Blaire - Part One

By: Anita Gray

Blaire - Part One





Blaire is not suitable for readers under 18.

Containspsychological impairment, dubious permission, and violence.





Bought. Conditioned.

My name is Blaire. I'm head of security to a man who controls the Russian underworld in Europe. His name is Maksim and he's my master. He bought me ten years ago and conditioned me with brutality to worship and protect him. And I have protected him. I've slain everyone who has tried to do him harm. Everyone but a man he loans me to; a man who threatens to break me and everything I believe in.

You're going to need a strong stomach and a strong heart to follow my story, because take my word for it, it's no fairy tale.





1



I walk through Maksim's strip club like a ghost, under streaming red lights that flash in tune with the pounding music. The air smells potent with sweaty bodies and cheap perfume, a mixture of man and woman. Just how my master likes it.

Everything I see moves through my mind's eye in slow motion, my brain carefully and collectively scanning for danger. There isn't much out of the ordinary going on tonight; a few regulars lining the stage in the center of the club, all unaware of my presence. I know why. They're too focused on the strippers, beautiful European girls leisurely peeling off their clothes. I'm wearing the usual: black sports trousers, trainers, and a thin black leather jacket over a long sleeve sweater. Not exactly arousing attire but this is how I like it, being under the radar.

The strippers are the only people who do notice my presence. As I pass the stage, they each scowl at me with obvious loathing. I understand their loathing. I'm the only girl in Maksim's inner circle, and this lot—the strippers—hate it. They wonder why. They've always wondered why.

No danger here.

“Iscэp Maksim back there?” I ask a member of security in Russian, gesturing at the door he's standing in front of like The Great Wall of Man.

“Yes,” he says in Russian, his pale eyes empty of emotion. “He's been waiting for you.”

I nod, knowing I'm an hour late. I'm never late but my phone was on silent by accident and I didn't hear his text message. Fortunately, I couldn't sleep, otherwise I wouldn't have seen his message until early tomorrow morning and that would have resulted in a good, bloody hiding.

The security guy pushes open the heavy door with one hand and stands aside. I saunter down the red hall, turning left, and knock on Maksim's office door three times. The knocks echo, carrying over the music booming through the walls.

“Come in, my little pet,” Maksim says through the intercom system in his thick Russian drawl.

I shiver as I normally do when I haven't spoken to him for a few days. His voice brings my entire body to attention.

Pushing with both palms, I force the door to creak open and go inside.

Maksim isn't alone.

I don't react—I never react to surprises. I briefly look to see who is accompanying Maksim, and though it's quite dark in here, I'm very aware of the powerful blue eyes watching me from the leather couch by the left wall, eyes that seem to be all over my body at once. Sharp little hairs race down my arms and legs. I haven't seen him before.

The notion that he's a stranger puts me on guard because Maksim rarely allows strange faces in his circle, let alone in his office.

I stop before Maksim's wide desk and fold my hands behind my back, feeling sheathed in darkness. He only has the desk lamp on and that isn't exactly bright. It just about illuminates his diamond shaped, iron face.

“You are late. My. Little. Pet.” Maksim says each word with significant and singular meaning, speaking in Russian.

My blood runs cold when he's like this, mulling over something other than business. Today, it seems it's my timekeeping.

I keep focus, my gaze level and on him slouching back in his chair. He's a striking man with steady, hazelnut-golden, expressionless eyes, and shoulder length dark brown hair that smells like brut from the candles he burns. I remember the scent well. I remember the feeling of his hair on my face when he cuddles me after a beating.

“My phone was accidentally on silent,” my voice is low, as per usual. “I’m sorry, cэp Maksim.” I offer him a little head-bow of respect.

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk,he entwines his fingers together, holding my gaze with soul consuming eyes.“No more keeping your phone on silent, Blaire.”