Two-2
2217 Words
I rub over the postcard in my pocket. It’s ridiculous that such a thing can provide me comfort, but дорогая has that effect on me. She always has.
Sighing, I jump into my SUV and bid farewell to Pavel. I am so done with this day, week, month, year. I plan on going home and attempting to sleep. There are no pit stops close by, so I turn up the radio and roll down the window, hoping the loud music and fresh air will keep me awake.
I stick to the backroads even though I’m the only i***t on the road at this time of the night. I don’t mind the quiet because it gives me time to think. I need a new game plan. I thought I was one step closer to getting back my life.
Well, at least a semi balance between then and now.
I did learn a lesson from my life before. I will never exploit another human the way I did Zoey, Willow, and the hundreds of other women in my past. I thought controlling another person would somehow give me more power—that it would help me regain what I lost in my youth, and that it would fill this void in my life—but it never did.
Each woman I broke, just broke whatever shred of humanity I clung to.
So yes, I want my old life back, but there are some aspects I’m glad burned to the ground. This life isn’t for everyone, but it’s the only life I know. I feel most comfortable here; it’s where I feel alive.
Static crackles over the radio, hinting I’m in a remote part of the countryside. Briefly peering down to change the station, I take my eyes off the road for a moment, but it’s a second too long.
When I return my attention back to the gravel road, I see that I’m no longer the only one out here because standing yards away is a woman in white. Instantly, I swerve to avoid hitting her and slam on the brakes so I don’t crash into the tree in front of me.
Jarring forward, I catch my breath before turning over my shoulder to ensure I actually saw what I did.
I did.
The woman is indeed frozen to the same spot, untroubled I almost ran her over. Something is very wrong with this entire situation. I need to put the SUV into reverse and forget I saw this stranger. This isn’t my problem. I have enough of my own.
But when she continues to stand there motionless, I groan. This newfound conscience has caused me nothing but trouble, and I’m sure this time is no different. Nonetheless, I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door.
Her back is to me, but I can see she is in a white slip dress. It appears she just got out of bed. But her dirty feet and legs contradict this. I walk toward her cautiously, unsure what I’m about to see. She is awfully thin, and on closer inspection, I see that her filthy dress is torn.
“девушка, ты в порядке?” I ask if she’s okay in Russian as I’m presuming she’s from around here. However, she doesn’t reply.
Her long golden brown hair hangs around her downturned face, and even though it’s quite mild, she is shivering. I decide to address her in English. “Miss, can you hear me? What happened?”
I can’t help but compare her to a scared animal, cowering and trembling on the spot. Something awful has happened to her. I recognize this look. Aren’t I responsible for inflicting the same pain on many?
“May I help you?” I ask, not wanting to startle her any further. But she continues standing there immobile. I stop when I’m a few feet away.
We’re in the middle of nowhere, and I haven’t passed a house for miles. Where did she come from? And why is she out here in nothing but her sleepwear?
“Can I call someone?” The more questions I ask, the harder her gaunt frame trembles. I don’t know what to do.
“My name is Aleksei Popov. I won’t hurt you. Will you let me help you?” I don’t know what she needs, but I at least have to offer.
I understand she’s hurt and scared, but her silence isn’t helping, so I decide to gently reach out and assure her that I’m no threat. As I step forward, the rustle of leaves beneath my shoes indicates my intentions, and the woman spins around swiftly.
I sigh in relief, but that is short-lived when I see what she has clenched in her right hand.
My headlights catch the glimmer of silver from the large butcher knife she holds. I slowly raise my hands in surrender, eyeing her and the blade cautiously.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure her once again. But it doesn’t make a difference.
Her frightened blue eyes dart between me and the clearing in the trees. She wants to make a run for it, and if I was wise, I would let her go, but I know if she runs, I will chase her. She reminds me of a time when the hunt excited me.
But I’m not that person anymore. I remind myself of the pep talk some two minutes ago.
If that’s true, however, then why is my heart galloping wildly within my chest?
The front of her slip is torn, which has the left side of the material hanging quite low. It allows me to see her chest rising and falling rapidly. A silver locket hangs from her neck. Her pale skin is covered in mud. Her snarled hair has twigs and leaves tangled in the strands. It’s hard to tell, but I’d guess she’s in her mid-twenties.
Her disheveled state points to the fact she’s someone’s captive, but she’s gotten away. And when she shakily raises the knife at me, it’s clear she intends to continue on her way.
She opens her mouth, but a winded wheeze is in place of where her words should be. She licks her cracked lips twice before she finally speaks. “Give me your k-keys.”
I stare at her, stunned that someone so frightened can sound so fierce. I wasn’t expecting that. The excitement inside me continues to build because that fierceness, those blue eyes, and that American accent remind me of someone else who, ironically, was in the same position as this mystery woman.
“I said give me your keys!” she shouts, waving the knife my way, interrupting my trip down memory lane.
“They’re in the SUV,” I reply calmly, gesturing over my shoulder. “You want them, go get them.”
A tiny whimper escapes her, betraying her bravado. She clearly wasn’t expecting that response as she isn’t the one currently being held at knifepoint. But I will not cower. I was only trying to help her, and this is how she thanks me. I should force her onto her knees for her insolence.
