morosis
(n.) the stupidest of stupidities
MILA
My mouth felt as dry as cotton. A strand of hair tickled my cheek. I reached up to scratch it, but confusion clouded my mind when my hands refused to move.
I peeled my eyes open, blinking against the light coming from the television in the otherwise dark and unfamiliar bedroom. My heartbeat trembled when I saw my wrists secured to the armrests of a wooden chair. I yanked against the ropes, but a soft moan brought my gaze to the TV on the dresser. I stared at the scene playing in front of my eyes, revulsion rising in my throat.
The moan on the screen came from me while I sat naked on Ronan’s lap, grinding on his hand.
He recorded us.
The video was shot from a high corner of my hotel room, on a camera that could have been there my entire stay. Humiliation churned in my stomach and twisted my heart like a wrung-out rag as I watched myself come and shudder against him.
Then the video began to play again.
I liked Ronan.
I cared.
And he was only using me.
Tears blurred my vision while I frantically pulled at the ropes on my wrists, trying to twist out of them. I froze when a heavy presence told me I was no longer alone.
Ronan stood in front of the door, a sliver of light fanning in from the hall. His eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, the black-on-black of his expensive clothes—they swallowed the shadows in the room.
Darkness there, and nothing more.
I called it in the beginning. Something inside of me always knew.
“You aren’t going to do much more than hurt yourself. I learned how to tie a knot in prison.”
The indifference in his voice penetrated my veins, freezing my blood from the inside out. I tensed as he moved closer, his gaze flicking to the TV to watch me gyrate on his lap.
“A video of you riding my cock would have been better, but regardless, you make a good show, kotyonok.”
This man wasn’t the one I came to know the past week. I realized now that “generous” man was nothing but a lie. Only someone sick could touch me, caress me, knowing all along I was just a pawn in whatever twisted game this was. I was so stupid. A stupid, naïve girl who’d walked right into a monster’s arms.
I winced when my muscles tightened, still feeling a sharp sting in the back of my neck from whatever he stuck me with.
“What did you give me?” I breathed, my voice wavering.
He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms, his shoulders nearly blocking all the light from the TV. Only yesterday, I found his size and strength attractive. Now, it terrified me.
“Etorphine.”
It sounded familiar, and I placed where I’d heard of it: the show Dexter. It was what he used to knock his victims out before torturing them. Images of saws and detached limbs made my veins shake, especially as I recalled how Ronan cut off a man’s finger without any remorse.
If he had a demented urge to mutilate me, why would he need to record us? And if he worked for a sex trafficking ring, why wine and dine me for so long? He’d had multiple opportunities to kidnap me, including the first night I slept in his office.
Nothing made sense, and the unknown spread ice through me.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“Such a loaded question,” he said, eyes on something small he twisted between his fingers. I knew it was my heart-shaped earring. “What do you think I want from you?”
I stared at him, my pulse racing with uncertainty.
“You really have no idea,” he drawled, gaze alight with amusement. “Apparently, they don’t make girls as smart as they used to.”
I was stupid. I knew it, and I accepted it. But hearing it from his lips sent a burst of fire through me.
“Just tell me what you want, you psychopath,” I snapped, yanking at the ropes on my wrists.
The flash of his eyes penetrated the dark as he pushed off the dresser, and I couldn’t hold in a flinch when he gripped my face. His voice was low and soft, and it scared me more than if he would have shouted.
“Watch how you speak to me, or you’ll soon find out how sick I really am.”
My breath shook, but I held his stare.
Russian roulette.
One blink, and I’d be dead.
Maybe that would be a quicker demise than what he had in store for me.
His eyes warned, Don’t play games you can’t win.
Mine said, This isn’t a game. It’s hell.
After a tense pause, he released me. “You, Mila, are just a means to an end. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it though.” His gaze flicked to the TV as my moans grew louder. “Such an enthusiastic kotyonok.”
My stomach turned, but even worse, my heart ached like it was ripped from my chest. I fell for this man. I’d cared, lusted, felt. I closed my eyes as Madame Richie’s laugh crawled from the dark corners of my mind, raising my pulse and the hair on my arms.
I tensed, feeling him walk around my chair.
“To be honest, I expected more from Alexei’s daughter. I’m almost disappointed by how easy it was.”
I opened my eyes in more ways than one. “This is about my papa.”
He chuckled, and the vibration coasted a shiver down my spine. “Give the girl a medal.”
Ronan rested his forearms on the back of my chair, caging me in, and watched while I fucked his fingers onscreen. The soft sound of my breath and my recorded moans filled the room.
He leaned in, his voice a rumble in my ear. “I wonder what your papa would think if he saw this.”
Disgust bit at my veins. He couldn’t be that twisted.
