Page 38 of The Debt

“You’re almost there, little one,” he cooed as he continued. The flogger moved like an extension of his arm as each strike aimed to push her higher. Her breaths turned into soft moans as her eyes fluttered closed. He saw the exact moment she entered subspace. Her body went limp with her expression serene. It was a beautiful sight, one that filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction and peace.

He closed his eyes, and for the first time, he felt her… or rather the intensity of the emotions swirling through her. It left him with a feeling of sereneness… For the first time in years, a yearning to be loved overcame him. With determination, he withdrew from the depths of the connection. Love would never factor in their relationship. Hate… definitely, but never love.

Jarek slowed the flogger, pulling back as the strikes became lighter, softer, until they were barely more than a caress. He guided her back from subspace gently.

“That’s it, Venus. Come back to me now. Slowly, gently.”

He dropped the flogger and stepped closer. With gentle hands, he traced the reddened lines on her skin. He unfastened the cuffs and caught her limp form as she sagged against him. Wrapping her in a soft blanket, he carried her to the bed and cradled her against his chest. Her eyes fluttered open and were hazy, but her smile was tender and grateful.

“Welcome back, little one,” he whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. In that moment, it was just the two of them, Dominant and submissive, bound together by the depth of their emotions, trust, and surrender. The outside world, even his untethered need for vengeance, faded away, leaving only the peace and intimate connection of the moment.

“I felt you… it was as if your soul connected with mine, calming me, keeping me focused and safe. It was…” Her eyes turned misty as she searched for words. “It was epic.” Cupping his face, she kissed him with such depth of emotion, it threatened to break through the iron wall Jarek had erected around his heart. “Thank you, my love. This is a memory I will forever treasure.”

“As will I, love.” His expression turned grim. He would treasure it for different reasons, though. This moment marked the achievement of what he had set out to do. Tatiana Polov was ready.

And with the message Polov is about to receive, the shit is about to hit the fan… as the saying goes.

The thought brought a smile to his face. Picking up her clothes, he helped her dress. “Come, it’s time to go home.”

“So early? Aren’t we going to—”

“No, love. Tonight, there’ll be no sex. Tonight is about experiencing sensations and developing emotions on a level we’ll never reach by fucking each other. For the rest of the night, it’ll only be you, me, and the memory of what we experienced in this room together.”

Gregor Polov

Early morning at the luxurious estate of Gregor Polov, Berkeley Lake…

Gregor’s footsteps sounded ominous as each thunderous one reverberated off the steel-reinforced walls. His hands fisted as rage coursed through his body. The dank air of the underground bunker carried the metallic scent of blood and the musty smell of earth. The shelter was a relic from the Cold War paranoia that he had claimed as his own since it was conveniently located on the banks of the lake of his estate.

A growl rose in his throat as he stalked down the hallway. The bunker’s renovations had transformed it into a fortress of secrets, a place where screams would never reach the surface. Fresh steel support beams gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting, contrasting with the original concrete walls that wept with perpetual dampness.

“I’m going to kill the bastard,” he sneered. His usually composed features had transformed into a mask of barely contained fury. A muscle twitched violently in his jaw as he ground his teeth. His usually calculating and cold eyes now blazed with murderous intent. His nostrils flared with each breath, like a bull preparing to charge.

At the end of the corridor, Gregor paused. Withdrawing brass knuckles from his pocket, he slowly worked them over his fingers. Each scrape of the metal against his knuckles fed the anger inside him.

Standing in the doorway, Gregor stared at the man in a once-immaculate suit that now hung in tatters around his frame. Dark patches of blood stained the expensive fabric. A deep gash above his eye still oozed blood as testament to Skull’s efficient work.

“So... finally, I know who the real traitor is. My supposed best friend and confidant, Barto Petrov.” A twisted smile cracked across Gregor’s face at the sight of a man he had trusted with his life… until now.

“Gregor?” Barto lifted his head to squint at him. His vision was thwarted by the bright light shining directly above him. “What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

“You have the gall to even ask?” Gregor’s fist pulled back, then snapped forward to connect against Barto’s chin with such force, a sickening crack sounded through the room.

“Blyat’!” Barto moaned as blood flowed freely from his mouth. “If this is about me forming an alliance with the Dragovich, I already told you—”

“I know what you told me, Barto, but what you omitted to tell me is that through your coalition with The Cuban Corporates, the ties I had with the Martinez Cartel were automatically severed.”

“What are you…” Barto’s face turned as gray as the walls. “That’s nonsense. The Cuban Mafia rules the South Coast and the six families of the Martinez Mafia, the northwestern coast of Puerto Rico. They have no connection with each other.”

“You fucking idiot! The Martinez Mafia drives products into the U.S. via the South Coast. Since I was the one ensuring their routes were safeguarded under the guise of TAPs network, they could only achieve unchallenged shipments by having a lucrative contract with me.”

“I thought Tatiana kept TAP clean.” The confused look on Barto’s face only served to escalate Gregor’s anger.

“She does, but I have the means to utilize her network under the radar.”

“I still don’t understand what it has to do with the Cubans and me.”

“Your new best mate had the time of his life informing me last night that his uncle, in other words, his father’s brother-in-law, was none other than El Rico Martinez, the Don of the Martinez Mafia. Now that the Dragovich are controlling the South Coast shipping routes alongside you, I’ve been…cut loose!” He spat out the words. “His words. I lost not only the local South Coast groups but the entire alliance I had with the Puerto Rican underworld. All because of you!”

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