MadetoBeBroken (8 page)

It was different from the kind of penetration she had
known—more concentrated, the sensations distilled. He moved slowly, filling her
ass deeply then moaning with pleasure on the outstroke. She opened her eyes and
caught sight of them in the mirror. Her sweaty hair stuck to her face, her lips
were red and ripe from sucking him, her buttocks high in the air like the slut
she felt like, the slut she wanted to be, as his cock pumped patiently in and
out of her backside. Alexi was leaning back, hands on her hips, the V of his
waist tense with straining muscle.

He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled thinly.

“You like it,
krahsniy
?”

“Uhn, yes,” she panted, rocking forward again and again.

“We going to come together now.”

Her assent was barely a squeal. Intensity built in her most
secret place, a tingling and buzzing that felt completely new and overwhelming.
Black splashes spotted her vision. Her ears were filled with the sound of her
own guttural grunts and moans. The cock pounding her was solid, unrelenting.

“The other lie. What was it?”

“Oh god, don’t stop.”

He bucked his hips against her backside so hard his balls
smashed against her. She let out a desperate moan.

“Tell me or I stop.”

“I found something!”

He seemed to thicken, stretching her so tight she nearly
screamed. She clawed at the sheets, sweating and panting. Sparks shot through
her nerves, her core spasmed and she came in a crashing rumble as he let out a
huge groan and splashed his seed deep inside her.

She collapsed against the bed, spent. “A sat phone,” she
gasped. “I found a sat phone.”

* * * * *

“How many of these does your OSO have—one hundred, one
thousand? I would need only two. Is like pennies falling out of pockets for you
people.”

Alexi turned the little device over in his hands. He sounded
more disgusted than angry, but that didn’t change the fact that he had produced
from the closet the one device Coco could not figure out. She got it now—the
cuffs went around her thighs, her wrists locked to the cuffs. Her hands were
free, her ankles finally unencumbered, but on her back atop the bed, she could
only thrash from side to side like an upturned bug. She had to admire his
caution, even as she feared for her life. Her bottom felt sore and used and her
leg muscles ached from being forced apart for so long.

“Is encrypted, what you sent.”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. There are no more answers to come. Maybe Umarov’s
wife will not mourn too long.”

“That’s not our way. If we kill him, your little ragtag army
swings into action, and countless people—countless more people—will die because
of what you created. We’re trying to prevent a war, not start one.”

“You Americans cannot stop this madness.”

“No. We’ll bomb your ass into rubble.”

“Is your answer for everything.”

“And yours,” she said steadily.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Your masters, were they happy with this communication, Miss
I-have-no-superior? If you lie, it will hurt.”

She would have to tell him. Just thinking of Rod Templeton
made her pussy dry up and her stomach heave.

“I do have a
¼
a boss.
I might have played with words a little. This man is in no way my superior.
He’s the new head of Western Operations and, as you know from my file, I’m new
to it too. He wanted more. Said he wasn’t getting his money’s worth, the
bastard.”

Alexi put the sat phone on the table. “You know, in a
war—and we are at war,
krahsniy
, do not think otherwise—I learn very
early not to love, not to hate, not to feel. But you hate this man. Why?”

“He’s kind of my ex-boyfriend.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You fucked your boss?”

“No! We were colleagues at the time.”

“Did he make you come like I do?”

“Harder,” she answered defiantly.

He seemed unfazed. “Heh, is only lie I will forgive. So he
only treats you like a whore at work—nice compromise.”

“Listen, you’re free to go. You can still go back to London,
finish the work you started. I’ll tell the OSO you were unbreakable. Probably
take a demotion or worse for it, but at least I won’t be working for that
asshole anymore.”

“So you could think I’m good guy?” he shrugged.

“I know you are not a good guy.”

“Then no more games. You tried to do your job,
krahsniy
.
It was good effort. Tell me why I should not kill you.”

“Because it’s not too late.”

“What does that mean?”

She had said too much. Had it been a mistake telling
Templeton that the CRF was ready to strike? No, of course not; they needed to
stay girded for whatever might happen. She was only doing what was asked of
her, with a tiny bit of speculation thrown in. One tiny smidgen of speculation
that had the slightest itty-bitty chance of kicking off World War III.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Let me out and let’s go.”

He looked at her with something like pity in his eyes. “This
place, this job you have—was all a joke. We are two pesky gnats our bosses
wanted to swat aside while they drink champagne and laugh. Pawns in their game.
You play at chess?”

“I win at chess.”

“Then you know, pawns can be powerful soldiers, if they
choose to be.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Or they get captured.”

