Novak (12 page)

Novak

Let the games begin,
I think to myself as I close my hand around the little witch’s neck and hiss at her. “There is nothing worse in my line of work than a rat, Katrina! Do you know what we do to rats?”

Her eyes dart to Sergei as if seeking help. He’s seated in front of us and appears to not even be listening to the threats I’m throwing in her direction. No, she’ll get no help from him. Sergei’s allegiance is first to Bratva, and then to me, and he will kill her at my command with no remorse.

“I swear, I swear, I didn’t say anything to him. Please, Novak, please, I swear, nothing, I said nothing. I’m begging you to please have mercy. I swear to you.”

My grip tightens as I cut off the lies she spews to me so easily. I listen to the little, fear filled bitch, liar that she is. I reach in my pocket, retrieving David Turner’s business card and ask, “What the fuck is this, Katrina?”

Though I’m aware she doesn’t like me rooting through her things, she doesn’t have the nerve to confront me about it right now. The terror in her voice excites me. I’m a twisted, mother fucking predator and she is my prey of choice.

“Oh God, please no. I’ll do anything. I swear I didn’t say anything. Please don’t hurt me. Please, I’m begging you.”

A sadistic grin settles on my face and I know she sees it. She can’t hide her true emotions from me and I can see the panic in her eyes. Her mouth is full of lies, but she will never be able to hide the truth from me. I have been trained in my line of work and she is a novice who has sorely underestimated me.

“Well, Katrina, it’s a good thing that you will do anything because tonight, you will be taking on my last name. I am finally going to sink my talons into you and own you as I should. You need to be watched and I have every intention of keeping you on a very short leash.”

“Oh no, Novak, I can’t marry you.”

“Well, Katrina, there is one other option. There is always Sergei. I will kill you before I ever release you, my love. You are mine and I will never let you go. You owe me so much more than money; you owe me your life. You steal from me, you lie to me, and you use me. If you were anyone else, I would have already put you six feet under. Do you think that I can just allow you to steal from me? Your boldness intrigues me, but I could never permit you to steal my name and use it for your financial gain. You crossed a line when you fucked me over. You owe me and your name is what I require in exchange for your thievery.

“Why, Carl? Why marriage?”

“A name for a name, a life for a life—you have stolen my name, I require yours. You have stolen my life and penned it for the world to see; I now require the remainder of yours to be spent with me.”

My stare is an intense, cold blue, as lifeless and as cold as a block of arctic ice. I’m sure my gaze alone makes her feel as if she has just been smacked in the face. Now is not the time to be splitting hairs; she knows I am a man who is dead serious and deadly dangerous. She never could have known she would be dealing with a killer when she stole my diary but it is too late… She has written my story for the world to view as voyeuristic members of society who don’t have the nerve to live life as dangerously as I do. They are able to live vicariously through the pages of the book that holds my forbidden story—the story of a ruthless man who was bred for Bratva, and will die in his loyalty to Bratva.

She hangs her head and mumbles, “Why marriage, Sir? Why something so drastic?” Perhaps she thinks her submissive attitude will grant her the mercy she so desperately wants. She doesn’t deserve my mercy, only my judgment. She will pay by giving me the rest of her life through marriage—a binding contract ensuring her silence.

“I require marriage for the simple reason, Katrina, that a wife can’t testify against her husband.”

It all makes sense to her now. If she thought I held power over her before, I will literally own her ass now. I’m doing exactly what I said I would do. I’m staking claim and ownership of her…I am a man of my word and, in my world, my word is now the law she is being forced to live by.

She has learned this day that I’m not a man to make idle threats. No, I say what I mean and I damn sure mean what I say.

Today, I make my little, trouble making vixen mine. My ownership of her goes far beyond the bedroom now. I own her body and soul and where I come from, the simple contract of marriage gives a man rights. I may even take her back to the motherland of Russia. Yes, perhaps I will do that. A man in my home country holds all rights over his wife and children. Perhaps it is time for me to settle down and start a family.

In Russia, my cousin, Glazov and I hold all power. There will be no chance of an escape for her there. I would be informed of her attempt to flee before she ever boarded a plane. I’m looking forward to having her under my complete domination. Life is good…

Katrina

I stand before the preacher, staring at his collar, and answering that yes, I will take this man to be my husband.

I can only guess that he couldn’t resist when he leaned into my ear and whispered, “Till death do us part.”

I now belong to a mobster. Never in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen Novak going this far in order to get his way. Every day it seems his hold on me grows stronger. I can’t believe all of this started over a diary. Who could have guessed that stealing a diary and writing a book would, or could, possibly lead to all of this drama?

Has it been worth it? Part of me wants to scream out an emphatic “no” in answer to that question, but there is also a part of me that is undeniably excited about this new journey I’m about to embark on. As unpredictable and as dangerous as this man is, I feel more alive than I have ever felt.

There is a part of me that is glad Novak is taking me.

You see, it leaves him making the decisions so there is no guilt, no shame, and no regrets on my part. It leaves the responsibility on his shoulders and not mine. I know in my heart of hearts that he will never release me. My inability to fully give my heart, soul, or even my physical being to any man makes him crave me. I am a polar opposite to his lifestyle and his temperament. Everything he is not, I am, and that makes me forbidden and taboo. A clean cut, professional business woman who works in a straight-laced society and lives her life in the open isn’t the kind of woman with which he would normally form a connection. After stealing the diary and the subsequent events were in motion, he was able to see the darkness that lies within me and bring it to the forefront for his enjoyment.

