Chapter Seven

Senza?ii de Club, located on a private estate on the border of Rose Valley Park, Chisinau, Moldova...

“Welcome back, Master Slayer.”

For the first time, Bogdan cringed at the reminder of the reputation that clung to him like a stigma. In certain circles, that was how he would always be remembered. The ubiytsa smerti, the death slayer, who cleaned the path of the Guzuns, especially those who dared hurt or threaten the Matriarch and her brood.

Now that he was about to become a grandfather, he wanted to be free from such a moniker. His grandchild was going to remember him as a caring and amusing grandpap?, not a Bratva. The decision had been made. He had walked away from the Bratva a year ago. Nothing and no one was going to make him return to a life of murder and mayhem.

“I heard you were back in the city and wondered when you’d show up here.” Alin Sava shook Bogdan’s hand. “In honesty, I missed your ugly face, my friend.”

“And I yours, Alin.” A smile slashed over his face. “Besides, you knew I’d be here since it’s the only club I ever play at.”

“Yeah, strange that. I often wondered why you never scened at the other clubs, even though you accompanied Viktor on the odd occasion over time.”

Bogdan’s lips compressed at the reminder. Zafira had lost trust in him because he hadn’t told her about Viktor’s supposed slip at his bachelor party. Little did she know that her beloved husband had enjoyed scening with other women from very early on in their marriage. It had infuriated Bogdan, but he had done his job as Viktor’s advisor and friend by keeping quiet about it. Zafira had chosen who she married; it wasn’t his place to disillusion her about his fidelity.

“I find I like my privacy as I grow older, which is why I’ve chosen to limit indulging in the lifestyle to one location. Besides, why would I go anywhere else since I’m co-owner here?”

Senza?ii de Club was an exclusive BDSM club that only catered to members over the age of fifty. Alin and Bogdan had identified the need for older people who wanted to be able to freely visit a club without bumping into their own children or, worse, their children’s friends. Moldova was still a rather conservative community, specifically in regard to freely practicing kink, notably toward the older generation.

“I noticed quite a few masked members when I arrived. Is it theme night?” Bogdan walked out of the private lounge to stand on the balcony overlooking the double-volume entrance hall, which had a dual purpose of serving as the entertainment room where members mingled, danced, or had a bite to eat between scenes.

Alin leaned on the balustrade, sipping on an aromatic bourbon.

“No, but there are a couple of new members or pre-approved visitors who prefer to keep their identities intact.” He shrugged. “Since the reason we opened the club was to offer members a safe and comfortable place to practice their kink, I didn’t see the harm in allowing the requests. Should I have consulted with you first?”

“Of course not. I was just curious.” Bogdan scanned the room below, briefly homing in on those wearing masks. “How do you control it, though? Apart from regular members who have to register their fingerprints to access the club, how do you know that whoever is behind the mask is the person pre-authorized to enter?”

“As you know, visitors are identified via a pre-approved facial scan. Those wearing masks have to agree to the same process in the privacy of my office prior to admittance. We’re not allowing anyone in without following the proper protocol, especially since we guarantee our members” confidentiality. It’s imperative to ensure everyone stepping foot inside the club has signed an NDA.”

“You’ve got everything covered, as usual,” Bogdan said. “I think I’m going to take a peek into the dungeons. Who knows, I might just find a recalcitrant sub who needs an attitude adjustment.”

“The regulars will be delighted. You’ve been missed, my friend. Don’t be surprised if you get swamped by requests to scene the moment you descend the stairs.”

Bogdan waved off the praise and quickly made his way down the stairs. His journey to the first dungeon was interrupted numerous times by greetings and submissives hugging, kissing, and as Alin had said, begging to scene with him.

“I will consider your request, subbie. For now, I’m on dungeon duty.” He smiled at the dark-haired woman to soften the rejection as, for the umpteenth time, he cleverly averted committing to play. He wasn’t sure what he was in the mood for tonight or if he was even interested in scening. Not with Zafira running around in his mind ever since he and Vanya had taken her home from the hospital over a week ago.

Arriving in the Devil’s Dungeon, he was immediately drawn to where a large crowd was gathered around a scene in progress. It soon became clear why. The submissive was boldly topping from the bottom, and even though she was strapped on a Saint Andrew’s Cross, the verbal comments were what caused the twittering and laughter from those watching. Bogdan didn’t recognize the Dominant, but it was evident how the entire situation embarrassed him, belittling his ability to control the scene.

“If that’s the best you can do, perhaps I should be the one holding that strap and not you. Want to swap places, Sir?”

“Blyad’! What in the Goddamn blazes is she doing here?” Bogdan’s gaze zoomed in on the woman. Since she was wearing a full face mask and a pitch-black wig, he had no way of recognizing her, but once his gaze traveled over her lithe form and long legs, he knew... his senses weren’t deceiving him. The throaty voice was unmistakable—the firm body belonged to none other than Zafira Guzun.