Shaking such thoughts aside, I focus on the situation at hand because that scratch, that darkness begins to rear its evil head, and I want to punish it with pain. I’m past this. But when the woman trembles, I realize that no, I’m not.
I’m still the messed-up asshole who loves to push the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
Run, little rabbit…I silently dare her, wanting nothing more than the chase.
The air turns thick, and the hunter becomes prey.
She looks over my shoulder, and I can see it in her eyes—it’s time to run. The dirt kicks up as her feet dig into the ground, and she takes off into a sprint. Inhaling deeply, I give her a three second head start before chasing after her.
Each step I take breathes new life into me, and I am charged in ways I thought were dead. Doing bad, vile things makes me feel alive. I see that now. I really am a f****d-up bastard. But I can deal with this self-discovery later because no way is this woman taking off with my vehicle.
Yes, I do want to help her because I won’t leave her here. But I can’t resist eliciting some fear when I do.
She is fast, and I can see her shoulders sag in relief when she opens the driver’s door. But that’s as far as she gets. I come up behind her, slamming her body against the SUV. She fights me like a wild cat, thrashing and screaming madly.
“Calm down,” I order, wrapping my arms around her. Her arms are locked by her sides, but that doesn’t stop her from attempting to break free.
“Let me go!” she bellows, struggling against me. I only tighten my hold, causing the knife to drop to the ground.
“I will once you tell me who did this to you. I’m only trying to help you.”
“Screw you! I don’t need your help. I got away from him. And I will get away from you.”
“Him? Who?” I ask, leaning back when she tries to break my nose with the back of her head. “Stop fighting.”
This only encourages her to fight harder.
“Tell me who you got away from,” I order, focusing on what’s important.
“Why would I tell you anything? I know who you are. You look exactly like him,” she spits.
Her confession leaves me all the more intrigued. “How do you know me?”
“Let me go!” She continues to thrash about, and I’ll give her credit, she’s putting up a good fight. But I’m growing weary of her defiance.
“You can come willingly or not. It’s up to you,” I offer, picking her up and carrying her toward the passenger door. I must find out how she knows me.
She kicks her feet, screaming, and the sick bastard inside me hopes she only screams louder. In my excitement, I underestimate her, and she wiggles loose. The moment she’s free, she takes off into the woods.
“блять!” I curse, following in hot pursuit.
She hasn’t gotten far, but she is fast and ducks and weaves, throwing me off track. The full moon goes into hiding, forcing me to use my sharpened predatory senses. They’ve laid dormant for so long, but it troubles me how easily it is to step back into these well-loved shoes.
Her labored breaths fuel mine, and when she stumbles over a fallen tree, I jump forward and tackle her to the ground. She thrashes wildly, clawing at my face and my shoulders, but I pin her down with my body, prohibiting her from moving. Her subtle body beneath mine does things it shouldn’t.
“Stop fighting! How do you know me?” I demand, inches from her face.
She rears up and attempts to bite me, but I jerk back with a snarl. “Try that again. I dare you, малышка.”
My threat has the desired effect as she stops writhing. However, what she does next changes the course of everything. “You don’t scare me. I’ve met men like you before. But you, Serg, and the thousands of other men out there are nothing but cowards!”
“What did you say?”
When she squirms, my patience has run out, so I cup her chin, forcing her head backward. She is f*****g terrified, and I’m scaring her. But I can’t stop. Her fear feeds me, and I want more.
“Serg who?” I snarl, locking our eyes to ensure she knows I’m done playing.
I don’t know what it is, but she must be able to read the sudden seriousness to my question because the fight in her dies. Her heaving chest is pressed to mine as she exclaims, “Serg.” She wheezes. “The f*****g king of this town! Serg Ivanov! But I showed him. I showed him,” she repeats, but all I can hear on repeat is my half-brother’s name.
I thought Serg and Zoya were tipped off, but it seems I was wrong. This woman is the reason my family fled into the dead of night, terrified and I need to know why. She has suddenly become more valuable than I ever imagined.
And she realizes it too.
“No,” she begs, peering up at me, petrified. “I made a mistake. I-I don’t know you.”
But it’s too late.
However, her admission has me faltering for a mere second, which is all she needs. Somehow, she maneuvers her small body and draws her knee upward. I instantly see stars.
A winded breath leaves me as I try to breathe past the pain of being kneed in the groin. She takes this opportunity to shove me off her and jump up. She takes off into a dead sprint—again.
Even though my body protests in utter pain, I come to an unsteady stand and begin to stumble after her. She has a head start, and I’m injured, but I persevere. She cannot get away.
She turns over her shoulder, terrified when she sees me following. Her inattention is now her error because before I have a chance to warn her, she slams straight into a tree, knocking herself unconscious.
Hobbling toward her twisted body lying in a heap on the ground, I sigh, ashamed of my brutal ways. Maybe I’m not a heartless bastard after all? But when I formulate what I have planned for her, I realize that no, I’m not—I’m worse.
“I’m sorry.”
Dropping to a squat, I lift her into my arms. I brush the hair from her sweaty cheeks, not proud of my actions. Once this is over with, I’ll go to church and ask for absolution, but there aren’t enough Hail Marys to save my soul.
- Writer
