Sergei told me I was to be a hostess at a small party. But it turned out to have almost a hundred guests. Even though his Moscow penthouse was enormous, there were people everywhere. Many of the guests were young and there was an abundance of attractive Russian women who all looked like supermodels.
One of Sergei’s Russian girlfriends had dressed me the way he liked. It was very much at odds with the modest attire I had grown up with. She made me wear a green lacy bra with a matching thong and a very short black minidress with a halter neck. It was so tight, that it appeared to be painted on me. It left my back bare and displayed the backstrap and shoulder straps of my bra. She made me wear strappy stiletto sandals that made me very tall.
I saw Sergei take Jack aside as soon as he arrived. Of course, I did not know who Jack was yet, but it was impossible to miss him. He was so tall, so good-looking, my eyes were drawn to him, and I could not look away. Sergei guided him out onto the enormous balcony overlooking the main city park.
Sergei crooked his finger at me, and I came over with my head down. He put his hand on my chin and raised my face.
“Her name is Parveen Aziza Abdulayeva,” Merkulov said. “You saw her sinuous, sexy gait as she came over, Jack. She’s a natural. As you can see, her skin and figure are perfect – creamy smooth complexion with firm breasts, a tight ass, and supermodel legs that go on forever. Silky black hair out of a shampoo commercial. And her eyes! Lustrous, green pools that suck you in.”
“You’re beautiful,” Jack said, speaking to me instead of Sergei.
“Would you believe she was given to me to settle a financial debt?” Sergei said briefly. “I literally own her! And she’s still a teenager!”
When Jack did not respond, I asked Sergei, “Do you want me to kiss him?”
“Listen to her husky, bedroom voice!” he laughed. “And such a pleasing foreign accent to her Russian, part Arabic, part Southern republics. She was born into the al Sura family, desert chieftains in the Arabian Peninsula. But her mother was a Chechen slave that her father bought from human traffickers. He used her as a concubine.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” said Jack, again speaking to me and not to Sergei.
“Are you gay?” asked Sergei. “Any real man would kill to kiss Parveen Aziza.”
“I’m not gay,” said Jack. “Though I have nothing against gays.”
“I do, I’m not so politic,” said Sergei laughing. With his mercurial temperament, his mood changed suddenly to deadly serious. “So, Jack. You want me to help you get mining licenses in Siberia from the government.”
“A partnership,” Jack replied. “Your legal team signed on to the equity joint venture at the airport. You’ll make a lot of money.”
“If you find anything.”
“We’ll find a lot. Our geologists are certain there are rich seams there. All the data supports that view.”
“We’re legal partners, but I’m not going to shake your hand, Jack. My interests on the other side of the law are much more lucrative and I’m more worried about what happens to them. Whenever you show up, law enforcement seems to follow.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jack, his face expressionless.
“You showed up in Stockholm – and a month later Alexander Kutuesov who ran drugs and prostitution for me in Scandinavia was arrested.”
“I had nothing to do with that. I never met Kutuesov.”
“But you slept with his favorite girlfriend, Vigdis Axelsdottir. Then she disappeared from his life. He was so enraged that he took out a contract on your life – and kept upping the price. That got the police onto him.” (See my story, Jack Grierson Chronicles – Casey.)
“He was assassinated while being taken to court,” said Jack. “A long-range sniper shot.”
“I had no option. I couldn’t risk him talking, he knew too much.”
“I didn’t know Vigdis was his girlfriend.”
“So you say. But I look at your record and see a pattern. You make men irate because you know angry men make mistakes. Nothing makes a man more furious than being cuckolded. You did the same thing to Prince Mushtaq, slept with his favorite concubine, stole her affections. You got Mushtaq so angry, he spent all his time with his terror groups trying to get to you – while you quietly bought out all his hotel operations in the Middle East.” (See my story, Jack Grierson Chronicles – Leyla.)
“He gave me Leyla, I didn’t steal her.”
“Details,” said Sergei, briefly. He looked over at me and put a hand on my cheek. “Parveen Aziza is my favorite girl, she has just the right mix of innocence and raunch. Large, guileless eyes, but she squeals out her passion when I whack her ass as I fuck her. She’s the cliché come to life – a Madonna in the living room, a whore in the bedroom.” Sergei paused and looked at Jack with a trace of malevolence. “I’m going to keep her, Jack. Keep your thoughts on our mining deal – not her.”
“Of course,” said Jack.
Sergei was beckoned by one of his men and walked away without another word.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Talk,” said Jack. “And drink.”
“I can do that,” I said, smiling. I flagged down a waiter and selected two flutes of Bollinger’s champagne, handing one to Jack. When I put my flute forward, he clinked it saying, “Zavas!”
“Zavas,” I responded.
“Don’t you find me attractive?” I asked after we both took sips of our champagne.
“Of course, I do,” said Jack.
“You’re a funny one,” I said with a laugh. “When Sergei asks me to entertain someone, they have their hands up my skirt within the first two minutes.”
“Has it happened often?” he asked.
I wrinkled my nose and Jack could see I was angry. Strangely, he smiled kindly in response.
