Brain (13 page)

And then I looked at the pictures of the men who’d hurt Ice, branding them into my memory.

After a long plane ride halfway around the world, during which she’d been repeatedly raped, they’d taken her to one of their strongholds. The first few days hadn’t been bad in comparison to what came later. They’d strapped her to a table in their lunch room area, her arms over her head, her legs spread and tied with a rope running under the table. They’d left her like this for days, and every man in the organization had used her in every hole possible. When they realized this wasn’t going to break her, they’d started on actual torture.

Ice was convinced their main torturer, Grigoriy Ivankov, had been out of town when she’d first been brought in, and this was why she had it so easy those first days.

He walked in, fucked her ass, asked her a dozen questions, and then ordered her taken downstairs.

The act of moving her was excruciating, as she’d been bound to the table for so long, but now she wasn’t bound at all. Grigoriy beat her with a rubber truncheon, all over her body, and when she was lying in a puddle of her own sweat and blood, a swollen, bloody mass of pain, he used pliers to remove the nails from both pinky fingers, and both of her smallest toes. He told her he’d be back in five hours to ask the questions again.

Unfortunately, Ice didn’t have the answers they were looking for. She only knew what her contact had looked like, the lack of discernible accent, how much money they’d given her, the account it’d come from, and the email address she’d used to contact them.

Over the next ten days, she was beaten twice a day, morning and night. The first five days, four nails were removed at the end of each evening session.

Ivankov seemed to get particularly turned on when he ripped her nails off, and usually tied her into the position he’d want to rape her, before he wrenched them away from her nailbed. Once, he buried his cock deep inside her ass and then tore them off, groaning in bliss as she screamed and writhed in pain.

One day, they beat the bridge of her nose with a rubber mallet, several days, they beat the bottom of her feet with a brass rod. Another day, they beat the outside of her feet, just below her baby toes, with the rubber mallet.

And nearly every day, Grigoriy Ivankov would play with her hair as he talked to her, twisting a strand around his finger. Sometimes, he’d let it relax around his finger and slip off. Other times, he’d yank the hair out by the roots.

The nights were also hell. Sometimes she’d be tied so she had to sit on a stool leg all night, meaning she had to keep her weight on her thighs to keep the stool from poking too far into her rectum, or too far up her pussy — depending on how they sat her on it.

Other nights, she was placed near an open window when it was bitterly cold, and the guards would throw ice cold water on her every couple of hours.

One day, he took her back upstairs to the table, strapped her as she’d been bound those first days, and used a scalpel to remove her clit hood before allowing all of the men to use her as they pleased until it was time for her evening torture session. He’d used what she was pretty sure was styptic powder to stop the bleeding, and she’d written it had burned worse than the fires of hell. The men had taken great joy in messing with her clit directly while they used her, reveling in her agony as she pleaded with them for respite, as any touch at all was too much sensation, and excruciatingly painful. Ivankov had raped her six times that day — once before he stopped the bleeding, and he’d used her blood as lube when he fucked her ass. Then, her screams from the burning of the styptic powder had turned him on so much, once he’d hosed her down to get rid of the blood, he’d raped her again before telling the men she’d be available the rest of the day.

They hadn’t carried her back to her cell until late in the evening, when it was time for her next beating, and Ivankov had flogged and then belted her pussy and exposed clit while two men held her down, and two other men held her legs apart. Her screams had turned them on, and they’d argued over who was going to get her first. In the end, they’d gone three at a time, using all of her holes at once until their lusts were all satisfied.

Between the sleep deprivation, being kept on the edge of starvation, the beatings, and the continued sexual assaults, she’d been well into both visual and auditory hallucinations, so far gone she’d have told them whatever they wanted to know, if she’d only had the information.