“Shall we find out?”
When he held a cell phone in front of my face, my heart sank at the sight of its sparkly white case. It was mine. I thought it was long gone with my coat, but I knew now, he always had it.
He clicked on a draft message written to my papa to show me the video in the text box.
This wasn’t real.
This couldn’t be happening to me.
Panic expanded in my lungs, clawing and biting at the flesh. My grip tightened around the armrests so hard it hurt.
“Please don’t,” I begged.
His thumb hovered over the send button. “And what will you do for me?”
I understood the insinuation in his voice. Tears ran down my cheeks, my chest heaving with the impossibility of the situation. I was torn in two different directions, but I knew even surrendering my body would be better than my papa seeing that video.
“Anything,” I cried. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“The problem is,” he said softly, nuzzling his face against my hair, “I’ve already seen it all.” His words turned cold and careless. “The novelty has worn off.”
With one press of his finger, the sound of a message sending hit my ears.
My heart dropped to the floor, and I barely heard the toneless, “Whoops,” he taunted against my ear like it was merely an accident, before pulling away from me.
Acid climbed up my throat, and then I leaned over and threw up everything in my stomach onto the Persian rug.
He lowered to his haunches in front of me and wiped some puke from my bottom lip with his thumb. “What am I going to do with you, kotyonok?”
He was no longer a conundrum wearing Versace, indifferent to the blood on his pants and my vomit on his hand. He was a monster dressed like a gentleman.
I brought my tear-filled gaze to his and said three words I’d never said before. “I hate you.”
He smiled. “Took you long enough.”
I shook with humiliation. “Why are you doing this?”
And just like that, his amusement faded, replaced with a ruthless gaze that sucked all warmth from the room. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and shoved it into my face. I turned my head in revulsion at the photo on the screen, but he gripped my cheeks to hold me in place.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the image still burned into my brain.
Blood. So much blood.
Mutilated flesh.
Lifeless eyes.
He was only a boy.
“Your papa isn’t an investor.”
I shook my head, tears running down my cheeks. I didn’t believe my papa was responsible for . . . that. He couldn’t be.
“The boy’s name was Pasha. He was a good kid,” was all Ronan said, but I knew from his tone, somewhere in this man’s black heart, he cared for him.
I opened my eyes. Even though it was grossly unwarranted given the circumstances, I couldn’t help but feel compassion for that boy.
“I’m sor—”
I didn’t get to finish the word because he slapped my face. It wasn’t hard, but it turned my head in surprise nonetheless. I’d never been hit in my life, and the action stunned me speechless.
“I’ve told you before, you’re done with the apologies,” he said harshly.
My phone rang in his back pocket. Ronan watched me, letting it ring and ring, before he swapped the cell in his hand for mine. He answered the call on speaker and rose to his full height.
“Alexei,” he said. “I hope the weather has been nice in Siberia.”
“If you’ve harmed my daughter, I will cut off your cock and shove it down your whore’s throat.” My papa’s voice sliced like a knife through the room, so harsh and foreign it sent a chill down my spine. It felt like I’d been slapped ten times harder than when Ronan hit me a moment ago.
Ronan chuckled. “Creative as always, Alexei. Unfortunately, as you’ve just seen, my cock is much closer to your daughter than where you’re hiding out.”
My gaze settled on the tattoos on my captor’s fingers, and my stomach went cold. He had men who did his bidding, he was outrageously wealthy, and he had apparently been to prison.
What was the word for Russian mafia?
Bratva.
It explained the strange men who came and went from our home, my papa’s secrecy about his work, his refusal to allow me into Russia, and Ivan. It explained red paint leaking from beneath . . . no. I couldn’t go there. It just explained everything. Every suspicion I’d ever had. His secret family now felt like a welcome reprieve.
“She has nothing to do with our business,” Papa snapped.
“Semantics,” Ronan countered drily, his thoughtful eyes on me. “She could be Tatianna’s twin. Must be awkward you fucked a woman who looked just like her.”
The only one who made it awkward was this heartless bastard.
“Mila is nothing like her mother.”
“Now, that I believe,” Ronan drawled, leaning against the dresser. “I’ve heard she was a sadistic bitch.”
My throat tightened.
He was lying. He had to be. Though I couldn’t help but remember the odd reactions in response to her name, including Vera’s terror when she’d looked at me.
No. I wouldn’t let him ruin my mother’s memory—the memory I created at least.
“Enough,” my papa grated. “We both know what you want. I will trade myself for her.”
Understanding became terror that closed my lungs. “No,” I breathed.
I knew what Ronan would do to my papa. I knew I would never see him again. The idea of having to traverse life all alone dropped a heavy weight on my chest.