“Four times. Every instance was pure hell! Horrid, uncouth men. They don’t want me to talk. They like ripping my expensive clothes off me and groping me. They treat me like a piece of meat. They would fuck me if Sergei would let them.”
“He doesn’t let anyone else fuck you?”
“Not so far.”
“So you are Merkulov’s mistress?”
His kind smile reassured me, and I let my anger go.
“Mistress?” I laughed. “No, no. I’m a slave. Like my mother before me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sergei bought me from my husband, Hamal Abdulayev. He’s Chechen like my mother. But he’d borrowed a lot of money from Sergei and couldn’t pay it back. Sergei was going to have his kneecaps and elbows broken. Hamal asked Sergei to take me as the price of forgiving his debt.”
“Your husband sold you like an animal?” Jack sounded disgusted.
“It was just business. Poor Hamal was petrified.” I shrugged. “It didn’t seem that abnormal to me. After all, my father bought my mother from Chechen human traffickers to be one of his concubines.”
“Your father is an al Sura? A chieftain?”
“Yes. But my mother was a concubine, not a wife. So I have no status within our family. I’m used to being treated as property.”
Jack’s gray-blue eyes were very expressive and registered emotion – it almost looked like my words hurt him.
“You speak of your mother in the past tense. How did she die?”
“My father beat her a lot. She was very unhappy. I don’t think she had much will to live.”
“Did he beat you as well?”
“Yes. But I soon learned to go and hide in the suite of my older half-sister, Zainab Habiba. Her mother was a wife, so she had status. She protected me whenever she could, made me sleep with her in her bed. She is the one in our family I love the most!”
We sipped our champagne and looked out at the city lights.
“Who are you supposed to entertain tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Sergei hasn’t told me yet.” I looked at Jack with a smile. “I hope it is you.”
“Why?”
“You seem nice, you have kind eyes. You wouldn’t be rough with me.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Jack. “I hope Merkulov pays you well.”
“He doesn’t have to pay me,” I said. “He owns me.”
I tossed back the rest of my champagne. Jack emulated me and set down his flute.
“I’m going to get another glass of champagne,” I said. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
I headed for the bar, glancing back at Jack over my shoulder. He watched the people in the room. I wondered whether he recognized all the Russian oligarchs and the hard men from the shadowy world of the Russian mafia. Many of them had legitimate business fronts. But in my time with Sergei, I had learned that in Russia, the worlds of business and crime were closely connected.
I was at the bar when someone took my arm roughly and turned me around. It was Maksim, Sergei’s top hitman. He put a hand up my short dress and roughly kneaded my vulva through my thin thong. He leaned forward and put his lips to my ear.
“I want you now, bitch,” he said.
“No, Maksim, I have to ask Sergei –”
“Sergei never refuses me anything, Parveen Aziza. You know that.”
With that, he hustled me out of the big reception room and down a corridor that led to the living quarters. He pulled me along, holding my arm upper arm tightly. He pushed open the door of the first bedroom in the corridor.
A couple were sitting close to each other on a bed, doing lines of coke. They looked up at us in surprise. Maksim shut the door and opened the next door in the corridor. It was another bedroom with a neatly made king-size bed – and it was empty. He dragged me in and kicked the door shut behind him. He pushed me down to my knees, unzipping his fly at the same time.
“Just looking at you in that tight black dress got me hard, bitch. Open your mouth.”
“Has Sergei given permission –?”
“Of course.”
“If Sergei is okay with it, I’ll give you a blowjob.”
I was not fast enough for him, and he put a chokehold on my throat. My mouth opened with the gag reflex, and he shoved his thick cockhead into my lips. He let out a groan of satisfaction as he sank the rest of his length into my mouth saying, “Suck hard, Parveen Aziza! Sergei says he’s taught you well!”
I sucked on him slurping with my tongue, as Sergei had taught me. Sex with Sergei was always rough, so Maksim’s treatment was not new to me. I had been a virgin before my short marriage. Sex with Hamal was not exciting, but he was not rough.
Maksim had his hands on my head, and he pulled my hair. I knew he wanted to hurt me, and he did, but I did not mind the pain, as I wanted to please him. My performance seemed to satisfy him for he grunted, “Yes! Yes! Choke on me, bitch!”
I kept sucking and blowing, hoping to make him cum. But he had staying power and after a while, backed out of my mouth and pulled me to my feet. He turned me around and lay me on the bed. He rucked up the short skirt of my dress and there was a sharp tearing sound as he ripped off my thong.
He shucked off his jacket and pulled his T-shirt over his head. I twisted around and saw his heavily muscled body with tattoos all over his torso. He put a hand on the back of my neck and forced me face down on the bed, trying to pin me in place.
He put his other hand under my belly. I realized what he wanted to do and managed to squirm out from under him. He blocked my way to the door, so I backed away toward the wall.
“No! Not my ass!” I screamed. “I’ll tell Sergei!”
“Sergei told me to fuck you in the ass,” he said, laughing.
“He did?”
“Yes, Parveen Aziza. Fuck the Arab bitch in the ass, I own her. Those were his words.”
