Sinner's Revenge

Chapter One: Dani

Four Years Later

Taking a deep breath, I wait, my finger poised on the shutter, waiting for the perfect moment. The mother deer’s head remains down, her dappled baby prancing wobbly around her back legs. Then, for a breath, the baby pauses, and the mama lifts her head, perhaps smelling me finally, as she turns to look directly in my direction.

I snap the shot. And a moment later, they both bound from the clearing toward safety.

It’s a poignant sight, a mother caring for and protecting her baby, showing it how to survive the woods of inhabited Upstate New York. And my heart twinges. 

I wish I were a mother like that. But I’ve made so many mistakes and ruined so many things. At the top of the list is my child’s future. I might deserve the hell I’m in, but not Julian. He’s sweet and good and innocent—just like his father. I, on the other hand, seem to ruin everything I touch.

Closing my eyes against the hard truth, I swallow compulsively and listen to the breeze rustling through the trees overhead. They whisper communally together, standing proudly as they shade me from the sun. Somewhere far above, a bird whistles a merry tune, reminding me that not everything is broken in this world I live in now. 

That’s partly why I love the solitude these trees give me, the peace they bring. This is the only place I know I can’t cause more destruction in my miserable life. And it reminds me of Efrem—all the time we spent together outdoors. How many of my key memories with him happened in woods just like these—even losing my virginity.

God, I miss him. With a deep, longing ache that resonates through my body like a tuning fork. Maybe it’s best he escaped the curse that is me before I could completely ruin him. Then again, maybe in some way, I was his downfall. Mikhail certainly thinks I leave destruction in my wake. Ben, my parents, even the conflict between the Veles and the Zhivoder. I don’t know how not to ruin the lives I touch.

A deep sadness overcomes me as I walk into my sacred space. I did try to protect my child. I did what I had to do to ensure Julian wouldn’t go hungry or have to sleep in the cold, but our lives have transformed into a nightmare I couldn’t possibly have imagined. 

Camera heavy in my hand, I lower it slowly to stare at the quiet clearing where the deer just fled. I should have run too. I made a terrible mistake bringing my child into this world—Mikhail’s world. And now, there’s no way out. For either of us. 

At least my parents got what they wanted. They certainly seem happier without me ruining their reputation at every other turn.

Dad is the governor.

He’s running New York now.

Like the puppet he’s become.

Mikhail has him on strings so well that my dad is at his beck and call.

Just like I am.

Only Dad seems far more comfortable with his lot. He has his title. He has his shtick. Who cares if he has to look the other way when it comes to Mikhail? 

At least Mikhail stayed true to his word in one regard. Julian doesn’t want for anything. 

But Mikhail keeps him from me, only allowing me time with him as a special-occasion treat. I get to see him as an incentive for behaving properly—putting on a good face for public appearances, entertaining guests at his parties, and, worst of all, sleeping with him. 

It’s a far more effective tool than I had imagined he could possess. The small victories I thought I might find in defying him after our marriage has proven entirely devoid of enjoyment compared to the consequence of not seeing my son. 

Now, I’m the meek, obedient housewife I never thought I would become. And Mikhail has shown me just how harmful my rebellious streak was for everyone in my life. Maybe my limited exposure to Julian helps keep my son safe. From me. From the destruction I cause. Still, I agonize over how little I get to spend time with him. 

The rest of the time, Julian is cared for by a nanny. One I didn’t get to choose because Mikhail only wants people loyal to him surrounding what he owns. 

Sighing, I pack up my camera and hike back to the house. I need to fix this hollow ache in my chest. And only one person on earth can fill that hole.

I take a fortifying breath once I stand before Mikhail’s conference room door. I can hear his voice on the other side, the lilt of his Russian words as he speaks to his men. Now is a good time to interrupt him.

He likes it when I demand his presence while he’s busy commanding his pions to do as he says. It gives him a sense of power, purpose. And it’s an excuse to flaunt his younger bride in front of his men. I am proof that he’s a man who can keep a beautiful wife and claim a son as his heir. At least until he has a legitimate one.

Something I’m determined not to give him. It’s my one last rebellion. A silent one I hope he never finds out about. That I’m on birth control, and something more foolproof than the oral contraception I used to take. 

If I can help it, I don’t want to bring another child into this ugly world. Not with me for a mother and Mikhail for a father. That would make our child twice cursed. At least Julian has Efrem to call his father. And he certainly takes after his biological dad.

Returning my attention to the office door, I carefully construct the mental walls I build when I’m around Mikhail in order to protect my sanity. My stomach turns at what I’m about to do, but still, my fist raises, and I give a gentle knock. This is for Julian, I remind myself. So you can spend time with your son.

“Come in,” Mikhail states in English. 

He knows it’s me. He always knows because he’s the best puppet master this world has ever seen. It doesn’t matter that I dread being in his presence. I still come to him, offering myself up like a toy for him to do with as he pleases.

“Ah, lyubimyy,” he says with a grin, a cold glint entering his eye. His nickname says it all—a word that means both darling and pet; I’m confident he means it as the latter. “I’m busy in a meeting. Is this important?”

“I was hoping… I could spend some time with Julian today,” I say, swallowing convulsively when the bile threatens to rise in my throat. 

“What? You’re itching to ruin his day as well as mine?” he mocks, getting a round of laughter from his men. “What will you give me in return?” he presses, his voice lecherous as his eyes silently say exactly what he expects from me. His dark gaze roams up and down my body appreciatively. 

Fighting the urge to squirm, I raise my chin in an effort to maintain my backbone. His men watch me with unbridled amusement, their laughter floating through the room. They seem to get a kick out of the way he taunts me with innuendos and thinly veiled sex talk right in front of them.