She was so far gone, her guards became sloppy. The night guard fucked her before tossing the ice water on her, and he didn’t lock her restraints back right. She was ready when someone else came to fuck her, and she took him down, got his gun, and bashed him over the head with it to knock him out. She tied him up, got his keys and knife, and made her way out of the facility a few hours before daylight. She had to kill three people on the way out, using the knife mostly, and the gun as a bludgeon instead of shooting it and drawing attention. She undressed one of the smaller dead men, put his clothes on, used his key fob to figure out which car belonged to him, and drove herself away from her hellish prison.

She was in a strange city in the Ukraine, just on the border with Russia. No money, no clothes, and she was starving and weak. She used the dead man’s credit card to buy clothes and groceries, and she stole another car and drove across the Ukraine, filling the tank with gas on the dead man’s card before discarding it and everything else that could tie her to him.

Since there were huge hunks of hair missing from her scalp, she shaved one side of her head a few inches over her ear, and then let the rest of her hair fall to the other side, to hide the bare spots. My wolf growled as I read the part about her having to use heavy makeup to cover the red spots where larger chunks of hair had been ripped out.

She drove to the coast, pickpocketing and robbing people when she had the chance, so she could buy gas, clothes, shoes, and toiletries. A few hours in an internet café on a rented computer, and she had tickets and ID overnighted to her, along with a credit card for the identity, and some cash.

The next day she boarded a cruise ship in Odessa, headed to Barcelona, Spain, where she rented a car and drove for half a day to one of her many storage lockers, this one outside Madrid. She’d once told me she has emergency stashes all over the U.S., and enough in Europe so she’s never more than a long day’s drive from one.

Ice had written everything factually, with no emotions, but my heart broke for her as I read it.

And my wolf wanted to go find the men responsible and tear them to pieces.

I proxied through a few servers before researching Grigoriy Ivankov, and my heart went cold as I read of the things he was known for. This man had hurt her bad — worse than her icy, emotionless retelling of the events could possibly convey.

I was still researching the men who’d hurt her when Ice came into the living room and asked, “You’ve been up all night?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Enough to read through it twice, and research the people responsible for the worst of it.”

“You stayed hidden?” No panic, just plans for how quickly she could get out of Atlanta if I’d been careless.

“Of course. As far as they know, I was in a Russian coffee shop, proxying through a Caribbean corporation.” I took a breath, stood and walked to her, and brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re the strongest person I know, and the smartest.” I gave her a mischievous grin and added, “Well, except for me on the smarter part, of course.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away from me to walk towards the kitchen area. “In your dreams are you smarter than me.”

“I understand why you aren’t willing to travel to the Ukraine and Russia for revenge. It looks like Ivankov’s son was going to University in the States when it came out he was turning evidence to the DOJ on his father’s friends, and he disappeared.”

She turned and looked at me, her expression granite. “He has three sons and a daughter. His oldest son was put through similar tortures as I went through, minus the sexual assaults, from the American version of Ivankov. His son never gave up his supposed DOJ contacts, and I understand he didn’t survive the torture.”

“He didn’t give them up because they didn’t exist, did they?”

“No, but he wasn’t an innocent. I chose him instead of his siblings because I had proof he was already in the family business. When I’d received word he was dead, I let Ivankov know I was responsible, and told him if I heard he or his organization was ever after me again, I’d put a bullet in the head of his other children, one by one.”

“Would you?”

She shrugged. “His daughter is married to one of the head guys of the Georgian Mafia. I’d have no regrets fucking up both her and her husband’s life.”

She held my gaze through a dozen breaths, and I smelled anxiety, but no fear. I’d known she was hard, known she’d do whatever it took to survive. She didn’t carry a gun, but I’d paid attention to the taser, and I’d found the hidden button and had a feeling it would push enough juice into a body to kill, not just stun.

“Okay, Buttercup. You ever decide to go after them, I hope you’ll let me help, or at least have your back.”

She shook her head, not agreeing, though she didn’t deny me out loud. “I have a few hours to chill out. You’re probably going to want to go to sleep, soon.”

“What time are you meeting Harmony?”

“She’ll let me know when the movers are gone, and I’ll go to the house tonight.”

“So we have the day together?”

“Yeah, but you were up all night.”