I didn’t know about my papa’s transgressions—this secret, terrifying life he led—but I couldn’t just forget the good father he always was. The one who braided my hair as a child in place of the mother I never had. The one who read me bedtime stories, kissed me on the forehead, and called me his little angel.
“Mila.” It was a weary sigh over the line. He didn’t know I was listening, and regret softened his voice.
“I’m so sorry, Papa,” I sobbed.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“I shouldn’t have kept my life a secret from you for so long. I only wanted to keep you safe.”
Was that why he lied about my death as an infant and cloistered me in Miami?
“This should have never touched you, and I am sorry for that. Just know I have always loved you, Mila, no matter what you hear about me.” That was the third time I’d ever heard him tell me he loved me, and it split my heart in half.
“Please don’t do this, Papa,” I pleaded. “He’ll kill you.”
“Ivan will stay by your side. He cares for you.”
An unpleasant tension shortened the oxygen in the air. Ronan ran a thumb across the scar on his bottom lip, and something obscure passed through his eyes, but I couldn’t discern it through the tears.
“This is all my fault,” I cried.
“No,” Papa said harshly. “It is mine, and I will take responsibility for it.”
His tone told me the conversation was over. I bit my lip to hold in a response until I tasted blood. The metallic flavor would normally send my blood pressure diving, but in the horror of this situation, it didn’t affect me.
Ronan broke the silence, his expression dry. “This is all a bit melodramatic for me.”
I didn’t know what hatred felt like until this moment. A tight ball of destruction that inflated in my chest.
“Send me the coordinates for the trade,” Papa said.
Ronan remained silent, a contemplative and tumultuous glint in his eyes as he watched me.
“What, no gloating? Unlike you, D’yavol.”
My stomach dropped, and my lips parted in awareness.
Ronan chuckled at my expression. “Don’t look at me like I made it up. I prefer a woman screaming my Christian name when I’m buried deep inside her.”
I was wrong. The devil didn’t have red skin and a forked tail. He reigned havoc on Moscow with a dirty mouth, an easy smile, and a snake for a heart.
“Do we have a deal?” my papa snapped.
Ronan stared at me for many seconds, his cool gaze raising the hair on my arms. “No.”
“Nyet?”
“I think I would like to play with my new pet for a while first.”
I held his stare, unwilling to show him the dread inside. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the cold sweat beneath my clothes.
Papa’s teeth were clenched. “Touch her, and—”
“You’ll cut off my cock and shove it down Nadia’s throat,” Ronan finished, bored. “I heard you the first time.”
Nadia?
The devil had a girlfriend. I wondered if he kept her locked in his basement or if she was the opera singer who played Liza.
“If you show up in Moscow before I invite you, I’ll ship your daughter’s body parts to your home in FedEx boxes. Ponimayesh?” Understand?
“I’ll send you back to hell for this, D’yavol.”
“Can’t wait,” Ronan replied. “We’ll talk soon, Alexei.”
He ended the call before my papa could respond. It rang instantly. He turned it off and fixed me with a heavy stare that chafed my skin.
“So loyal to your papa,” he said coolly, though his eyes were darker than night. “Even after what I showed you?”
I didn’t even want to think about that boy and what was done to him. It turned my stomach and made me question everything. But I wasn’t given time to process it all, and right now, I had two options: the devil, or my father. The choice was easy. My gaze burned with that conviction.
His jaw ticked. “I guess you have more of your mother’s blood in you than I thought.”
I hated what he insinuated, that she was anything other than the honorable mother who died before I knew her. He was a liar. He was lying from the first moment I met him.
My body grew taut as he walked toward me. His shadow was a living presence that reached into my chest and stole the breath from my lungs.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told him.
“Wrong again, kotyonok,” he said, circling my chair. “Your papa will pay for what he’s done.” I exhaled as he tugged my head back by my ponytail, his voice hardening. “He’ll fucking sweat over what I’m doing to his precious daughter. And when I’m finished with you, his head will decorate my mantel.”
I swallowed. “You’re sick.”
He rubbed a thumb over my lips, spreading the blood from where I bit myself across my cheek. “We all have our vices, don’t we?”
My eyes shone with disagreement.
“Malen’kaya lgunishka,” he drawled. “I haven’t forgotten how fast you came onto me—and all over my hand, for that matter. You said so yourself, if it wasn’t with me, it would have been with another.” His grip tightened in my hair. “Albert, maybe.”
I felt sick.
Degraded.
Weak.
I didn’t know if I could survive this.
“Now the formalities are over, shall we give your papa a preview of what’s to come?”
I blinked when his phone moved in front of us.
The devil was sardonic and tech-savvy. My neck ached from his ruthless grip on my ponytail as he posed us for a twisted selfie.
“Smile for the camera.”
Click.
