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There’s no amount of need for bloodshed that will stop me. I’ve spilled enough blood to drown in a river of it, and I see no reason to start looking for absolution now. I’ll do what I have to in order to see that they’re avenged and that Viktor is made aware of who the real enemy is.
And what does that mean for the woman at the club?
Athena.
I grit my teeth, running my hand through my damp hair. I don’t want to make a mistake. As violent a man as I can be, as little as I scruple at bloodshed, I have no desire to torture an innocent woman for information she doesn’t have.That would make me no better than him.I have to be sure.
And would you be more sure if you weren’t so fucking turned on by her?
I let out a low growl of frustration, swinging my legs out of the bed and stalking towards the far window in my boxers. The night is cool, made even more so by the rain, and I feel my flesh prickling slightly with cold.
Not because you’re thinking of her?
Stubbornly, my cock twitches in my boxers, and I shove it down with my hand. I was terribly, painfully aroused while she danced for me earlier in the champagne room. I had questions for her, banter that might have given me more information about who she was and how a woman like her had come to dance in a place like that, but they all died on my tongue.
I was right about her. There had been no intimidating her. She fired back at every remark I had, even being willing to lose out on her tips for the night in order to have me thrown out for pushing boundaries. Her reaction had only made me more suspicious that Yuri, idiot that he is, might be right in his information.
Clubs likeCat’s Meoware notorious for girls who offer extras. I bet any number of rubles that if I went into a private room withany of the other dancers there and asked that same question, they’d have been down on their knees for me before I could finish getting the words out. ButAthenanot only had refused but she had also been offended.
It was just another reason to believe that maybe the woman who called herself Athena hadn’t been doing this all that long. Perhaps the club is a hiding place for her. A place where she thought she wouldn’t be found.
But how to be sure?I need more to go on than just conjecture. I only have a photo of her and a concept of what she looked like before from other photos I’ve seen to go on.
The answer seems clear to me as I stand there looking out at the falling rain. I have jobs to do here in Moscow, underground work that keeps me from having to tap into any of my savings from my years working for Viktor, but they only take up so much of my day. I have time–time to watch her, to follow her, and to see what I can uncover about who this woman truly is.
It will mean going back to the club, too.My groin tightens uncomfortably at the thought, my cock stiffening, and I bite back a groan. Under any other circumstances, I would have stroked myself to a much-needed climax before bed, but I knew I’d think about her. The way she makes me feel already disturbs me, and the fact that I can’t trust myself to touch my own cock without fantasizing about burying it deep inside of her only makes things worse. It’s been tormenting me all night–since I saw the photo of her, even–fed by my need for revenge and how long it’s been since I’ve come inside a woman. I know I need to get control of it before I lose myself to something more dangerous.
Obsession.
—
The morning finds me groggy and exhausted, feeling even worse from the fractured sleep than if I hadn’t slept at all. I make myself something to eat in a daze, black coffee and buttered toast, and sit down on the couch with the laptop I acquired from a pawn shop.
In this line of work, a man goes through laptops like burner phones, destroying the drives and discarding them when they start to have too much sensitive information on them. This one is new–for my purposes, anyway–wiped clean from the previous owner and ready to be used until it’s time to move on.
Right now, the purpose that I want to use it for is finding out more about Natalia Obelensky–as she was, not as she might be now.
The first results that come up are, unsurprisingly, mostly focused around the ballet. Natalia was something of a prodigy, showing exceptional talent at a very young age, which quickly propelled her into a promising, burgeoning career. Her father’s influence likely could have gotten her into those schools regardless–but it was her talent and skill that got her there– and kept her there.
She was the youngestprimaon record for the Moscow ballet and the recipient of numerous accolades. I flick through article after article on her, not just pieces about the shows themselves that she danced in but articles with paparazzi photos, articles dissecting her fashion, discussing what event she’d been seen at or hadn’t. The combination of her dancing ability and her father’s name and wealth had turned Natalia Obelensky into a minor celebrity, and she wore it well.
In all of the photos, she never has a hair out of place, never anything except a smile on her face. No matter how candid or unexpectedly taken, there are no photos of Natalia frowning, sweaty from class or the gym, or tousled and unkempt. She must have known she was the object of so much attention because she’s always carefully prepared for it.
I come across several of the pictures I’d seen in the past, ones taken before a show or at some gala or another. Those I expect utter perfection in, but I pore over the others, the candid ones, looking for any hint of the woman I saw last night.
They could be sisters; I can admit that. But even that’s not enough to go on. There could be a dozen or more women out there with the same fine, delicate features. The dark hair has changed her look considerably–if it is Natalia. Appearance alone isn’t enough. I sift through the photos again and again, forgetting my coffee and letting it go cold as I look for a picture that reminds me of what captivated me whenAthenawalked out on stage.
There’s no hint of it. Natalia Obelensky is always cool and calculated, her face a bland smile, her eyes expressionless. There are no photos that I can find of her dancing, only ones taken before and after shows, and nowhere do I find even the slightest sign of the lustful, seductive woman that made me so hard that it hurt last night.
Natalia Obelensky, in these photos, is not a woman I could become obsessed with. She’s a woman I would enjoy breaking, enjoy watching as her pale skin slowly grew stained with blood, as she lived some of the horrors that the woman I want so badly to avenge did. She is a woman of wealth and privilege who deserves none of it, who condoned her father’s cruelties to keep it, and who deserves to pay for it.
But Athena–
I feel a cold finger down my spine as I think of the dangers of assuming too quickly. I’ve never before come across the possibility of doing something that I couldn’t live with. Still, at the thought of hurting the woman last night, I feel a sick knot in my stomach.If I’m wrong. If she’s not Natalia. And if she is–
Regardless,I slowly realize as I flick through the photos again,she’s a solution. If she is Natalia, then you can move forward as planned. And if she’s not, then you can let her go. You’ll know that Natalia Obelensky is not someone who can be found just now, and you’ll look for the next possibility.
I’ll need to follow her. Find where she lives. In the end, I might frighten her–but better that than tortured or dead–if she’s not Natalia. And if she isn’t, I’ll simply disappear from her life. She’ll get over it–in time.