“Won’t be the first time I’ve gone without sleep. I’ll be fine.” I sighed, sat down, put some distance between us to try to put her at ease. “You’re smart, I’m smart — surely we can figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“I get why you need to be in control, and I’d never want to do anything to trigger bad memories, but I’m not wired to be the fuckee.”

“Well then, we’re at an impasse.”

I sighed and walked to her, gently pulled her to me, and embraced her without holding her. “I don’t accept that.” I’d had an idea, and wasn’t sure if it would work, but I had to ask. “How about an experiment?”

“What kind of experiment?” Her eyes were hooded, guarded.
Afraid
. My wolf wanted to tear the people apart who’d put that look in her eyes.

I couldn’t show anger or frustration, though, because she might think it was towards her, so I kept my body relaxed and voice soft as I said, “Doesn’t have to happen today, but when you’re ready, you ride me while I’m sitting up — on a sofa or something, maybe. When I get close, I’ll stand up, fuck you, but you’ll be upright, legs wrapped around my waist.”

She shook her head once, but didn’t pull out of my arms. A few seconds later, she said, “How about we both masturbate, without touching the other, first?”

My wolf wasn’t terribly happy with the idea, but I could see some possibilities. For one thing, I’d get to see what worked to get her off. “How do you envision it?”

“Me on the sofa with my trusty vibrator, you sitting on the chair across the room, giving yourself a handjob. We talk to each other, watch each other.” She shrugged. “I dunno, maybe it’s stupid, but once we get over that hurdle... maybe the next step will be easier? Whatever that step is?”

I put my hand near her collarbone and swept her hair away from her face without grasping it. She didn’t freak, and I made a note to do it as often as I could, to help her get used to my handling her hair and not hurting her. I touched her cheek, the lightest of a caress, and brought my lips to hers. She opened for me, and I kept it light, happy, playing with her tongue as it came into my mouth. When the kiss intensified, I backed off and ended it.

“As long as it takes, Buttercup. We’ll figure it out. You’re worth it.” I stepped back and pulled my shirt off. “I’ll masturbate for you now, if it’ll help.”

Ice

“Whether it’ll help or not, I won’t turn down the chance to get to watch you play with yourself,” I told him with a sly grin. Perhaps one day I’d figure out what made him tick, get him under my thumb enough some intimacy might be possible.

He touched my chin, gently lifted my face. He wasn’t forcing it, and I breathed through the anxiety in my gut.

“I’m never going to do as you order me, but there’s a good chance I won’t be able to say no when you ask nicely.”

I lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Don’t you have to take your pants off to properly masturbate?”

He chuckled and let my chin go, reached for his belt. “Or when you point out the obvious, I suppose. What’re you gonna do while I jack myself off?”

I backed up, sat on the sofa sideways, and pulled my legs up on the other cushions. “I haven’t decided yet. Depends on how hot I get while I watch you.”

I’d seen him in his boxer briefs, and thought I had an idea of how big he was, but he was larger than I’d expected, and I looked to his eyes a brief second before letting my gaze fall back to his cock again.
Damn
, he was hung.

He sat in the chair, planted his feet, and squeezed the base of his cock before slowly bringing his fist up to the head. He kept his hand in place as his hips pulled down, pushed back up. He wasn’t jacking himself with his hand, he was fucking his hand. The obvious power behind his hips had the blood flowing to my clit, and I reached down to fondle outside of my labia over my pajama bottoms.

The ring held the front of my labia together, which protected my clit, since I no longer have a clit hood. I’ve never opened my piercing for any of my boyfriends, and when they got curious and asked too often, I disappeared and found another city to hang out in.

Every guy I’d been with since my torture, I’d known they were only in my life a short time. I’d had fun with them, but I hadn’t fallen for them, and when I left there were no regrets.

Until Brain, and I hadn’t actually
been
with him. Still, I’d missed him, and there’d been regrets he couldn’t be in my life, which was crazy because the bastard had captured me and held me prisoner.

Though, my inner voice kept reminding me he’d treated me well, and hadn’t hurt me.

