It was almost fun in ripping them off piece after piece. Given the look of the house, I’d expected the furniture to be classic in design, artistic yet completely uncomfortable pieces.
I was pleasantly surprised, the rich leather and textured chairs lush and inviting. Everything had a modern feel, including the light fixtures.
While the colors were somewhat muted, the former owners had made up for that with the wild splash of vivid hues on the walls.
In every room.
Walls were red or purple, emerald or sapphire. There were even iridescent colors in one of the bathrooms. Completely unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Passionate.
Powerful.
Dangerous.
The only room that was whitewashed in literal terms was the kitchen. Everything was graphite with white cabinets, the appliances gleaming in the LED lights while stark in contrast to the rest of the house. The word sterile came to mind.
Except for one wall near the oversized island. Crimson, the color of fresh blood, and the painting? The size was at least five by four feet, and the artistry was bold in design, yet the scene was nothing that should be allowed in front of children.
Every piece of art in the house had a theme.
Bondage.
Discipline.
While I was drawn to the primal nature of the selections, what struck me harder than anything was how the art made me feel inside. Awakened. In awe. Uncontrollable.
I stood in the kitchen for longer than was necessary, staring at the picture of a woman in leather restraints. While it was obvious she was naked, the artist had done a beautiful job of hiding her anatomy. She was kneeling in front of a man in a mask. In his hand was a whip. He has his hand on her head and the look on her face was… serene.
“Who were these people?” My question was meant to be rhetorical but as usual, I couldn’t seem to completely get away with anything. His presence was electric.
“People who understood that often pain is the ultimate in pleasure.”
Shifting, I offered him a heated look. “Not this girl. But it’s your house. Not mine. Get back to work. We have a few more rooms to do.”
Without thinking, I smacked him on the stomach before walking by, and he acted as if I’d caused him pain. What I realized as I passed was how normal it seemed being with him when there should be nothing about what had occurred that was even remotely normal.
“You’re a slavedriver.”
“I am. Something for you to keep in mind.” When I was around him, even in the same room, I was nervous. Enough so even now my mouth and throat were dry. I also continually tingled, and that wasn’t in my best interest in trying to determine what I could do to convince him to let me go.
He’d said nothing about what had occurred at the hospital for a few hours, but I’d sensed on the drive how much the incident had weighed on his mind. There’d been no acts of business handled in front of me, although the two well-dressed goons in the front of the SUV were a clear indication of how dangerous the situation was.
So far, I’d also counted three guards standing watch over the house but there were likely more. While the land was less than an acre, given the terrain with the trees, there would likely be at minimum six soldiers at all times. That’s what my father and uncle would do.
And my guess was that the Russians were far less trusting.
I’d also noticed the cameras on every corner, with more in other locations including the tiki bar near the pool. There was no chance of escaping unless I could render the security system useless. Not my area of expertise. The only possibility I had since he’d taken my phone after forcing me to call in sick was to waituntil he fell into a deep sleep or left for a meeting. There was also no way he’d stay here with me for an extended duration.
Whatever the reason he was in town, it was to perform a duty. Or to begin a war. The thought had crossed my mind, especially with the hushed conversations held around the wedding. I had dozens of questions of my own, but in attempting to discover more about his identity, I would be forced to reveal more about mine.
There was no win in the situation, no matter how I tossed the cards. Keeping Kirill occupied with other duties was the only way to buy myself some time.
For what, I just didn’t know.
The bedrooms upstairs were beautiful, the master bedroom another work of art in both the decorative style and the weight and darkness of the furniture.
All meant for a king.