He enjoys knowing I am no better than he is because, regardless of the front I have put on for the world, he has seen the real me. He knows I am a woman who craves what only he can give me—dark and dangerous sexual depravity. The darkness within his soul called to mine and now our lives are connected not only physically, but legally as well. I am now his property. Everything of mine now belongs to him… right down to my last name.

Novak

I eye my wife who is lying spread out on the massive king sized bed. After all, the honeymoon suite should be used so we’ll have memories of the wedding night for years to come.

“You belong to me now, Katrina. You’re mine to do with as I see fit.”
She warily watches me as I dip lobster into the butter and purposely let it drip on her breast. She jumps in anticipation of the heat and I chuckle, finding humor in the fact that she expects my sadism.

Though she lies nude and bound for my pleasure, I am still dressed, though only in drawstring pants. She looks so beautiful with that wild blonde hair, those hazel, inquisitive eyes, and that full, pouty, lipped mouth that begs to be taken and defiled by me—her husband.

I lap up the butter that landed on her chest, biting her breast just hard enough to let her know she is at my mercy.

I lean down and growl in her ear, “I own your ass now. You belong to me and your place is in my home.”

“No, no, no, I can’t move in with you.”

“You are past the point of having that independence you cling to so tightly, Katrina. Your life is now mine. You will come to depend on me for everything, willingly or unwillingly.

“At my mercy is where you are,” I taunt her, purposely reminding her of her predicament. “You did this when you stole from me. You have no one but yourself to blame. Let’s just put it like this; you made your bed and now you have to sleep in it, literally.”

I grab her neck from behind, pulling her up towards me to place the wine glass at her lips.

“Drink it! I want you relaxed and uninhibited.”

I set the glass down and suck down on her tit, roughly.

“Please don’t hurt me, please, please.”

“I want to know what the fuck you told him. You haven’t seen my bad side yet.”

“Nothing, nothing, nothing.”

“Liar, tell me what the fuck happened,” I command her, clamping my teeth down harder on her already tender breast.

“It was nothing. They met me on the street. He told me I was in danger, that he was worried about me, and then he gave me his card. I promise I didn’t say anything and I left as soon as I could.”

“What about the first time, Katrina? What happened on your cozy, coffee date with Agent Turner and his pretty, little partner?” Her eyes widen in horror as she realizes that she has been caught. “Tell me now, little liar!” I shout, completely out of patience with her.

“He showed me pictures of the man in the alley. That’s all.”

“What did he say, Katrina?”

“He said that I wasn’t in too deep yet, that I could still get out.”

A sadistic chuckle escapes my lips and lets her know what I’m thinking before I express it.

“Oh, you are in deep now and there is no backing out. You, little girl, are completely at my mercy.”

The cold look in my eyes lets her know that, once again, I am dead serious about the message I’m relaying to her.

She glares into my face as if she is offended, “I’m no rat. I grew up going to school in rough areas and I can assure you, I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Well, let’s just say, little Mrs. Independent, that your life depends on it. Enough business, let’s get to the good stuff.”

I stand and pull the drawstring on my pants. She eyes my tattooed, toned body that I have subjected to grueling workouts for the sake of not only appearance, but self-defense for job purposes. She licks her lips and I laugh. She is as addicted to me as I am to her.

I grab one of her legs, lift it, and open her up like she’s a pair of scissors.

“I can’t get enough of that sweet, little pussy of yours,” I growl. There is never a time I see her that I don’t desire to
take
her.

I spit right on her clit and roll my thumb over it while I slowly thrust in and out of her.

She is crying out and whining, “Sooo deep, soooooooooo, ahhhhh.” I can feel myself bottoming out and she is a perfect fit for my cock.

I’m a son of bitch and I purposely stop right when she is ready to come.

Over and over I tease her until she becomes a sobbing mess, begging me, and literally pleading for me to have mercy on her and let her come.

“Oh fuck,” she cries out. “You make me crazy, crazy.”

I want to make her as crazy as she makes me and I begin grinding into her, pushing in so deep it’s like I’m trying to climb up inside of her. I watch every detail of her face as the pain and pleasure surge through her body.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, Katrina,” I command. “I’m going to brand your ass, put my permanent mark on you right across the back of your neck at your hair line in Russian. It’ll say:
property of Mathias Novak!

“Now you don’t mind that, do you?”

She cries out in agony, she is so frustrated, “I belong to you. I am owned.” It is music to my ears. She has finally acknowledged she is owned—my property—my wife.

“You’re damn straight you’re owned and tomorrow, your ass gets branded.”

Once again, the bastard in me looks her dead in the eye and taunts her, “You come when I say you come, girl. This time, I give her permission to climax.

I fuck her well into the night, telling her she is my property and that I will never let her go. It is not a threat, only a fact.

In time, she will delight in being owned.

She is now the wife of Mathis Novak, Carl Sims, or whoever I choose to be. She is my wife and my ownership of her will only get stronger and deeper in the days to come…

Epilogue:

We sit in front of the fireplace together and she surprises me when she says, “I have something for you, Novak.”

“What are you up to, my little thief?”

She reaches under the fuzzy, white robe that she wears and retrieves the diary. She knows that she is letting go of her insurance policy but the diary has served its purpose; it has brought us together—united us.

I know my wife is letting go of the last thing that stands between us. I take it from her hand and throw it into the fire. After all, some things are better left unsaid.