Something clinked against the wooden floor, but even by
turning her head, Coco could not see what he had dropped. The room darkened as
he stood in the doorway, blotting out the sunlight.

“I made my choice. Is your turn now. Goodbye,
krahsniy
.”

It was midday bright, with a refreshing chill in the air, as
Alexi headed down the only road leading to and away from the safe house, the
sat phone knotted into his shirt. He favored his good leg, for the first time
letting himself acknowledge the pain of the bullet buried in his muscle.

He would not worry about the girl starving to death in the
cottage. She had use, albeit limited, of her legs, and she was not stupid. She
would find the key where he had dropped it. And then? If she gave in to rage
and foolishness, she would come after him, go screaming to her bosses. It
didn’t matter to him one way or another, but he nurtured a tiny hope that his
lesson had sunk in, that the little pawn would make her determined way across
the board and take up position as a queen. What did she need to know that he
had not already told her? Everything, he supposed—supply lines, munitions,
sources, names besides that of his trusted Umarov. Plans
¼

He had had plans before she shot him and brought him to this
remote place, before she chained him to the wall, tended to his wound and
inspired the strange, sensuous dance they engaged in. But there was something
about the way her lips made a straight line when she was serious, binding his
leg with her brow furrowed like a little girl attending to her coloring book.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from the swing of her hair or her glorious ass as she
walked. When he asked her to describe the painting of the Sardinian landscape,
he expected scorn or dismissal, but her thoughtful answer made him pause. Like
him, she saw what was in front of her. Like him, she was no good guy, whatever
the Amerikanski wanted to believe.

And whatever he told her, it was because she was sated by
his cock, smelling of him, his sweat on her skin and her mouth filled with the
taste of him. In a lifetime of bartering, cajoling and stealing, this had been
the best bargain he had ever made.

He did not regret that he would never trust her. His prime
directive, the one that overshadowed all of his rules and kept him alive for
thirty-two years, was to trust no one. He had trusted Avala, of course, but
when the Feds murdered her before his eyes, the last flicker of faith he held
in any human being winked out along with her life. All he had to cling to was
what was verifiable—facts ruled him now, not emotions. This one could have
killed him at any time, but she had not. Her superiors wanted him alive, and he
could have kicked himself for not figuring out why the moment the pockmarked
man showed up at the cottage, harassing his little red bird. While he worked to
bring peace to the two nations, one great and one small, the great one was
readying its boot to descend on the neck of the small. Well, not this time. The
wolf would strike first.

The lane curved into a larger two-lane roadway, lightly
rutted, and there, in the valley below, sunlight glinted off a gold church
steeple, brown roofs clustered against the blanket of green. A village, perhaps
a day’s walk with his injury, but there it was. It even smelled like
civilization, the scent of petrol perhaps borne on the wind.

But there was no wind. There was instead the faint purr of
an engine, the sight of a shiny red blot slowly growing in size as it came
toward him. He lifted an arm and began to wave.

* * * * *

Coco could swear she heard an engine of some kind, very
faintly, a putt-putt just under the waterfall’s splash and the cries of birds.
If the pockmarked man was on his way back, there wasn’t much she could do to
stop him even if she ran outside to check. And hell, he’d get quite a show,
finding her naked on her knees, her arms cuffed to her upper thighs, bending
sideways to poke at the little silver key between the floorboards.

It had been her own awkwardness that sent the key skittering
into the notch. She had use of her feet and hands, but maneuvering wasn’t easy.
How long had Alexi been gone, she wondered, grunting as she scraped a
fingernail against the rough wood to no avail—ten minutes, an hour? The light
had deepened from lemon to gold, the color of his strange eyes. She gritted her
teeth and dug again. Fuck his eyes and fuck him. He had abused her for his sick
sexual pleasure and given her nothing in return. And now that she had useful
information, he’d locked her up in this bondage device and skedaddled away.

The key winked as her fingernail caught it, catching the
sun, then fell back into its notch as if mocking her. Whatever made the sound
from the road outside, it was gone now. All she could hear was her own coarse
breathing as she worked her pinkie near the key’s slender tip, wishing she
didn’t keep her nails so short.

Rod could stop this. If she could only explain that her
message was a warning and not a plan of action, Western Ops would pull a rabbit
out of a hat and defuse the situation before it became too dire. At worst, they
would leak the news to official channels and endure a nasty dressing-down. She
hated acknowledging that Templeton had any real power, but in her current state
¼

Aha! Success. She had the key just under the tip of her
nail. No time for finesse now. With a deep breath, she flicked it as hard as
she could and the light little piece of metal flew out, landing with a clatter.
Now it was just a matter of fitting the thing into the lock without breaking
her wrist.

