Volkov dangled a wrapped energy bar above her.
“Wrapped. Untampered.”
He removed his foot from her leg.
Catriona sat, breathing heavily. She tried to flip the hair from her face as he opened the energy bar and broke off a piece.
Stepping to the side to avoid potential kicks from her unbound legs, he squatted down and put a hand on the back of her head, pushing the bar into her mouth.
She spat it out.
He snatched the food from the mat and pushed it down on her chin with the butt of his palm. The pressure proved more than she could bear. She opened her mouth, terrified he’d unhinge her jaw. He shoved in the chunk of the energy bar, closed her jaw and covered her lips with his palm.
She heard him whisper behind her. “Swallow it.”
He pressed his thumb into the tender spot at the base of her skull until she chewed the bar and swallowed.
He moved in front of her, victorious.
She stared at him from beneath a lowered brow, her jaw aching. “You think it’s a fair fight because you force-fed me half an energy bar?”
He held up the other half of the bar. “Are you going to finish the rest the easy way or the hard way?”
He held the bar to her lips. She could feel her body shaking with anger and humiliation.
Might as well get what energy I can from this.
She bit off another piece and chewed. When she was done, he popped the last piece into her mouth.
He walked away from her, brushing the granola from his hands. “I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”
She curled her legs beneath her. “If you really want to be beaten by a woman, why don’t you just ask me?”
He chuckled. “It isn’t that.” He leaned back on his heels, rocking, his hands behind his back. “I tried putting the woman in power. I tried a dom...domin...what is the word? The women with the whips?”
“Dominatrix?”
“Yes. I didn’t like it at all.”
“So it’s hurting women that turns you on.”
He smiled. “Da. But I like a challenge.”
In his words, Catriona spotted a glimmer of hope. “What if I refused to fight?”
He shook his head. “I said I don’t like a pushover, but I’ll make do with one if I have to.”
Catriona took a deep breath and expelled it. Her attention drifted to the roll of tape he’d presented to her earlier, now laying a few feet away on the mat.
She looked at Volkov.
“I’d like my hands taped.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Catriona held out her hands as Volkov wrapped them in flex tape. She detected his skill at the job.
He must wrap hands as often as he zip-ties.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to explore any more of his unusual skill sets.
He had to be a fighter. The mats, the professional-looking bell, the tape, his sinewy body—the man had spent some time in gyms.
She couldn’t let their battle begin on even ground. She’d have to find a way to take him by surprise. Now wasn’t the time. He’d untied her hands so he could wrap them, but he’d zipped her ankles to make up for it.
It didn’t hurt to get her hands taped. Maybe she could avoid a few broken knuckles. Maybe it would relax him...allowing him to run through a ritual with her. Maybe even soften him to her, if that was possible.
Most importantly, the taping of her hands gave her time to think.
Sean had said he and she and Kilty somehow inspired people to be their best.
She couldn’t help but feel her little super power had left her.
She looked up at the cameras in the corners of the room.
He records everything.
If she could see one of the recordings, maybe she could get some insight into his ritual or fighting style.
He finished her right hand and she flexed it, checking the tightness. It felt perfect.
“Do you keep the recordings here?” she asked as he tapped her left hand, asking her to raise it.
Volkov’s brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”
She nodded to the cameras. “The other girls.” She chose her next words carefully. “Can I watch?”
Volkov appeared surprised. And, something else.
Flattered?
Perhaps.
Pleased.
The corner of his mouth curled. “You want to see the other girls?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Because I want to know how to beat you.
She did her best to look titillated at the prospect of watching his amateur films.
“I want to see you in action,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper. She hoped it sounded seductive. In truth, her voice had simply failed her, the depth of the lie nearly too far to reach her lips.
Volkov finished wrapping the tape on her right knuckles and stood. He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
She allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“Put out your hands.”
She hesitated. She hated permitting herself to be bound again, but watching his videos could be her best shot at beating him.
She held out her hands. Volkov slipped another zip-tie from the pocket of his robe and locked her wrists.
Slipping a hand behind her knees, he lifted her, carrying her through the archway into a new room, roughly ten-by-ten feet. The floor and walls had no padding. He set her down in a large leather chair positioned in front of a television. Against the far wall, a laptop sat on a small desk. Long orange extension cords led from a power strip up through a hole in the ceiling.
A small fishbowl sat tucked on the lower shelf of a wooden plantstand beside the television. Volkov
