Page 6 of Kristoff

The brightness of the room dims as the bulb in my cage is the only one left on, and the thunderous sound of the door being shut echoes again.

He’s gone.

My chest heaves and tears I didn’t think could still be inside me flow easily.

3

Andreisits at the dining table with his fork and knife hovering over the pile of sausage on his plate. He’s chewing when he notices me enter the room.

“You saw her?” he asks and stuffs another piece of sausage into his mouth.

I wave away the plate being offered to me and wait until the serving woman has left the room before I speak to my father.

“Yes.”

“And?” he pushes.

“And I punished her. She tried to escape.” I take several swallows of the beer set at my seat. Tricia, my father’s personal servant girl, serves him his dinner most nights. She knows what beer I drink, and always makes sure it’s at my seat. And I drink it with much appreciation tonight.

Andrei huffs a laugh. “Stubborn bitch.” He shakes his head.

“She’s just scared.” I defend her and take another long pull of my beer. I feel him scrutinizing me but ignore it. My father has his own ways and I have mine. Mine work - his don’t.

“She should be scared,” he continues. “We need to find out what she knows, how much of our operation does she know about.”

“She’s just a journalist, Andrei.” I lean back in my chair. I’ve already had her full history dug into. I don’t go into anything without as much knowledge as I can get, and training the American girl is no different.

“What have you learned about her?”

“She works freelance, she didn’t lie about that. She’s not connected to any newspapers or networks. Mostly she writes fluff shit. Celebrity stuff. But she’s been researching trafficking for a while. Her laptop is full of information - nothing specifically tying any individuals to anything.” I already had the shitty apartment she was living in cleared out. All her things were brought to me.

“She has nothing?”

“Nothing.” I nod in confirmation. At least nothing tangible. She knew where my father’s main holdings were. Whatever she really knows is locked up in that pretty head of hers, but I’m keeping that bit of intel to myself for the time being.

Andrei will want her questioned by his men if he finds out what I suspect. And I won’t allow that. Not yet.

“Then, we’ll move forward with my plan.” He goes back to eating, and I wonder briefly if he had anything else to eat besides the fatty sausage on his plate. “I want her ready in one week.”

“Of course.” I nod. Though, I have my doubts about this woman. She has all the right reactions of a captive. Fear filled her eyes when she saw me enter the holding room. I saw the shiver go through her when I touched her. She knew enough to be scared, but she didn’t let the fear overrule her need to get free.

If I hadn’t been annoyed by her not coming back into the cage when I called her, I would have been proud of her attempt to flee the room. Stupid attempt as it was, at least she tried. The women who cower so easily before me, they disappoint me - and I know they have a harder time once they are sold.

“Why don’t you eat?” he asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Not hungry.” For food anyway. My cock is still rock hard after delivering the punishment to Magdalena. It wasn’t her tears, though they were fucking beautiful, or her sobs - more like music to me than cries - but her body’s response. How soft she went when I finished belting her. She didn’t enjoy her punishment - I made sure of that, but her body still reacted. Her pussy had been hot and wet when I touched her, her nipples had been erect, and when I yanked her back against me, she melted into me. My cock won’t ignore true submission.

“What of her sister, Danuta?” I ask, needing a diversion from the thoughts of the red stripes covering Magdalena’s ass.

“I have that handled. You get this one under control.” He points his knife at me.

“That won’t be a problem,” I assure him. It’s never been an issue before, and it won’t now. No matter how beautiful she is - she cemented her fate when she put her focus on the Dowidoff business.

“I have a shipment moving tomorrow, I’m heading to London to oversee it.” He turns to the door leading to the kitchen. “Tricia, more beer!” he yells.

Tricia, a short, blond-haired woman - no more than twenty - runs in wearing her usual black corset and lace panties my father forces her to wear when serving meals.

She hands him his beer and bows her head, waiting to be released. He trained Tricia himself, to suit his own needs. I know my father, and the look he gives her tells me he’s about to demand a service I don't need to witness.

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