Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“With Kristoff’s assistance,” Takken replied smoothly, nodding toward the dead-eyed mercenary, “I’m confident the situation will remain under control. We’ve already identified the potential troublemakers.”
“Good to hear.” Horakovsky’s attention shifted as Kristoff moved from his position by the door. The mercenary crossed to where Katya and Mila stood, and without any preamble, his hand settled on Mila’s breast, squeezing roughly through the fabric of her dress.
“Please, no—” Mila started, her carefully maintained composure cracking.
“Girl.” Horakovsky’s voice cut through the room like a whip crack. “You are not permitted to talk back to my associates.”
Mila’s face went white, her mouth snapping shut. But I could see the trembling in her hands, the way her breath came in short, panicked bursts.
“Kristoff,” Horakovsky said conversationally, as if discussing the weather, “put her over the back of that chair. Pull her skirt up and take down her panties.”
My blood turned to ice. Surely this was some kind of sick joke. But Kristoff was already moving, grabbing Mila’s arm and bending her over the leather chair nearest to the wall. Her hands gripped the seat cushion as he flipped the skirt of her designer dress up over her back, revealing black lace panties that he yanked down to her knees with brutal efficiency.
“We’re leaving,” Takken said sharply, standing and grabbing my arm. For once, I was grateful for his intervention.
“On the contrary,” Horakovsky said, rising to his feet himself, his hand moving to his belt buckle. “You really should stay. It’s important that our partners understand exactly what kind of people they’re doing business with.”
The metal buckle clinked as he pulled the belt free from his loops. The leather was thick, expensive, the kind that would leave marks. My stomach churned as I watched him fold it in half, testing its weight with a casual swing through the air.
“This is unnecessary—” Takken started.
“Is it?” Horakovsky’s scarred face turned toward my husband. “You’re about to hand over control of your nation’s energy infrastructure. You should know who you’re dealing with. Men who maintain discipline. Men who ensure obedience.”
Horakovsky’s footsteps were slow and deliberate as he crossed the room, each heavy tread making my heart pound harder. Kristoff had both of Mila’s wrists pinned against the small of her back with one massive hand while the other pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her bent at that humiliating angle. She struggled briefly, her body twisting against his grip.
“Mila,” Horakovsky said, his voice deceptively soft. “Do you remember what I promised would happen to fuck toys who resist?”
The girl went completely still, as if his words had turned her to stone. A whimper escaped her throat, but she didn’t move again.
“Good girl.” Horakovsky positioned himself beside her, running the folded belt through his free hand. “You know, Prime Minister, I’ve had some trouble with this one recently. Just last week, I had to plug her tight little ass with a punishment dildo. Eight hours she wore it, learning what happens when a girl forgets her place.”
The casual cruelty of his words sent a wave of nausea through me, but worse—so much worse—was the pulse of heat that followed it. My thighs clenched involuntarily as my traitorous body responded to the image his words painted. The memory of my own finger circling that forbidden place last night burned through me, and I felt my face flush with shame.
“We’re leaving. Now.” Takken’s grip on my arm tightened painfully as he pulled me toward the door.
“Suit yourself,” Horakovsky said, not even looking at us. “Though I think your lovely wife might benefit from some old-fashioned discipline. These modern women, they forget their natural place without proper guidance. Isn’t that right, Fru Norquist?”
His eyes found mine over his shoulder, and I saw in them a terrible knowledge, as if he could see straight through to the shameful dampness gathering between my legs. Takken yanked me through the doorway just as Horakovsky raised the belt.
The sharp crack of leather on bare flesh echoed into the hallway, followed immediately by Mila’s scream—raw and desperate. The sound seemed to follow us as Takken dragged me away, my heels clicking frantically on the marble floor as I struggled to keep pace with his angry stride.
“Fucking Russian savage,” Takken muttered, though I noticed he kept his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry back to the conference room. Even in his anger, he wouldn’t risk offending Horakovsky. Not with billions of kroner at stake.
My legs felt weak, trembling with a combination of fear and the helpless arousal that the silver raven had confronted me with last night. Behind us, I could hear another crack, another cry. Part of me—the part that had writhed on my bedroom floor last night—wanted desperately to look back, to see what was happening in that room.
CHAPTER 4
Aksel
I watched the feed from the Synergy Group reception with as much detachment as I could muster, my fingers steepled beneath my chin as I studied Lorna Norquist’s—my new bed thrall’s—reactions. The surveillance equipment we’d managed to install in the conference room provided crystal-clear imagery—and with the new biometric algorithms the Pretorian Guard had sent us, I could assess every micro-expression and every involuntary shudder on Lorna’s lovely face. The secrets beneath her carefully maintained facade lay revealed in the numbers aggregated in the chyron of my screen.