Page 27 of For a Price

* Tvoye telo menya vozbuzhdayet. Ya ne mogu dozhdat’sya, chtoby okazat’sya vnutri tebya -your body excites me. I can’t wait to be inside you.

* Privet -hello

* Ya nashel, gde on tebya derzhal. On dolzhen podelit’sya -I found where he kept you. He has to share.

CHAPTER 11

Katerina

“Who are you!?”I choke out. My fingers twine into the terrycloth fabric of the towel, holding it like a shield against my body.

It practically is considering there’s nothing between me and this strange manbutthis towel.

The man’s beady eyes darken, his lips curling. “Ne govori. Prosto bud’ khoroshim. Vot dlya chego ty nuzhen?*.”

“I don’t speak Russian.”

“Ya skazal, ne razgovarivay. Idite syuda?*.” He takes several steps in my direction.

I take several more back. “Who are you?! Stay away!”

“Ty ne podchinyayesh’sya, devochka? Ya pridu k tebe?*.”

A scream sticks in my throat as the man closes in on me and grabs me by the arm. I jerk against him with little success, still forced to use my hand to hold up my towel.

“Stop!” I yell. “I’ll scream!”

He bares his teeth. The gold cap on his front incisor gleams in the light of the room. His breath is hot and putrid air that reeks of cigarettes, liquor, and lack of oral hygiene. I gag and twist and jerk to free myself.

“Do not struggle,” he says in English almost masked by his accent. “You struggle, I snap your neck. You scream, I kill you.”

“Then let go of?—”

His sweaty palm covers my mouth, effectively silencing me. The fingers of his other hand dig into my skin. He pushes me back until my body’s colliding against the wall and I’m trapped in his hold. For being middle aged with a potbelly, there’s no mistaking he’s still strong.

Brutish.

As he pins me in place and covers my mouth, he peers into my face, practically licking his chops. I realize there’s nothing I can do except continue pissing him off by fighting against him or biding my time and waiting for Roman’s return.

He has to be returning…right?

He said he’d be gone to get my clothes. How long does that possibly take?

Every second feels like torture as this strange, smelly man leers at me and makes me feel like some trapped insect at his mercy.

“You are whore,” he says bluntly. “That is why you come here. I will have you. But not right now. Later.”

I mumble against his hand. Each word muffled. “Roman will be back.”

He hacks out a laugh, a droplet of spittle flecking onto my cheek. “Roman is my nephew. You tell him about me, eh? You go to him?”

“Please,” I murmur, once again censored by his hand.

“You go to him,” he snarls. “I kill you.”

He removes the hand clamped over my mouth to reach down below and grope my pussy through the towel. I scream on principle alone, clenching up as if I’ve been struck.

It’s so much worse.

---