“No one has ever fucked me in the ass!” I wailed.
“An anal virgin,” he said, gloating. “You’re going to be tight!”
He began moving toward me and I continued backing away, keeping him a few steps away from me. I thought of my servile status and sobbed, tears running down my cheeks, streaking my mascara.
“You’ve nowhere to go, bitch!” he shouted. “Just lie down and enjoy it!”
“Please don’t, Maksim!” I whimpered.
Trying to catch Maksim’s eye, I looked over his shoulder. I saw the door was ajar and there was Jack! He turned and was about to leave.
“Jack!” I screamed. "Help me!"
He took a step away, down the corridor. I cried out again, totally desperate, “JACK! Don’t go! Please, I beg you!”
Jack stopped and turned around. He entered the bedroom and said to Maksim, “Leave her alone.”
Maksim ignored him and kept moving toward me, saying, “Baby, your ass will be like a vise on my cock! You're going to love it!”
Jack moved quickly and clubbed Maksim on the side of the head with a two-handed blow. He pushed him at the same time, so he fell onto his knees.
“Why, you motherfucker, I’ll kill you!” Maksim snarled.
Jack kicked him in the crotch, and he let out a howl as he fell onto his side on the floor. Jack kicked him again on the side of the head and he rolled over onto his back. He was still.
I tottered over and fell into Jack’s arms. There was the sound of slow handclapping from the door. Sergei stood there, expressionless as always.
“You’ve made a bad enemy, Jack,” he said. “Maksim won’t forget.”
“Well, he wasn’t following orders –” Jack began.
“On the contrary,” cut in Sergei. “He was punishing Parveen Aziza exactly as I ordered. She gave one of my business associates some lip last night – she needs to learn her lesson.”
“I thought you’re the only one who fucked her –”
“Yes. But Maksim is like a brother to me, we share everything.”
I trembled in Jack’s arms. My skirt was still rucked up and I was naked from the waist down. Sergei put his hand out and I slowly, reluctantly, disengaged from Jack. I walked over to Sergei, who put a hand on my back and another on my crotch, pushing two fingers into my pussy. He worked them like a piston and drew gasps from me.
“Listen to her gasp, Jack,” said Sergei. “I’m going to fuck her now. Later, Maksim and I will double-team her. You’re welcome to watch.”
“No thanks,” said Jack.
“Why not? You may learn something by watching me.”
“I have nothing to learn from you.”
“You’re just like me, Jack,” said Sergei, laughing. “I know your reputation. You’ve forced yourself on lots of women.”
“Yes, but I want to give them pleasure, make them cum. You want to give them pain, make them cry. You’re a bully.”
“How honorable, Jack! So you want this whore?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can’t have her. Maksim will be up soon. After I fuck Parveen Aziza, he can have a go at you. Sex and violence, it will be a fun night.”
Sergei unzipped his fly. He was about to drive his cock into me doggy style, unmindful of Jack’s presence. But Jack stepped forward and pushed Sergei so hard that he fell away from me onto the bed. In the same motion, he caught my arm and pulled me away.
“You’ll pay for this, Jack –” We heard Sergei’s voice as Jack propelled me out of the room and down the corridor.
Jack took me by the hand and led me to the front door without wasting time. There were two heavies there, but he shouldered his way by them. They had obviously not yet received instructions to stop us.
We ran down the stairs to the floor below before calling the elevator. We took the elevator to the underground parking floor, and he ran to his car, still holding my hand. It was a heavy Mercedes SUV, and he gunned the motor as he drove out, tires squealing. Just as he swung into the road, we saw another car in the parking lot switch on its lights and back out.
“Merkulov must have had security guys ready in the parking lot,” said Jack. “He’s just called them.”
“What will we do, Jack?” I asked in a panic.
“Those guys know Moscow roads a lot better than me,” he replied. “There’s no way I can get away from them.”
“Omigod! Omigod!” I cried.
He looked in the rearview again.
“From the headlights, it looks like a Beemer, X5. Lighter than this G-wagon.” He glanced over at me. “Cinch your seatbelt on tight. Hold on to the armrest with one hand and the ceiling strap with the other. Hang on tight.”
He took his foot off the gas and slowed to let our pursuers get closer. He pulled over to the right opening a lane for them and they accelerated up. Their passenger windows were open and there were men in the front and back seats. They both had guns pointed at us.
Jack swerved at them before they could fire. Our SUV hit theirs at an acute angle with a crash of metal on metal. Our heavier vehicle forced theirs into the barriers, and I heard the screeching sound of their car being scraped along the concrete. I could see the sparks off the metal of their SUV body on the rough surface. Jack jammed the gas pedal to the floor, our engine roared, and just like that, their vehicle flipped over.
Jack swerved back and accelerated away. I looked back over my shoulder and saw a flame shoot out of their car and then a heavy explosion.
“That should buy us enough time,” said Jack.
He drove straight to the airport and around to the private jet terminal. An hour later, we were buckling on our seatbelts and listening to the whine of the corporate jet engines spooling up. Ten more minutes and we were airborne.
