Billie and the Russian Beast - 50 Loving States, South Carolina - Quarantales

No, he’s no angel. In fact, he looks like the devil himself.

“Hi,” I say with a little wave. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, you misunderstand somehow meaning of ‘no leaving.’” He sneers at me. “Just one lunch. Vlad walked away from his post for fifteen minutes to grab sandwich. Only fifteen minutes. But you managed to sneak out.”

“I didn’t sneak out; I went downstairs to call my friend.”

Cheslav’s eyes narrow. “This friend of yours. What is his name?”

I start to answer that my friend was a girl, not a guy. But then I close my mouth. First of all, why is he acting so possessive? He only has rights to my body over the next five days, not my heart. He has no moral or technical ground to stand on when it comes to whether I speak to other guys or not. Second of all, I don’t want Cynda anywhere near this thing.

“None of your business,” I answer.

“None of my business,” he repeats. His voice is completely level, but it feels like something inside of him is ticking.

Suddenly he reaches down and sweeps the chessboard off the table in one explosive movement.

Pieces go flying, red pawns and black kings alike.

What the hell is up with this guy? Why is he so mad? I consider running, or at the very least, cowering in the wake of his anger.

But I’m strong, I remind myself. I’ve been strong since my mother died. And damn if I’m going to let this huge Russian hockey player take that away from me.

I stand my ground, glaring back at him just as hard as he’s glaring at me.

And he lets out several harsh breaths before asking, “Who was it? Who was so important that you had to break my rules to talk to him?”

“I didn’t break any rules,” I insist. “I only went outside because there’s no reception up here. And it wasn’t even that far—”

“Three hundred thousand. Do you think that little money?”

I cut my eyes to the side. “Obviously not. Or I wouldn’t be here, going against everything in my character to whore myself out to you.”

His expression ices over. “Did you not understand what I said before? You are my pet. Whores are paid by the hour. Pets are kept. Owned. And they must be punished when they don’t obey the rules.”

My throat dries, and my defiant stance falters when he says punish.

“You’re going to hurt me?” I ball my fist at my side, knowing that would be a bridge too far.

“No, krasotka. As I told you before, I would never hurt you,” he answers, dipping his head. But then his face hardens. “However, I will train you.”

I don’t want to ask. But I have to. “How?”

He looks at me for the longest time. “You broke not one, but two of my rules—no, krasotka. No shaking head.”

I don’t realize I’m denying his version of the story with an emphatic shake of my head until he tells me to stop doing it.

“I woke up alone because you had left to make your call. That is one rule you break. The other is my command to strip. You put clothes back on. Maybe this is because you do not understand…”

He walks over to me, devouring the space between us with just a few strides. “I tell you to do something, it stays done. No reversing that order just because you want to make call.”

“That’s so unfair,” I say, my voice shaking. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do,” he answers, his own voice low and dark. “And as for unfair….”

He fingers the straps of my pajama top. “I like you, beauty pageant accountant. Since first time I lay eyes on you. More than is reasonable. This fire you stir within me. I do not think that is fair. But do I whine about it and sneak off to call another girl—easier girl than you who will obey my commands to the letter? No, I do not. So do not speak to me of fair. This thing between us cannot be fair.”

It’s work to keep myself still as he says this to me. Work not to show fear or shrink away from his touch, which somehow feels like a caress and a threat at the same time.

I don’t understand why he’s saying all of this to me or why he’s acting so obsessed. We only met this morning.

But I want future knowledge more than I need to understand why he’s acting like a possessive gorilla. My accountant mind craves numbers that I can add so that I can predict what comes next. So I ask him straight out, “What are you planning to do to me?”

His green eyes flash, and he regards me for a long moment before answering, “You put your clothes back on without permission, so now you will have to keep them on.”