He was aware that Viktor and Zafira had lived a BDSM lifestyle at home, but she had never accompanied him to clubs. Bogdan doubted she even knew Viktor went on a regular basis. To see her here, at his club, broke all the walls he had built around his heart. Here, he could finally be the one in control. His hand itched to spank her rounded ass, so perfectly angled upward in the position she was in. No one had been able to crack the icy veneer Zafira surrounded her soul with. It was time to melt it completely and free the woman inside, clearly yearning to break out of the chains that society and a life with Viktor Guzun had bound her with. Her obvious disrespect in how she kept nudging the Dom was proof of that.

“She’s been choosing the wrong Doms since the first day she set foot inside the club.” Bogdan looked at the man standing beside him. He hid his surprise as he recognized Antonio Baritva, although he shouldn’t have been since he had handpicked his successor to take over protecting Zafira. Antonio wouldn’t allow her to venture out anywhere alone.

“Makes one wonder why she bothers,” Bogdan chose not to acknowledge the association Antonio had with the subbie on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.

“Perhaps she’s been waiting for the right Dom to take over and give her exactly what she needs.”

Bogdan didn’t respond. Antonio was right. Zafira was a proud woman and would rather be pushed into accepting a scene than agree to one she might not fully comprehend the end result. Hence, choosing Doms she could easily manipulate, hoping he would lose control and whip the hell out of her.

“I didn’t figure her as a masochist.”

“No? Maybe a Dom with just the right balance of sadism is the kind to establish whether she is one and to what extent.” Antonio shrugged. “Or maybe she isn’t and just needs a proper whipping to remind her that she’s still alive.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same woman.” Bogdan refused to consider that Zafira might have suffered more than she led on. She was a strong, assertive, and confident woman. One who ruled the Guzun Organization from behind the scenes in such a clever manner, not even her children were aware of the power she exerted within the criminal world. Nothing happened in the EU Bratva world without her knowing. Why would a woman like her succumb to emotions... and if she did, what were they... and why now all of a sudden?

When the crowd burst out laughing after another scathing remark from the masked submissive, Bogdan stepped in.

“I believe that is quite enough.” He held out his hand, and the Dom gladly relinquished the strap.

“Thank you, Master Slayer. I’m Dom Sergei. I don’t know why she approached me if she’s after a sadistic spanking. That’s not my scene and I refuse to be ridiculed into complying.” He smiled grimly. “Except my tactic to coax the needy submissive to the surface only resulted in teasing the brat in her more.”

“No matter, I will take over,” he growled softly. Although he had been out of town for over a year, Alin had kept him up to date with club matters. He recalled Sergei’s details, a gentle club Dominant who preferred coaxing a sub rather than punishing them. “What is the scene she’s after?”

“What the devil is going on? Blyad”! I didn’t come here to—” Zafira’s attempt to twist her head to see who her Dom was consulting was stemmed by the position of the cross and by the voice cutting her protest short.

“Destul! You will be quiet.” Bogdan’s Dom voice was dark, guttural, and a thick brogue that made everyone stare at him. He sounded completely different.

“She wanted a spanking and offered sex, but only if I could make her cry.” The Dom smiled. “I wasn’t looking for sex tonight, but the challenge would’ve been to break through the ice layer she so proudly carries around.”

“Meaning?” Bogdan stared at Zafira. Her body was stiff as she bore back to try to hear their conversation.

“It’s in her eyes. Inside, she’s as cold as an iced-over lake, but there’s more. Deep inside, I detected a desperation for something else... perhaps a need for someone who could reach past all the chains locking the woman inside and allow her to soar to the sky.”

“If she wants to cry, why not find a sadist?” Bogdan rammed his hands into his pockets in an attempt to still the tingling in his palms, the itching to do just that... make her cry. As the Dungeon Master on duty, it fell to him to conduct discipline where a submissive blatantly disrespected a Dom she agreed to scene with. It was part of the protocol and club rules everyone had to adhere to. The same would apply to dominants who overstepped the boundaries.

“Apparently, it’s an old habit of hers. She has been coming here for the past ten months and always chooses dominants who love brats and allow them to manipulate the scene. This is the second time she approached me. The previous time was just after I joined the club. That night, she came very close to crying.”

“So, you thought perhaps this time you would find the trigger like you did then.” Bogdan’s hands turned into fists. “How often does she come here?”

“Twice a month. Always on the second and the twentieth. For some reason, those two dates must be significant in her life.”

Bogdan’s heart beat rapidly as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. Maybe she had gotten better at hiding her emotions. The second of February was the first night they had made love in the year when she married Viktor. The twentieth was the last night they had spent together—the night he had declared his love and urged her not to marry Viktor, promising her that they could build their own future together—was also the night he was thrown in jail.

Or perhaps he had it all wrong... maybe it was because she hated the memory of what they had shared that made her yearn for physical pain and tears.

Well, la dracu. It’s time to find out. If the mighty Comare wants to be whipped until she cries, I’ll be too happy to oblige.