Page 32 of For a Price

I try to be optimistic and take his words as meaning this charade will end soon.

Once the engagement is over, I can at least return to the bedroom where I’m kept and take off this collar. I can speak my mind again and move about freely.

As the night wears on, more men approach Roman to discuss business and other related topics. Always in Russian with small scraps of English thrown in here and there. I stick by his side as ordered, though it’s difficult to pretend I’m oblivious to all the stares.

Uncle Leonid is no longer the only one watching me.

Other men in the room are as well. Everything from curiosity to open lust lives on their faces. Some are wondering why I’m one of a handful of women who weren’t ‘collected’ while the rest seem not to care; they just see a woman in a slinky satin dress and leather collar and think with their dicks.

But I do take comfort in Roman being by my side. In the knowledge that he’s so hulking and formidable no man in the room woulddaretry anything.

Even Uncle Leonid hasn’t dared come anywhere near me. He merely continues to watch from halfway across the room.

I cut my eyes away and pretend I’m listening to Roman’s conversation with another man named Armen.

“Roman, the sovietnik would like to speak,” says a third man coming up to interrupt them. He’s slimmer than most of the others, almost weak in aura compared to their hypermasculinity.

“I will speak to him later, Pavel.”

“He says now. Alone.”

Pavel’s ghostly blue eyes drift to me, his words hanging in the air between us.

Roman scowls. “A quick word. Kat, stay here. Do not move. I will be back.”

My mouth opens to protest, but then I remember my orders for the night. I’m not to speak, certainly not to question Roman in front of others.

I give a stiff, obedient nod, my pulse beating faster.

Roman lets go of my wrist and starts across the room where the sovietnik sits perched in a large leather chair reminiscent of a throne. He watches his son approach with interest, his gaze critical.

Pavel walks away without acknowledging my presence.

I might as well be for decoration. I basically am.

Urging myself to calm down and breathe, I remain exactly where I am, counting the seconds Roman is gone.

It only takes a minute for things to change.

Uncle Leonid sidles up to me from the left, reeking of liquor and cigar smoke. Across the room, Roman is engaged in conversation with the sovietnik, so distracted he doesn’t even look up.

My breath stalls as I silently beg for him to.

“Zdravstvuy, shlyukha. Ya obeshchal, chto vernus. Ya khochu imet tebya?*.”

He hooks his arm with mine and pivots on his heel.

“No,” I say, pulling back. “Please don’t.”

“Come. Now.”

Several onlookers notice, staring in interest as he yanks me toward the door. The same cold panic that had dripped over me earlier returns in spades. I don’t know whether to scream and make a scene or follow the orders I’ve been given, which are to remain silent and obedient.

Do I dare disturb everyone in the room? Do I dare interrupt Roman and the sovietnik? The same man who I was supposed to kidnap just a few days ago?

What if drawing attention to myself would lead him to finding out who I really am?

All of these thoughts and more are on my mind as Leonid drags me into the hall and then through another door.

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