I clench my jaw. “Ona krasivaya dlya menya?*.”
“Ah, now who’s speaking Russian? Is my nephew in love? Does this mean she’s not a whore?”
“You mock me again, Uncle, and Iwillgive you a concussion. You will be lying here on the floor. Bleeding out.” I point at the Kazak wool rug at our feet, authentically imported from Russia for several thousand. He glances down at the spot I’ve pointed out andgulps.
Suddenly, he is less mocking. His tone lightens.
“But she is… how do Americans say…” He pauses in search of the words. “Scruffy… like stray dog.”
“She is a stray,” I admit. “I like strays. I was once a stray.”
Uncle Leonid tosses both hands up as if he doesn’t understand. It’s beyond his comprehension.
I don’t give a fuck that it is.
Katerina has been brought to our base for one reason only.
To be my pet. No one else’s.
Whereas most women in our world try very hard to be perfect, their makeup done at all times and their pussies wax-stripped bare, my little kitty cat is different. She is like a stray brought in from the street, with her fingernail polish chipped and the roots of her lavender curls growing in dark. She wears a hoodie and jeans that hug her plump fat ass and walks in dirty tennis shoes that seem to be falling apart.
In a way, my little kitty cat reminds me of myself many years ago.
Before I was brought in from the harsh wilderness and taught how to be civilized (or how to put on the act of being so).
I leave Uncle Leonid to the rest of the bottle of vodka.
It is time to check on my new pet.
Katerina is curled up like the kitten she’s named after. I shut the door to the room and approach the bed she’s been placed on. We used chloroform when transporting her from the streets to our turf. It prevented any tantrums from being thrown and allowed us to move her where we wanted her.
The men who helped me are inconsequential. Boyeviks at my command and disposal.
But I intend on withholding her presence from any other high-ranking members in the family. As sovietnik, if my father found out one of the people who sought to kidnap him was in our possession, he would call for revenge.
He would demand swift torture and death. Katerina would meet an even worse fate than what Uncle Leonid had suggested.
He won’t be finding out about who she is or why she is here. He won’t even know she’s here at all.
“Kitty cat.” I whistle at the side of the bed. “Time to wake up.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. A little moan escapes her throat. Delicate skin that I imagine grazing my teeth against. Sinking my teeth in for a rough bite.
That will come. Soon.
She will learn to take it. She will learn to enjoy it.
“You,” she gasps when she looks up at me. “What’re you—where am I—how did you?—?”
“Shhh, devochka. Behave yourself. I have brought you home,” I explain. “Obey or you will suffer. Get up.”
She moves to push the blanket she’s covered with off her, then gasps even louder and wrenches it back up.
“Why am I naked? Why the fuck am I naked!?”
“I had my servant take your clothes. They were filthy and worn out. They belonged in the garbage.”
“Servant? You threw away my clothes!?”