he leers over at me, grazing his eyes across my body.
I’m really fucking scared now, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to take the cunt apart. I made him bleed once, I can do it again.
I wonder if I can get my legs up and kick at him.
The car is small, hot, and fast. If I wasn’t bound and gagged, I’d probably be impressed. He handles it well too, speeding through the streets.
“Well then, krasivoya,” he whispers, “I have feasted upon you with my eyes. Now, I want to hear the pretty bird speak.”
He leans over and tugs the duct tape off my mouth.
Fuck me, that hurts! My eyes tear up as he leans back and gives me an expectant look. I’m so stunned by his idiocy, I can only stare back for all of two seconds before I verbally blast the motherfucker.
“You vodka-chugging fuck! Let me go, you fucking dick. Do you know how much shit you are going to get for this? Do you?”
I know it’s not worth screaming. The car is like a quiet bubble. It blocks out the street sounds.
I’ve ridden in cars like this all my life, and I know they’re designed to keep the occupants separate from the masses of humanity outside. I also know those brain-dead masses won’t give a fuck if I start to scream.
Even if I show my bound hands, they will likely think we’re on our wedding night and just read 50 Shades or something. The shit people get up to these days.
Russian psycho is looking at me with a slightly down-trodden look, like a kicked puppy. I can’t help it, I start giggling. Did he really think I was going to sweetly thank him?
“My sweet one, I want to do you no harm, but you must learn your place. The boys and I thought you were just a nice handy ticket. We needed a girl to send over and there you were. Like an angel sent from heaven. But once I let you go, I could not forget you.”
Psycho Russian is handling the wheel, keeping one eye on me and one eye on the road. He keeps looking over, trying to stare deeply into my eyes, and I just give him a glare. My whole body is rigid, and I’m still wondering if I can get my legs up.
Maybe I could open the door even with bound hands?
“I searched for you krasivoya, I search the web for you. I find you, not just a model, but a princess—daughter of a billionaire! My love for you only grows from there. I try to forget. I take the drugs. I drink vodka. I quench myself in every Russian whore I can find, but you torture my dreams, krasivoya. All I see behind my eyes is you, dancing through my dreams.”
“Listen, cunt, this all entertaining, and all that shit, but for a seduction, it fucking sucks! What the fuck is going on with you? Are you seriously deranged?”
It’s not fear. Well, not all of it. I’ve never been angry in this way before.
Okay, maybe once or twice but now I see the difference between a real problem and the latest shoes not being in the right color to match my dress.
“Shut up!” he snaps. “You must learn your place! You are not some casual fuck, no. I don’t do this if I want to ravish you. If all I want is your cunt, then I can take that back at fancy apartment! I could fuck you right now if I wanted to.”
We roll slowly to a stop at a light. When he leans over, I can smell the vodka on his breath and his warm, damp hand gripping my knee.
He’s taking slow, even breaths and seems utterly calm. I have to say that wigs me out a bit, and the hand on my knee gives me a sick feeling in my guts.
“I don’t want fucking, lovely one…Well, I do, but that comes after.”
He moves back as the lights change. Fuck, I just missed a great chance to headbutt him or something.
Actually, that’s a fucking laugh. Who the fuck do I think I am? Headbutting. For fuck’s sake.
My face is my money-maker. I need to stop being ridiculous.
“Okay, I’ll bite. After what?”
“After wedding, my darling! You will be my lovely bride!”
I can’t understand the words for a second. He’s grinning and looking between the road and me.
Honestly, I think he’s actually waiting for my overjoyed reaction.
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
The insulted look on his face! Oh, just like that idiot Paul Tucker at senior prom. May I have a kiss from the prom queen? Fuck no, you little perv!
And once I start laughing, I can’t stop. His expression just makes me laugh harder.
“Be quiet, krasivoya,” he growls. “This is first thing you must learn. You obey husband. Respect me. Good Russian wife does this.”
I still can’t stop laughing.
“You absolute dick,” I finally squeeze a word out through laughter. Oh shit, my eyes are watering, and I can’t wipe them with tied hands. “You do know that marriage—at least in this country—has to be consented to by both parties? How the fuck do you expect to get away with this?”
“This is why I take you to Russia, sweet girl! I have cousin who marry us, no problem. He also get all papers you need to live in Russia as my wife. Then we go and we live, ja? We drink vodka, make the babies.”
He has a dull, dreamy look on his face. All of that sounds quite scary, actually. Surely this can’t happen in this day and age…can it?
“I’ll fight you.” I’m staring at him with the full impact of my rage. I can’t even raise my voice—I’m that angry. “I will fight you every single fucking day.”
He pulls up at a red light and leans over to grip my knee again. He grips me fiercely, just a few fingers digging into my knee, but it really hurts. His hands are strong.
He looks deep into my eyes, and I am intimidated—he is giving off one nasty vibe.
“That is why I break you first, lovely creature,” he growls it through his teeth, and I can smell the vodka again. Oh, it’s disgusting. Horrid breath leering all over my face and cold, angry eyes.
“I do not want to hurt you, sweet thing...” He moves back and starts moving forward again. “But I will break you. If you are too nasty, we have to go straight to hard break. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head, starting to feel tired and really fucking scared.
“Most girls, soft break works fine. Bit of threat, intimidation, within a short time, they make good wives. Some girls, though, they won’t give up. Too much spirit. They have to be tied down at all times. If you cannot be trusted to move around while bound, then we have to tie you to bed.”
He leers over, feral grin sneaking across his face as he thinks about it. “And then krasivoya, I fuck you silly. Every fucking hour, as hard as I can, until your spirit is gone. I can have my brothers help. We can sell rides on you to poor men on the street.
“None of that matter at all, because you rise from bed a new woman. My bride. Old bitch Stella gone. Dead. Nice, quiet wife. You see?”
Okay. Now I’m not laughing anymore.
Now, I’m fucking crying, I can’t help it, tears are pouring down my face.
Not because I’m sad or scared.
No, right now I’m so fucking enraged, I can’t see straight.
“You just try it,” I snarl. “You just fucking try it! The guy who bought me? He’s ex-military, black ops-trained. He will find me! He will! He will fuck you up, you psycho prick!”
He laughs, “And where is he now, sweet thing? Where is this military man? If he that good, how come he not track us down yet? Huh? I think you lie, pretty one.”
“Think what you like,” I hiss at him, “He will come for me. If I’m not harmed, he may even let you go. If anything happens to me, he will kill you.”
Psycho grunts and starts whistling.
I glare out the window. I haven’t even spoken to Michael in nearly a whole day. I don’t even know where he went.
My chest feels empty and sharp, as I think of how everything that happened between us might have meant nothing to him. The thought of never seeing him again is almost as bad as the thought that he won’t come for me.
That he won’t even notice I’m gone.