MadetoBeBroken by Lyra Byrnes Page B

chiseled muscles, lighting up the planes and curves of his form with red
and gold. He looked like a dark god at rest.
    If she could only get out of the restraints, out of the
cottage. She was still fast and wiry, and even if she couldn’t make it to
civilization, the landscape would surely hide her more easily than it would
obscure his bulk. Once they were both out, she would have the advantage. The
trick, of course, was to get out, and that wasn’t something she could do with
him sitting there, staring into the fireplace, his bronze skin glowing.
    “I don’t like these things—handcuffs,” he said quietly,
without looking at her. “You like them, krahsniy ?”
    “No.”
    “Is very difficult to make fight in my country for
independence. We have no equipment, you see—bullets, guns, tanks. Is a rough
and poor place.”
    He crossed the room to toss the butt into the fireplace.
Even in her anger and shame, Coco marveled at the tiger-like grace of his
haunches as he moved. The bullet seemed not to have slowed him down or made his
movements awkward.
    “We were talking about that lazy slut who sucked my dick,
the technique? In Chechnya, we must use other techniques, inside the head.”
    “Now the word you’re looking for is tactics. May I have some
water?”
    “On battleground, in bed, is same. Psychological tactics.”
He pronounced the last word carefully, as if throwing it in her face. “Is not
so simple as the bonds in that cabinet, whips and collars and clamps, silly
stuff. What I do is more effective, because once you change a person’s brain,
is changed for always. These cuffs, you know—you put them on, take them off.”
He shrugged. “No change.”
    “Then I would like for you to take them off me. I’d also
like some water.”
    He left the room. Coco could hear him padding around in the
kitchen, gathering plates, slicing something. The tap ran and then stopped.
    The bed dipped again as he sat on its edge. He tilted the
glass of water to her lips.
    “Is not safe to let you go,” he said. “Eat.”
    She leaned her head forward as best she could to take in the
small bites of bread, cheese and sausage he offered. Between feeding her, he
swigged from a bottle of beer.
    “I thought you didn’t drink.”
    At this, he unleashed his wolfish grin. “Long day, krahsniy .
A girl shot me, kidnapped me. We did have nice visit to museum though. I don’t
take alcohol on assignment.”
    “Sitting in the Three—uh, that pub was an assignment?”
    “To meet my adversary, yes.”
    So his poor, rough country had some resources after all. He
had known she was coming, known someone was after him. She was playing into his
hands the whole time. Had he been planning to kill her all along? Was he still
planning it? She thrust those questions aside. I’m alive for now, she
thought, and I will use my time wisely.
    “You had already killed Kaminsky,” she said.
    “His death did not advance our cause. It was, in fact, great
misfortune.” He sounded genuinely regretful.
    “Your mistake, I guess,” she smirked.
    “Yes.”
    The fire hissed and crackled. Coco longed for a shower—she
was still sticky between the legs, and worse, the memory of Alexi’s hand on her
breast burned like an imprint left by a slap. She wanted to brush her teeth,
scrub her skin, wipe him away and become herself again. Only with his scent
gone could she be free to carry out her assignment, and she would carry it out.
This was only a glitch.
    One hell of a glitch though. She had been weak, weak and
willing. Alexi was quite right about what he called psychological tactics. It
wasn’t so much being lashed to the bed that took away her power, but the orgasm
that crashed through her until she saw stars. Any fool could snap closed a
cuff, but it took a being of sublime erotic magnetism to completely control the
body of someone who hated him.
    No, not hate. She had a job to do, and hate was too hot an
emotion to allow to color her work. She had to