By the time she worked the first lock free, her red hair was
damp and matted. Her sense of time was still skewed. From the light, it
appeared to be late afternoon, but the putt-putt sound was still belching in
through the windows, so loud this time it had silenced the birds. She unlocked the
second cuff and tore her hands free, rubbing her wrists. The thick wooden door
slammed back as she opened it and blinked in the sunlight, naked but for the
thigh cuffs, the air unbearably sweet in her lungs. The sun was low and full,
directly in her eyes, so if that was west, the road approached the cottage from
the south side. She shaded her eyes and turned to look, but the sound of a
voice made her freeze.

“Hello, Coco.”

“Rod!” She almost collapsed in relief. “Thank god you’re
here.” Then she saw the gun.

* * * * *

“That poor mailman. They are woefully underpaid in this
country, dear. Being knocked out by a foreign ruffian is hardly within their
job description.”

Elena Wilkinson always harbored a
tsk
in her voice,
but Alexi had grown used to her motherly ways. At least the woman had a
samovar—a gorgeous specimen, sterling silver chased with gold—from which she
was now pouring him a cup of steaming tea.

After he had climbed out of the red mail van, ignoring
dubious and outright frightened looks from the sunset dog-walkers on the quiet
Glasgow street, he had made straight for the trio of decanters on her buffet.
One glass of liquid amber to steel himself was enough. He accepted her tea and
her chiding tone, because the former Yelena Vilaeva was the most trustworthy
ally he had on United Kingdom soil. It didn’t hurt that, thanks to having
written a beloved series of cozy mysteries that counted in the hundreds, she
was also the richest woman in the country.

She patted her platinum coif and gave him a warm smile.

“I so hoped I would hear from you after Kaminsky’s murder. I
must admit, I feared the worst.”

“I did not kill him.”

“So I gathered, dear. Who absconded with you and, if I’m not
mistaken, put something nasty in your left leg?”

“It was the girl. Coco.” The name sounded strange and ugly
in his mouth. “She shot me.”

“The OSO is known for its thuggery. I’m relieved I thought
to obtain the full set of dossiers on OSO operatives upon your arrival. The
Americans are not ones to let such an opportunity pass. Has it occurred to you
that they are the ones who whacked Kaminsky?”

“Doesn’t matter who.”

She sighed. “I suppose not, but as a lover of mystery, I
always want to know whodunit. So what can I do for you, Alexi? Papers, credit
cards, an airline ticket, plastic surgery?”

He let out a short, gruff laugh. “And ruin this beautiful
face?”

“There are some who would protest if you went under the
knife, it’s true,” she said contemplatively as a sullen, dark-haired girl slunk
into the parlor and helped herself to a slug of whiskey. “Kat, darling, look
who’s here.”

Katarina did not smile, but sidled up to the seated Alexi,
her full bosom filling his vision. She smelled like cigarette smoke and
strawberries.

“Sexy Lexi,” she drawled. If her mother’s voice carried an
admonishment, the daughter’s sported an outright sneer. She licked her full
lips and dropped her eyes to half-mast. The wild, wildly beautiful Katarina
Wilkinson was the most exciting thing to happen to British tabloids since the
invention of ink. “Wanna go play in my room? I have toys.”

“Run along, dear. We’re busy,” said Elena crisply. Katarina
sauntered off, hips rolling in her jeans. She swiped a decanter and banged shut
the door. “I’d have the little bitch committed if it wouldn’t set my fans to
howling. Now, where were we?”

“Everything—documents, passport, travel papers, a vehicle.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Such urgency. And all over the murder of
one wee embassy operative?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I tried to work for peace, but
is not the way, Yelena. We have to go back to the old way.”

“The old way is in full effect, dear. I arranged for that
shipment of Semtex you wanted smuggled in from Ossetia. Not even a thank-you
card from your man Umarov.”

“That was for protection, not war.”

“War? Alexi
¼
” She
took his hands in hers. She had bright, blue eyes that beamed with kindness,
eyes she had given to her best-selling detective, busybody, unlucky-in-love
antiques dealer Jane Rowland.

“We have a chance only if we strike first, Yelena. There is
no time.”

“I know, dear. We have long dreamed of this day, when we
could reclaim our homeland from those brutes. It will take manpower, money,
strategy and loads of stealth. I want this as much as you do, but I must ask
you—is now the time? Are we ready?”

“If I had a choice, I would not ask.”

She squeezed his hands and sat back. “Done then. You will
fly out tonight on one of my planes, and my heart goes with you.”