“No… no, he didn’t. Instead he slammed me up against the nearest wall, pushed my dress up over my ass, and raked down his zipper. He didn’t even bother to remove my panties. He… he simply pulled them aside with one hand while he pushed his cock against my entrance.”
“He raped you.”
“He wouldn’t call it rape. He considered me his property to do with as he wished. He told me I was forgetting he owned me, and that I wasn’t allowed to hit him or make demands. Nikolai didn’t care I was as dry as the Mohave Desert or that he was hurting me. All he cared about was reminding me he was the great Nikolai Kosloff, kingpin of the bratva. All he wanted was to show me no one fucked with him — he fucked others.”
“Stop. You don’t have to tell me more,” Alek said.
I so wished that were true, and yet I knew I had to continue. I’d opened the wound, and it truly needed to be cleaned or there was no way I’d ever have a chance at being free again. Shaking my head, I continued.
“He was brutal, pounding into me with a force that had my cheek slamming against the wall with every thrust. Once he’d shot his cum into me, he turned me around and pressed me to kneel at his feet.” I could hear my voice growing fainter as my mind relived every moment of that horrific night.
“He ordered me to suck him until he was hard enough to go again. Told me we were nowhere near done. I remember looking around the room, every cell in my body aching, pleading with my eyes for someone… anyone to help me, even though I knew better. Every man in the room, and there were at least a dozen, belonged to this man. He was right. No one fucked with the head of the Russian mafia and lived to tell about it. Evidently, I was taking too long so he slapped me and, when I opened my mouth to cry out, he shoved his cock inside.
“Suck me, bitch, he said. And I… I did.”
“It’s called rape, Clara. Say it… he raped you.”
I looked up at Alek, expecting to see disgust, and yet all I saw was his unwavering gaze.
“Say it, Clara. Say he raped you.”
“He… he raped me,” I said and, even as my eyes welled, I said, “He raped my mouth like he raped my pussy. And then… then he raped my ass. When he was done, he leaned against me and told me every single time I stepped onto the stage, I was to remember I was only a star because a bastard allowed me to be. Said as long as he was happy with my performance, he’d make sure there wasn’t another who even dared to step into the spotlight.
“He finally released me from the hell he’d dragged me into. He left me in a huddled mess. I remember lying on the white rug on his white marble floor and wondering why there were specks of red in the fur. It wasn’t until I moved I discovered it was my blood. I don’t know how long it took, and I will never know how I finally found the strength to pull myself up and drag myself into the bathroom as the sun began to peek over the horizon.
“I didn’t even recognize the woman who stared back at me from the mirror. My face was bruised and my lips split and swollen. When I lifted my hand to wipe a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth, I almost screamed again. My arm hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and I wondered if he’d actually broken it.”
The welling tears slipped down my cheeks.
“Oh, Clara, baby, don’t cry. The goddamned bastard isn’t worth your tears.”
“I… I know it shouldn’t have mattered, not when there wasn’t an inch on my body that didn’t ache, but I felt shame flooding through me. He hadn’t even bothered to undress me. Instead, he’d torn and ripped at whatever might have been in his way, leaving my dress in tatters, and one bra strap snapped in two. My left breast had been lifted from its cup, the nipple throbbing, and I remembered screaming when he’d bitten down after I begged him to stop.
“I sagged against the counter and had an epiphany so late in coming. I was no better than the men who’d watched as their boss repeatedly raped me to ‘teach me a lesson.’ I’d done Nikolai’s bidding for months for nothing more than a night filled with champagne, parties, and enough cocaine to keep me going. I’d gone for rides in any one of the cars from his collection that filled the top floor of the parking garage beneath his penthouse. I’d lain on his silk sheets in his bed and welcomed him with open arms even after I’d heard him give orders for someone to be “reminded” who ruled New York City.