He was still slowly fucking his fist, his eyes on mine, and I reached inside my pajama bottoms, scissored my fingers on the outside of my labia, pressed in on my clit, and groaned.

“Fuck, you’re
so
sexy,” he said, heat in his eyes.

I breathed out, and out, and out, until my lungs were empty, and then pulled air into my chest until they were full. I needed more than my hand. “Be right back,” I told him as I headed to the bedroom for my vibrator.

I don’t buy expensive sex toys, as too often I have to leave things behind and travel light. This one was just a normal, hard plastic, hot pink cylindrical vibrator with three speeds and fresh batteries, and I stripped out of my pajamas and panties when I returned to the sofa, my eyes on Brain’s cock as I stretched out on the sofa.

I started on low, ran it to the right and left of my upper labia, and then lowered it to slide between them, and gave a long, low groan as it sank into my pussy.

Brain sped up a little, and I worked the vibrator in my pussy as I massaged the area around my clit over my outer labia.

Within five minutes I was on the edge of an orgasm, and I told him, “I’m close, you going to come with me?”

“I’ll come with you during your second orgasm. Let it go, Buttercup, and then work yourself up again.”

My pussy gripped the vibe enough I could hear a difference — the idea of working myself up again was a turn on, but I never came more than once when I got myself off.

“Don’t argue,” he told me. “You know you want to, and I want to see you play with yourself when you’re all sated and relaxed.”

“No promises,” I gasped as I flipped the vibrator on high and swirled it around as I pumped it.

Just before I came, I pushed several fingers into my pussy along with the vibrator, spreading my opening wider and giving myself just the hint of the pain I’d discovered was now necessary before I could come.

I forgot about Brain while the orgasm held me in its grip, and when I came down, I kept my eyes closed so I wouldn’t have to look at him right away.

“You’re always beautiful, but you are
stunning
when you’re coming apart with bliss. I can’t wait until you’re coming apart because I did it to you. Now, turn the vibe down and keep playing with yourself. Just make it feel good, don’t try to make yourself horny again.”

I’d made it a point to not follow any man’s orders since Ivankov, but my body did as Brain said without even considering telling him to go fuck himself. Perhaps it was because he said it as more of a suggestion, perhaps it’s because I liked the idea and wanted to do it anyway… though neither of those things would’ve made a difference with any of the other guys I’d been with in the past couple of years.

But now, I turned the vibe to low and slid it around my labia, relishing in the fact it felt good, instead of trying to arouse myself again.

Within a few minutes, however, my libido perked up again, and I moaned as I slid it back into me, angling it to hit my g-spot.

This time, I propped the vibrator so it pushed towards my front, and I bent my knee so my foot could hold the base of it in place against the sofa cushion, so the tip pressed into my g-spot as I fingerfucked myself around the vibe.

I watched Brain in my peripheral vision, his hips going faster now, shoving his cock up through his fist, his hand moving a little now as well, but the majority of the motion coming from his hips.

“I’m ready when you are, Buttercup. God, you’re so fucking hot.”

His words pushed me over, and my groans nearly turned to screams as I came harder than I could remember, and he spurted halfway across the room as he came.

The orgasm didn’t fade as I expected it to, and I continued to manipulate the vibrator, my eyes closed as I gasped my way through the stratosphere. I jumped as I felt another’s touch, and opened my eyes to see him kneeling on the floor beside the sofa, his hand between my legs, his fingers helping mine.

This hadn’t been the deal, but instead of stopping my orgasm in its tracks, it ramped even higher, and my hips moved with his fingers as I screamed through my bliss.

Brain knew what he was doing, and he turned the vibrator down, and then off as I came down, and he pulled it from me slowly. He kissed the outside of my thigh and said, “Thanks for letting me help. You okay?”

“I am, but I shouldn’t be. That wasn’t the deal.”

“Yeah, I know, but it worked out okay. If I sit on the sofa with you in my lap, do you think I can hold you?”

“Yeah. I think I’d like that.”