I know it turns him on.

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.

“Leave us,” Mikhail commands his men imperiously a moment later. His chin jerks toward the door, signaling them, though his eyes continue to upraise me.

His men rise in unison to leave the room. A few mutter suggestive comments to me under their breath. Teasing me for needing cock so badly that I can’t seem to wait until business is finished. Saying that my little boy is just an excuse to come find my husband. That I probably picture them watching while he fucks me.

I take their lewd remarks silently. 

It will do me no favors to tell Mikhail what they say.

On the one occasion when I did, early in our marriage, I thought my husband might bring the guilty man to heel for suggesting he could hold me down while Mikhail fucked me. Instead, Mikhail excused everyone from the room except me and that man—Captain Zmeya. Then he’d had Zmeya do exactly as the captain had suggested. 

Zmeya had jerked me forward so my torso rested on the conference table and pinned my hands above my head so I couldn’t move. Then he’d watched Mikhail fuck me from behind. It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. And I’ve had plenty in the four years I’ve been married to Mikhail.

Zmeya is the same one who suggested I would enjoy it if they all watched Mikhail fuck me now, and I know he’s hoping for another opportunity to live out a sick fantasy. He’s grotesque, perverted, and his face alone raises the hair on the back of my neck.

“Give our pakhan a good ride,” the last man out the door directs me before letting the door click closed behind him, leaving Mikhail and me alone in his conference room. 

“Take off your clothes,” my husband commands, cutting right to the chase. 

And though my stomach twists uncomfortably, I’m glad it seems he has more pressing things on his mind today. I hate it when he drags this out.

Standing in the center of the open space by the door, I face Mikhail as I guide my summer dress up my body and over my head. His dark eyes watch me eagerly, and I swallow hard, trying to force the lump back down my throat.

You get to see Julian, I remind myself as tears sting the backs of my eyes. I let my dress drop to the floor.

Mikhail releases a low groan of appreciation, and his chair squeaks as he rises out of it to approach me. “Your body never fails to remind me how you could bring your lover to ruin,” he purrs, stepping close, his tone almost a caress, though his words are a sharp barb. “You are perfect, aren’t you, lyubimyy? At least physically. Fixing your personality has proven quite the project. It’s a good thing you’ve learned, isn’t it?”

His question doesn’t require an answer. Most of them don’t, really. So I remain quiet.

“Now, your bra,” he says, his eyes greedy as they follow the swell of my breasts.

I do as he says, reaching behind me to unclasp the hooks. Then I drop the piece of lingerie in a neat pile on top of my dress. My nipples harden in the cool air of his home office, and I sometimes wonder if he doesn’t keep it intentionally cold in here for this exact reason.

“Mmm, aren’t you an easily excitable little slut?” he mocks, one hand extending to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I swallow a gasp, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing his touch affects me. He doesn’t care if it’s good or bad. He just likes knowing he has command over my body.

“Turn for me,” he says authoritatively.

I do, and as my back is fully exposed to him, his long fingers find my hips to stop me. 

“I want to watch you take off your panties this way. Slow and steady, Dani,” he encourages, taking a single step back. 

I shiver at the anticipation in his voice, but keeping my back to him helps. I, at least, don’t have to look at him as I bend to step out of my undies. 

“Now go to the table,” he instructs, staying just a few feet behind me as I move toward the thick oak surface. 

Power. That’s what turns Mikhail on. Not sex itself, so much as the fact that he can tell me to do whatever he wants. And unless I want to endure the punishment of prolonged separation from my little boy, I have to obey him.

That’s power.

And Mikhail knows how to use it.

How to sell it.

How to give someone a sense that they have it only to later reveal that he has them on a string. That they’ve been dancing for him all along.

“Bend over, Danielle,” he instructs.

He likes to use my full name. He says it’s more feminine. More appealing. Unlike my entirely too masculine nickname. I don’t object anymore. It helps me detach, to pretend that this body he uses is not my own. That the real Dani would never be responsible for all the terrible things she’s caused.

Fighting my revulsion, I do as he says, pressing my cheek to the cool wood surface and placing my palms firmly against the table as I brace myself. Mikhail’s right about one thing. I deserve this. After everything I’ve done, I deserve a life of misery. And Mikhail is more than willing to provide that for me. 

“That’s right. Good girl, lyubimyy. You do as you’re told because you’ve learned, haven’t you? This is where you belong, isn’t it? This is the only thing you’re good for.” 

The sound of his buckle and zipper coming undone sends a violent shudder through my body, and I squeeze my eyes closed. Cold, soft fingers wrap around my waist, his touch still so entirely other, so unwanted, compared to the touch I crave with every fiber of my being. 

I retreat into the recesses of my mind, fortifying myself against what’s about to happen, and I imagine Efrem. I pretend that it’s him I’m with. I do my best to recall his strong, sure caress. 

The way his warm, calloused hands used to raise delicious goosebumps on my flesh. 

I will myself to hear his voice now, that deep baritone that sent electric vibrations through my body. The soft golden stubbled that covered his jawline and tickled my skin as he kissed me. I surround myself with the memory of him, holding him close as I let my mind carry me far from this place. 

What I wouldn’t give to feel his strong arms wrapped around me again. If even for a moment. To smell the masculine, earthy scent of his cologne—such a contrast to Mikhail’s pungent, cloying one.

I cling to the vision I fabricate in my mind, Efrem’s golden locks that were forever falling into his sky-blue eyes. And I shelter in my happy place as I block out the ugly world around me.

I deserve this, echoes in my mind, an unbidden thought that haunts my dreams.

But I would give just about anything to be with Efrem again.